Текст книги "The Shadows"

Автор книги: J. R. Ward

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Текущая страница: 30 (всего у книги 42 страниц)

FIFTY-SIX

He couldn’t stop looking at her.

As iAm lay naked in front of the dying fire, his body was entwined with maichen’s, their legs one among another, their hips still locked together, their sexes close, but no longer joined. She had her head on her folded arm; his was propped up.

“I want to see you again,” he whispered.

He wanted to tell her how much he needed more of this special time, this complete break from all the shit he couldn’t shift and couldn’t make a difference with back in Caldwell. In coming here, it was as if he had briefly stepped to the side, changed his track, taken a breather. It wasn’t a permanent relocation, and he didn’t want it to be—there was no way he was abandoning his brother.

But it was enough to give him a second wind.

“It is hard for me to get away.” She kissed his fingertips. “I have only a few more days when it will be this easy. After the mourning, it will be more difficult.”

“Tomorrow night, then. Midnight.”

maichen nodded. “I will be here.”

He glanced around at the decrepit cabin. “No, come to Caldwell. Meet me in town.”

As she hesitated, he said, “I have a place there. It’s private. No one will know—and I can make you more comfortable.”

He wanted her in a bed. In the shower. Maybe on the kitchen counter.

In order to persuade her, iAm dipped down and took her mouth, stroking her lips with his own, licking his way inside. “Follow the signal of my blood and you’ll find me.”

The sound she made in the back of her throat was all about surrender—and before he knew it, he was rolling her onto her back and mounting her again. The fact that they had actually had sex was so monumental that he couldn’t think about it while he was with her now.

It was just too huge a milestone.

Guiding himself in, he groaned and ducked his head into her neck. With great arching surges, he rode her, finding that rhythm, driving harder and harder. His body knew exactly what to do, and it was a shock, as he orgasmed, to find that he was glad he had waited for this one particular female.

It was also crazy to think that a part of him was starting to plan a way to get her free of the s’Hisbe.

So now he had two on that list.

Her nails bit into his back, and her thighs squeezed around his hips as she found her own release, the subtle milking on him kicking off another sharp spear of pleasure as he came again.

Afterward, he collapsed against her.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, trying to find the strength to do anything but breathe. “Heavy.”

“No, I like the weight.” She stroked over his skin. “You feel as powerful as you are.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Neither do I.”

Eventually, he was in no-choice land. For one, the fire had died and it was getting cold, but more importantly, he didn’t want her to get in trouble for missing her duties.

At least he didn’t have to worry about her and the approaching dawn.

He’d be psychotic.

Pushing free of her, he slipped out of her sex and realized, shit, she was covered in his scent.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, those peridot eyes staring up at him.

“We should wash you.” But the damn cabin had no running water. “Next time, we do this in Caldwell.”

“I’ll be careful. There is a hot spring on the edge of the Territory. I can wash there.”

“What about your robing?” As he handed the load of fabric to her, he cursed. The shit was wrinkled. Ripped. Smudged with dust. “Damn it.”

He should have hung her things up. What the hell had he been thinking?

Getting to his feet, he helped her get dressed, arranging the under-robe, clipping the top layer with that brass fastener, shaking out her hood and mesh.

“Let me do this,” he said as he went to cover her hair and face up.

He hated masking her, his stomach rolling, his mouth going dry: It made the fact that he was sending her back to the Territory unprotected all the more stark. And then he took a step back and looked at what had been so pressed and pristine when she had arrived—and was now a hot mess.

He kind of felt as though he’d taken something that was not his to own, and ruined her in the process.

“I should go back with you,” he said. “Make sure you—”

“That will be harder for me. I shall be all right. I’ve become quite facile at hiding myself after all these years.”

And then there was nothing much else to say, no combination of words that could be spoken that would make him feel better about any of this.

With a curse, iAm took her arm and escorted her to the door. “Be careful. That is a dangerous place.”

“I will.”

When she went to bow to him, he stopped her. “No. Don’t do that. We’re equal, you and I.”

