Lassiter, page 6
It felt like she had waited an eternity for—
The demon whipped her face up off the pillow for long enough to spit out, “Will you please take whatever that is off my stove?”
The fact that she sprinkled a p-word in there was evidence of her tremendous personal growth. As recently as a couple of days ago, she would have gone with the fuck’ing, and not in a good way. Hell, she might have even led with some lead. But true love had changed her for the better.
Maybe they needed to go for a vacation. Fiji? Yes, something tropical. They could even pretend to be humans. Go to a travel agent. Book first class—because if you flew private, not as many people could envy you during the flight. And when they landed, they could go stay in one of those luxurious huts that were staked over the aquamarine water.
Waiters would bring them fresh fruit and gourmet meals. They would get couples massages and swim in the ocean—
“Okay, this is bullshit.”
With a violent twist, she jacked herself up and over—
No one was at her stove. Nothing was burning. And nobody had spilled a thing of baby powder in her bathroom area because, hello, she wasn’t an old biddy who used the stuff.
For no good reason, she swung her eyes to the toasted Birkin. But like it was suddenly going to start smelling—
“Where are you?” she demanded. “Lash. Where the fuck are you.”
Jumping to her feet, she looked around and thought about the dream that had woken her up before. Tendrils of it reattached and clawed into the center of her chest as she spun on the ball of her foot, searching, searching…
Her lover was gone. She didn’t need to cast aside the screen around the tub to know he wasn’t behind the silk panels. How the fuck had he left?
As her anxiety threatened to get totally out of hand, she told herself that the spell was still in force. Lassiter’s true love was ruined, she had her male, all was good. Her taking a quick crash-nap after a marathon sexfest was not going to change any of that. So… this was part of the dance. The push and pull. Maybe he’d gone out to buy her something—
She glared at the door. How the fuck had he gotten out?
Prowling over to the steel panel, she clothed herself, wrapping her body in a second skin of black leather, popping her arches tall with a pair of stilettos, sweeping her hair up in a twist. When she arrived at the exit, she put her hand on the cool metal.
He should not have been able to leave, and not because of any physical lock.
Glancing over her shoulder, she eyed the rows of clothing racks, some of which were six feet tall, all of which were stuffed with hanging clothes. But what was the likelihood he was playing hide-and-seek in her Chanel? No, she’d sense him if he were here.
Back to the door. She’d worry about how he got out of the damn thing later. Right now, she had to find him, and as she stepped through the portal and reentered the physical world of Caldwell, she felt the shimmy of the transition—
“Oh, God.”
The stench was so bad, she put the crook of her elbow up to her mouth and nose. She had always hated baby powder to begin with; the shit was right up there on the no-go list with vanilla-infused perfumes. But add in a whiff of roadkill?
Gagging, she almost stepped back into her lair for a couple of clean breaths—because conjuring a World War II–era gas mask onto her face would ruin her hair and makeup. But then something caught her eye, way down to the left.
A glossy… puddle, on the pale concrete floor.
She’d recognize that color red anywhere. It was one of her wardrobe staples.
With a wave of her hand, she lined the corridor with Jo Malone scented candles, the Velvet Rose & Oud fragrance crowding into the air, thank fuck. As she walked along the hallway in the flickering light, it was like proceeding down an aisle, and for a split second, she pictured her blond lover at the end waiting for her in a tuxedo, one of her shadows standing in for the preacher because, duh.
The curdling dread she was trying to hold off with rational thinking returned to her the closer she got to the carnage, but not because she was worried something violent had happened to her male.
Quite the contrary.
She stopped at the pool of blood, and smelled the copper.
It was definitely a human who had done the leaking. But there was something else… black streaks and smudges. On the concrete wall, on the floor by the sanguine pool.
Lowering herself onto her haunches, she swiped her forefinger through some of the strange inky substance—and she didn’t need to make it all the way to her nose. That was the source of the stink.
Wrinkling her nose, she manifested a damask napkin out of thin air, and then decided she needed something stronger. A restaurant-type wet wipe appeared on cue and opened its foiled packet for her, the damp square just what she needed.
As she wiped the nasty off her finger, she reminded herself again that if Lash were just a doormat, they would never last. This, though, was more than a little defiance.
She thought back to the word that had appeared on her wall, when the Book had been engineering this result with the spell it created for her.
OMEGA.
Her eyes focused on the human blood. There was so much of it. Quarts of the stuff.
“Jimmy? Where you at, my man?”
Looking up, she got a stiff-angled view of a security guard stopping dead as he saw the candles lining the corridor. Then he glanced down at her, focused on what she was kneeling by, and went straight-up horror movie drop-jaw. As he sputtered and flapped one of his arms like he’d gotten a bee sting on his wrist, she recognized him. He was one of the younger ones she fucked with when she was bored, making disembodied footstep noises around him and sending drafts his way just to freak him out.
When he started to fumble with the communicator on his shoulder, she rolled her eyes, willed him into some amnesia, and sent him away. She’d have preferred peeling his skin off and leaving him all anatomy-chart on the floor next to what was no doubt his buddy Bobby’s hemorrhage, but right now she didn’t need the hassle of a bunch of cops showing up and going Karen on this situation.
