As she went into the locker room and picked up the lunch shed brought but hadnt eaten, she didnt feel guilty. And as she dematerialized home, she felt no shame in going to the kitchen and putting the pills in a Ziploc bag and tucking them into her purse.
This was the course she was choosing. Stephan had been dead by the time she got to him, and the best shed been able to do was help wrap his cold, stiff limbs in ceremonial linen. Rehvenge was alive. Alive and suffering. And whether he was the cause of it or not, she could still help him.
The outcome was moral even if the method was not.
And sometimes that was the best you could do.
TWENTY-FOUR
By the time Xhex got back to ZeroSum it was three thirty a.m., just in time to close the club. She also had a little work to do on herself, and unlike zeroing out the cash registers and sending the staff and the bouncers off into the night, she couldnt wait on her personal biz.
Before shed left Rehvs Great Camp, shed gone into a bathroom and put her cilices back on, but the fuckers werent working: She was buzzing. Twitchy with power. Right on the edge. For all the good they were doing, she might as well have been wearing a pair of shoelaces tied around her thighs.
Slipping in the side door to the VIP section, she scanned the crowd, well aware that she was looking for one male in particular.
And he was there.
Fucking John Matthew. A job well-done always made her hungry, and the last thing she needed was proximity to the likes of him.
As if he felt her eyes on him, his head lifted and his deep blue marbles flashed. He totally knew what she wanted. And given the way he discreetly rearranged himself in his pants, he was ready to be of service.
Xhex couldnt stop herself from torturing them both. She sent him a mental scene, drilling the image right into his head: the two of them in a private bathroom, him up on the sink and leaning back, her with one foot planted on the counter, his sex deep in hers, the two of them panting.
While he stared across the crowded room, Johns mouth parted, and the flush on his cheeks had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the orgasm that was no doubt pounding up his shaft.
God, she wanted him.
His buddy, the redhead, snapped her out of the madness. Blaylock came back to the table with three beers hanging from their necks, and as he took a look at Johns hard, sexed-up face, he stopped short and glanced over at her in surprise.
Shit.
Xhex waved off the bouncers who were coming up to her and walked out of the VIP section so fast, she nearly bowling-pinned a waitress.
Her office was the only place that was safe, and she headed there at a dead run. Assassination was an engine that, once she turned it on, was hard to slow, and memories of the kill, of the sweet moment when shed met Montrags eyes with her own and then taken his sight from him, were juicing up her symphath side. Burning off that energy, taking herself back down, required one of two things.
Sex with John Matthew was definitely one of them. The other was much less pleasurable, but beggars couldnt be choosers, and she was about to take her lys out and go to work on all the humans in her way. Which wouldnt be good for business.
A hundred years later, she closed her door on the noise and the cattlelike crush of people, but there was no relaxing in her barren haven. Hell, she couldnt even calm herself enough to tighten her cilices. She paced around the desk, caged, ready to boil over, trying to get herself level so she could-
With a roar, the change thundered down upon her, her visual field flipping into shades of red like someone had just put a visor down over her eyes. All at once, the emotional grids of every single living thing in the club popped into her brain, walls and floors disappearing and being replaced by the vices and the desperations, the angers and the lusting wants, the cruelties and the pain that were as solid to her as the clubs structure had once been.
Her symphath side had had it with the lets-play-nices and was ready to make hides out of that herd of simpering, strung-out humans outside.
As Xhex took off like the dance floor was on fire and she was only one with an extinguisher, John sank back down into his banquette. After what hed seen in his head dissipated, the pinprick tingles over his skin started to fade, but his erection was having none of the oh-well-maybe-another-time.
His cock was hard in his jeans, trapped behind the button fly.
Shit, John thought. Shit. Justshit.
Way to cock-block, Blay, Qhuinn muttered.
Im sorry, Blay said as he slid in and passed out the beers. Im sorry Shit.
Well, didnt that cover things perfectly.
You know, shes really into you, Blay said with a hint of admiration. I mean, I thought we came here just so you could stare at her. But I didnt know she was looking at you like that, too.
