Текст книги "The Shadows"

Автор книги: J. R. Ward

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 42 страниц)

“I got you,” the guy said gravely. “I got you and her.”

Manny extended his palm, and for a moment, all Trez could do was blink. But then he clasped that which had been offered him.

Trez’s voice cracked. “I don’t how I can repay you.”

“You just go and enjoy your woman. That’s all I care about.”

As Doc Jane put her hand on his shoulder, Trez was humbled by the support. And hopeful, too, that maybe Rehvenge would come up with something from the symphath side of things.

After thanking both of them again, he went back into the training center, Doc Jane staying behind with her partner as if she knew he needed a minute to get his shit together.

God, his head was spinning.

And it was funny, he had no impulse to drink away the angst. At all. He didn’t feel the need to go out and bang a hundred random chicks, either. He also didn’t have any interest in checking in with Big Rob and Silent Tom about the club and its opening night, or following through about those packs of drugs they’d found on that lesser. He didn’t even want to go upstairs to the mansion’s third floor, wake up his brother, and give iAm an update.

He was curiously hollow. And that scared him.

Tonight was supposed to a special one for his queen.

Had to be.

THIRTY

It was around six in the evening when Selena stepped out of the shower in Trez’s bathroom. She had slept like a young all day long and into the night, aware only of Trez coming in and checking on her from time to time. As a result, she felt better than she had for . . .

Dearest Virgin Scribe, she didn’t know how long.

Toweling herself off, she wrapped up her hair and put on Trez’s black robe. The voluminous weight dwarfed her body, falling to the floor, the tie so long the ends nearly tangled in her feet. But it felt so good to have the thing on her, his scent wrapping around her as an embrace, the folds offering warmth.

Over at the double sinks, she picked up a hand towel and wiped free the condensation on the mirror. Under the lights, her skin was glowing, a flush to her cheeks and a blush to her mouth—all the result of the sex they’d shared.

And there would be more tonight. She knew that because every time Trez had entered the room, that dark spice of his had been an intense promise of what was to come.

Unraveling the towel on her head, she let her dark hair loose, the wet strands flopping down her back. She did the best she could to get the lengths pre-dried, rubbing the terry cloth over everything she could reach without straining too much. Then it was hair-dryer time—except . . .

No hair-dryer.

Looking around, she checked the cupboards under the sinks, but only found a whole load of backup toilet paper, soap, shampoo, and conditioner. Razors. Hand towels and bath towels. Moving over to the storage area on the wall, she found . . . more towels. Which smelled expensive and were as soft as fresh-baked bread, but would not get her where she needed to be.

Bone-dry was the ultimate goal. Ever so slightly damp was her second choice.

Okay, she could be in trouble here. The two of them were leaving at seven-thirty and her hair, unaided, took about eight hundred hours to dry—

A knock on the outside door brought her head up. “Hello?”

“Is that a ‘come in’?” a female voice asked from in the hall.

“Yes? Please?” Tucking Trez’s robe in tighter, she went out into the bedroom proper—then stopped as the heavy panels opened. “Oh, hello . . . ah . . .”

Beth, the Queen, walked into Trez’s room. And with her were Marissa . . . Autumn, Mary . . . Ehlena and Cormia. Bella. Payne. Also Xhex, who, with her short hair and her leathers, seemed a little out of place in the group.

Or maybe that was because of her awkward stance, as if she were unsure what she was doing with the pack of them.

“Is there something you needed?” she asked the Queen. The others.

Even though she had been aware of just Cormia and Layla coming to see her, it was a fair guess that everyone in the house had been told about her difficulties—she really hoped the females hadn’t made the trip to offer condolences before she actually died.

Fortunately, Beth smiled—as opposed to break out the tissues. “We need you to let us do you up.”

Selena popped her brows and looked at her feet. “I’m sorry. Am I down and don’t know it?”

“Well, we heard through the grapevine—”

Marissa spoke up. “My hellren told me, actually. And he heard it through Vishous.”