For a moment, she just stared at him. He could feel it through the mesh that hid her eyes. “We are not,” she said. “Sadly, we are not.”

With that, she was out the door and gone before he could stop her. And as the cold air racked his naked body, he hurt all over—but it wasn’t physical.

After pulling his clothes back on, he went to check that the fire was totally extinguished and then he left the cabin. As he closed things up and stepped away, he thought it was completely bizarre how so much of his life had happened in this one random place: finding his brother, meeting Rehv . . . now tonight.

Dematerializing, he returned in a scramble to the Brotherhood mansion, resuming form in the courtyard. As he stared up at the great stone manse, with its Gothic gargoyles perched on turrets, and its diamond-paned windows, and all the shadows that lurked in the corners, he realized he was testing it out for security and defensible position.

So, yeah, he was thinking of bringing maichen here.

Except what kind of life would she have? He was still all up in his head about Trez and Selena. And what was going to happen if the only way to keep his brother free from the s’Hisbe was the pair of them disappearing around the globe, never to light in one place for any length of time again?

Was she going to be into that life of a fugitive? And what if the s’Hisbe found her with them?

She’d be dead faster than a breath.

And yet he wanted her, to distraction . . .

Another no-win situation.

Just what he needed.

* * *

Rhage’s ass was numb.

Then again, he’d been sitting on a rock, staring through the forest into Assail’s glass house for how long? Hours. And all the guy had been doing was masturbating a bunch of paperwork on his desk.

At least that drug dealer had a nice chair to sit in.

Rhage checked his watch. Dawn was going to come sooner rather than later. “Running out of time here, people.”

Just as he was about to front-and-center his phone, and find out how V was doing tracking the dealer’s two cousins, the Brother materialized next to him—and the Range Rover the pair of dealers had left in came down the peninsula’s drive to the house.

“Where’d they go?” Rhage asked.

“Downtown. They went to this boathouse down on the river. No one showed up to meet them as far as I saw. It’s entirely possible one of them dematerialized out of there for a short period of time and went somewhere else. I don’t fucking know.”

As V rubbed his eyes like they were full of sand, Rhage asked, “My brother, when was the last time you slept?”

V dropped his arm and got thought up, like he was solving pi to a thousand decimals. “It was . . . ah . . . I mean, yeah, it was . . .”

Rhage glanced back at the garage door, which was trundling shut. “They’re in for the day. Let’s ghost.”

“What did Assail do?”

“Other than a lot of blow?”

“He didn’t leave, then.”

“Nope. Other than playing with his papers, and making two phone calls that lasted no longer than thirty seconds apiece, he had his thumb up his ass.” He clapped V on the shoulder. “We’ll get ’em tomorrow night.”

V was still cursing as they took off and traveled home through the cold night air. As they arrived at the courtyard in front of the mansion, they found iAm staring up at the house’s facade like he was expecting Godzilla to clubfoot it over the roof and do a clean sweep with that barbed tail.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Rhage asked.

iAm jumped. “Oh, shit.”

As the wind changed direction and carried the male’s scent over, Rhage popped his brows. The Shadow was covered with the smell of a female—and not as in store-bought perfume.

Oh, shit was right.

In all the time they’d known the guy, iAm had never paid any particular attention to the females. Or the males. Personally, Rhage had always thought the poor bastard was suffering from Phury Syndrome—a condition whereupon one brother was so fucked-up that the other fell into a black hole trying to save him.

Unfortunately, it didn’t look like Trez was going to come out of his tailspin anytime soon. But clearly, iAm had done something for himself.

By doing someone else.

Good for him, Rhage thought. About time the male had a break.

“So,” V drawled as he lit up a handrolled. “How was your night, Shadow.”

Clearly, he’d noticed the scent, too.

“Fine,” iAm said.

“Mm-hmm.” V exhaled. “Do anything in particular?”

“No. You?”

“Nada,” Rhage replied as the three of them started for the vestibule. “Business as use.”