John ducked his head to cover up his cheeks as they waaaaay surpassed the red of Blays hair.
You know where her office is, John. Qhuinns mismatched eyes stayed level as he tilted back his freshie and drank hard. Go there. Now. At least one of us can get a little relief.
John eased back and rubbed his thighs, thinking exactly what Qhuinn was. But did he have the balls for that? What if he approached her and she turned him down?
What if he lost his hard-on again?
As he remembered what hed seen in his head, though, he wasnt so worried about that. He was ready to orgasm right where he sat.
You could go back into her office alone, Qhuinn continued softly. I can wait at the head of the hall and make sure no one interrupts. Youll be safe, and it will be private.
John thought of the one and only time he and Xhex had been in an enclosed space alone together. It had been back in August in the mens bathroom on the mezzanine floor, and shed found him careening out of a stall, drunk as shit. Even as polluted as hed been, one look at her and hed been ready to go, desperate for her sex-and thanks to a boatload of Corona confidence, hed had the colossal cojones to go up to her and write her a little message on a paper towel. It had been payback for what she herself had demanded of him.
Fair was fair. He wanted her to say his name when she got herself off.
Since then theyd kept apart at the club, but damn close in their beds-and he knew shed been doing as hed asked; he could tell by the way she looked at him. And tonights little telepathic exchange about what she was thinking they should be doing in one of the bathrooms was proof positive that even she followed orders once in a while.
Qhuinn put a hand on Johns arm, and when he looked over, the guy signed, Timing is everything, John.
Too true. She wanted him, and tonight it was not just in the fantasy, home-alone sense. John didnt know what had changed for her or what the trigger was, but his cock didnt give a shit about those kinds of details.
Outcome was all that mattered.
Literally.
Besides, for fucks sake, was he going to stay a virgin for the rest of his life just because of something that had been done to him a lifetime ago? Timing was everything, and he was sick and tired of sitting on his hands, denying himself what he really wanted.
John rose to his feet and nodded once at Qhuinn.
Thank fuck, the guy said as he slid out of the banquette. Blay, well be back.
Take your time. And, John, good luck, okay?
John clapped his friend on the shoulder and jacked up his jeans before heading out of the VIP section. Qhuinn and he passed by the bouncers standing at the velvet rope and then the sweaty dancers grinding and the people making out and a crowd that was gathering for last call around the big bar. Xhex was nowhere to be found, and he wondered if she hadnt left for the night.
No, he thought. She had to be here to close up, because Rehv hadnt been seen around.
Maybe shes already in her office, Qhuinn said.
As they went up the stairs to the mezzanine floor, he thought of the first time hed met her. Talk about wrong foot. Shed dragged him down this hallway and interrogated him after shed caught him tucking a gun so Qhuinn and Blay could have some tail in peace. That was how shed learned his name and his ties to Wrath and the Brotherhood, and the way shed manhandled him had been a total turn-ononce hed gotten over the conviction that she was going to tear him limb from limb.
Ill be right here. Qhuinn stopped at the head of the corridor. Its going to be fine.
John nodded and then put one foot after the other, after the other, the hall getting darker and darker as he went along. When he got to her door, he didnt pause to gather himself, too afraid hed pull a pussy and bolt back to his buddy.
Yeah, and how ball-less would that look?
Besides, he wanted this. He needed this.
John lifted his knuckles to knock-and froze. Blood. He smelledblood.
Hers.
Without thinking, he busted open the door and-
Oh. My. God, he mouthed.
Xhexs head snapped up from what she was doing, and the sight of her burned his eyes. Her leathers were off and draped on the edge of the chair, her legs streaked with her own bloodblood that welled from the barbed metal bands that were locked around both her thighs. She had one black boot up on the desk and was in the process oftightening them?
Get the fuck out of here!
Why, he mouthed, coming at her, reaching out. OhGod, you have to stop.
With a deep growl in her throat, she pointed at him. Dont come near me.
John started to sign fast and sloppy, even though she didnt understand ASL. Why are you doing that to yourself-
Get the fuck out of here. Now.