“That you’re going on a date,” Beth finished. “And we thought you might like some beautification.”

Cormia put her palms out. “Not that you aren’t beautiful enough.”

At that point, there were lots of oh, no’s, totally beautiful’s, and only if you wanna’s—and all Selena could do was put her hands up to her cheeks. “I was just going to put on robing and do my hair as prescribed.”

“Boring,” Xhex said. As all the girls sent her looks, she threw up her hands. “I told you I’m not good at this stuff! God, why did you make me come up here?”

Beth turned back around. “Selena, you always look lovely, but we have some contemporary clothes for you to consider, ones that are maybe a little more—”

“You’ll look like something other than a window drape.” Xhex rolled her eyes. “I know, I know, I’ll shut up from now on. But it’s the truth.”

“I look like a drapery?” Selena said, glancing over to the swaths by the windows that had just un-shuttered themselves. “Is that bad?”

Beth came forward and took her hands, squeezing them. “Do you trust us?”

“Oh, of course, my Queen, it’s just . . . I don’t know—I can’t find a hair-dryer, and—”

Marissa stepped forward with a canvas tote full of . . . every conceivable makeup and hairstyling whatever. “Worry not, I have you covered!”

And that was how Selena ended up sitting on a stool in the middle of Trez’s bathroom with a bunch of females circling her with hair-dryers, hairbrushes, something called mousse, and curling irons.

In the midst of the makeover, her eyes watered.

“Oh, am I too close,” Autumn said over the din of the dryers.

Selena brought a hand up, hoping to hide her tears. The kindness was so unexpected; she literally felt as though the entire house was getting behind her and her male.

Xhex, the hard-ass, was the one who brought over the Kleenex box. And when Selena’s hand was shaking so badly she dropped the tissue she took, Xhex was the one who did the duty, snapping another soft white square free and dabbing under eyes that leaked.

Selena looked up into that gunmetal stare and mouthed, Thank you.

Xhex just nodded and kept discreetly mopping up, her gentle touch at odds with that harsh face and masculine dress—and the gun she wore holstered at her waist in spite of the fact that they were all safe in the compound.

Selena had no thoughts in her head, only emotions too big to hold in her heart.

As the dryers were finally silenced, she knew it was time to pull herself together. All that sound and fury as her hair was blown around had offered a kind of buffering to hide behind, even if they had all seen her cry.

“Your hair is so lovely,” Cormia said as she ran her fingers through the waves. “I think we should leave it down—”

“Thank you all,” Selena blurted. “Thank you for this.”

Beth knelt in front of her. “It’s our pleasure.”

A hand landed on Selena’s shoulder. Another on her forearm. More on her back. And Xhex was right next to her with that Kleenex box.

Looking in the mirror, she saw herself surrounded by the females of the house, and none of them were pitying her—for which she was so very grateful. Instead, they were standing with her, doing what they could to show her that she mattered.

And for some reason, that seemed indescribably important.

Probably because it dawned on her, for the first time, that she would be remembered by these people after she was gone—and to be mourned by good folks was the best legacy anyone could leave behind.

“Down?” she heard herself say. “Really? You think I should wear my hair down?”

“Allow me to introduce my little friend.” With that, Marissa held up a silver wand that was plugged into the wall via a black cord. “And now the warfare shall begin.”

Selena had to laugh. Glancing up at Xhex, she said, “Have you ever—”

“Used one of those?” The female yanked at her short hair. “As if. But I think you should do what they say. You’re looking at the species’ brain trust here when it comes to being hot.”

“Then submit I will.” Selena found herself lightening up at the idea of a transformation. “Do with me what you wish.”

Beth grinned. “You think this is gonna be good? Wait’ll you see the dress.”

* * *

“I’m sorry. I tried.”

As Rehvenge apologized for nothing that was his fault—and nothing that was actually a surprise, Trez shook his head. The pair of them were standing in the grand foyer of the mansion, their feet planted on the mosaic depiction of an apple tree in bloom.

