The Beloved, page 28
She turned in that direction.
Before she could say anything, he shrugged. “It’s not much, but it’s mine.”
Nalla smiled and started to draw off her coat. “I think it’s just perfect.”
The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. “You’re lying.”
Laying her parka on the seat of a padded armchair, she immediately started to tug her turtleneck free from the waistband of her jeans.
“The kind of privacy we have here,” she murmured as she pulled the black folds over her head, “makes this a palace.”
Nate purred in the back of his throat, the sound reaching her like a caress all across her whole body at once. “Does it now.”
“Do you want to help me with this?” she asked while she tickled the edges of her bra with her fingertips. “I think you’ll do a better job than I will.”
Pivoting, she made a show of drawing her hair together and holding it up high on her head.
She sensed, rather than heard, him approach, and as he caressed her shoulders and then followed her spine down to her hips, she bit her lower lip.
“Bend down for me, will you,” he said.
Nalla was more than happy to do just that—and good job that chair was close. Balancing her weight on the seat by putting her arms out straight and bracing herself, she looked over her shoulder.
Nate was staring at what she was blatantly offering him, and his palms were light as they discovered her ass, skimming over the contours. He didn’t make her wait for what she wanted: He stepped into her, and pushed the front of his hips in tight—
Squeezing her eyes shut, she moaned and nearly fell face-first into the chair—and thank God the thing was right up against the wall. She would have pushed it across the room.
His erection was even better than his knuckles, the pressure stroking her as he rolled himself into her. And when all of a sudden her breasts were hanging free, she was surprised because she’d forgotten about the dumbass bra.
What she really wanted off now was her frickin’ pants.
The idea that the two of them were going to get naked and nothing was going to stop them made her heart soar. This whole thing with Nate seemed both inevitable and a total impossibility. Had she really gone from being frustrated at Bitty for calling her out about the whole shut-in thing to this?
Whatever, she wasn’t going to question anything. She was going to enjoy it all—
The sound of a phone going off was like getting hit with an ice bath, and she jerked her head up. With her hair in her face, she couldn’t see Nate. She heard him loud and clear, however.
“Motherfucker.”
He stopped in the process of cupping her breasts and rearing over her. And as he grew still, she could have sworn she felt his heartbeat in his arousal through where they were in contact so intimately.
The muffled ringing continued. From inside the jacket he’d tossed on the floor.
When things finally went silent, he said, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Closing her eyes, she tried to reconnect with where they’d been. But something had changed for him, too.
Especially when the phone started going off again.
* * *
Nate wanted to stomp the fucking cell into silence. Instead, he straightened from the position he very much wanted to continue to be in, and grabbed his leather jacket off the carpet. Shoving a hand into the folds, he came out with the burner, and muted the thing without checking who was calling.
He knew damn well who it was and he was not dealing with Uncle right now.
As he put the cell back in his jacket, he looked over at Nalla. She, too, had stood up out of the glorious bend she’d been in, and she was covering her breasts with her hands.
Her face was falsely composed, like she was trying to be all I-don’t-care—and he didn’t want that for her. For them.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s just a side hustle in the human world that I do to remain financially independent of Murhder and Sarah. This place is really mine. The land, the cabin—the barn and what’s in it. I earned the money and I’ve saved some, too. I don’t want to have to rely on anybody.”
The change in her was instant and absolute, the tension leaving her, the mask dissolving so that her real energy once again shone through her features.
“I really do mean it that I like it here.” She smiled a little. “And not just because of the privacy.”
“Good.”
“And I’m sorry if I’m awkward.” She gave him a sheepish look. “I don’t have a lot of experience with—whatever this is.”
“That makes two of us.” He stepped in close to her. “So how about we figure it out, together.”
As her head tilted back so she could keep meeting his eyes, he had a thought that he wanted to remember the way she was looking at him right now for the rest of his life. There was just a really special expression on that beautiful face of hers.
“I want to keep kissing you.”
“What a coincidence,” she murmured. “That’s what I’m thinking, too.”
They came together, their mouths fusing again, and he kissed her and walked her backward, all the way to the edge of the bed. As she let herself fall onto the mattress, she was laughing, and he made his way in between her legs, content—for a moment—just to enjoy the sight of her as she let her arms fall loose, her breasts exposed to him once again.
