Lash stomped back into the kitchen and went over to Mr. D. As that bloody mouth started working again, the pitiful struggle was positively nauseating.
Reaching over the counter, Lash extracted a Henckels, palmed the hilt, and sank down. "Did you tell them anything?"
As Mr. D shook his head, Lash stared down into the guy's eyes. The whites were darkening to a gray shade and the pupils had dilated to the point where there was almost no iris. However, although he appeared to be on the brink of demise, left on his own, Mr. D would languish and rot forever in this condition. There was only one way to "kill" him.
"Are you sure?" Lash murmured. "Even when they pulled your arms out of those sockets?"
Mr. D's mouth moved, the gurgling sounds like wet dog food falling out of a can.
With a revolted curse, Lash stabbed the empty chest of that lesser, getting rid of at least that part of the mess. The pop and flash both faded quickly and then Lash shut himself in, locking the back door before heading up for the second floor once again.
It took him a half hour to pack his clothes, and as he muscled six Prada duffels down the stairs, he couldn't remember when he'd ever had to carry his own luggage.
After lining up his load out on the back step, he set the security alarm, locked up, and shuffled his shit to the Mercedes.
As he drove away, he hated the idea of returning to that f**king ranch. But at the moment, he was out of options--and had other things to f**king worry about rather than where he stayed.
He needed to find Xhex. If she'd been on her own, there was no way she could have gone far. She'd been too weak. So the Brotherhood had to have her.
Jesus Christ... with his father showing up at one a.m. for the induction, he had to get her back fast. Either that or find someone he could make do with.
The knock that woke John up was a real knuckle-bouncer, loud as a gun.
The instant he heard it, he was totally upright. As he rubbed his eyes, he whistled a "come in" and prayed it was nothing but Qhuinn with a tray of First Meal.
The door wasn't opened.
John frowned and dropped his hands.
Shifting to his feet, he grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled them up to his hips, then went over and... Wrath was standing in the doorway with George by his side, and he was not alone. The boys and Rehvenge were with him, as were all of the other Brothers, including Tohr.
Oh... God... no.
His hands signed fast even as his heart stopped dead. Where was the body found?
"She's alive," Rehvenge answered as he held out a phone. "I just got the message. Hit four."
John took a second to internalize the information. Then he snapped the cell out of the male's hand and punched the key. There was a beep and then...
Holy shit... her voice. Her voice.
"Rehv... I'm out. I got out." There was a low, deep sigh. "I'm okay. I'm intact. I'm out." Long pause. To the point that John was about to check to see if the--"I need some time. I'm safe... but I'm not coming back for a little while. I need some time. Tell everyone... tell... everyone. I'll be in touch." Another pause and then her voice grew strong to the point of anger. "As soon as I can... Lash is mine. Do you understand me? No one takes him out but me."
The message ended.
John hit four again and listened.
After the second time, he handed the thing back to Rehv and met those amethyst eyes head-on. He was well aware Rehv had been around Xhex for years and years. Knew the guy shared not just experience with her but the symphath blood that in many ways changed everything. Knew that the male was older and wiser and all that shit.
But the bonded male in John put them on equal footing when it came to her.
And then some.
Where would she go? he signed.
After Qhuinn translated, Rehv nodded. "She's got a hunting cabin about fifteen miles north of here. On the Hudson River. I'm thinking that's where she is. She'd have access to a phone there and it's safe. I'm going up at nightfall alone. Unless you join me."
No one seemed surprised by the exchange... but then John realized his secret had to be out. After the way he'd behaved up in that bedroom at the brownstone--to say nothing of how he'd torn into that lesser, they all knew how he felt about Xhex.
That was the reason the group had come. They were recognizing his status, paying it due. The rights and boundaries of bonded males were respected when it came to their females.
John glanced at Qhuinn and signed, Tell him I'll go.
After his boy translated, Rehv nodded and then turned to Wrath. "I go with him and him alone. He can't bring Qhuinn. We're going to have enough trouble with her if the pair of us show up unannounced."
Wrath frowned. "Damn it, Rehv--"
"She's a flight risk. I've been through this once before with her. Anyone else shows, she's going to bolt and she's not going to call again. Besides, John here... he'll follow me anyway, won't you, son. You'll ditch Qhuinn and follow me anyway."
John didn't hesitate to nod.
As Qhuinn cursed like a motherfucker, Wrath shook his head. "Why in the hell I gave you him as an ahstrux..."
There was a period of tense silence, during which the king measured both John and Rehv. Then he said, "Oh, for f**k's sake, fine--I'll let you go without your guard this one time, but you do not engage the enemy. You go to that cabin, and only there, and then you come back and get Qhuinn before you head out into the field. We clear?"
John nodded and turned away to hit the bathroom.
"Ten minutes," Rehv said. "You got ten minutes and we're driving out."
John was ready in four and downstairs pacing the foyer in six. He was fully weaponized, as was protocol, and covered in protective leather. More to the point, he was alive to the point of mania, his blood humming at a tornadic pitch.
As he paced, he felt eyes on him. From the billiard room. From the dining room. From up above on the second floor's balcony. Silent mouths, but eyes that missed nothing.
The Brotherhood and the other members of the house were clearly reeling from the Xhex connection and he supposed he could understand. Surprise! He'd bonded with a symphath.
But you couldn't help who you fell in love with--or change the feelings of someone who didn't love you back.
God, not that that part mattered. She was alive!
Rehvenge came down the grand stairs, his red cane hitting the carpeted steps every time his right foot came forward. He was dressed not for war, but for warmth, his floor-length mink skimming the tops of his wingtips and the cuffs of his elegant black suit.
As he came up to John, he just nodded and opened the way into the vestibule. Together, they stepped through and penetrated the cool night.
The air smelled like clean, unfrozen earth.
The perfume of spring. The very scent of hope and rebirth.
Walking over to the Bentley, John drew the fragrance into his lungs and held it there as he told himself that Xhex was doing the very same thing on this very same night.
And not because she was buried underground.
Tears pricked his eyes as gratitude washed through every vein he had, pumped around by a singing heart.
He couldn't believe he was going to get to see her... God, to see her once again. To look into her gunmetal eyes. To...
Shit, it was going to be hard not to throw his arms around her and hold her until tomorrow morning. Or maybe next week.
When they got into the car, Rehv started the engine, but didn't put it in drive. He just stared out through the windshield at the cobblestone drive ahead.
In a quiet voice, he said, "How long's this been going on for you? With her."
John took out a small pad he'd brought with him and wrote: Since the moment I first met her.
After Rehv read the scribble, he frowned. "She feel the same way?"
John did not drop his eyes as he shook his head. No sense hiding shit. Not with a symphath.
Rehv nodded once. "That's so like her. Goddamn it... okay, let's do this."
With a roar, they were off into the night.
Chapter Twenty
Hope was a treacherous emotion.
It was two evenings hence when Darius finally walked into the home of the abducted female's family, and as the grand door opened to both himself and Tohrment, they were met by a doggen whose eyes were filled with the tragedy of hope. Verily, the butler's expression was of such high regard, it was clear he felt he was ushering into his master's house saviors, rather than mortals.
Only time and the vagaries of fortune would bear out whether his faith was well- or misplaced.
With alacrity, Darius and Tohrment were led into a formal study and the gentlemale who rose from a silk-covered sitting chair had to steady his weight.