He put his hand on the male’s fur-clad shoulder. “Seriously, Rehv. Thank you for giving it a shot.”

Rehv plugged his red cane into the floor and walked around. “I looked everywhere in our records. Asked people—”

“Rehv, listen, I appreciate your going up to the colony. But honestly, I didn’t expect some magical answer.” Shit knew he was used to bad news at this point. “So don’t beat yourself up about it.”

That floor-length mink flared out behind the huge male as he continued to stride about. Eventually, he stopped dead. “Do you remember the night we met?”

“How could I forget.”

“Always felt like that was supposed to happen.” The male stared down at his ostrich-skin shoes. “I don’t want . . . this for you. Especially considering what else is waiting for you.”

Rehv was one of the few who knew about his being the Anointed One back in the s’Hisbe.

God, Trez thought. That mess at the Territory wasn’t on his radar in the slightest. Selena was the great sanitizer of all his other concerns, not just wiping his slate clean, but scrubbing the shit raw.

“I’m going to see this through with Selena,” he heard himself say. “I’m not going anywhere else while she’s . . . you know.”

“Anything you need, you got it.” Rehv came over. “I just . . .”

It was unsettling to see such a great male, who was known for his brash arrogance, appear so defeated.

Trez had to cut off the commiseration or it was going to take him down. “Look, you don’t have to say anything else. Frankly, I’d rather you didn’t. Not for nothing, I gotta stay focused on where I’m at right now—Selena is going to come down those stairs and I can’t be all up in my head for tonight.”

“Understood. But I’m going to hug ya.”

“Please don’t—oh, no, come on, man—”

As he was enveloped in mink, he stiffened—and felt like an asshole. For fuck’s sake, the guy was just being real, but damn, all Trez wanted to do was run into the billiards room. Maybe hit himself over the head with a cue stick.

Until the damn thing broke.

His head, not the stick.

“Wow, this stuff is soft,” he said, stroking the coat.

Rehv stepped back. “I’m gonna go crash upstairs in the guest room. I’m whipped and Ehlena has been up all day with Luchas. I think we’re going to go sleep for the whole night.”

“Sounds like heaven to me.”

Awkward. Moment.

“You gotta stop looking at me like that.” Trez rubbed his face. “She’s not dead yet.”

“I know, I know. Sorry. I’ll leave you alone.”

Rehv clapped him on the back and then hit the grand staircase, ascending with the help of that cane. And as Trez stayed where he was, he realized why he had not hunted down his brother to talk about things. Usually, he and iAm would have spoken eight times already—and it was only seven o’clock in the evening.

But if Rehv being a good guy got under his skin, Trez really wouldn’t be able to handle that shit with his blooded brother right now. He was barely holding on to himself—one look into iAm’s black stare?

He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to put things back together from the rubble.

Sometimes, the honesty was too much—

Oh, fuck him. Was he seriously quoting seventies Muzak now?

Pacing, pacing, pacing. He and Selena were set to leave at seven-thirty, and he’d planned to help her down to the car. That had been a big-ass no-go, however: a good hour ago, he’d headed to the third floor to check on her, but Xhex had barred his entry and informed him he wasn’t welcome in his own bedroom. Then the fighter had thrown one of his black suits at him, along with a black button-down, black tuxedo loafers and silk socks, and his black-on-black Audemars Piguet watch.

And slammed the door in his face.

Females. Honestly.

But he had changed into the clothes. Like a good boy. And come down here to wait.

As Rehv’s draped figure disappeared up above, Trez took out his phone and checked his texts. He expected to find something from iAm, but, typical of his brother, the guy knew when he needed space and was giving it to him.

He fired off a quick update to the male, telling him that he was going out with Selena and that he’d touch base later on when they came back. Then he reached out to Big Rob and Silent Tom, and informed them to route everything that had to do with the clubs through Xhex—assuming she could get herself free of the extreme makeover stuff going down in his room. He was about to put the phone away, when he saw he’d missed a text.

