She stopped and frowned, her hand sneaking into the interior of that coat of hers. In a flash, he wondered what her breasts looked like.
“Have we met?” she said.
“We are right now.” He put his hand out and deliberately enunciated his words. “How do you do?”
She stared at his palm, and then refocused on his face. “Anyone tell you that you sound like Dracula with that accent?”
He smiled tightly so his fangs didn’t show. “There have been certain comparisons made from time to time. Are you not going to shake my hand?”
“No.” She nodded to the gallery’s back door. “You a friend of the Benloises?”
“Indeed. And you?”
“I don’t know them at all. Nice briefcase, by the way.”
With that, she turned on her heel and walked over to the Audi. After the blinkers flashed, she got in, the wind catching her hair and blowing it over her shoulder as she disappeared behind the wheel.
He stepped out of her way as she pulled forward and sped off.
Assail watched her go—and found himself thinking with disdain about his business associate Benloise.
What kind of man sent a female to do that kind of business?
As the brake lights flared briefly, and then rounded the corner, Assail sincerely hoped that the line that had been drawn earlier in the night was respected. It would be a shame to have to kill her.
Not that he would hesitate for an instant if it came down to that.
TWENTY-FOUR
As Zypher lay on hard concrete, his many years as a member of the Band of Bastards meant he was well familiar with the lack of accommodations he was currently enjoying: his ass was numb from the cold as well as the absence of a mattress beneath his heavy body. Likewise, his head was cushioned only by the rucksack he had used to bring his few belongings to their new HQ in this warehouse basement. Further, the thin, rough blanket that covered him was not long enough, leaving his socked feet exposed to the chilly, damp air.
But he was in heaven. Absolute heaven.
Coursing through his veins was the blood of that female, and oh, the sustenance. Having gone without a proper feeding source for almost a year, he had become inured to the fatigue and the restless muscles and the aches. But that was over now.
Indeed, it was as if he were inflating with strength, his skin filling out again to its proper dimensions, his height returning once more to its feet and inches, his mind both logy in the aftermath, and sharpening moment by moment.
Now, if he had had a bed, he would have enjoyed it, of course. Soft pillows, sweet-smelling sheets, clean clothes…warm air in winter, cool air in summer…food for an empty stomach, water for a dry throat…all of these were good if one could get them.
They were not necessary, however.
A clean gun, a sharp blade, a fighter of equal skill to his left and to his right. That was what he required.
And of course, during downtime, it was good to have a female willing and on her back. Or her stomach. Or her side with one knee up to her breasts and her sex exposed and ready for him.
He wasn’t fussy like that.
Dearest Virgin Scribe, this was…bliss.
Not a word that he used very often—and he didn’t want to sleep through this awakening. Even as the others lay sunk in the repose of the dead, each in the same spacey recovery that he, himself, was buffered in, he remained utterly aware of his glorious internal glow.
There was only one thing that was getting on his nerves.
The pacing.
He cracked an eyelid.
Just on the edge of the candlight, Xcor was walking back and forth, his path restricted by two of the massive column supports that held up the floor above them.
Their leader was never at ease, but this restlessness was different. Going by the way he was holding his cellular device, he was waiting for a call—and that explained why he was where he was. The only place you could get a phone signal down below was standing beneath one of the two trapdoors: The panels of them were made of wood, and the steel mesh that had been tacked underneath had been the only alteration made when they had chased off the vagrant humans, sealed up the exterior floors, and moved in.
That way, vampires couldn’t materialize down below.
And shit knew humans weren’t strong enough to pry open those six-inch-thick wooden boards—
The tinkling noise that emanated from their leader’s phone was far too civilized for the environs, the false bell sounding out cheerfully sure as a wind chime tickled by a spring breeze.
Xcor stopped and looked at the phone as he let it ring once more. Twice more.
Clearly, the male did not want to appear as if he had been waiting.
When he finally answered and put the phone to his ear, his chin lifted and his body calmed. He was back in control.
“Elan,” he said smoothly. There was a pause. And then those always low brows went all the way down. “At what date and time?”
Zypher sat up.
“The king called it?” Silence. “No, not at all. Only the Council would be allowed, at any rate. We shall remain on the periphery—at your request.”
The last part was spoken with no small amount of irony, although it was doubtful that the aristocrat on the other end of the conversation picked up on that. From what little Zypher had seen and heard from Elan, son of Larex, he was less than impressed. Then again, the weak were easily manipulated, and Xcor well knew this.
“There is something you should know, Elan. An attempt was made upon Wrath’s life in the fall—and be not surprised if there is an implication against myself and my soldiers at this forthcoming meeting—what? It occured at Assail’s, actually—but any other specifics are not relevant. So, indeed, one can surmise that Wrath is calling the gathering for the purpose of exposing me and mine—recall that I have warned you of such? Just remember that you have been utterly protected. The Brothers and the king do not know of our relationship—that is, unless one of your gentlemales has reported it in some manner to them. We, however, have remained tight-lipped. Further, know also that I am not afraid of being branded a traitor or becoming a target for the Brotherhood. I realize, however, that you are of a far more cultured and refined sensibility, and not only do I respect this, I shall do all in my power to insulate you from any brutality.”
Uh-huh, right, Zypher thought with an eye roll.
“You must remember, Elan, you are protected.”
As Xcor smiled more widely, it was with a full show of fangs, as if he were on the verge of latching onto the other male’s throat and tearing out his windpipe.
Good-byes were said shortly thereafter, and then Xcor ended the call.
Zypher spoke up. “All is well?”
Their leader’s head turned on the top of his spine, and as their eyes met, Zypher felt sorry for the idiot on the phone…and for Wrath and the Brotherhood.
The light in his leader’s stare was pure evil. “Oh, aye. All is very well indeed.”
TWENTY-FIVE
As the sound of unanswered ringing came through the landline, Blay held the receiver to his ear and sat down on the edge of his bed. This was weird. His parents should have been home this time of the night. It was so close to dawn—
“Hello?” his mother said, finally.
Blay exhaled long and slow, and shifted himself back against the headboard. Folding the bottom of his robe over his legs, he cleared his throat. “Hi, it’s me.”
The happiness that suffused the voice on the other end made him feel warm in his chest. “Blay! How are you! Let me get your father so he can hop on the other extension—”
“No, wait.” He closed his eyes. “Let’s just…talk. You and me.”