Actually, the night with Assail had been straight-up frustrating, but more than that, he’d kept waiting for word from his Mary about the female who’d been taken to Havers’s in a coma. Nothing. He’d heard nothing. Was she alive? Dead?

Goddamn, he’d met that mahmen only once—on the horrific night when they’d rescued her and her young from that abusive male. But the situation was bothering his Mary, weighing on her—and that meant it was really on his radar, too.

Plus, his shellan hadn’t been home now in two nights.

And he was beginning to get desperate.

Cell phones were no substitute for contact.

Not the kind he needed from her, at any rate.

As they filed into the vestibule, Rhage put his puss into the security camera’s lens. A second later, the lock was thrown and they went into the foyer. Last Meal was getting its groove on, doggen busy bringing food into the dining room, people gathering in the archway, more members of the household coming down the stairs.

iAm looked like he was ready to bolt, his eyes locking on the red carpet that ran up the stairs to the second floor—as if, in his mind, he was already halfway to his bedroom. Out of sight.

No doubt fast on his way to the shower.

Even though he’d just looked at his phone and the thing was on vibrate, Rhage took his cell out again, and rechecked to see if he’d missed anything—

Lassiter came out of the billiards room, his blond-and-black hair braided into a thick rope that came down over his pecs. He had a Yoo-hoo box in one hand and a sleeve of Starburst in the other and enough gold on him to give his body a karat weight of its own.

“Anyone else catch Real Housewives of New Jersey?”

People turned and stared at the guy.

“How are you still a guest in this house?” someone asked. “Haven’t you left yet?”

“I’ll call him a cab,” somebody else muttered. “Or maybe we can just airmail him off the mountain.”

“I got a potato launcher,” Butch said. “Small bore, but we can force him into the thing.”

“Oh, I ain’t leaving.” Lassiter smiled. “Come on, like I’d miss all this great free food and cable—wait a minute.” Those strange-colored glittering eyes narrowed on iAm . . . and then he shouted, “Holy shit, you got laid!”

In the frozen silence that followed, Rhage smacked himself in the head. “Angel, your tact meter is even more broken than mine, buddy.”

FIFTY-SEVEN

“So what’s on your mind, First Adviser?”

Abalone bowed as Wrath addressed him. “Thank you, my lord.” Stepping into the audience room, he closed the sliding door behind him. “Thank you very much.”

“Must be serious for you to shut us in together,” the King murmured.

“My lord . . .” He cleared his throat. “I seek always to serve you. In all ways.”

“Stipulated. So what’s doing?”

Not for the first time, Abalone wished he could see the male’s eyes. Then again, maybe it was better that those wraparounds hid so much. He preferred having proper control over his colon.

The presences of Phury and Zsadist registered, as did the reality of the time. They had no more than five or ten minutes left before they would have to return Wrath to the compound. But this couldn’t wait.

“My lord, I appreciate your allowing Paradise to stay here. It is most generous of you—”

“But you want her back home with you and you don’t like Throe being there.”

Abalone closed his eyes. “Yes, my lord. She is . . . the separation is more difficult than I anticipated. And please know it is not that I feel she is unsafe here. She is probably more safe—”

“I put you in a really shitty situation, didn’t I,” Wrath cut in. “It’s not fair to ask you to play babysitter for some asshole like that at the expense of your own personal life. I apologize.”

Abalone blinked. Of all the ways he had thought this would go, Wrath expressing regret had not been even close to the list. “My lord, please, I am the one failing you—”

“You want us to help you get him out?”

Phury spoke up. “Rhage would volunteer for that in a heartbeat.”

“My lord, you are so—”

Wrath ignored him and focused on the fighters. “So what’s our plan here? Are you two going over there with him now and doing the evac?”

Zsadist’s eyes changed from yellow to black. “Let’s do it—”

“Wait, wait.” Abalone put his palms out. “I shall speak with him.”