From Rhage.

The Brother had reached out and—

“Hey, we ready to go? Where’s your female?”

Speak of the Hollywood. The Brother in question came jogging down the main staircase, weapons jangling like human Christmas bells off various holsters that he had yet to strap on his body.

“Just got your text,” Trez said. “Sorry I didn’t respond.”

“You got shit on your mind. It’s cool.”

The two clapped palms. Clinched up. Pounded shoulders. Stepped back.

“Check you out.” Rhage did a walk around. “Lookin’ fine.”

Trez snapped out both of his French cuffs. “I can’t embarrass the female.”

“Lookin’ like that, she’ll be lucky to stand next to you.” Rhage stopped in front of him. “See, this is what I’m telling my Mary. She wants me to add color to my wardrobe—it’s been a thing, like, for the last couple of years.”

As the Brother shuddered as if his shellan had suggested he wear women’s panties under his leathers, Trez started to smile.

“You’re into the black, Hollywood?” he said.

“She wants to match my eyes.” Rhage pointed to his unbelievably teal peepers. “Like, seriously. I say, I’ve already got aqua on me all the time with these things. Why do we need redundancy.”

“So how much color is in your closet?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Too depressing—”

Lassiter poked his head out of the billiards room. “Hey! Dragon boy—Project Runway’s on if you wanna come watch. Maybe pick up some pointers on your threads.”

Rhage’s stare narrowed, but he refused to look at the angel. “Isn’t there a Saved by the Bell marathon you have to go watch?”

“Don’t hate on Zack. He’s like your little fucking brother, beauty queen.” Lassiter wandered over, the gold he had on creating an aura around his blond-and-black head and his long body—or maybe the glow actually was an aura. “So, where are we off to? Your club, Shadow?”

“No.”

“An embalmer’s ball then? With all that black on, it’s like you’re getting into the funereal arts—”

Rhage moved so fast it was impossible to track. One moment, he was gritting his teeth beside Trez; the next, he was nose-to-nose with the angel, his hand locked on Lassiter’s throat.

Words were spoken so softly, Trez couldn’t track them, but a moment later the smart-ass drained out of the angel’s face and attitude.

Rhage dropped the vise grip and stepped off. “So that happened,” he muttered as he came back over and started strapping up. “Might as well get this shit on. I’m riding shotgun with Manny tonight.”

“Oh, yeah.” Trez took a deep breath. “Hey, thanks for doing—”

“But only because he promised me steak.”

Trez popped a brow. “I’m sorry?”

“Steak? You know, cow? Meat? Heaven on a plate? I know you’ve had some before.”

“I’m familiar with it, yes. But you’re coming to help with—”

“The steak consumption. That’s why I’m going.”

There was an awkward pause. During which Rhage simply stared at him, as if making the statement that he was not going to be a drama zone.

And Jesus, that was probably the most helpful thing the Brother could have done. It was like a lifeline out of the emotional suck zone, and Trez grabbed on.

“Steak, huh. You going to order takeout from Circle the World?”

Rhage recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “So, okay, clearly you are not aware of this, which is a stunning lapse in your formal education, but the best steakhouse in Caldie, 518, is right across the street from the skyscraper your restaurant is in. My plan? While you and your girl are up there getting your jollies on and going around in circles, I’ma be down at the ground floor eating, like, a filet mignon, a roast beef end cut, a Kobe beef burger, a New York strip.”

“Sounds good. Which one are you having? You decide yet?”

Rhage frowned. “All of them. With thirds on the mashed potatoes. See, you gotta get your mashed-to-meat proportion right. Makes all the difference. And then there are the rolls. I’ma get three baskets delivered out.”

Trez put up his forefinger. “You know what you need? A meal at Sal’s. You should come eat at my brother’s joint.”

