Lover Reborn (40 page)

The other male rolled his eyes. “I’m already dead, idiot. And might I remind you that your
shellan
’s not the only one I’m trying to get free—my destiny is hers, remember. You fail, I fail—so I’m not incented to fuck with you.”

“Then why the hell is she still in that horrible place?”

Lassiter threw up his hands. “Look, man, it’s going to take more than a couple of orgasms. You’ve got to know that.”

“Jesus
Christ
, I can’t do much more than I am—”

“Really.” Lassiter’s eyes narrowed. “You sure about that.”

As their stares clashed, Tohr had to look away—as well as reassess any privacy he assumed he and No’One had.

Fuck that; they’d had a hundred orgasms together, so…

“You know as well as I do how much you haven’t done,” the angel said softly. “Blood, sweat and tears, that’s what it’s going to take.”

Lowering his head, Tohr rubbed his temples, feeling like he was going to scream. Fucking bullshit—

“You’re going out tonight, yeah?” the angel murmured. “So when you get back, come find me.”

“You’re with me anyway, aren’t you.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. Let’s meet after Last Meal.”

“What are you going to do with me?”

“You say you want help—well, I’m going to give it to you.”

The angel got to his feet and sauntered toward the bathroom’s door. Then doubled back and got his frickin’ cookies. “Until dawn, my friend.”

Left by himself, Tohr briefly considered the merits of punching the mirror—but then figured he might endanger his chances of going out and finding some
lessers
to kill. And right now? That prospect was the only thing keeping him in his own skin.

Blood. Sweat. Tears.

Cursing, he took a shower, shaved, and went out into the bedroom. No’One was already gone, likely so that she could make it down to First Meal separately from him. She did this every night, even though the show of discretion couldn’t possibly fool anybody.

You know as well as I do how much you haven’t done.

Damn it to hell, Lassiter probably did have a point—and not just about the whole sex thing.

As he thought about it, he realized he never explained himself to
No’One. Like, there was no way she didn’t know that he’d had a nightmare again—him popping off the bed like it was a toaster and moody-ing around was a neon sign in the room. But he never talked about it with her. Never gave her an opening to ask about it.

He didn’t really talk to her about anything, actually. Not his work out in the field. Not his Brothers. Not the ongoing struggles the king was having with the
glymera
.

And there were so many other distances that he maintained…

At his closet, he ripped out a pair of leathers, stepped into them, and—

The waistband jammed at his thighs. And when he pulled them again, they stayed put. Yanking them even harder, they… split at the fly into two halves.

What. The. Fuck.

Goddamn pieces of shit.

He grabbed another pair. And ran into the same problem—his thighs were too big for them.

Going through his closet, he checked all his sets of fighting clothes. Now that he thought about it, things had been getting tighter lately. Jackets constricting his shoulders. Shirts ripped under the armpits at the end of the night. Thighgate.

Glancing over his shoulder, he caught his reflection in the mirror over one of the dressers.

Damn, he was… back to the size he had once been. Strange that he hadn’t noticed until tonight, but his body, now on a regular feeding schedule, had blown out to its previous dimensions, his shoulders corded with muscle, his arms bulging, his stomach rippled, his thighs swollen with power.

No’One was responsible for this. It was her blood in him making him this strong.

Turning away, he went over to the phone by the bed, ordered up another pair of leathers in a bigger size, stat, and then parked it on the chaise.

His eyes locked on the closet.

The mating dress was still in it, pushed to the rear, hanging where he had put it when he’d resolved to try to move on.

Lassiter was right: He hadn’t taken things as far as he could. But, God, having sex with someone else? As in actual sex? There had only ever been his Wellsie.

Shiiiiit… this nightmare he was in just kept getting more “mare.”

But, God, that vision as he’d woken up, of his
shellan
ever farther
away… even more faded… her exhausted eyes tortured and gray as the landscape.

The knock on the door was too strong to be Fritz.

“Come in.”