Wrath shook his head. “Not alone, you won’t. You’re too valuable to me. Tell Paradise to stay here one more night while we get the coast clear.”

And that was how, some ten minutes later, he ended up dematerializing to his home flanked by a pair of the King’s personal guards.

As he reformed in front of his Tudor’s heavy front door, he looked at the glowing windows and wondered where Throe was, what he was doing—what he was finding. The staff had said the male had slept around the clock that first night, and that was not likely to happen two times in a row. Accordingly, Abalone had taken care to lock a whole lot of doors before he’d left, and there were plenty of doggen with watchful eyes around.

Squaring his shoulders, he glanced over at the Brothers who stood on either side of him, like a set of Sun Tzu’s bookends.

“I should like to be the one to speak with him.”

Phury nodded. “It’s your house. You should do the disinviting.”

Abalone opened the copper lock with his key, and he felt none of his usual comfort upon crossing the threshold, no easing as his beloved butler came forth from the parlor to take his coat.

“Master,” the doggen said, bowing deeply. “May I serve your guests as well for Last Meal?”

“They shall not be staying. Where is Throe, may I ask?”

“He has been in his bedroom. I have been checking—the door has been closed and he has not come down even for meals. The one time I knocked, early in the evening, he replied that he was resting.”

Abalone did not hesitate. He took to the stairs, keeping the copper key in his hand. When he reached the top, he continued forward, passing doors until he got to the second-best guest room.

It had seemed an undeserved honor to put the male in the best guest room—even if Throe was none the wiser.

“Throe,” Abalone said sharply. “A word if I may.”

When there was no answer, he rapped on the closed panels with his knuckles—

The door opened of its own volition, revealing a dimly lit interior. He was about to lean in when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and held him back.

“Allow my brother,” Phury said gently. “You do not know what you will find.”

Z walked in with a gun down by his thigh. A moment later, after those heavy footfalls traveled around the room, he said, “Clear.”

Abalone rushed forth. Indeed, the room was vacated—the bed had even been made. There was no sign that anyone had been there.

Except for the slightly open window across the way.

Verily, one of the multi-paned panels with their steel mesh overlays had been cracked and left ajar.

“He was not a prisoner here,” Abalone said as he went over and reclosed the thing. “Why escape?”

“The more important question,” Phury said, “was how can we be sure he’s actually gone? This is a big house. Lots of hiding places—”

“Maybe this will explain things.” Z went over to the desk in the corner and held up a sealed envelope. “It’s got your name on it.”

The Brother brought the thing over and handed it to Abalone.

With shaking hands, Abalone opened the back flap and took out the single sheet of paper that had been folded twice. The stationery was his own, with an engraving of a line drawing of the house at the top:

Dearest Abalone, son of Abalone,

Forgive me for not relating my thanks to you in person. Your hospitality has been much appreciated and very generous. In recognition of the difficult position my presence must undoubtedly place upon you, I am going to seek refuge with another.

I very much anticipate our paths crossing once again, cousin mine.

Until then, thank you once more for opening your home to me, and until then, I remain,

Your Blooded Relation,

Throe

“What does it say?” Phury asked.

As the automatic shutters began to come down for the day, Abalone handed the letter over. “Nothing of consequence. I agree. I need to search the house, but I fear that shall take too long for you to safely return to your compound.”

“Then we’ll stay the day with you,” Phury said as his eyes traveled over the script. “But until we know you and your staff are all right? We’re going nowhere.”

Abalone exhaled. “Blessed am I for your presence.”

Z laughed tightly. “You think we want to go back and tell Wrath you got your throat slit because we didn’t do our job? Not the kind of report I want to make to the King.”

Phury gave the letter back and put his hand on Abalone’s shoulder once again. “And let us do the dirty work—it’s safer for everyone that way. Where’s your bedroom?”

“Down that way.”

“Come on, we’ll take you there and then get your staff secured. After that, we’re going to fine-tooth-comb this house until we know there’s nothing but that letter left behind.”

Abalone found himself nodding. “Thank you, sires. Thank you so very much.”

