Lassiter, page 26
Glancing over her shoulder, the farmhouse she had once resided in for a short time was like something from a fable, a curl of smoke lazing out of its chimney, vampires moving around inside the cozy rooms. It would be about time for the nightly Toll House cookies, handmade and fresh from the oven.
She had met Nate under its gabled roof. He had been working on the garage, putting up panels that smelled like flour and painting around windows. He had been as shy as she, and thus he had been easy to approach. He had also seemed to know that she was not long for Caldwell.
He had been correct. She had come forward through time just to reassure her cousin, Sahvage, of her persisted existence—and also, if she were honest with herself, to ask for his forgiveness. Following that, the Book had given her a purpose that had defined her choice of next destination.
Rahvyn refocused on the forest at the far edge of the meadow… and presently she had returned to the juncture of decision. What now? Did she go back to the Book? Or did she stay here and—
She wheeled around. When she saw who it was, her breath slowly departed her lungs.
Yet she wasn’t surprised.
With purpose that appeared grim, Lassiter walked forward through the dead flowers, his eyes on hers rather than the ruination upon the ground, his bare feet surely chilling to the bone.
“How did you know I was here?” she said roughly.
He stopped in front of her, his blond-and-black hair teased by the cold spring breeze. “It was a gamble.”
Turning away from him, she went back to staring at the trees. She thought about her landing in the forest, the fireball of energy created by her breaching the boundary of the calendar gouging into the earth, her corporeal form emerging from the great divot like a young newly born.
Lassiter cleared his throat. “I came to apologize. I know now what really happened behind the club and I—”
She put her hand up over her shoulder. “Stop.” As the angel fell silent, she cleared her throat. “I want you to listen to what I am about to say, so that I do not have to repeat it.”
“All right.”
It was a moment before she could continue.
“I want you to know who killed the male who took my virtue, who raped me until I bled. Who intended to hurt and humiliate me, who wanted me to feel sullied and used.” Rahvyn looked back at the angel. “It was me. I killed him.”
As those iridescent eyes flared, she faced him once again. “He had left me for dead on his bedding platform, quite satisfied with himself and the condition in which he left me. Whilst he celebrated his victory over his prey with a meal delivered unto him, I gathered my strength even with his chains still upon me.” There was a long silence. “And then I went after him. When I was done with the flaying, there was barely any life within him, and I impaled his remains on the standard pole above the entryway of his castle.”
The gruesome memories were so vivid, she could smell the copper of the blood in her nose anew, feel the cooling of the sweat from her exertions on her flesh. “In rendering him thus, I was not sending a message to those within the castle walls who had heard me scream and done nothing. It was not for the villagers, either. It was because he was so proud of all his power, so sure about how he wielded it and what was his due. His standard colors had always flown over his grand castle. I thought his skinned corpse was a better representation of him.”
Lassiter closed his eyes briefly.
“Look at me,” she demanded.
His lids slowly lifted.
“I need you to know something about me, something you should never forget.” She leaned in, so there was absolutely no mistaking her words. “I liked killing him. I breathed in the scent of his fear and suffering, the rank stench of his body odor as he vomited and lost control of his bladder and bowels. I relished both the sound of him begging me for mercy and the denial to him of that which he refused me. Further, his testicles were in his mouth when I put him on his flagpole. I was cruel and I do not regret it. I sleep well during the day, and there is naught on my conscience.”
“Rahvyn—”
“What is more, I believe that I owe him a debt of gratitude. Before him, there was no balance to me. I was of virtue, but I had no power because I was without aggression. And then… he captured me because of my gifts and sought to subdue me. He had heard about me rescuing crops and livestock, aiding with births, healing with my hands and presence, locating the missing. He feared losing his authority, that others would bow unto me. So he endeavored to destroy me by forcing my physical body to submit unto him in the basest manner. In the aftermath, as I was bound by chains and in pain, I realized I had a choice. Either I retained the virtue of my character, and submitted to my body’s ruin—or I sacrificed all of what I was, and ahvenged myself and my cousin. I. Have. No. Regrets. I am balanced now, the healer and the killer, the virtue’d and the cursed, and I will not hesitate to draw upon either side of me, as it suits or is required.”
In the silence that followed, she was aware of a deep-seated release, an uncoiling of the tension in her body. It was hard to imagine how she would have told Lassiter the details under any other circumstances, and she was glad it was done.
“When I tell you,” she intoned sternly, “that you do not need to worry about my safety, I mean it. I will not hesitate to defend myself and I have the power and strength not just to do that, but to make those who would seek to aggress upon me or those I protect rue the night they were born. I am not the Gift of Light, I am a scourge held in check by a conscience that is very easily dissuaded from its supremacy.”
* * *
There was a plane traveling overhead.
In the resonant quiet that followed Rahvyn’s stark revelations, Lassiter looked up to the night sky with an essential detachment and tracked the slow, lazy passage of a commercial aircraft from west to east. But the lack of evident speed was just about perspective, wasn’t it. From where he was standing on the ground, the 747, or whatever it was, seemed to be strolling. If the thing were going by him? At eye level? It would have been a blur that knocked him off his feet.