John Matthew peered around the jamb. The kid was dressed for fighting, his weapons on, his mood dark.

“Going out early?” Tohr said.

No, I’ve switched shifts with Z—just wanted you to know that.

“What’s wrong?”

Nothing.

What a lie. The truth came out in the sharp edges to the kid’s words, his hands forming the positions of ASL with hard corners on the letters. And he wouldn’t look anywhere but the floor.

Tohr thought of the messy bed across the way, and the fact that No’One had left one of her spare sheaths on the chair over by the bureau.

“John,” he said. “Listen…”

The kid didn’t look at him. Just stood there in the open doorway, head down, brows down, body twitching to leave.

“Come in a minute. And shut the door.”

John took his time and crossed his arms when he was done closing them in.

Crap. Where to start.

“I think you know what’s going on here. With No’One.”

None of my business
, came the signed response.

“Bullshit.” At least that got him some eye contact—too bad, since he promptly stalled out on the reveal. How could he explain what was going on? “It’s a complicated situation. But no one’s taking Wellsie’s place.” Shit, that name. “I mean—”

Do you love her?

“No’One? No, I don’t.”

So what the hell are you doing here—no, don’t answer that.
John paced around, hands on hips, weapons catching the light in subtle flashes.
I can guess.

In a sad way, Tohr thought, the anger was honorable. A son protecting the memory of his mother.

God, that hurt.

“I’ve got to move on,” Tohr whispered hoarsely. “I have no choice.”

The fuck you don’t. But like I said, it’s none of my business. I gotta go. Later—

“If you think for one moment that I’m having a party in here, you’re too wrong.”

I’ve heard the sounds. I know
exactly
how much fun you’re having.

As he took off, the door shut with a crack.

Fantastic. This night got any better and someone was going to lose a leg. Or a head.

G
enerally speaking, the scent of human blood wasn’t nearly as interesting as that of a
lesser
or a vampire. But it was equally recognizable, and something that you had to pay a little attention to.

As Xhex threw a leg over her Ducati, she sniffed the air again.

Definitely human, coming from west of the Iron Mask.

Checking her watch, she saw she had a little extra time before her meet-and-greet, and whereas in the normal course of business she wouldn’t give any kind of mess involving humans even a drive-by, in light of current events in the black-market trade, she dismounted, took her key, and dematerialized in that direction.

Over the last three months, there had been a rash of killings downtown. Well… duh on that. But the ones she had been interested in were not the sloppy gang-related drive-bys, or the heat-of-passion trigger fingers, or the drunken hit-and-runs. Her group fell into the fourth big catchall—drug related.

Except not in your run-of-the-mill kind of way.

The deaths were all suicides.

Middlemen were capping themselves left and right—and really, what were the chances that so many of those motherfuckers would develop a conscience at the same time? Unless, of course, someone was putting a moral additive in the Caldwell water system. In which case Trez would be out of business on a couple of different levels—and he wasn’t.

The human police were flummoxed. The news media had gone national. The politicians were all excited and getting up on their stumps.

She’d even tried to do some Nancy Drewing herself, but her timing had always been of the day/late, dollar/short variety.

Then again, she already knew the answer to a lot of those human questions: That Old Language symbol for death on those packets was the key. And gee whiz… the more guys who ate their own bullets, the more those stamps had appeared. They were even starting to show up on heroin and Ecstasy packaging now, not just cocaine.

The vampire in question, whoever he or she was, was gradually staking their claim. And after a busy summer season of influencing human filth to take themselves out of the gene pool, they’d managed to kill off an entire demographic in the drug trade: All that were left were street-corner retailers… and Benloise, the big-fish supplier.

As she took form behind a parked van, it was clear that she’d gotten to the scene right after it had all gone down: There were two guys making like mud puddles on the asphalt, lying faceup with unseeing eyes. Both had guns in their hands and holes in the fronts of their brains, and the car that the RIPs had come in was still going at an idle, its doors open, steam rising from its tailpipe.