“Is that Italian?”

“Yup. Talk about best in the city—”

“Shit, why haven’t I—”

“Holy . . . motherfucker . . .”

At Lassiter’s barked curse, Trez and Rhage glanced over at the angel. The PITA didn’t notice them, however, his unusually colored eyes focused upward, as if the Second Coming had arrived at the top of the grand staircase.

Just then, a telltale scent reached Trez’s nose and rocketed through his blood, the impact wrenching his head and his body around. . . .

Whereupon he lost all thought. All breath. And all of his soul.

Selena stood at the head of the bloodred-carpeted steps, her lovely hand resting on the gold-leafed balustrade, her body held stiffly, as if she weren’t sure about her shoes, or her dress, or maybe even her hair.

There was absolutely nothing to worry about.

Unless she had a problem with being an H-bomb.

Her long dark hair was down around her shoulders, falling to the small of her back. Curled from tip to base, it was such a feminine glory, so overwhelming with its weight and its shine, that he fisted his hands and released them because he wanted to touch it, stroke it, smell it. But that wasn’t the half of it. Her face was the only thing that could possibly have put the stuff to shame, her skin radiant, her eyes sparkling, her full lips red as blood.

And then there was the fucking dress.

Black. Simply cut. With a low-cut bodice and a skirt that ended north of mid-thigh.

Very north. Of mid-thigh.

Selena extended a foot, a delicately shod, high-heeled foot that was plugged into a teeny-tiny ankle and a perfectly curving calf that had him grinding his teeth.

He had to swallow hard as she started to descend slowly, each step she took bringing her closer to him being able to touch her, kiss her . . . take her.

Man, that dress was a total knockout, nothing but a sheath that followed the contours of her hips, her waist, and her breasts, with a gathering off to one side at her middle and a second at one of her shoulders. She wore no jewelry at all, but why would she? There was no diamond, no emerald, no ruby, no sapphire that could come near her devastating perfection.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she hesitated, glancing left and right, probably at Lassiter and Rhage—were they still in the foyer with him? Who knew. Who the fuck cared?

Selena smoothed the . . . was that silk? Wool? Taffeta?

Tinfoil? Paper bag?

She reached up and pushed at her hair. Then grimaced. “You don’t like it, do you. I can change. I was going to wear . . .”

Something knocked him in the side.

“. . . traditional dress. But the girls thought . . .” She looked up over her shoulder to the females who stood at the top of the stairs. “I can change—”

Lassiter cursed. “Fuck no. Don’t you dare. You look—”

Trez’s upper lip curled off his descended fangs. Then he snapped his jaws in the direction of the fallen angel, like a German Shepherd. Or maybe a bull shark doing a test bite before he went chainsaw on his prey.

Lassiter put up his palms. “Whatever, man, I was going to say she looks like a charity case. A football referee. A Martha Stewart impersonator. You want me to keep going? I could break into dumb-ass Disney characters. There are so many of them.”

That poke in his rib cage came again. Then Rhage leaned in. “Trez,” the Brother hissed. “You gotta fucking say something here.”

Trez cleared his throat. “I . . . I . . . I . . .”

He was dimly aware of the females on the second floor breaking into high fives and cheers of, “Nailed it.” But his queen remained worried.

Okay, he needed to pull himself together—before Rhage’s elbow nailed him in the liver again, and Selena bolted back to his bedroom. “You are . . . I am . . .”

He pulled at the collar of his silk shirt, even though the thing was wide-open.

“You like it?” she said.

All he could do was nod. He was literally nothing but hormones in a black suit. She was that beautiful to him.

“Really?”

More nodding. “Uh-huh. Really.”

Selena started to smile. Then she glanced back at the females, who jumped up and down and gave her thumbs-up.

His queen turned back to him. Stepped in close. Took his hands and stretched up to whisper in his ear, “The only thing they didn’t give me was underwear.”

Naked.

She was n-n-n-n-nakey under that.