“Let’s lose your shirt, shall we,” she murmured.
He was more than happy to oblige, pulling the tails of his button-down out of his combats, and peeling it up and over along with the muscle shirt under it.
Down on the bed, she made a little noise that was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard—then again, everything she did was the sexiest anything ever.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.
He wasn’t sure about that at all, but like he was arguing with her? Nope. He had other things to do with her—and to get them on track again, he joined her on the bed, the two of them shimmying up to where the pillows were.
Nalla turned her face into one of them and inhaled. “Fresh laundry.”
He felt himself flush. “I washed the sheets and cases and put them back on before I left.” He put both palms forward. “I was not taking for granted that we’d be… where we are. I just thought if maybe—maybe—we, you know, ended up here, you’d appreciate clean everything.”
She snuggled in close and ran her hand up his arm. As her touch registered, his muscles contracted one by one, like they were responding on their own.
“That was really thoughtful of you.”
“Not skeevy, right? ’Cuz honestly… I wasn’t taking anything for granted.”
“Me, too. But I thought about you all day long.”
“You did?”
“Mm-hmm. I wasn’t sure, either. I hoped, though.”
“Me, too.”
For a split second, he couldn’t remember for the life of him why he had ever thought he was cursed. Right now? He felt like he’d won the lottery every night for the last decade…
The conversation dried up at that point, replaced by a furnace blast of heat. And as he kissed her again, slipping his tongue into her, he told himself to take it slow—
That went right out the window as her hands snuck around his waist and she pulled him on top of her. At first, his torso was all that shifted over, but his hips were not going to be denied that kind of opportunity—and she made room for him. Oh, did she ever. They fell into a rhythm almost immediately, the rocking motion making him squeeze his eyes shut and pray for enough self-control that he didn’t come before he was inside of her.
Fuck, if that was the goal, he needed to move things along—
Like she was reading his mind, her hands went between them and he felt tugging at the front of his pelvis, then a glorious release of confinement… followed by a soft grip that was achingly familiar thanks to what they’d done last night.
“I want in you,” he grunted.
“Then come… in me.”
She took over dealing with her jeans, and he ran into a colossal frustration with his boots—fucking laces. But then his shitkickers were off, and his combat pants were off, and then—
Nalla was naked, and lying back in his bed like a total goddess, her hair on his pillow, her breasts so firm and tight, her graceful stomach going into the cleft of her sex, her knees together and off to the side.
“Let me see you,” he said.
She moved in a sensual wave, pivoting her hips flat, bringing her thighs up to her body. Then she parted them, letting her legs fall wide.
He growled so loud, it was a wonder he didn’t wake his neighbors—two miles away.
Gripping himself, he angled the tip of his erection into the core of her, and it was just as he wanted, as he needed, hot and wet, slick and tight, the penetration smooth and in slow motion. When they were joined, he lifted his head and stared into her eyes. Then he kissed her.
After that, he was moving, up and back, up and back. She echoed him once again, finding that rocking motion that kept in rhythm to his hips.
She was perfect. In every way—
Faster now. Faster still.
No more kissing.
Even faster.
At some point, his body took over for the both of them, driving into her harder and harder, until the metal bedframe under the box spring started bumping the wall and she just grabbed on to him, held on to him.
Something scratched his back, and the licks of pain tightened his balls. He knew he was close, but suddenly he was closer and—
Nalla came first, her core fisting at him in a series of contractions, and oh, man, did that ever work for him. In response, he threw his head back as his entire body stiffened.
And then came the ejaculations.
With the pleasure cresting, he thought he was done, but he should have known better. He just kept coming, especially as she wrapped her legs around his hips and milked him like she didn’t want to lose a drop of what he was giving her.
It wasn’t the single greatest sexual experience of his life.
It was the single greatest experience of his life.
Period.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Evan ended up spending the entire day sitting with his new friend, and it was probably a sad commentary on his life that a dead body finally provided him with the kind of supportive ear he needed.
Except she was just so nice. She didn’t say much, but her eyes were always on him, and her listening skills were unparalleled.
He told her things he’d never told anyone else. And she never judged him.