Humans were so reactive to dead bodies.
Just as she was trying not to come to a conclusion that seemed unavoidable, a glint of silver caught her eye. In the midst of the blood puddle, a metal wedge nearly the size of her palm caught the candlelight, and she had to stretch her arm out to reach it.
It was the security company’s shield, torn off a uniform.
As she wiped the blood off with her thumb, she shook her head; and then she tossed the thing over her shoulder. The Lessening Society had never interested her. That shit had been between the Omega and the vampires, the war that had waged for centuries having nothing to do with her shit. Still, from time to time, she had run across the undead, soulless soldiers who had been initiated into the order.
That was the sickly sweet smell. She just hadn’t recognized it at first.
And this was where one had been inducted.
Devina rose to her full height. Then she closed her eyes and put out her hand. When a tickle registered on her palm, she popped her lids. The lock of blond hair was tied with a tiny black satin bow.
She’d cut it from her lover’s head when he’d been sleeping, and as she’d done the snip-snip, she’d had a flare of conscience—not because she’d arguably violated his privacy, but because the spirit of the spell was being tainted by her insecurity.
After all, if this was her true love, why would he ever leave her.
Now she felt like a fucking genius.
Pinching the fibers between her forefinger and thumb, she held the bundle to the dull ceiling light, the strands like spun gold.
They would show her where Lash was.
And when she found him?
They were going to have one hell of a marital moment. A little push-and-pull was fine, but taking off on her? Unacceptable.
Unless he was buying her a present, of course.
That human he just turned better be carrying a fuckload of shopping bags.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Wrath, son of Wrath, sire of Wrath, stood at the entrance of his fucking home with his shitkickers planted and the wind coming up the mountain blowing his hair back like he was Cindy-goddamn-Crawford from the eighties. In a ring in front of him, the Brotherhood was lined up and ready to fight, the scents of their aggression thick in his nose.
Along with their rank-and-stank disapproval that he’d crashed this party.
Like he cared.
What was tickling his whole asshole, to borrow the phrase from Hova, was the arrival of the two males who’d triggered V’s monitoring system way down at the bottom of the mountain. The security sensors had picked them up immediately, and Wrath had overheard all kinds of chatter describing their Mini, their slow ascent up the drive, their disembarkation from that stupid pocket rocket of a toy car.
They shouldn’t have been able to navigate through the mhis.
So yeah, he was coming out to join the fun, too, and he didn’t care if it got the brothers’ diapers in a wad.
“We’re looking for Lassiter. We’ve come for the angel.”
As one of the pair spoke up, Wrath flared his nostrils. The scents that weaved through the familiars of his warriors were a variant of clean salt water.
“Names,” Wrath demanded.
“Eddie,” came the response. “And this is Adrian. We mean you no harm, we come in peace.”
Wrath bared his fangs as they fully descended from the roof of his mouth. “Does it look like we’re worried about you doing shit on my property?”
“Ah… no, sir. It doesn’t.”
“And what do you want with Lassiter.”
“No offense, that’s our business.”
“No offense, but fuck off with that. What do you want with him.”
He sensed the pair glancing at each other. Maybe they actually turned their heads, maybe they didn’t, but they were definitely checking in without speaking. And what do you know. He had the time and inclination to wait things the fuck out to see what they came up with.
“We are family,” the other one, Adrian, said in a cheery voice. “Pointer Sisters. You know.”
“Hey, I like that song—”
As somebody shhhh’d Rhage, Wrath closed his eyes behind his wraparounds and focused on the energy coming at him. Neither was evil or playing a subterfuge game by lying, but that didn’t mean they could be trusted. You could sucker-punch a lot of people while acting in your own self-interest.
“We’ve been sent here to collect him,” the Eddie one said. “And bring him home.”
“You can have him,” V muttered.
Wrath sent a glare in the brother’s direction. “Who sent you.”
“So Lassiter has been here?” Eddie pressed.
“What are you,” Wrath demanded.
“I’m an Aries, he’s a Virgo,” the other guy said. “He drives me nuts. He alphabetizes the spices. Like, why?”
For a moment, everyone seemed to focus on the commentator. Like they couldn’t believe—
“You are totally related to that fallen angel,” Wrath felt compelled to comment.
“Cousins, you might say,” came the happy answer. “And we’ve been looking for him for about three years. Our boss wants him back—oh, hey, kitty-kitty. C’mere, little guy.”
A meow lit off next to Wrath, and then his keen hearing picked up the nearly imperceptible padding of four cat paws toe-beaning their way by him and proceeding down the steps. There was a second feline vocalization, and then the kind of cooing that was more typically associated with grandmas and babies.
“What do they call you, my man?”
“His name is Boo,” Wrath said dryly. “And he doesn’t like people.”
Well, other than Beth and iAm.
“Good thing I’m an angel, huh,” the Adrian one explained. “Isn’t that right, Boo-boo.”
“Look,” the first guy spoke up again. “We don’t want trouble. We just need to—”
“And what if Lassiter doesn’t want to leave.” Wrath cocked a brow. “What’re you going to do then.”
