The Beloved, page 12
In the tense silence, a blast of wind shot through the alley and swirled around, like it was looking for gossip. And with its current, the stink of lesser blood and burn residue was a sinus salad that sucked.
Meanwhile, all he could see were the stains on Nalla’s parka: Black and red, the colors of the war. She had been… magnificent in her fury at that second slayer, and she had tried, more than anybody else had in such a long time, to save him. Why? He had no fucking idea.
He met Zsadist’s pitch-black stare and kept his voice level. “This is not what it looks like. She doesn’t want me, and I’m not going to try to change her mind. Nothing is started that needs finishing, and before you say it, I won’t go near her. You have my word.”
As he spoke, the residual pain at the wound in his chest exploded into a white-hot suffering. He told himself it was just the last bit of healing kicking in… because that was all he could live with. He’d fallen in love once and gotten crushed, and that had been child’s play compared to what he felt like anytime he saw Nalla in a crowd.
Even if she’d have him, which she wouldn’t, where would it end? He couldn’t die, so he’d just roam the world in loneliness after she was gone? ’Cuz no Fade for him. Not even Dhunhd.
So no, he wasn’t starting shit with her. He had enough of a curse to live down already, fuck him very much.
And in the silence that followed, the Brother’s eyes didn’t budge from his own. Then again, a Black Dagger Brother didn’t back away from anything.
“Your word means nothing to me,” Zsadist said grimly. “And you earned my disregard the old-fashioned way.”
“I know I have. And I’m going now.”
“The fuck you are. We’re not done, you and me. You got shit you need to account for from tonight.”
“I know that, too. But here’s not the place, is it.”
Nate glanced at Nalla and thought about what she’d looked like in the club, a breath of fresh air among all those made-up attention seekers. Now she was shell-shocked, bloodied… yet just as beautiful in a raw, brutal way, her yellow eyes luminous from unshed tears.
He felt like he needed to say something to her. But in the end, he lost his voice so he just gave her a nod, and turned away from them both.
Dematerializing would be a great idea, but that was not going to happen. Shoving his fists into his jacket, he trained his senses on what was ahead of him and got to walking—
“Nate!”
He glanced over his shoulder. Nalla ran up to him, then reached out to touch his mouth. When she drew her hand back, her fingertips were red with his blood.
“Nalla,” her sire barked.
She looked back at the Brother, and spoke the one word that was guaranteed to make the night worse: “No.”
“Fuck,” Nate breathed.
Zsadist narrowed his eyes. “You are going to find out that sooner or later, what you choose becomes what you pay for. But you’re right, Nalla. I’m not in charge of your life anymore. You’re going to have to learn that lesson on your own. And, Nate, now’s your one chance to do the right thing with me. I hope like hell you mean what you said.”
On that note, the Brother dematerialized, up-and-outing from the alley.
With a curse, Nate shook his head. “You should have left when he told you to.”
“How do I know if you’re well enough to go home on your own?”
“I’m not your problem.”
And Jesus, he was a big one. Not only was he in trouble for popping that cop-bot on Market, but he was in the cross hairs of a Brother now. Oh, and he still had a dead human in his side yard that needed a good burial—or a fire, given the ground’s frost layer.
As Nalla crossed her arms over her chest, he knew she was going nowhere fast. “Tell me what just happened.”
“Like I said, you don’t have to—”
“Worry about you? That’s only part of it. At some point, I am going to have to try for sleep and I really need some context for… this.” She looked back at the puddle of his blood. “Who are you?”
“No one special.”
“That”—she jabbed her finger at the place he’d “died”—“is not normal.”
“It’s not me.”
She gave him a don’t-be-an-idiot look. “So who the hell am I talking to right now.”
All he could do was shake his head again. Shuli knew about his “situation,” and so did his parents and the Brothers, but other than that, he kept things quiet. The shit was hard enough to live with, impossible to explain, and he wasn’t interested in helping other people understand what he didn’t want to talk about in the first place.