“And your apology about this evening is not required,” she concluded, “because I know what I did and what happened behind the club, and that is wholly sufficient for me. I do not need your version of events to align with reality. That is your issue, not mine.”
He re-leveled his head, and as he met her silver stare, he remembered when they had stood out here together that night of the flowers—all of which had died in the cold. She had been so diminutive, so fragile… or so it seemed. And it was that impression of her, as delicate and precious, that had fueled his anger at her autonomy tonight. He had imagined her in the dangerous alleys of Caldwell, surrounded by lessers and shadows and humans who were out to hurt her.
Fear over what could happen was what had made him snap.
Especially in light of what he knew had already been done to her.
“I am balance,” she reiterated, as if his silence made her feel that he was marshaling arguments. “Not innocence. And balance does not need protection to survive. It regulates itself, no matter what, and no matter who, seeks to upset the equilibrium.”
Lassiter closed his eyes—and yet he saw her on the backs of his lids, standing there in front of him, her platinum hair teased by the wind, her face composed, her voice unwavering. In her jeans and sweater, she seemed nothing like what she truly was.
No civilian, this female. But something else entirely.
Come on, though. Like he didn’t already know she was powerful after what she’d done to Nate. To George?
“I realize this changes your opinion of me,” she said. “It changed my opinion of myself.”
A stiff breeze came in from the opposite direction and swirled around her, and he thought of his showy display with the wild flowers. He had wanted to impress her, but also to pay tribute to her. And he realized that part of her mystique, part of what he had been attracted to, had been an illusion, his mind filling in her characteristics—and downright creating others—until she was a construction he’d projected, a melding of her physical beauty, the allure of her grace, and also what he imagined she would seek to feel secure in this world.
He’d enjoyed what he’d created: If she was weaker than he was, then he was required. Want was a choice. Need was more forgiving out of necessity.
“You ended us out here first,” she said roughly. “Thus I end us now.”
At that, she pivoted back to the woods, crossed her arms over her chest and nodded, as if all his quiet was speaking for itself—and she was getting ready to walk off.
“Rahvyn.”
When she made a noise acknowledging him, he said, “Do you want to know what’s going through my mind at this moment?”
As she glanced over her shoulder again, that wind caught some of her hair again and carried it out from the crown of her head, the platinum waves glimmering in the moonlight.
“I love you,” he gritted. “The real you is even more beautiful than the illusion I manufactured. I’m not scared of you, and I don’t judge you. If I’m not talking, it’s because I’m worried I’m less necessary, and I don’t fucking know what to do about that.”
Her mouth opened. Then closed.
He continued. “I’m sorry that I created some kind of image of you. I wasn’t even aware of doing it, and you’re right. You are free to come and go. I was just… worried about your safety and it came out all wrong.” He glanced around. “Look, I’m just going to leave now because I’ve said waaaaaay too much tonight already. I’m going back to the clinic to check on Shuli and Nate, and I’d like to see you there. I’m sure they would as well. I’m assuming you know how to get to the training center from here. If you don’t, all you have to do is go into Luchas House and call me, and I’ll come back and guide you, if you want. I hope… well, I’d like you to see me when and if you’re ready. And if you decide you don’t want to… I get it, I really do.”
He wanted to touch her face. He kept his hands to himself.
“I bonded with who I thought you were,” he whispered. “But yeah, I’m in love with who you actually are.”
With that, he up and dematerialized, leaving her in the field of dead flowers.
Where the beauty of the moonlight was no match for the female who was bathed in heaven’s illumination.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
When Lash came back to consciousness, his eyes flipped open, and for a split second, he had no idea where he was. The room was wholly unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, from the luxurious silk drapes and ceiling fresco of a woodland scene to the Ming vase on a display pedestal and the Flemish still life of flowers over the French marble mantelpiece.
No fire crackling in the hearth, but the ambient temperature was nice and toasty enough.
Potpourri was simmering in a dish somewhere.
“You’re back.”
He looked to the voice. The demon was seated in a silk chair and wearing a glittering black evening gown that had a slit all the way up one side. With her long legs crossed at the knee, there was plenty showing, but in a tasteful way—and to top it all off, she was holding a Herend teacup with her pinkie extended so far out, it was like it had been broken and healed wrong.
Her chignon was a little dated, maybe, but her face was so beautiful, the sweeping style really worked for her.
Lash sat up and discovered he’d been lying on a tufted sofa that was covered in a coordinating blue and green. As a patterned throw pillow fell off, he bent down and picked it up.
God, he loved Scalamandré.
“So are you going to buy this house?” Devina motioned around with the teacup, her red nails fresh from a manicure, an Art Deco diamond bracelet he didn’t recognize twinkling at her wrist. “You don’t strike me as a male who wastes time window-shopping.”
“No.” His voice was rough so he cleared his throat. “I’m not buying it.”