Now it was nighttime—after midnight, actually—and it was time to break up.
“I’m going to miss you,” he said.
It was a while longer that he sat with her on the floor, his back propped against Mickey’s couch, his mind sharp but unfocused, all kinds of things hitting his radar at once and pinging away, golf balls driven into blank walls.
And always, underneath the conscious chaos, there was that driving need to go to the bridge, and hang a right, and find his way into one of those doors with the others, like a homing pigeon called back to a roost—and every time he tuned in to that summoning, his anger redoubled.
He did not blame the trainer. He blamed all of the others who had worn him down over the years, making him desperate for the kind of strength he shouldn’t have needed in the first place inside his own family.
“I have to go now,” he heard himself whisper.
Evan shifted his feet under his butt, and as he pushed his weight upright, he braced himself for stiffness. There was none. He might as well have been doing yoga for the last twelve hours instead of sitting in the same position on the hard floor.
Standing over the woman and her chair, he focused on her wedding ring. It was simple and gold, a symbol of the life she had had before. He wondered again if she had ID on her. He hadn’t looked. That seemed like an invasion of her privacy, although now that he thought about it, he felt an obligation to let her people know.
Goddamn Mickey, putting him in this position.
He glanced over to the duffle bag full of weapons. No way she was going to fit in that, not without him butchering her, and that was a no-go for so many reasons. Messy, for one, plus he didn’t want to see her without her clothes on.
Protecting the dignity of his dead was important.
“I can’t keep you.” He shook his head. “You’re going to…”
Well, the whole rot thing seemed an indelicate subject to bring up to her.
The car, he thought. Start by getting the car.
With a sense of sad resolution, he pushed his hand into the front pocket of his stolen pants and took out Mickey’s keys. Three nights ago—God, had it really only been seventy-two hours? It felt like twelve years—he’d driven back from that property in the sticks and parked on Market to go tell Uncle what the enforcer had done to Mickey.
He wasn’t sure whether the shitty beater was even going to be where he’d left it, and if it wasn’t?
Guess he was going to have another thing to work through.
“I’ll be back in a little bit.”
He almost blew her a kiss. But that gold band was a reminder she wasn’t his to do that kind of goodbye for.
At best, she was nothing more than an office wife to him, someone whose connection to him was work-based—and yeah, sure, the mind might wander from time to time into other areas, but ultimately, the boundaries of their relationship were established and immutable.
As he slipped out of the apartment, he congratulated himself on his mental maturity. Mickey couldn’t have defined such lines, much less stuck to them. His cousin would have fucked a tree if he could have found a knothole.
Descending the building’s common stairwell, he actually smelled the remnants of some people’s dinners, and the fact that the vague aromas didn’t stimulate his stomach in any way was a reminder of how long it had been since he’d used the bathroom. The stuff going on with his body wasn’t natural, it wasn’t normal.
Just like carrying on a one-sided conversation with a stiff and thinking they were a candidate for best friends with benefits.
But this was his life now, wasn’t it.
Down on the street, he looked both ways, and tried to remember where he needed to go. Oh, right. Market.
God, he hoped the car was where he’d left it.
Out of habit, he burrowed into the coat that concealed the weapons he’d hid at his waistband and under one arm, thanks to the female soldier’s holster collection. But the cold didn’t register on his skin, and as he passed a lamppost, he imagined himself just like the metal stalk of the fixture, impervious to freeze or fire.
He wanted to go find Uncle right now, and he started fashioning an if-this-then-that series of choices for murdering the man. He’d been a little sloppy the night before, popping shots at that car all crazy and off his rocker. He’d have done better to wait until Uncle had gotten out and started walking toward that side door.
Except the vampire had been coming at him, and that—
Ping!
That was the closest thing he could approximate to the sensation that struck him in the chest: It was similar to what had driven him to the bridges the night before, a sudden registry on an air traffic controller’s radar screen.
Stopping on the sidewalk, his head cranked to the right.
His body was next, following the direction of his eyes, a missile directed by a target in its sights.
There was no question, no choice.
Evan changed directions and just had to go with it.
* * *
Technically, Shuli was out of a job.
So, yeah, he probably shouldn’t have been in the field.