* * *

“I am most pleased that you called upon me. And I am sorry that I kept you waiting.”

Throe smiled at the female addressing him and indicated the comfortable sofa he’d been sitting on since he arrived on her property. “It has been no hardship. I’ve been warm and dry. Already, you have been as gracious as any hostess could possibly be.”

The aristocratic female smiled, flashing teeth that were as white as the diamonds at her throat. Her wrists. Upon her fingers and earlobes. Standing just inside the modest caretaker’s residence on her huge estate, she looked like a model who’d walked into the wrong photoshoot.

“My mate is unwell,” she said gravely. “I had to attend to him.”

Dressed as she was in a skintight leopard-print cocktail dress, one had to wonder exactly what kind of needs her elderly hellren had.

Hardly the sort of thing a shellan would wear to tuck an older gentlemale into bed.

More likely, Throe thought, she had dressed to meet him.

“Yes, I recall he was ailing,” he said smoothly. “I’m very sorry.”

“It grieves me so.”

“How could it not.”

“I shall be a widow soon.”

As he nodded in solemn sympathy, he deliberately allowed his eyes to drift down from her black straight hair to her dainty feet.

The last time he’d seen her, it had been here, but there had been far fewer clothes involved—for both of them, as well as his fellow Bastards. She had been lying before the hearth, and he and the soldiers had swarmed over her naked flesh, feeding, fucking. That had been about a month ago, only the most recent of the sessions that had been ongoing for the previous year at regular intervals.

“Is it only you then tonight?” she asked in a husky way.

“Yes, and I must have you know that I am afraid we have parted ways, Xcor and myself. I’m getting out of the fighting.”

“Are you,” she purred. “And where are you staying?”

“I am between residences at this moment.”

“Really.”

“Indeed.”

She came forward, crossing the shallow room to stand within arm’s reach of him. “Dawn is coming soon.”

He sent his stare down her body again. “Is it. Well, then I shall have to go.”

“So soon,” she pouted.

“’Tis only safe.” Idly, he trailed his fingertips up her hip, across her lower belly . . . down to the juncture of her thighs. Pressing in through the dress, he gave her cleft a little stroke. “So I’m afraid I must end things here—”

“Perhaps you and I may come to an arrangement,” she said.

“Oh?” he said.

“My hellren is far older than I. He is my true love, of course.”

“Of course.”

“But because of his advancing age, there are certain needs of mine that he is not capable of fulfilling regularly.”

“I believe you are familiar with my abilities in that regard.”

The female smiled in a feral fashion. “Yes. I am.”

“And it would seem only fair that, were you to offer me room and board, you be compensated in a manner which you deem appropriate.”

The female put one of her stiletto-clad feet on the arm of the sofa and lifted the hem of her dress up to her waist, exposing her bare sex to him. “Perhaps you shall refresh my memory as to your talents first.”

Throe purred in the back of his throat and leaned into her, extending his tongue, licking his way into her slit. As her hips tilted toward him, and her head fell back, he sucked at her clit—

And then stopped. Sat back. “I have one problem.”

“Yes?” she grunted, pulling her head back to level.

“I cannae stay here at this cottage. Not if the Band of Bastards are going to pay you . . . homage. Surely, on an estate as large as this, there must be other accommodations available?”

She frowned. “You are of the Bluerme bloodline, are you not?”

“I am. Through my mahmen’s people.”

“You are a distant relation of my hellren’s, then, and it would therefore be rude of us not to offer you shelter. Of course, if you are going to be in the main house, we shall have to purchase you clothing.”

Throe smiled at her. It was just so perfect.

After all, she and her mate had supported the political coup against Wrath—and there was no way they were rejoicing the King’s subsequent disbanding of The Council.

He had his in, as well as his base of operations.

“That would be most acceptable,” he said, slipping his hands around her hips and drawing her back to his mouth.

Against her sex, he murmured, “Now, allow me to demonstrate my affection for your generous nature.”