“He doesn’t have a choice, and he knows this.”
“You come with handcuffs?” V grumbled. “Because I am not that lucky and there’s a Golden Girls marathon next weekend.”
Wrath took a moment to retreat to his happy place—where he imagined wrapping Vishous’s entire head with duct tape and leaving no gaps for the lip-flapping or the breathing.
Then he forced himself to refocus. “Lassiter is not here.”
“Do you know where he is?” the Eddie guy asked.
“No, I don’t. I can’t help you with that.”
“But he’s been here.” When Wrath nodded, the angel muttered something that sounded like a curse. “Can we leave you a number where he can reach us?”
“I’m not playing secretary for you.”
“It would be a decent thing to do.”
“We’re not into being decent for trespassers, sorry. I will say that your door prize, for leaving now under your own steam, is that we won’t break any of your legs showing you the way back down the mountain.”
“You know,” Adrian said over the purring, “I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest you do not have a future in the cruise ship industry. Or any hospitality field, really.”
Wrath blinked. And then laughed a little. “I’m not interested in a career change outside of Caldwell, thanks. Especially not with Devina’s new boyfriend—”
“Devina?” the Eddie one said sharply. “No.”
“You know her?”
There was a clearing of the throat. “That’s a name I didn’t think I’d have to worry about anymore.”
“She is a bitch. For real.”
“Do you—how do you know her?”
V spoke up. “We did some rounds with her just the other night. And got to check out her new male. Things are going so great.”
“I’m sorry—she’s here? Now? That’s not possible.”
“I wouldn’t gate-keep my boys,” Wrath drawled, “on shit they’ve actually seen.”
“And fought,” someone cut in.
The trespasser’s words got tight and fast: “You don’t understand. Her mirror was destroyed. She’s trapped in the Well of Souls again.”
Wrath waved off the whining. “Whatever, I don’t argue with reality or convince others of it, so you can fuck around and find out. Now hop back in your little Matchbox car and get the fuck off my property. If you ever come here again, I will regard it as a declaration of aggression and you will be dealt with as such. You may be angels, but we have weapons at our disposal that can put holes even in immortals. Am I clear.”
It was time to get the males off the mountain. Even though all of the shellans, young, and doggen of the household, along with Sahvage, Murhder, and Payne as guards, were safely down in the training center, the trespassers were still too close for comfort. And then next up on the to-do list was figuring out why the mhis had failed to protect the landscape.
Maybe it was an angel thing.
“Let me leave a number,” the Eddie guy said. “Please.”
“If you are what you say you are, I’m sure you have ways of reaching out to Lassiter. And if he’s shutting you down, that’s your problem, not ours.” Wrath started to smile again, and this time, it wasn’t about a fangs flash. “But yeah, before you ask, a couple of my boys will take you to where Devina was last seen.”
He imagined some flavor of male recoiling in surprise: “So you read minds?”
“Lil bit. Consider that demon a consolation prize for the lack of Lassiter you’re leaving with. Although good luck with her. You’re going to need it.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re wrong.”
“See for yourself. Either way, don’t come here again.” Wrath pivoted on his shitkicker and started for the vestibule. “Oh, and give me my fucking cat back.”
* * *
“Are you feeling better now that we’re outside?”
As Lassiter asked the question, he already knew the answer. Rahvyn was perking up as she strolled down the restaurant’s sidewalk next to him, the color returning to her cheeks, her balance good, her breathing nice and even. Though they were side by side, she was the one leading them, and when she stopped in front of the golden arches and looked up, he just kept staring at her.
In the artificial yellow glow, it was as if she were in the sunlight, and how lovely was that.
Yet she was troubled. He could tell by the way she crossed her arms over her chest. And when a breeze came in and blew strands of silver hair into her eyes, she lifted a hand and swept things away with impatience.
“What happened back there?” he asked.
“I do not know.”
Yes, you do, he thought to himself.
“What did you see,” he said grimly. “In your mind.”
Somehow, he wasn’t surprised as she slowly shook her head, and did he really need to know the details? She had been terrified as she had shot out of that bench seat, sure as if the Grim Reaper had rushed up to their table with his scythe and a Diet Coke.
“Why did you leave me back in that meadow full of flowers,” she asked in a low voice.
When he didn’t reply, because he had no intention of telling her a goddamn thing about his time with Devina, she lifted her chin. “ ’Tis all right, you can keep your privacy. Just tell me that is why you say nothing the now. That is all I ask. No lies between us. Ever.”
As her eyes shifted over and met his own, he blocked all of his thoughts. “I have no privacy to protect.”
A sadness crossed her expression. “Lassiter.”
He put his hands up and backed away. “I’m sorry. We can’t… do this.”
“Why? There’s no harm in talking.”
But that was the problem, wasn’t it. As he stared at her, he didn’t want to talk. He wanted to pull her in close and hold her. He wanted to stroke her silken hair. He wanted to breathe in the scent of her arousal, and ease her head back… and stare into her eyes as he dropped his mouth to hers and—