But come on, people walked the streets of Caldwell after dark for a whole host of reasons. They were going somewhere, like a club—or maybe home after having been out. They were leaving somewhere, like a date that hadn’t ended well, or a hookup that had. They had a broken-down car, a lost dog, a kid who was rebelling.
And he wasn’t in combat dress or anything.
Okay, fine. His hard-core footwear didn’t exactly go with his silk suit or his Alexander McQueen full-length coat—the one that he and the Brother Butch had each sprung for during their last buying trip to Manhattan. There also might have been some click-click-bang-bang accessories that were judiciously hidden because, hey, there was no reason to cause alarm to civilians of either the vampire or the human variety. Plus, he was allowed to protect himself!
The streets were dangerous, after all—
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Shuli stopped. Closed his eyes. Reflected on how, out of all the voices in the world, there was only one other he’d rather not hear as much. But unlike him, Nate had been permanently suspended instead of only out for a week, so it was not his former best friend.
But naturally, because fate was a fucker who liked to knee him in the balls, that meant that—
“L.W.” He turned around. “Fancy meeting you here.”
The heir apparent was standing in the middle of the side street like his shitkickers were the canine equivalent of a piss stream: This Is Mine. And you had to give the big, nasty fucker his due. The impact of his physical presence was enough to make anybody think to themselves that an about-face and some Nike action were a great idea.
“You’re suspended.”
“You know,” Shuli said, “it’s always so great to see you. A real kick in the pants. You’re just a mood lifter, vibe shifter, in a good-wood kinda way.”
L.W. started closing the distance, those size sixteens of his crushing through the ice pack that hadn’t given way under Shuli’s weight. Then again, if your bones were made of tungsten and your blood of lead, the ground yielded.
Everything yielded.
Up close, that hard, perfectly proportioned face reminded you of the father. Big Wrath had the same cruel cast to what would otherwise be seen as standard glymera-handsome fare, and the young one, whose eyes you could see, had a green gaze that was cold as stone. With lips that were a slash of aggression, and a jaw that was an invitation to fuck-around-and-find-out, really, most people wanted to leave the guy alone.
Before she could say anything, he shrugged. “It’s not much, but it’s mine.”
Nalla smiled and started to draw off her coat. “I think it’s just perfect.”
The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. “You’re lying.”
Laying her parka on the seat of a padded armchair, she immediately started to tug her turtleneck free from the waistband of her jeans.
“The kind of privacy we have here,” she murmured as she pulled the black folds over her head, “makes this a palace.”
Nate purred in the back of his throat, the sound reaching her like a caress all across her whole body at once. “Does it now.”
“Do you want to help me with this?” she asked while she tickled the edges of her bra with her fingertips. “I think you’ll do a better job than I will.”
Pivoting, she made a show of drawing her hair together and holding it up high on her head.
She sensed, rather than heard, him approach, and as he caressed her shoulders and then followed her spine down to her hips, she bit her lower lip.
“Bend down for me, will you,” he said.
Nalla was more than happy to do just that—and good job that chair was close. Balancing her weight on the seat by putting her arms out straight and bracing herself, she looked over her shoulder.
Nate was staring at what she was blatantly offering him, and his palms were light as they discovered her ass, skimming over the contours. He didn’t make her wait for what she wanted: He stepped into her, and pushed the front of his hips in tight—
Squeezing her eyes shut, she moaned and nearly fell face-first into the chair—and thank God the thing was right up against the wall. She would have pushed it across the room.
His erection was even better than his knuckles, the pressure stroking her as he rolled himself into her. And when all of a sudden her breasts were hanging free, she was surprised because she’d forgotten about the dumbass bra.
What she really wanted off now was her frickin’ pants.
The idea that the two of them were going to get naked and nothing was going to stop them made her heart soar. This whole thing with Nate seemed both inevitable and a total impossibility. Had she really gone from being frustrated at Bitty for calling her out about the whole shut-in thing to this?
Whatever, she wasn’t going to question anything. She was going to enjoy it all—
The sound of a phone going off was like getting hit with an ice bath, and she jerked her head up. With her hair in her face, she couldn’t see Nate. She heard him loud and clear, however.
“Motherfucker.”
