Текст книги "The Shadows"

Автор книги: J. R. Ward

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Текущая страница: 33 (всего у книги 42 страниц)

SIXTY-TWO

Maichen sneaked into the ritual chamber and checked on her mother before she tried to leave the palace once again. The Queen was still sitting in her mourning pose, her robes now red after having been changed by staff from those she had had on the night before.

All appeared well for another escape.

Tiptoeing across the marble, she headed for the cupboard in the corner, opening the door and—

“Did you think I would not know it was you,” came the words in the Shadow dialect.

maichen froze.

“You have fooled them all, but not me. I know my own flesh.”

Shutting the cupboard door, maichen fell into the posture of greeting, placing both hands on her shoulders so her arms crossed over her chest, and then lowering herself to her knees and prostrating her torso.

“My Queen.”

“I have allowed you your freedom around the palace.”

“Thank you, my Queen,” she said to the marble floor.

“Do not abuse my good nature.”

“I shall not, my Queen.”

“I believe you already have.”

“My devotion, as my service, is to you and you alone.”

“I can have another of you if I wish. You are as replaceable as anything else in this world of mine. Never forget that I am the sun around which this galaxy spins, and I can alter your destiny with the blink of an eye.”

Her mother’s head turned toward her, the red robing twisting around as if she were some kind of evil creature. And then AnsLai, the high priest, and the Chief Astrologer stepped into the room from a hidden door across the way.

Beneath her robes, maichen began to shake, and for self-preservation, she blocked her mind by repeating the word maichen over and over again in her head. If her mother or those two advisers got into her thoughts and recent memories, she feared not only for her own life, but for iAm’s.

How had her mother known?

“I shall excuse myself and go worship, Your Holiness,” she said, as she would have if she were but a servant.

“You do that. And you might contemplate the fragility of life whilst you are in your state of reverence.”

maichen ran out of the sacred room and escaped through the halls to her own cell. As she closed herself in, she was breathing hard, her lungs burning, her hands shaking as she tore the hood from her head.

She had been spared, she realized, only because her mother found the appearance of propriety more valuable than punishing a daughter who had gone on a wander: if it got out that the Princess had been compromised by interacting with commoners, or even Primaries, it would not reflect well on the Queen.

For a moment, maichen contemplated staying in her rooms, but she wasn’t going to get many other nights like this. The mourning was ending soon with a s’Hisbe-wide ceremony where the Primaries and the general population would join in the Queen’s up-until-now private “pain.”

After that? Especially given that her mother was aware of her forays around the palace and the fact that she was to be mated? Leaving the Territory was going to become impossible.

Likely, she would find it difficult to even leave her suite of rooms.

She had to see iAm, especially if it was one last time.

Extinguishing the lighting overhead, she took off the jewelry at her throat and upon her wrists and left it on her bedding platform. As the with the prior night, she had informed her staff she needed privacy and would summon them at her leisure.

So she had some time.

Closing her eyes, she . . .

. . . spirited away, finding the ventilation shafts and using them to gain access to the great outdoors.

She was not unfamiliar with where Caldwell was. She had seen maps. But the reality of finding the city and locating one particular housing unit within it struck her as craziness.

Except then she homed in on the echo of her own self, her own blood. It was so much louder than she’d expected, a veritable beacon that led her into the dense buildings of the metropolis, those high spires of glass and steel that were as a man-made forest amid a landscape of asphalt and brick and restricted greenery.

Following the signal, she found herself zeroing in on a certain terrace among many others on one of the taller constructions—and upon her arrival, she did not reassume her form. She remained as a Shadow, pooling on a shallow porch-like function before a wall of glass.

Inside the living space beyond, iAm looked up as if instantaeously aware of her presence. Coming forth, he opened one of the massive panes by sliding it off to the side.

“You came,” he said.

Rising up from a loose collection of molecules, she became corporeal. It was only then that the frigid breeze from off the river down below penetrated her robes, flipping them to and fro as it chilled her to the bone.

“Inside,” he told her. “Let’s get you warm.”

She didn’t know what to say as she stepped over the threshold and the gusts were extinguished as he closed them in together.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

How he could read her so well with her mesh in place, she did not know.

And indeed . . . she had to tell him her truth. Even though it was going to spoil everything between them—how could it not? She had seduced him, and he had been the one to take her first, not his brother. She was also the female who, by his own admission, he had hated for so long, the reason for the ruination of his brother’s life.

