Qhuinn might have had the mismatched eyes, but Lash had had the defect. There had always been something off with that kid.
The computer beeped as another e-mail landed in the Brotherhood's inbox. This time it was the late leahdyre's right-hand man. And what do you know, the guy advocated a "strong stance against what is a tragic series of losses, but ultimately a low threat to our secured abodes. It is best at this time that we come together and go through the appropriate mourning rituals for our dearly departed..."
Okay, talk about stupid. Anyone with half a brain would pack up their matched sets of LV and hightail it out of town until the dust settled. But no, they'd rather get their spats and their gloves out and make like they were in a Merchant-Ivory movie, with all the black clothes and the ceremonial expressions of condolence. He could just hear the elaborate, phony-ass sympathy exchanges they'd volley back and forth to one another while mushroom puffs were passed by doggen in uniform and a polite fight for political control ensued.
He only hoped they would come to their senses, because even though they pissed him off, he didn't want them waking up dead, so to speak. Wrath could try to order them out of Caldwell, but chances were that would just make them dig their heels in even harder. The king and the aristocracy were not friends. Hell, they were barely allies.
Another e-mail came in, and it was more of the same. We're staying and throwing a party.
Man, he needed a blunt.
And he needed...
The closet door swung open, and Cormia stepped out of the secret passageway to the tunnel. There was a lavender rose in her elegant hand and a graceful reserve to her face.
"Cormia?" he said, then felt ridiculous. Like she'd changed her name to Trixie or Irene sometime in the last day? "Is there something wrong?"
"I don't mean to bother you. Fritz suggested..." She turned around as if she expected the butler to be right behind her. "Ah... he brought me here."
Phury stood up, thinking this might just be payback from the butler for his untimely interruption the night before. And didn't that make the doggen a hero. "I'm glad."
Well, maybe glad wasn't exactly the right word. Unfortunately, his urge to smoke was replaced with the urgent need to do something else with his mouth. Although sucking would still be involved.
Another e-mail came through, and the laptop let out a peep. They both looked at the computer.
"If you're busy, I can go - "
"I'm not." The glymera was like a brick wall, and considering he already had a headache, there was no reason to keep banging his brain up against their stubbornness. Tragically, there was nothing he could do until the next bad thing rolled out and he e-mailed...
Although it wouldn't be him though, would it. He'd been riding the keyboard only because everyone else's hands were busy doing dagger business.
"How are you?" he asked to shut himself up. And because the answer mattered.
Cormia looked around the office. "I would never have guessed this was down here."
"Would you like a tour of the place?"
She hesitated and brought forward the perfect lavender rose... which was the color of the bracelet John Matthew had given to her. "I think my flower needs a drink."
"I can fix that."Wanting to give her something, anything, he reached over to a twenty-four-pack of Poland Spring and pulled a bottle out. Cracking the lid, he took a swig to lower the level and then put it on the desk. "Plenty in here to keep her happy."
He watched Cormia's hands as she put the rose in the makeshift vase. They were so lovely and pale and... they really needed to be on his skin.
All over him.
Phury untucked his shirt as he stood up and came around the desk, making sure that the tails covered the front of his slacks. He hated sloppy dressing, but better to schlub it than run the risk of her seeing that he was aroused.
And he was. Totally. He had a feeling that it was always going to be like this around her: Something about his coming into her palm the night before had changed everything.
He held open the door into the hall. "Come see our training facility."
She followed him out of the office and he took her all around, narrating the things that were done in the gym and the equipment room and the PT facility and the shooting range. She was interested but mostly silent, and he had the feeling she had something to say to him.
He could guess what it was.
She was going to go back to the Other Side.
He paused at the locker room. "This is where the boys shower and change. The classrooms are down here."
Christ, he didn't want her to go. But what the hell did he expect her to do? He'd left her with no role here.
You have no role here, the wizard pointed out.
"Come on, let me show you a classroom," he said to draw things out.
He walked her into the one he used, feeling a curious pride at showing her where he worked.
Had worked.
"What's all that?" she asked, pointing to the blackboard, which was covered with figures.
"Oh... yeah..." He walked over and picked up a felt eraser, quickly running it over the casualty analysis on a bomb detonating in downtown Caldwell.
She crossed her arms over her chest, but it was more like she was holding herself than a big defensive thing. "Do you think I don't know what the Brotherhood does?"
"Doesn't mean I want you reminded of it."
"Are you going to go back into the Brotherhood?"
He froze and thought, Bella must have told her. "I didn't know you'd heard I was out of it."
"I'm sorry, it's none of my concern - "
"No, it's fine... and, yeah, I think my fighting days are done." He glanced over his shoulder and was struck by how perfect she looked, with her backside braced against one of the tables the trainees sat at and her arms intertwined. "Hey... mind if I draw you?"
She flushed. "I suppose... well, if you wish. Do I need to do anything?"
"Just stay where you are." He put the eraser back on the blackboard's lip and picked up a piece of chalk. "Actually, would you take your hair down?"
When she didn't reply, he looked back at her and was surprised to find her hands up at her hair, working at the gold pins. One by one, sections of blond waves came down and framed her face, her neck, her shoulders.
Even under the dulling fluorescent lights of the classroom, she was radiant.
"Sit up on the table," he said in a hoarse voice. "Please."
She did as he asked and crossed her legs... and, holy hell, didn't that robe of hers fall open, splitting wide up to her thigh. When she tried to close the gap, he whispered, "Leave it."
Her hands stilled, then shifted back and flattened on the table to support her upper weight. "Is this all right?"
"Don't. Move."
Phury took his time as he drew her, the chalk becoming his hands going over her body, lingering on her neck and the swell of her br**sts and the curve of her hip and the long, smooth expanse of her legs. He made love to her as he transferred her image onto the blackboard, the sound of the chalk a rasping noise.
Or maybe that was his breath.
"You're very good," she said at one point.
He was too busy and greedy with his eyes to answer her, too preoccupied with what he imagined himself doing to her when he was finished.
After an eternity that lasted only a moment, he stepped back and measured his work. Perfection. It was her, but more - although there was a sexual undertone to the composition that even she had to see. He didn't want to shock her, but he couldn't have changed that aspect of the work. It was in every line of her body and her pose and her face. She was the feminine sexual ideal. At least for him.
"It's done," he said roughly.
"Is that... who I am?"
"It's how I see you."
There was a long silence. Then she said with a kind of astonishment, "You think I'm beautiful."
He traced the lines he'd drawn. "Yes. I do." Silence expanded the distance between them, making him feel awkward. "Well, now..." he said. "We can't leave it up like this - "
"Please! No!" she said, putting her hand out. "Let me look at me a little longer. Please."
Okay. Fine. Whatever she wanted. Hell, at this point, she could have told his heart not to beat, and the thing would have complied with the order quite cheerfully. She had become his control tower, his body's master, and anything she told him to do or say or get for her, he would. No questions asked. No care of the means.