He stopped in the process of cupping her breasts and rearing over her. And as he grew still, she could have sworn she felt his heartbeat in his arousal through where they were in contact so intimately.
The muffled ringing continued. From inside the jacket he’d tossed on the floor.
When things finally went silent, he said, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Closing her eyes, she tried to reconnect with where they’d been. But something had changed for him, too.
Especially when the phone started going off again.
* * *
Nate wanted to stomp the fucking cell into silence. Instead, he straightened from the position he very much wanted to continue to be in, and grabbed his leather jacket off the carpet. Shoving a hand into the folds, he came out with the burner, and muted the thing without checking who was calling.
He knew damn well who it was and he was not dealing with Uncle right now.
As he put the cell back in his jacket, he looked over at Nalla. She, too, had stood up out of the glorious bend she’d been in, and she was covering her breasts with her hands.
Her face was falsely composed, like she was trying to be all I-don’t-care—and he didn’t want that for her. For them.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s just a side hustle in the human world that I do to remain financially independent of Murhder and Sarah. This place is really mine. The land, the cabin—the barn and what’s in it. I earned the money and I’ve saved some, too. I don’t want to have to rely on anybody.”
The change in her was instant and absolute, the tension leaving her, the mask dissolving so that her real energy once again shone through her features.
“I really do mean it that I like it here.” She smiled a little. “And not just because of the privacy.”
“Good.”
“And I’m sorry if I’m awkward.” She gave him a sheepish look. “I don’t have a lot of experience with—whatever this is.”
“That makes two of us.” He stepped in close to her. “So how about we figure it out, together.”
As her head tilted back so she could keep meeting his eyes, he had a thought that he wanted to remember the way she was looking at him right now for the rest of his life. There was just a really special expression on that beautiful face of hers.
“I want to keep kissing you.”
“What a coincidence,” she murmured. “That’s what I’m thinking, too.”
They came together, their mouths fusing again, and he kissed her and walked her backward, all the way to the edge of the bed. As she let herself fall onto the mattress, she was laughing, and he made his way in between her legs, content—for a moment—just to enjoy the sight of her as she let her arms fall loose, her breasts exposed to him once again.
“Let’s lose your shirt, shall we,” she murmured.
He was more than happy to oblige, pulling the tails of his button-down out of his combats, and peeling it up and over along with the muscle shirt under it.
Down on the bed, she made a little noise that was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard—then again, everything she did was the sexiest anything ever.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.
He wasn’t sure about that at all, but like he was arguing with her? Nope. He had other things to do with her—and to get them on track again, he joined her on the bed, the two of them shimmying up to where the pillows were.
Nalla turned her face into one of them and inhaled. “Fresh laundry.”
He felt himself flush. “I washed the sheets and cases and put them back on before I left.” He put both palms forward. “I was not taking for granted that we’d be… where we are. I just thought if maybe—maybe—we, you know, ended up here, you’d appreciate clean everything.”
She snuggled in close and ran her hand up his arm. As her touch registered, his muscles contracted one by one, like they were responding on their own.
“That was really thoughtful of you.”
“Not skeevy, right? ’Cuz honestly… I wasn’t taking anything for granted.”
“Me, too. But I thought about you all day long.”
“You did?”
“Mm-hmm. I wasn’t sure, either. I hoped, though.”
“Me, too.”
For a split second, he couldn’t remember for the life of him why he had ever thought he was cursed. Right now? He felt like he’d won the lottery every night for the last decade…
The conversation dried up at that point, replaced by a furnace blast of heat. And as he kissed her again, slipping his tongue into her, he told himself to take it slow—
That went right out the window as her hands snuck around his waist and she pulled him on top of her. At first, his torso was all that shifted over, but his hips were not going to be denied that kind of opportunity—and she made room for him. Oh, did she ever. They fell into a rhythm almost immediately, the rocking motion making him squeeze his eyes shut and pray for enough self-control that he didn’t come before he was inside of her.
Fuck, if that was the goal, he needed to move things along—
Like she was reading his mind, her hands went between them and he felt tugging at the front of his pelvis, then a glorious release of confinement… followed by a soft grip that was achingly familiar thanks to what they’d done last night.