“maichen?”

She studied him for the longest time, trying to find the words. How did she start? And why had she wasted the daylight hours fantasizing about him, when she should have been preparing to reveal herself?

She needed a moment further to think.

“There is naught,” she said, keeping her voice level as she started to walk around. “How lovely this is.”

At least the latter was not a lie. Everything was honey gold upon the floors and white everywhere else, the furniture understated in the great open space, the view expansive and spectacular.

“Are you hungry?” he asked her—from very close.

Jumping, she looked over her shoulder. He was looming behind her, his body seemingly poised for something.

For sex.

But no, she told herself. They needed to talk. She had to reveal herself to him; otherwise the passion, on his side, was a disingenuous manipulation of which she was guilty.

“Are you,” he growled softly as he stepped in against her body. “Hungry?”

Beneath her headdress, she licked her lips.

His hips rolled against her robing, what was no doubt a very hard, very thick erection pushing into the fabric that separated their bodies.

There would be time afterward, she told herself. She would tell him afterward.

The guilt was strong. The lust was stronger.

“I am,” she breathed. “But not for food.”

As if he read her mind, the lighting which rained down from the ceiling went out, effectively eclipsing them from any external viewers.

“I’m going to take that off,” he gritted, as if he hated her hood.

Abruptly, she was freer to breathe, see, smell.

The purr that percolated up out of his chest was that of an animal, but his hands were not harsh as he reached for her over-robe. Up and off her head the weight went, and then the lighter sheath beneath disappeared.

And she was naked before him.

His hands worshiped her as he ran them over her shoulders and down to her breasts. Bringing them together and up, he tasted one nipple and then the other, lapping, sucking—and oh, it was too good. Her legs went loose, and as if sensing this, he swung her up off her feet and carried her out of the light and airy room, down a hallway, and into a bedroom with a large raised mattress platform that proved to be as soft as a cloud.

“This is how I wanted it last night,” he said as he laid her out.

There was a light on in some small room, perhaps one with water facilities, and thanks to the dim illumination, she could revel in the obsessional nature of his expression: He regarded her with such rapt focus, she felt beautiful without his having to utter a word to that effect.

His broad palms swept down her legs. “I want to know all of you.”

“I offer my body to you,” she said hoarsely. “Do as you wish with me.”

* * *

Rhage was halfway across the Hudson River, heading for the other side of Caldwell in his GTO, when that feeling of being suffocated and light-headed hit him like a ton of bricks.

Swallowing a shot of bile, he cracked his window and turned off the heater. Didn’t help. About a mile later, he nearly pulled off to the side of the road.

“Get it together, ass-wipe.”

Fucking pussy. What the hell was his problem? He was uninjured, looking forward to cracking the case with Assail and his mirror-image cousins, and on the way to see his beloved shellan in his very favorite car. Life was as good as it could get.

He just needed to get a grip.

On that note, he tightened his hold on the steering wheel and started tapping his free shitkicker, the one that was not on the gas.

So close now. He was so close.

Maybe he just needed to hold his Mary for a little bit.

Havers’s clinic had been moved to this new, state-of-the-art location, and Rhage had been to visit only a couple of times: Once when he’d gotten an abdominal wound that wasn’t going to wait to head all the way back to the Brotherhood compound. Another when Mary had needed a pickup after attending to a female and her young son. Maybe a third time. He couldn’t remember.

When he finally got to the turnoff, he cursed at the breathlessness. At the rate he was going? He was going to need treatment.

Maybe he had a virus. Vampires didn’t get human ones, or cancer—thank God—but they could get taken down by colds and flu that affected members of the species.

Yeah, that was probably it.

Had to be.

As the GTO’s headlights finally splashed across a dull, unassuming little concrete-block structure, he felt the whatever-it-was ease off a bit, which was a welcome surprise. At least he wouldn’t have to see his Mary with him lookin’ all wall-eyed weird.

Getting out, he went around to the trunk and sprang the deep purple panel.

The sight of Mary’s duffel bag, which he himself had packed, brought back the symptoms: His head swam and his palms got sweaty—like he wasn’t standing in the cold wind with nothing but leathers and a muscle shirt on.

“Enough with this bullcrap.” He picked up the handles and lifted the bag out; then reshut things. “You’ve got to get your shit together.”

