Phury stared across the seats. “It wasn’t right, Qhuinn. That’s not what a real male does. And now look at the situation she’s in. You did this to her. You put her in the backseat of this car, and that’s just wrong.”
Qhuinn squeezed his eyes shut. Well, wasn’t that going to be banging around the inside of his head for the next hundred years. Give or take.
As they started over the bridge and left the twinkling lights of downtown behind, he kept his godforsaken yap shut, and Phury fell silent as well.
Then again, the Brother had said it all, hadn’t he.
THIRTY-THREE
Assail ended up further tracking his prey from behind the wheel of his Range Rover. Much cozier this way—and it wasn’t as if the woman’s location was an issue now: While he’d been waiting by the Audi for her to come off his property, he’d attached a tracking device to the underbelly of her side-view mirror.
His iPhone took care of the rest.
After she’d left his neighborhood in a rush—following his deliberate dematerialization from sight just to further destabilize her—she had crossed the river and headed around to the backside of the city, where the houses were small, packed in close to one another, and finished with aluminum siding.
As he trolled behind her, keeping at least two blocks between their vehicles, he regarded the brightly colored lights in the neighborhoods, the thousands of strands of twinklers strung among bushes and hanging from roof lips and boxing out windows and doorframes. But that wasn’t the half of it. Manger scenes placed prominently on tiny front lawns were spotlit, and there were also fat white snowmen with red scarves and blue pants that glowed from within.
In contrast to the seasonal accoutrements, he was willing to bet the Virgin Mary statues were permanent.
When her vehicle stopped and stayed that way, he closed in, parking four houses down and killing his lights. She didn’t get out of the car right away, and when she finally did, she wasn’t wearing the parka and tight ski pants she’d had on whilst spying on him. Instead, she had changed into a thick red sweater and a pair of jeans.
She’d let her hair down.
And the heavy, brunette weight reached below her shoulders, curling at the ends.
He growled in the darkness.
With quick, easy strides, she surmounted the four shallow concrete steps leading up to the modest entrance of the home. Propping open the screen door with its curlicue metalwork, she buttressed the thing with her hip, let herself in with a key, and closed things back up.
As a light came on downstairs, he watched her shape walk through the front room, the thin privacy drapes giving him only a sense of her movement, not any kind of clear view.
He thought of his own screens. It had taken him a long time to perfect that invention, and the Hudson River house had been perfect for piloting them. The barriers worked even better than he’d anticipated.
But she was smart enough to have picked up on the anomalies, and he wondered what the giveaway had been.
On the second floor, a light came on, as if someone who had been resting had stirred at her arrival.
His fangs pulsed. The idea that some human man was awaiting her in their mated bedroom made him want to establish his dominance—even though that didn’t make sense. After all, he was tracking her for his own self-protection, and nothing more.
Absolutely nothing more.
Just as his hand sought the car door handle, his phone rang. Good timing.
When he saw who it was, he frowned and put the cell up to his ear. “Two calls in such a short time. To what do I owe this honor?”
Rehvenge was not amused. “You didn’t get back to me.”
“Was I required to?”
“Watch yourself, boy.”
Assail’s eyes remained locked on the little house. He was curiously desperate to know what was going on inside. Was she heading up the stairs, undressing as she went?
Exactly who was she hiding her pursuits from? And she was in fact hiding them—otherwise, why change in the car prior to entering the house?
“Hello?”
“I appreciate the kind invitation,” he heard himself say.
“It’s not an invitation. You’re a goddamn member of the Council now that you’re in the New World.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
Assail thought back to the meeting at Elan’s house in the early winter, the one Rehvenge had not known about, the one to which the Band of Bastards had shown up and flexed their muscle. He also thought of the attempt on Wrath, the Blind King’s life—on Assail’s own property, for godsakes.
Too much drama for his liking.
With practiced ease, he launched into the same speech he had given Xcor’s faction. “I am a businessman by predilection and purpose. Although I respect both the current sovereignty and the Council’s power base, I cannot divert energy or time away from my enterprise. Not now, nor in the future.”
There was a stretch of silence. And then that deep, ever-so-evil voice came over the connection. “I’ve heard about your business.”
“Have you.”
“I was in it myself for a number of years.”
“So I understand.”
“I managed to do both.”
Assail smiled into the darkness. “Mayhap I am not as talented as you.”
“I’m going to make something perfectly clear. If you don’t show up at that meeting, I’m going to assume you’re playing on the wrong team.”
“By that very statement, you acknowledge there are two and they are opposed.”
“Take it as you will. But if you’re not with me and the king, you are my enemy and his.”
And that was precisely what Xcor had said. Then again, was there any other position in this growing war?
“The king was shot at your house, Assail.”
“So I recollect,” he muttered dryly.
“I’d think you’d want to put to rest any notion of your involvement.”
“I already have. I told the Brothers that very night that I had nothing to do with it. I gave them the vehicle in which they escaped with the king. Why would I do any such thing if I were a traitor?”
“To save your own ass.”
“I am quite accomplished at that without the benefit of conversation, I assure you.”
“So what’s your schedule like?”
The light on the second story was extinguished, and he had to wonder what the woman was doing in the darkness—and with whom.
Of their own volition, his fangs bared themselves.
“Assail. You are seriously boring me with this hard-to-get bullshit.”
Assail put the Range Rover in gear. He was not going to sit upon the curb whilst whatever happened inside…happened. She was clearly home for the night, and staying there. Besides, his phone would alert him in the event that her car was once again set into motion.
As he rolled into the street and gathered speed, he spoke with clarity. “I am herewith resigning my position on the Council. My neutrality in this battle for the crown shall not be questioned by either side—”
“And you know who the players are, don’t you.”
“I shall make this as bald as I am able—I have no side here, Rehvenge. I do not know how to state this more plainly—and I will not be pulled into the war either by you and your king, or by any other. Do not attempt to push me, and know that the neutrality I present to you is exactly what I give to them.”
On that note, he had made a vow to Elan and Xcor not to reveal their identities, and he was going to keep it—not because he believed the group would e’er return the favor to him, but rather for the simple fact that, depending upon who won this tussle, a confidant to either side would be viewed either as a whistle-blower to be eradicated or a hero to be lauded. The problem was, one wouldn’t know which until the end, and he was uninterested in such a gamble.