“I want in you,” he grunted.
“Then come… in me.”
She took over dealing with her jeans, and he ran into a colossal frustration with his boots—fucking laces. But then his shitkickers were off, and his combat pants were off, and then—
Nalla was naked, and lying back in his bed like a total goddess, her hair on his pillow, her breasts so firm and tight, her graceful stomach going into the cleft of her sex, her knees together and off to the side.
“Let me see you,” he said.
She moved in a sensual wave, pivoting her hips flat, bringing her thighs up to her body. Then she parted them, letting her legs fall wide.
He growled so loud, it was a wonder he didn’t wake his neighbors—two miles away.
Gripping himself, he angled the tip of his erection into the core of her, and it was just as he wanted, as he needed, hot and wet, slick and tight, the penetration smooth and in slow motion. When they were joined, he lifted his head and stared into her eyes. Then he kissed her.
After that, he was moving, up and back, up and back. She echoed him once again, finding that rocking motion that kept in rhythm to his hips.
She was perfect. In every way—
Faster now. Faster still.
No more kissing.
Even faster.
At some point, his body took over for the both of them, driving into her harder and harder, until the metal bedframe under the box spring started bumping the wall and she just grabbed on to him, held on to him.
Something scratched his back, and the licks of pain tightened his balls. He knew he was close, but suddenly he was closer and—
Nalla came first, her core fisting at him in a series of contractions, and oh, man, did that ever work for him. In response, he threw his head back as his entire body stiffened.
And then came the ejaculations.
With the pleasure cresting, he thought he was done, but he should have known better. He just kept coming, especially as she wrapped her legs around his hips and milked him like she didn’t want to lose a drop of what he was giving her.
It wasn’t the single greatest sexual experience of his life.
It was the single greatest experience of his life.
Period.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Evan ended up spending the entire day sitting with his new friend, and it was probably a sad commentary on his life that a dead body finally provided him with the kind of supportive ear he needed.
Except she was just so nice. She didn’t say much, but her eyes were always on him, and her listening skills were unparalleled.
He told her things he’d never told anyone else. And she never judged him.
Now it was nighttime—after midnight, actually—and it was time to break up.
“I’m going to miss you,” he said.
It was a while longer that he sat with her on the floor, his back propped against Mickey’s couch, his mind sharp but unfocused, all kinds of things hitting his radar at once and pinging away, golf balls driven into blank walls.
And always, underneath the conscious chaos, there was that driving need to go to the bridge, and hang a right, and find his way into one of those doors with the others, like a homing pigeon called back to a roost—and every time he tuned in to that summoning, his anger redoubled.
He did not blame the trainer. He blamed all of the others who had worn him down over the years, making him desperate for the kind of strength he shouldn’t have needed in the first place inside his own family.
“I have to go now,” he heard himself whisper.
Evan shifted his feet under his butt, and as he pushed his weight upright, he braced himself for stiffness. There was none. He might as well have been doing yoga for the last twelve hours instead of sitting in the same position on the hard floor.
Standing over the woman and her chair, he focused on her wedding ring. It was simple and gold, a symbol of the life she had had before. He wondered again if she had ID on her. He hadn’t looked. That seemed like an invasion of her privacy, although now that he thought about it, he felt an obligation to let her people know.
Goddamn Mickey, putting him in this position.
He glanced over to the duffle bag full of weapons. No way she was going to fit in that, not without him butchering her, and that was a no-go for so many reasons. Messy, for one, plus he didn’t want to see her without her clothes on.
Protecting the dignity of his dead was important.
“I can’t keep you.” He shook his head. “You’re going to…”
Well, the whole rot thing seemed an indelicate subject to bring up to her.
The car, he thought. Start by getting the car.
With a sense of sad resolution, he pushed his hand into the front pocket of his stolen pants and took out Mickey’s keys. Three nights ago—God, had it really only been seventy-two hours? It felt like twelve years—he’d driven back from that property in the sticks and parked on Market to go tell Uncle what the enforcer had done to Mickey.
He wasn’t sure whether the shitty beater was even going to be where he’d left it, and if it wasn’t?
Guess he was going to have another thing to work through.
“I’ll be back in a little bit.”