Approaching the low-slung building, he went into a nothing-special anteroom and checked in. A moment later, the elevator came up its shaft and opened for him. Like a lot of things that had to operate in the daylight by necessity, Havers’s newest facility was completely subterranean, the upper part nothing but a prop to weed out valid visitors from potential problems.

Like humans. Slayers.

Down into the earth. Out into the waiting room. As he emerged into the reception area, he wondered how he was going to find her—

“Oh, God, you’re here.”

His Mary came at him like she was being chased, and as she jumped into his arms, he dropped the damn bag, closed his eyes and held her so hard it was a wonder she could still breathe. But, like she said, oh, God . . .

Her scent, her feel, her body, the way her arms wrapped around his neck and squeezed the ever-loving shit out of him—it was all like water in a desert, filling him up, soaking him with a nourishment that he had sorely missed, giving him back his strength and power.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she said in his ear. “So, so, so much.”

Not wanting to put her down, he bent and picked up her bag; then carried her and the duffel full of clothes to the far corner, away from the eyes of the receptionist.

Which were focused on them like the female was writing romantic dialogue in her head.

Whatever, he wasn’t going to get pissy about it, but he didn’t exactly want to broadcast his reunion to the world, either.

Settling his Mary in his lap, he ran his hands down her arms and then went in for a kiss, fusing his mouth with hers as a way to solidify the reconnection. He didn’t trust himself, though—so he broke shit off fast.

Too much lip-to-lip and he was liable to mount her in public.

Oh, heeeeeey, Havers, how you doin’?

His Mary smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a year.”

“Me, too, only it was a decade on my end.”

Yeah, so what if he was a panting dog for her. Fuck ya.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“No, I’m wasting away to normal. I haven’t eaten, I can’t sleep, and I feel like someone has put itching powder in my jock strap.”

She laughed. “That bad? Jeez, I shouldn’t feel complimented, should I?”

Leaning in, he said softly, “And I’ve got carpal tunnel in my left wrist.”

“From doing what?” she drawled.

“What do you think?” He nuzzled at her neck. Nipped her vein. “I’ve had to do something to keep busy in our mated bed. And the shower. And once in the pantry.”

“In the pantry? Downstairs?”

“We had baby new potatoes for Last Meal. They reminded me of you naked.”

More of that laughter and he closed his eyes, letting the joy resonate in his hollow skull.

“How is that possible?” she asked.

“They look like breasts.”

“They do not!”

“I didn’t say they looked like good breasts.” He kissed down to her collarbone. “Or your breasts, which, parenthetically, are the most perfect ones I will ever see. In my life. Or my afterlife. Or whatever comes after that.”

“You’re that desperate that you’re triggered by carbohydrates.”

“Aren’t they a starch? And I jerked off twice in the pantry, actually. Because after I took care of things the first time, I realized I was standing next to the canned peaches.” He surreptitiously inched his hand up her thigh. “And you can imagine what that got me thinking about.”

Ohhhhh, yeah, he thought as her scent changed, her arousal super-charging the air around them.

Abruptly, he eased back. “Hey, you got a minute?”

She cleared her throat like she was trying to refocus. “Yes, sure. Is there anything wrong?”

“I just have to show you something out in my car.”

“You took the GTO?”

“I had to bring your stuff, so I figured I’d take it for a drive.”

“How nice.” Getting to her feet, she stretched in a way that made him want to palm her breasts. “Actually, I’d love to get some real air for a second. I could use the break.”

As they went past reception, he put the duffel on the counter. “Okay if we leave this here for about ten minutes?”

As the receptionist nodded, it appeared that something had gotten the better of her voice. And her sense of balance apparently, because as she went to sit back down, she nearly yard-saled it by falling off the side of her chair.

Over at the elevators, Mary whispered, “I think she likes you.”

“Who?”

“The receptionist?”

Leaning down, he said back, “She might as well be a vacuum cleaner for all I care. And I mean that with all due respect.”

As the doors opened, that small, secret smile on his Mary’s face was a gift from God as far as he was concerned.

Up, up, up they went, and then they were outside and he was sheltering her with his body as he put his arm around her and led her over to the GTO. By some stroke of complete luck, he’d parked the car in a darkened patch, away from the security lights—and that was just perfect.

Opening the driver’s-side door, he put the seat forward and indicated the way into the back.