“It doesn’t matter.” He glanced out to the street. “But your father’s right. I’m not worth blowing your life up for, and anyway, you shouldn’t be angry at him for keeping you safe—from lessers or anyone else. That’s love and you’re lucky he cares.”
There was a stretch of silence, and for a brief moment he felt the quiet satisfaction that comes with doing the right thing. Not an emotion he’d had for a very long time.
Then again, he hadn’t done a right thing for the right reason in—
“Oh, my God, will you spare me the benevolent rescuer act.”
Nate snapped to attention, all record-screech. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You know, you and my father should get along better. You’ve both got the same attitude.” She motioned back and forth between them. “Couple of fence lines for you and me going forward. One, I’m not blowing up my life over anybody, and that includes you. I don’t even know you. And two, as difficult as it may be, try to resist commenting on stuff you don’t know anything about. It might make you feel superior to stand on a mountain, but the truth is, there’s no victory in being patronizing. Especially when your intended target”—she pointed to herself—“doesn’t care about your opinion.”
Nate felt his brows pop up. Then he glanced at one of the two ash spots on the asphalt, where she’d sent a slayer for a little metaphysical ride back to Lash.
“But I am sorry I missed.”
He met her eyes again. “I’m sorry, what?”
“When the lesser—shot you. I… missed. When I tried to kick the gun out of his hand.”
Nate had an absurd impulse to step forward and wrap his arms around her. Instead, he could only shrug. “Weapons can’t hurt me.”
“I didn’t know that at the time.”
Before he could respond to that, she cleared her throat. “And I apologize if I sound like a bitch. But this has been a very long night. I’m tired, and you scared the shit out of me, and my father really pisses me off. So that’s where I’m at.”
Everything about her, from the flush on her cheeks, to the way she crossed those arms, to the scent of her and the rhythm of her words, became vividly, achingly clear to him. Then again, the fog that covered everything and everyone around him—that was so innate to him that he didn’t really notice it anymore—never had applied to her.
He had always seen her clearly.
“Why’s your night been so hard,” he asked softly. “Apart from me playing dead back there. And the lesser thing. Well, things, really, ’cuz there were two. Then your dad. Actually, you’re right. That’s a list right there, isn’t it.”
Her eyes flared in surprise like people didn’t ask her for personal details very often. He felt the same way. They weren’t something he asked for very often. Or at all.
“I, ah, I started it with a fight with my best friend.”
“Oh, yeah.” He nodded. “I know what that feels like.”
Not that he and Shuli had been friends for a long time. But they absolutely had had conflict in that Tesla.
“Some nights are better off not starting,” he muttered.
“You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Your definition of ‘nothing’ and mine are different.” She paused, as if to give him an opportunity to speak. “But there you go.”
As she took a step back, he wanted to ask her to stay with him. Yeah, and then what? They were just going to stand here, shooting the shit, while he dodged her entirely reasonable questions and they were sitting ducks for lessers?
“I’d tell you to take care of yourself,” she murmured, “but like you said, I’m guessing that isn’t necessary. Anyway, thanks for having my back over there, and here’s your phone.”
He accepted the thing from her. “You’re welcome—”
With a curt nod, she was up and out, the thin air she left behind nothing compared to her physical presence.
As he felt a letdown, he reminded himself that he had more important things to worry about than a female who was never going to be his, anyway.
Time to go get rid of that body.
* * *
A couple of blocks away, in Bathe’s VIP section, Bitty was hitting the proverbial wall. It wasn’t that the people around her weren’t fun. They were laughing and enjoying themselves, for sure. And it wasn’t that she felt unsafe. She was surrounded by other vampires, many of whom had been trained by the Brotherhood to fight. And it wasn’t that she minded the music or the presence of humans or the attention her dress was getting her.
Well, she was a little tired of hem maintenance.