Why? he shouted at her silently.
As if in answer, her eyes flashed ruby red, like there were colored flashbulbs mounted in her skull, and John went utterly cold.
There was only one thing in the Brotherhoods world that did that.
Go.
John spun around and fast-tracked to the door. As he reached for the knob, he saw that it was lockable from the inside, and with a quick twist of the stainless-steel ridge, he locked her in so no one else would see her.
As he came up to Qhuinn, he didnt stop. He just kept right on going, not caring whether his friend and personal guard was behind him.
Of all the things he could ever have learned about her, this was one he couldnt possibly have foreseen.
Xhex was a frickin symphath.
TWENTY-FIVE
Across Caldwell, on a tree-lined street, Lash was sitting inside a brownstone apartment in a club chair that was slipcovered in dark velvet. Hanging beside him were the only other remnants of the stylish, wealthy humans whod previously lived in the place: Swaths of beautiful damask drapery ran from floor to ceiling, accentuating the bay windows that bowed out over the sidewalk.
Lash loved the damn drapes. They were wine, gold, and black, and fringed with gold satin balls the size of marbles. In their lush glory, they reminded him of the way things had always been when hed lived in that big Tudor mansion up on the hill.
He missed the elegance of that life. The staff. The meals. The cars.
He was spending so much time with the lower classes.
Shit, the human lower classes, considering the pool where lessers were drawn from.
He reached out and stroked one of the drapes, ignoring the blush of dust that bloomed in the still air as soon as he touched it. Lovely. So heavy and substantial with nothing cheap about it, not the fabric, not the dyes, not the hand-sewn hems or borders.
The feel of it made him realize he needed a good house of his own, and he thought maybe this brownstone could be it. According to Mr. D, the Lessening Society had owned this place for the last three years, the property having been purchased by a Fore-lesser who was convinced vampires were in the area. A two-car garage was tucked in the back alley, so there was privacy, and the home was as close to graceful as he was going to get anytime soon.
Grady came in with a cell phone up to his ear, on the final lap of the pacing trail hed developed over the past two hours. As he talked, the guys voice echoed up to the high, ornate ceilings.
Now properly motivated by his adrenal gland, the guy had coughed up the names of seven dealers and had been calling them one after another and schmoozing his way into meetings.
Lash glanced down at the piece of paper Grady had scribbled his list on. Whether all the contacts worked out only time would tell, but one of them was definitely solid. The seventh person, whose nomenclature was circled in black at the bottom, was someone Lash knew: the Reverend.
A.k.a. Rehvenge, son of Rempoon. Owner of ZeroSum.
A.k.a. territorial fucker who had booted Lash out of the club because hed sold a few grams here and there. Shit, Lash couldnt believe he hadnt thought of it sooner. Of course Rehvenge would be on the list. Hell, he was the river that spawned all the streams, the guy the South Americans and the Chinese manufactures dealt with directly.
Didnt this make things even more interesting.
Okay, Ill see you then, Grady said into the phone. As he hung up, he looked over. I dont have the Reverends number.
But you know where to find him, right. Duh. Everybody in the drug trade from pushers to users to the police knew where the guy hung out, and for that reason it was a wonder the place hadnt been shut down long ago.
Thats going to be a problem, though. Im banned from ZeroSum.
Join the club. Well work around that.
Although not by sending a lesser in to try to make a deal. They were going to need a human for that. Unless they could lure Rehvenge out of his den, which was unlikely.
Am I done now? Grady asked, glancing desperately at the front door, like he was a dog who badly needed to go out for a piss.
You said you needed to stay under the radar. Lash smiled, flashing his fangs. So youre going back with my men to their place.
Grady didnt argue, just nodded and crossed his arms over the front of that fakakta eagle jacket of his. His acquiescence was equal parts personality, fear, and exhaustion. Clearly, it had dawned on him that he was in much deeper shit than hed first realized. No doubt he thought the fangs were cosmetic add-ons, but someone who thought he was a vampire could be almost as deadly and dangerous as someone who really was.