“Too expensive for your bank account? That surprises me.”
“I have plenty of money.”
Placing his feet on an Aubusson rug, he stood up slowly and conducted an internal function review as he went vertical. Everything seemed to be working okay.
What the fuck had happened.
Devina smiled, her red lips lifting. “It’s easy when you can just conjure the cash, isn’t it. And humans think crypto is the way.”
“My bank accounts survived me. From before. I don’t have to conjure anything.”
He was aware that he was answering more candidly than he normally would, but the subject of finances didn’t particularly interest him, and he wanted to understand his collapse without drawing more attention to it. If she was inclined to compete over who could pull more dollars out of thin air? Fine. What the fuck did he care.
“That’s a different outfit,” he commented as his eyes traveled down her thighs, her calves.
The Louboutins she’d changed into had thin straps that highlighted her delicate ankles. And good ol’ Christian was right. Toe cleavage was sexy.
Garbed as she was, she fit right into the house, all lady of the manor. But like the past he’d been thinking he could return to, there was no depth to her in that role.
“You know,” the demon said, “I keep thinking about that mess outside my lair, that inky, stinky mess. You’re creating an army, aren’t you. You’re recruiting humans to fill out the Lessening Society.”
Jesus, if she expected an A+ for that math, she was really reaching. Any idiot could deduce that goal.
Putting the teacup off to the side in its saucer, she got to her feet as well. With those heels, she was almost as tall as he was.
As she approached him, he caught the scent of her under the Poison she wore. She was aroused, but he wasn’t going to fuck her. Even as he hardened in the slacks of the suit she’d found for him, he wasn’t about to get into any habits that were going to be a distraction.
And if she’d somehow been able to find him here, he didn’t need to encourage her stalking.
Bringing her breasts against his pecs, she eased her body into his. Then she locked mouths with him, the kiss ending in a bite of his lower lip that, if it had been any sharper, would have drawn blood.
“I have an idea for you,” she drawled. Before he could don’t-bother that, she continued, “I’ll meet you in the basement of that nasty-ass walk-up with the bathtub at nine o’clock tomorrow night. If you want more humans to turn, I’ll get you some. Feminine intuition tells me you’re missing an opportunity. Have a good night, honey. Loooooove you.”
She backed off and then drawled out of the room.
“I don’t need your help, honey,” he muttered.
Tilting to the side, he watched her leave through the front door, and when he sensed her presence was gone, he sat back down, crossed his legs knee to knee, and looked around. The silence bore upon him like a physical weight and his mind churned over things he could not change.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, in the elegant drawing room, breathing deeply of the scents and feasting upon the beauty around him with his eyes.
In his soul, he wanted to return to where he had started. Nostalgia did not come with a rewind button, however, no matter how powerful the yearning. And even if it did, jumping backwards in time would not undo his own evolution—
Why was he wasting time with this introspection.
With an emphatic push into his Ferragamos, he rose and walked out to the front door. Opening things up, he stepped outside and noted that that Mercedes was gone. Which suggested the realtor had been safely released back into the human wild, but who knew. Who cared.
It would be more efficient to ghost away, but he put his hands in the pockets of his slacks and strode down the walkway. Hooking up with the drive, he continued along, and it was as he ascended the rise that he realized he was providing the demon with a chance to give away her presence. Either because she couldn’t help herself or because she didn’t mean to.
He wasn’t looking for a partner in the war.
He didn’t need help.
Period.
As he came up to the gates, he willed them open, enjoying the parting of the way before him, imagining that on the far side, victory awaited.
After he passed through, he paused and listened to the clanking as things closed in his wake. Maybe later he’d buy a proper place like this. Right now, there were too many things to get organized—
A vehicle approached on the street, moving slowly, and at first he didn’t pay any attention to it. Except then, as it passed, he noticed that it wasn’t a Rolls-Royce or a Bentley. Not even a Benz or a Beamer. It was a blacked-out box van, the kind of thing that a security force or servants might be driving.
When it paused at the barricaded entry that was across the street and down a little to the right, he imagined whoever was at its wheel was lost, but then they pulled in next to a video checkpoint. Which made no sense. Why would servants or employees use the front entrance? That would never be allowed—
The driver’s side window lowered.
And revealed in the security lights a hard face Lash recognized.
As if he could ever forget that goatee… or the tattoos in the Old Language that marked the temple.
Vishous, son of the Bloodletter.
* * *
Lassiter didn’t immediately return to the clinic. First, he went back to the parking lot behind the club. He wasn’t sure whether Eddie and Adrian would have waited for him as he’d asked, but there they were, sitting on top of the building to the rear, their feet dangling off the drop of the roof. Side by side like that, they reminded him of a couple of schoolchildren in some old-fashioned TV ad for lunch boxes.
A matched pair, not misbehaving.
For the moment.
As he came into his corporeal form, they glanced at each other and then jumped down to walk over to him. He met them halfway—or intended to. Two steps in and he stepped on something sharp. Cursing, he lifted his bare foot and looked at the bottom of it.