But she was ready to leave. She didn’t hate the club scene; it just wasn’t her—and she had to admit that Nalla might have a point. Going out just to not be home wasn’t much better than staying home to avoid going out.
A cup of coffee would have been better.
“Lyric,” she said. “I think I’m going to go.”
The female turned away from the guy she was talking to, her beautiful silver dress shimmering as her body moved. “But you just got here.”
“It’s been an hour.”
“That’s no time at all.”
“I have to go to bed early today. I’m working a double tomorrow night.”
That wasn’t exactly true. She was going to volunteer for a double so that she had an excuse in case anybody asked her to do something.
“Well, I’m so glad you came.”
Lyric threw her arms around Bitty, and the hug was so genuine, so not a social performance, that there was shy happiness in the way her presence was accepted by one of the “in-crowd.” And yes, that was kinda high school–ish, but the fact was, Shuli, Rhamp, and Lyric were a trio people gravitated to and revolved around.
“You’ll come again, right?” Lyric asked.
The hopeful expression was kind of inexplicable, but Bitty found herself nodding and feeling optimistic. It wasn’t always the club that they all went to. The group did movie nights and pancake marathons, mountain climbing and house parties. She would like to be a part of all that. Or some of that.
Or at least have the option to go to a few things.
“I would love to.”
“Great.”
There was another hug, and that started a rush of embraces—except for Shuli’s six-pack worth of rat pack, as he called them. Those aristocratic males hung back, even as she clinched up with everybody else. Well, almost everyone.
L.W. was where he’d been the whole time, still in that lean-back sprawl with those hooded eyes missing nothing even though he’d been drinking all along.
“You’ll want to go out the rear,” Lyric said, pointing to the fire door. “That alley is really quiet so you’ll be able to dematerialize easily. Rhamp, take her out so she’s safe.”
“Yup, absolutely.” The female’s brother put his martini down. “Come on, Bitty, I gotchu.”
Rhamp did up the button on his slick suit jacket, slipped a friendly arm around her shoulders, and walked her up the steps and around the sitting area. Just as they came to the exit, one of his boys called his name.
“Wait here a sec,” he said as he started to go back.
At that moment, the music changed beat, and it was like someone in the sound booth had turned the volume up. When her stomach rolled and she felt a little dizzy, she punched the bar on the steel panel and—
“Oh, thank God,” she murmured as she went out into the cold and took a deep breath.
The door slammed shut behind her and she released an exhale as if she were a smoker making rings. Her overheated skin basked in the temperature drop, and the wonky feeling dissipated, too. With her relief hitting, she was glad she’d taken a chance, on the dress and the club—
Behind her, the door reopened, the music and laughter flaring, a waft of heat warming her back like a hearth set with a fire.
“Thanks, Rhamp,” she said. “I’ll just head—”
The scent registered first. And then a deep voice rumbled, “Not Rhamp.”
Bitty turned around slowly. L.W. was standing just outside the club, and God… he was huge. It wasn’t just that he towered over her in height, it was the breadth of him. His expression, too. Resting bitch face? More like trained killer, who might, or might not, wait for a private corner to make his move.
His pale green eyes were so unwavering that Bitty had to look away—and as for all of January’s freezing cold? Was it cold? She couldn’t feel anything.
No, that wasn’t exactly true…
“I’ve noticed something about you,” he said.
She tugged at the hem of her dress, thinking that the damn thing seemed tighter and shorter and lower cut. “What might that be.”
“You’re a hugger.”
It was such a non sequitur that she glanced back up at him. “I’m sorry?”
“You hug people, and when you do, you mean it.”
“Oh. Thank you? I guess.”
His eyes traveled down her body. “New dress. You usually wear jeans and sweaters in the winter.”
“How do you know what I wear?”
“I watch you.”
“Why,” she whispered.
The shrug was causal. The light in his eyes was volcanic. The energy coming off his body was…
“You never hug me,” he said.