The butlers door from the kitchen opened, and Mr. D came in with two square packages wrapped in cellophane. The pair were each the size of a head, and Lash saw a whole lot of dollar signs as the lesser brought them over.
I done found them in er quarter panels.
Lash took out his switchblade and punctured a small hole in each. A quick lick of the white powder and he was smiling again. Good quality. Were going to cut the shit out of it. You know where to put it.
Mr. D nodded and went back into the kitchen. When he returned, the other two slayers were with him, and Grady wasnt the only one who looked beat. Lessers needed to recharge every twenty-four hours, and at last count, they had been going for, like, forty-eight straight. Even Lash, who could power up for days, was feeling drained.
Time to crash out.
Getting up from the chair, he drew on his coat. Im driving. Mr. D, youre going sit in the back of the Mercedes and make sure Grady enjoys being chauffeured. You other two, take the POS.
They all departed, leaving the Lexus in the garage with the plates off and the VIN stripped.
The trip over to the Hunterbred apartment complex didnt take long, but Grady managed to fit a nap in. In the rearview mirror, the fucker was out like a light, his head lying back against the seat, his mouth open as he snored.
Which bordered on disrespect, really.
Lash pulled up to the apartment where Mr. D and his pair of buddies stayed, and craned around, looking back at Grady.
Wake up, asshole. As the guy blinked and yawned, Lash despised the weakness, and Mr. D likewise seemed unimpressed. Rules are simple. If you try to bolt, my men will either shoot you on the spot or call the police and tell them exactly where you are. Nod your dumb-ass head if you understand what Im saying.
Grady nodded, although Lash had a feeling he would have done that no matter what hed been told. Eat your own feet. Okay, sure, fine.
Lash released the locks. Get the fuck out of my car.
More nodding as the doors were opened and the bitter wind shot in. As he stepped free of the Mercedes, Grady huddled into his coat, that stupid fucking eagle getting its wings crowded as the human curled around himself. Mr. D, on the other hand, wasnt as bothered by the cold-one of the benefits to already having died.
Lash reversed out of the parking lot and headed off to where he stayed in town. His place was just a shithole ranch in a development full of old people-with windows that only had drapes from, like, Target to shut out his walleyed, Depends-wearing neighbors. The only advantage was that no one in the Society knew what the address was. Although he slept at the Omegas for safety reasons, coming back to this side left him logy for a half hour or so, and he didnt want to be caught unawares by anyone.
Thing was, sleep was a misnomer for what he needed. He didnt so much close his eyes and snooze away; he all but passed out, which, according to Mr. D, was what happened when you were a lesser. For some reason, with his fathers blood in them they were like cell phones that couldnt be used when they were charging.
As he thought about going back to the ranch, he got depressed and found himself driving into the wealthiest part of Caldwell instead. The streets here were as well-known to him as the lines of his own palm, and he found the stone pillars of his old house easily.
The gates were shut tight, and he couldnt see over the tall wall that went around the property, but he knew what was inside: the grounds and the trees and the pool and the terraceeverything perfectly kept.
Shit. He wanted to live like that again. This downmarket existence with the Lessening Society felt like a cheap suit of clothes. Not him. On any level.
He put the Mercedes in park and just sat there, staring at the drive. After murdering the vampires whod raised him and burying them in the side yard here, hed stripped the Tudor of everything that wasnt nailed down, the antiques being stored at various lesser houses around and outside of town. He hadnt been back since hed gone to pick up this car, and he assumed that through his parents wills, the property had passed to whatever blooded relative of theirs was left after the raids hed performed on the aristocracy.
He doubted the estate was still in the races name. After all, it had been infiltrated by lessers and was therefore permanently compromised.
Lash missed the mansion, though he couldnt have used it as HQ. Too many memories, and more to the point, it was too close to the vampire world. His plans and his accounts and the Lessening Societys intimate details were not the kind of shit he wanted to risk falling into Brotherhood hands.
There would be a time when he met up with those warriors again, but it would be on his terms. Since hed been murdered by that mutant defective Qhuinn, and his true father had come for him, no one but that fucker John Matthew had seen him-and even with that mute-ass idiot it had been in only a hazy way, the kind of thing that, considering theyd all seen his dead body, someone would write off as a misperception.