None of that was what she cared about, however. What she was really interested in was the male vampire getting into a sleek Jaguar, his black hair flashing blue in the overhead light of an archway.

Guess her day/dollar ratio was on an upswing.

With a quick shift, she re-formed in front of his car, and thanks to the fact that he had no headlights on, she caught a good look at his face in the glow from the dashboard.

Well, well, well, she thought, as his head shot up to her.

The slow laugh that came out of the male belonged with the summer nights: deep, warm—and dangerous as coming lightning. “The fair Xhexania.”

“Assail. Welcome to the New World.”

“I had heard you were here.”

“Likewise.” She nodded at the bodies. “I understand that you’ve been performing a public service.”

The vampire assumed an evil expression, one she had to respect. “You give me credit where it may not be due.”

“Uh-huh. Right.”

“You can’t tell me you care about these rats without tails?”

“I care that your product has been in my club.”

“Club?” Elegant brows peaked over those cold eyes. “You work with humans?”

“Keep them in line is more like it.”

“And you don’t approve of chemicals.”

“The more they’re under the influence, the more annoying they are.”

There was a long pause. “You look good, Xhex. But you always did.”

She thought of John and the way he’d handled that vampire wannabe a couple of months ago. It would be a different scenario with Assail—John would have much more fun with a worthier opponent, and Assail was capable of anything.…

With a shot of pain, she abruptly wondered whether her mate would even bother fighting for her now.

Things were different between them, and not in a good way. All those summertime resolutions to stay close and connected had faded under the grind of their nightly jobs, those short bursts of seeing each other seeming to create more distance than they cured.

Until now, in the cold weather of fall, their visits were harder, less frequent. Less sexual, too.

“What’s the matter, Xhex,” Assail said softly. “I can smell pain.”

“You overestimate your nose—and your reach, if you think you can take over Caldwell so fast. You’re trying to fill some big-ass shoes.”

“Your boss, Rehvenge’s, you mean.”

“Precisely.”

“Does that mean you’ll come work for me when I finish cleaning house?”

“Not on your life.”

“How about on yours?” He tempered that one with a smile. “I’ve always liked you, Xhex. If you ever want a real job, come find me—I don’t have a problem with half-breeds.”

Annnnd didn’t that little ditty make her want to kick him in the teeth. “Sorry, I like where I’m at.”

“Not according to your scent, you don’t.” As he turned the car engine on, the subtle growl foretold all kinds of horses under the hood. “I’ll see you around.”

With a casual wave, he shut himself in, revved the engine, and tore off without putting on his lights.

As she stared at the dead he’d left behind, she thought, well, at least she had a name now, but that was the extent of the good news. Assail was the kind of male you didn’t turn your back on for an instant. A chameleon without a conscience, he could be a thousand different faces to a thousand different people—with no one ever knowing the real him.

For example, she didn’t believe he found her attractive for one moment. It was just a comment to put her off balance. And it had worked; just not for the reason he’d intended.

God, John…

This shit between them was killing them both, but they were stalled out. Unable to make things work; unable to let things go.

It was a mess.

Flashing back to her bike, she mounted, put her sunglasses on to protect her eyes, and took off. As she headed out of downtown, she blew past a fleet of CPD squad cars with their lights flashing and sirens blaring, going as fast as their tires would take them toward where she had just been.

Have fun, boys, she thought.

Wonder if they had a protocol for multiple suicides by now.

She herself headed north toward the mountains. It would have been more efficient to just dematerialize, but she needed to air her head out, and there was nothing like doing eighty on a rural road to get your skull clean as a whistle. With the cold air shoving her aviators back onto her nose, and her biker’s jacket forming a second skin across her breasts, she gunned the engine even harder, stretching out flat over the bike, becoming one with the machine.

As she closed in on the Brotherhood’s mansion, she wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to this. Maybe it was just surprise at the request. Maybe she wanted to run into John. Maybe she was… looking for something, anything, that was a change from this fog of sadness she was living in.