“I’m sorry, wha—” She cleared her throat and measured his heavy shoulders. “Well, you’re not… exactly the huggable type.”
“No? Why not.”
Her eyes drifted to his chest. There were weapons under his jacket, probably holstered beneath his arms and around his waist. The guns and knives weren’t off-putting; her father was always armed, so she was used to all that. But the idea of getting up close to L.W.’s body, feeling it against her?
He opened his arms. “How about me.”
This was why I had to come, she thought. This moment, right here.
And yet she was frozen by the sense that something was coming, something that was…
After a moment, L.W. lowered his arms. “Fair enough. But I’m staying until you’ve safely dematerialized.”
Bitty shook herself back to attention. “You’ve just surprised me, that’s all.”
“You don’t have to explain.” And he didn’t seem particularly offended. “Have a good night.”
“I don’t know if I can dematerialize.”
“Why not?” He frowned. “Are you ill?”
“No.”
With his hair all but shaved on the sides, and the length of it braided down the center of his head, his face was accentuated, the jaw cut but not heavy, his cheekbones high, his brows somehow always arched with disdain no matter what the bottom half of his visage was doing. Not that she had seen him smile. Ever—
The emergency exit opened abruptly, a blue glow flooding out.
And that was when it happened.
The vision that had vibrated just under the veil of her consciousness broke through into proper awareness, and she saw L.W.’s autocratic face just as it was now, with one side in shadow and the other bathed in a dark-blue illumination. And then—yes, exactly like he was doing now—he looked at whoever was peering out.
“You have a secret,” she heard herself say softly.
L.W.’s head whipped back to her. “What.”
“Something you cannot share… and it’s come home tonight.” She narrowed her eyes as her words came faster and faster. “You need to be careful, L.W. Your anger is your downfall, and that which you were cheated of was stolen by a thief who doesn’t care about its ill-gotten gains. Unless you can forgive fate, you are going to destroy… all of us—”
“L.W.” Mharta leaned out of the door she’d opened. “What are you doing out here.”
He ignored the female. “What did you say.”
Bitty shook her head and took a step back, mostly to get herself free of the trance-like state that had come over her. “I’m sorry. Nothing. It was—I don’t know, I was just rambling. Forget it.”
Mharta nodded and waved a pointed see-ya. “Yeah, goodnight. Great to have you—L.W., let’s go back inside. It’s freezing out here.”
Forcing herself to calm down, Bitty closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and prayed—prayed—that she could focus well enough to get herself away from the alley. Unfortunately, concentration was required, and she couldn’t decide what freaked her out more.
What she’d just said to L.W.
Or the fact that he’d wanted her to hug him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In the basement of the abandoned office building, Evan woke up facedown in a warm puddle. He was making awful sounds, all wet and bubbly… just like the noises that had come out of Mickey right after his throat had been cut. But at least Evan could breathe, even if he couldn’t think, and he pushed at the hard surface he was on, feeling a viscous liquid drip off his nose and his chin, and drool from his mouth—
One of his palms slipped out from under him and he slammed back down. Turning his head so he could get some air into his lungs, he shifted his stiff legs and moaned. His joints felt like they had nails driven into them, and his skull was throbbing as if his brain had swollen three times its size…
The stench was inside him. Under his skin, inside his bones, clogging up his chest and his guts. He was the smell—
That wasn’t so bad, was it.
The trainer’s mocking voice echoed in his consciousness, as it had echoed in the barren basement, and with it came images, terrible images, that filtered through his logy confusion. The memories were horrific, his blood being taken by that man who was no normal man, what was in Evan’s jugular swallowed like something extracted from the earth, claimed by the one who had bitten him, taken until he was on the verge of death. And then the black oil that smelled so bad, that was in all those buckets and on the floor, had been forced down his throat, his mouth cranked open, a wrist pressed and held against his lips until his front teeth were going to snap off, the flow like a hose, pumping and plumping him up, a tire about to burst.