Lash liked making big entrances. When he came out to the vampire world, it was going to be from a position of dominance. And the first thing he was going to do was avenge his own death.
His future plans made him miss the past a little less, and as he looked up at the leafless trees getting blown around in the stiff wind, he thought of the force of nature.
And wanted to be exactly that.
As his cell phone went off, he cocked it and put it to his ear. What.
Mr. Ds voice was all business. Weve had an infiltration, suh.
Lashs palms squeezed the wheel hard. Where.
Here.
Motherfucker. What did they get?
Jars. All three of them. Thats why we done know it was the Brothers. Doors are solid, windows, too, so no idea how they got in. Must have happened sometime in the last two nights, because we aint been sleeping here since Sunday.
Did they get into the apartment below?
No, that is secure.
At least they had one thing going for them. Still, lost jars were a problem.
Why didnt the security alarm go off?
It was not engaged.
Jesus Christ. Youd better fucking be there when I pull up. Lash ended the call and wrenched the steering wheel around. As he floored the Mercedes, the sedan shot toward the gates, the front bumper raking across the iron slates.
Fucking wonderful.
When he got to the apartment, he parked right by the stairwell entrance and nearly ripped the door off the car getting out. With ice-cold gusts blowing his hair around, he took the stairs two at a time and shot into the place, ready to cap someone.
Grady was sitting on a stool at the kitchen counters overhang, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up, a whole lot of Im-so-staying-out-of-this on his puss.
Mr. D was coming out of one of the bedrooms in the middle of a sentence. dont get how they found this here-
Who were the fuckups? Lash said, shutting out the howling wind. Thats all I care about. Who was the dumb-ass who didnt engage the alarm and compromised this address? And if someone doesnt man up, Im holding you-he pointed to Mr. D-responsible.
It werent me. Mr. D stared hard at his men. I werent back here since two day ago.
The lesser on the left raised his arms, but typical to his breed, it wasnt in subjugation, but because he was ready to fight. I got my wallet and I aint talked to no one.
All eyes went to the third slayer, who got annoyed. What the fuck? He made a show of going into his back pocket. I got my
He shoved his hand in farther, like that might help. Then he did a Three Stooges, checking every pocket he had among his pants, his jacket, and his shirt. No doubt the fucker would have opened his own ass up for a look-see if hed thought there was a chance his billfold had worked its way up into his colon.
Wheres your wallet, Lash asked smoothly.
Light dawned on Marblehead. Mr. Nthat fucker. We got into an argument cause he wanted some green from me. We fought and he must have nicked my billfold.
Mr. D calmly walked up behind the slayer and nailed him in the side of the head with the butt of his Magnum. The force of impact sent the slayer spinning like a beer cap and slamming into the wall, a black smudge staining the linen-white paint as he slid down onto the cheap tan rug.
Grady let out a bark of surprise, like a terrier whod gotten smacked with a newspaper.
And then the doorbell rang. Everyone looked to the sound, then at Lash.
He pointed to Grady. You stay right where you are. When the bell came again, he nodded at Mr. D. Answer it.
As the little Texan stepped over the downed slayer, he tucked his heat into his waistband at the small of his back. He opened the door only a crack.
Dominos, a male voice said as a blast of wind blew in. Oh-crap, watch it!
It was a comedy of fucking errors, the kind of thing youd see in a movie full of slapstick cock-ups. The stiff wind caught hold of the pizza box as the delivery guy took it out of his red insulated box-bag, and the pepperoni-and-something went flying toward Mr. D. Ever the good employee, flyboy with the Dom cap lunged forward to catch the thing-and ended up plowing over Mr. D and busting into the apartment.
Which Lash was willing to bet employees of Dominos were specifically instructed never to do, and with good reason. You cracked into someones house, even if you were being a hero, and you could find all kinds of bad shit: Perverted porn on a TV. Fat hausfrau in her granny panties and no bra. A nasty-ass hovel with more cockroaches than people.