He almost blew her a kiss. But that gold band was a reminder she wasn’t his to do that kind of goodbye for.
At best, she was nothing more than an office wife to him, someone whose connection to him was work-based—and yeah, sure, the mind might wander from time to time into other areas, but ultimately, the boundaries of their relationship were established and immutable.
As he slipped out of the apartment, he congratulated himself on his mental maturity. Mickey couldn’t have defined such lines, much less stuck to them. His cousin would have fucked a tree if he could have found a knothole.
Descending the building’s common stairwell, he actually smelled the remnants of some people’s dinners, and the fact that the vague aromas didn’t stimulate his stomach in any way was a reminder of how long it had been since he’d used the bathroom. The stuff going on with his body wasn’t natural, it wasn’t normal.
Just like carrying on a one-sided conversation with a stiff and thinking they were a candidate for best friends with benefits.
But this was his life now, wasn’t it.
Down on the street, he looked both ways, and tried to remember where he needed to go. Oh, right. Market.
God, he hoped the car was where he’d left it.
Out of habit, he burrowed into the coat that concealed the weapons he’d hid at his waistband and under one arm, thanks to the female soldier’s holster collection. But the cold didn’t register on his skin, and as he passed a lamppost, he imagined himself just like the metal stalk of the fixture, impervious to freeze or fire.
He wanted to go find Uncle right now, and he started fashioning an if-this-then-that series of choices for murdering the man. He’d been a little sloppy the night before, popping shots at that car all crazy and off his rocker. He’d have done better to wait until Uncle had gotten out and started walking toward that side door.
Except the vampire had been coming at him, and that—
Ping!
That was the closest thing he could approximate to the sensation that struck him in the chest: It was similar to what had driven him to the bridges the night before, a sudden registry on an air traffic controller’s radar screen.
Stopping on the sidewalk, his head cranked to the right.
His body was next, following the direction of his eyes, a missile directed by a target in its sights.
There was no question, no choice.
Evan changed directions and just had to go with it.
* * *
Technically, Shuli was out of a job.
So, yeah, he probably shouldn’t have been in the field.
But come on, people walked the streets of Caldwell after dark for a whole host of reasons. They were going somewhere, like a club—or maybe home after having been out. They were leaving somewhere, like a date that hadn’t ended well, or a hookup that had. They had a broken-down car, a lost dog, a kid who was rebelling.
And he wasn’t in combat dress or anything.
Okay, fine. His hard-core footwear didn’t exactly go with his silk suit or his Alexander McQueen full-length coat—the one that he and the Brother Butch had each sprung for during their last buying trip to Manhattan. There also might have been some click-click-bang-bang accessories that were judiciously hidden because, hey, there was no reason to cause alarm to civilians of either the vampire or the human variety. Plus, he was allowed to protect himself!
The streets were dangerous, after all—
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Shuli stopped. Closed his eyes. Reflected on how, out of all the voices in the world, there was only one other he’d rather not hear as much. But unlike him, Nate had been permanently suspended instead of only out for a week, so it was not his former best friend.
But naturally, because fate was a fucker who liked to knee him in the balls, that meant that—
“L.W.” He turned around. “Fancy meeting you here.”
The heir apparent was standing in the middle of the side street like his shitkickers were the canine equivalent of a piss stream: This Is Mine. And you had to give the big, nasty fucker his due. The impact of his physical presence was enough to make anybody think to themselves that an about-face and some Nike action were a great idea.
“You’re suspended.”
“You know,” Shuli said, “it’s always so great to see you. A real kick in the pants. You’re just a mood lifter, vibe shifter, in a good-wood kinda way.”
L.W. started closing the distance, those size sixteens of his crushing through the ice pack that hadn’t given way under Shuli’s weight. Then again, if your bones were made of tungsten and your blood of lead, the ground yielded.
Everything yielded.
Up close, that hard, perfectly proportioned face reminded you of the father. Big Wrath had the same cruel cast to what would otherwise be seen as standard glymera-handsome fare, and the young one, whose eyes you could see, had a green gaze that was cold as stone. With lips that were a slash of aggression, and a jaw that was an invitation to fuck-around-and-find-out, really, most people wanted to leave the guy alone.