Mary frowned, but bent down and shuffled into the backseat. As he joined her, he shut them in, and was really glad the glass had been recently tinted.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s going on—”

Taking her hand, he put it on his rigid arousal. “This.”

“Rhage!” She laughed some more. “You brought me out here just to—”

He started kissing her mouth and putting his hands around her waist. “Outcome engineer. You knew it when you mated me.”

As she kissed him back, he and his Beast were all about the thank-fuck, and he moved fast, because he didn’t want them to get caught—not because he had anything against sex in semi-public places, but rather because he didn’t want to have to tear the throat out of some innocent son of a bitch who had come for a Band-Aid and ended up with an eyeful or an earful of what they were doing.

Talk about your boo-boos.

He got her loose pants off one of her legs and her in his lap before pulling a fly-away in front of his hips.

And then it was go time.

When he thrust up hard, Mary let out a curse—as her head bonked into the roof of the car.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he groaned.

“Like I care?” she said, taking his mouth with her own. “I need you so badly.”

SIXTY-THREE

Trez pulled Manny’s Porsche up in front of Marcus Reinhardt’s jewelry store. The oldest jeweler in town, the place had been featured in things like the New York Times, and even the Robb Report, for its extensive inventory.

And by extensive, that was carat weight.

Glancing over at Selena, he said, “You ready?”

“I have never had a ring of my own.”

“Really?”

She shook her head. “There were jewels in the Treasury—” She stopped. “Are jewels in the Treasury, but as Chosen, we were unadorned except for our pearl—and that was not really ours.”

Unlatching his door, he said over his shoulder, “Yet another pity as far as I’m concerned.”

But he was going to rectify of that tonight. Walking in front, he opened her door, and as her beautiful hand extended, he caught hold and gave in to the urge to bend down and kiss the back of it. Then he pulled her carefully to her feet and offered her his elbow.

As she took it, he had a feeling that both of them were ignoring how the gesture was not just that of a polite gentlemale, but something that was needed.

She wasn’t walking as well as she had been.

Before they got to the door, the iron-barred thing opened wide. “Mr. Latimer, greetings.”

The man was dressed in a formal suit and had a neat head of hair and a precisely cropped beard. Along with his patrician accent, and the fact that he had a three-point pocket square, he was pretty much central casting for what you’d blue-sky as a guy who specializes in six– to seven-figure engagement rings.

“Thanks for opening things up for us,” Trez said as they shook hands. “This is my fiancée, Selena.”

“My pleasure. Madam.”

Okay, you had to approve of that bow.

Inside, everything was set up for a private showing, and Trez suddenly felt really fucking good about all this. The cases with their fillings of precious gems twinkled under the special lights, as if they were applauding Selena’s and his arrival. Champagne was cooling in a silver bucket, and a pair of crystal flutes had been set out.

“May I offer you some Veuve Clicquot?” they were asked.

“I think I’m good,” he said. “Selena?”

She tilted up her chin as if she were determined to enjoy herself. “I would like some, please.”

“Make that two,” Trez amended.

Pop! Fizz! Pour and hand over.

He clinked their glasses. “Let’s do this.”

Mr. Reinhardt took them into a private room that had a video camera mounted in the corner on the ceiling. “Mr. Perlmutter gave me your specifications, and I took the liberty of preparing you a tray for consideration.”

Annnnnnnd out came the ice.

In black velvet slots, diamond rings sat up like good little children panting to get picked to answer a question.

Selena’s inhale was like a pat on the back for him.

“See anything you like?” Trez asked.

She tried on every single one, putting the rings on any finger that fit and turning her wrist this way and that under the light. The coup de grâce was her sliding on alllll of them, her ten fingers stacked with about twenty spectacular baubles.

“How much money is all that?” he asked idly as he sipped his champagne.

“Several million,” Mr. Reinhardt said.

At that, Selena blanched and put her hands down. “What?”

“Several million,” the jeweler repeated.

“How much are these things?” she demanded. And then, when informed what the square on her pinkie was worth, she exclaimed, “Dearest Virgin Scribe!”

There was an awkward moment as Trez wished he’d STFU’d. “Selena, I’m not thinking about the price—”

“You should be!” She started taking the rings off at a furious pace. “I haven’t spent a lot of time on this side, but I’ve learned a thing or two about human money—”

“Will you give us a moment?” Trez said smoothly. “And you can take these away if you’re worried about the security.”