Or a member of the undead bleeding black blood from a head wound.
There was no way Pizza Guy wasnt going to see what was doing across the way. And that meant he would have to be dealt with.
After having spent what was left of the night roaming around downtown Caldwell looking for a lesser to fight, John took form in the courtyard at the Brotherhoods mansion, next to all the cars that were parked in an orderly row. Bitter wind shoved at his shoulders, a bully wanting to knock him down, but he stood tall against the onslaught.
A symphath. Xhex was a symphath.
As his mind churned over the revelation, Qhuinn and Blay materialized beside him. To their credit, neither had asked him what the hell had happened back at ZeroSum. Both, however, continued to look at him like he was a beaker in a science lab, as if they were waiting for him to change colors or froth up all over himself or something.
I need some space, he signed without meeting either of their stares.
No problem, Qhuinn replied.
There was a pause as John waited for them to go in the house. Qhuinn cleared his throat once. Twice.
Then in a choked voice, he said, Im sorry. I didnt mean to push you again. I-
John shook his head and signed, Its not related to sex. So dont worry, k?
Qhuinn frowned. Okay. Yeah, cool. Ahyou need us, were around. Come on, Blay.
Blay followed, the two of them walking up the shallow stone steps and going into the mansion.
Standing alone, finally, John had no idea what to do or where to go, but dawn was coming soon, so short of a quick jog through the gardens, he had few outdoor options.
Although, God, he wondered whether he could even go inside. He felt contaminated by what hed learned.
Xhex was a symphath.
Did Rehvenge know? Did anyone else?
He was well aware of what the law required him to do. Hed learned that in training: When it came to symphaths, you reported them for deportation or you were deemed an accomplice. Pretty damn clear-cut.
Except what happened then?
Yeah, no guessing at that. Xhex would be shipped off like trash to a dump-and things would not go well for her. It was clear she was a half-breed. Hed seen photographs of symphaths, and she looked nothing like those tall, thin, creepy-ass SOBs. So chances were very good shed be killed up in the colony, because from what he knew, symphaths were like the glymera when it came to discrimination.
Save for the fact that they liked to torture what they derided. And not in the verbal sense.
What the fuck did he do
When the cold had him shivering under his leather jacket, he went into the house and directly up the grand staircase. The doors of the study were open, and he could hear Wraths voice, but he didnt stop to see the king. He kept walking, going around the corner to the hall of statues.
He wasnt heading for his room, though.
John pulled up in front of Tohrs door and paused to stroke his hair flat. There was only one person he wanted to talk this through with, and he prayed that for once there would be something coming back to him.
He needed help. Badly.
John knocked softly.
No answer. He knocked again.
As he waited and waited, he stared at the panels of the door and considered the last two times hed burst into rooms uninvited. The first had been over the summer when hed barged into Cormias bedroom and found her naked and curled on her side with blood on her thighs. Result? Hed pummeled the holy hell out of Phury for no reason, as the sex had been consensual.
The second had been Xhex, tonight. And look at the situation that had put him in.
John knocked harder, his knuckles banging loud enough to wake the dead.
No answer. Worse, no sounds at all. No TV, no shower, no voices.
He stepped back to see if there was a glow coming from under the door. Nope. So Lassiter wasnt in there.
Dread made him swallow hard, as he slowly opened the door wide. His eyes went first to the bed, and when Tohr wasnt lying there, John flat-out panicked. Racing across the Oriental rug, he shot through into the bath, fully expecting to find the Brother sprawled out in the Jacuzzi with his wrists cut.
There was no one in either room.
A strange, giddy hope flared in his chest as he went back into the hall. Looking left and right, he decided to start with Lassiters bedroom.
No answer, and, looking inside, he found a whole lot of neat and tidy along with the dimming scent of fresh air.
This was good. The angel had to be with Tohr.
John hot-stepped it down to Wraths study and, after he knocked on the jamb, he put his head in, doing a quick review of the spindly sofa and the armchairs and the mantel by the fireplace that the Brothers liked to lean against.