“Your credentials have been well verified, Mr. Latimer.” The man got to his polished shoes. “Take your time.”

The second the door closed behind the man, Selena turned to him. “Trez, I don’t want you spending this kind of money on me.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a waste. I’m not going to wear the thing for centuries.”

He exhaled like someone had kicked him in the chest. “Yeah, wow. You’re really missing the point here if you think I’m looking for some kind of time value on the cash.” He gathered her hands. “I want to do you right. I want . . . I just want this experience with you, okay? This time, right here”—he motioned around the desk—“this is our infinity. It’s happening right here, right now. So let’s get you the biggest fucking ring in this place and a pair of earrings to match. Let’s just say fuck-you to dying, all right?”

She blinked fast. “Oh, Trez . . .”

He picked up one of the rings she had thrown back on the velvet tray and put it over the nail of her ring finger. “Come on, say it with me.”

“Say what?”

“‘Fuck you, death.’”

“Trez. Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Hey, on the outside chance the Grim Reaper is listening, I think he needs to know how much we hate his ass. Come on, my queen, say it with me. ‘Fuck you, death.’”

She put her free hand up to hide an off-kilter smile. “You’re crazy.”

“Tell me something I don’t know—and stop ducking this. ‘Fuck you, death!’” When she just mumbled the words, he shook his head. “Nope. Louder. ‘Fuck you, death!’”

Selena started to laugh. “This isn’t funny.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” He smiled and nodded at her, still poised with the ring at the top of her finger. “All together—like he can hear you.”

“Fuck you, death!” she hollered. Then she smiled broadly. “Fuck you, death!”

He slid the ring home and sat back, staring at the sparkler. “You know, I really like that one, actually.”

Selena peered over her hand and regarded the grape-size, pear-shaped rock. “Oh . . . boy. It’s so big.”

“That’s what she said.”

As they both started to laugh, he pulled her in by the back of the neck and kissed her. “You want to keep trying on some more?”

She shook her head. “No, this is perfect. I want this one.”

Putting her beautiful hand out, she did that thing females did with rings, pursing her lips and smiling to herself.

God, I love you, he thought, you perfect, perfect female of worth.

“Are you sure it’s not too expensive?” she said.

“No matter the cost”—he kissed her again—“it’s yours.”

* * *

iAm got naked really damn fast. As soon as he was birthday-suit ready, he wanted to go down on maichen—even though he had no idea what to do to a female below the waist, he was three hundred ready to find the hell out.

Didn’t happen.

The wrench in the works was when he got within range of her, his sex brushing up against hers as he positioned himself on top—

That was pretty much it.

“I need you,” he groaned as she ran her hands up his back and down his sides.

“Then take me.”

iAm forced himself to stop. “Are you okay, though? After last night?”

God, he couldn’t get enough of her almond-shaped eyes, and that black curling hair of hers all over the white pillowcase, and her resplendent skin. She was a constant revelation, one that shocked in a good way every time he looked at her.

“I am well,” she said. “And I am of strength, thanks to your generous vein.”

He really loved her accent, the dialect that was spoken in the Territory tinting her English with the sounds of home—

No, not home, he reminded himself. Caldwell was home.

Reaching between them, he angled his cock and drove in slowly with his hips, wanting to make sure he didn’t force anything.

In response, her nails bit into his skin, and she arched up, her breasts all tight tips. “iAm . . .”

His hips took over, driving in and out, the friction going to his head like he’d been drinking all night. Harder, faster—until she came, jerking up against him, straining under him, one of her hands slapping down on the bed and twisting the duvet up hard.

He just kept going, coming over and over again. And then he pulled out of her and stroked himself, orgasming over her sex, her belly, her breasts.

Even as he was all in with what he was doing, a part of him refused to recognize the significance.

He wasn’t marking this female.

He just . . . nope, he wasn’t.

Because if he was marking her, if this was anything more than just an intense session with a female he happened to be really fucking attracted to?

Then it could put him in a very difficult situation. Especially as his brother was going to refuse to return and do his duty at the Territory, and iAm was then going to have to go on the lam to avoid an ax falling on the head of the only blood relation who mattered to him.

But again, he told himself as he collapsed against her naked body, he wasn’t marking anything like that.

Nope.

Not at all.