Lover Avenged

Chapter TWENTY-FIVE



Across Caldwell, on a tree-lined street, Lash was sitting inside a brownstone apartment in a club chair that was slipcovered in dark velvet. Hanging beside him were the only other remnants of the stylish, wealthy humans who'd previously lived in the place: Swaths of beautiful damask drapery ran from floor to ceiling, accentuating the bay windows that bowed out over the sidewalk.



Lash loved the damn drapes. They were wine, gold, and black, and fringed with gold satin balls the size of marbles. In their lush glory, they reminded him of the way things had always been when he'd lived in that big Tudor mansion up on the hill.



He missed the elegance of that life. The staff. The meals. The cars.



He was spending so much time with the lower classes.



Shit, the human lower classes, considering the pool where lessers were drawn from.



He reached out and stroked one of the drapes, ignoring the blush of dust that bloomed in the still air as soon as he touched it. Lovely. So heavy and substantial with nothing cheap about it, not the fabric, not the dyes, not the hand-sewn hems or borders.



The feel of it made him realize he needed a good house of his own, and he thought maybe this brownstone could be it. According to Mr. D, the Lessening Society had owned this place for the last three years, the property having been purchased by a Fore-lesser who was convinced vampires were in the area. A two-car garage was tucked in the back alley, so there was privacy, and the home was as close to graceful as he was going to get anytime soon.



Grady came in with a cell phone up to his ear, on the final lap of the pacing trail he'd developed over the past two hours. As he talked, the guy's voice echoed up to the high, ornate ceilings.



Now properly motivated by his adrenal gland, the guy had coughed up the names of seven dealers and had been calling them one after another and schmoozing his way into meetings.



Lash glanced down at the piece of paper Grady had scribbled his list on. Whether all the contacts worked out only time would tell, but one of them was definitely solid. The seventh person, whose nomenclature was circled in black at the bottom, was someone Lash knew: the Reverend.



A.k.a. Rehvenge, son of Rempoon. Owner of ZeroSum.



A.k.a. territorial fucker who had booted Lash out of the club because he'd sold a few grams here and there. Shit, Lash couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner. Of course Rehvenge would be on the list. Hell, he was the river that spawned all the streams, the guy the South Americans and the Chinese manufactures dealt with directly.



Didn't this make things even more interesting.



"Okay, I'll see you then," Grady said into the phone. As he hung up, he looked over. "I don't have the Reverend's number."



"But you know where to find him, right." Duh. Everybody in the drug trade from pushers to users to the police knew where the guy hung out, and for that reason it was a wonder the place hadn't been shut down long ago.



"That's going to be a problem, though. I'm banned from ZeroSum."



Join the club. "We'll work around that."



Although not by sending a lesser in to try to make a deal. They were going to need a human for that. Unless they could lure Rehvenge out of his den, which was unlikely.



"Am I done now?" Grady asked, glancing desperately at the front door, like he was a dog who badly needed to go out for a piss.



"You said you needed to stay under the radar." Lash smiled, flashing his fangs. "So you're going back with my men to their place."



Grady didn't argue, just nodded and crossed his arms over the front of that fakakta eagle jacket of his. His acquiescence was equal parts personality, fear, and exhaustion. Clearly, it had dawned on him that he was in much deeper shit than he'd first realized. No doubt he thought the fangs were cosmetic add-ons, but someone who thought he was a vampire could be almost as deadly and dangerous as someone who really was.



The butler's door from the kitchen opened, and Mr. D came in with two square packages wrapped in cellophane. The pair were each the size of a head, and Lash saw a whole lot of dollar signs as the lesser brought them over.



"I done found them in 'er quarter panels."



Lash took out his switchblade and punctured a small hole in each. A quick lick of the white powder and he was smiling again. "Good quality. We're going to cut the shit out of it. You know where to put it."



Mr. D nodded and went back into the kitchen. When he returned, the other two slayers were with him, and Grady wasn't the only one who looked beat. Lessers needed to recharge every twenty-four hours, and at last count, they had been going for, like, forty-eight straight. Even Lash, who could power up for days, was feeling drained.



Time to crash out.



Getting up from the chair, he drew on his coat. "I'm driving. Mr. D, you're going sit in the back of the Mercedes and make sure Grady enjoys being chauffeured. You other two, take the POS."



They all departed, leaving the Lexus in the garage with the plates off and the VIN stripped.



The trip over to the Hunterbred apartment complex didn't take long, but Grady managed to fit a nap in. In the rearview mirror, the fucker was out like a light, his head lying back against the seat, his mouth open as he snored.



Which bordered on disrespect, really.



Lash pulled up to the apartment where Mr. D and his pair of buddies stayed, and craned around, looking back at Grady.



"Wake up, asshole." As the guy blinked and yawned, Lash despised the weakness, and Mr. D likewise seemed unimpressed. "Rules are simple. If you try to bolt, my men will either shoot you on the spot or call the police and tell them exactly where you are. Nod your dumb-ass head if you understand what I'm saying."



Grady nodded, although Lash had a feeling he would have done that no matter what he'd been told. Eat your own feet. Okay, sure, fine.



Lash released the locks. "Get the fuck out of my car."



More nodding as the doors were opened and the bitter wind shot in. As he stepped free of the Mercedes, Grady huddled into his coat, that stupid fucking eagle getting its wings crowded as the human curled around himself. Mr. D, on the other hand, wasn't as bothered by the cold-one of the benefits to already having died.



Lash reversed out of the parking lot and headed off to where he stayed in town. His place was just a shithole ranch in a development full of old people-with windows that only had drapes from, like, Target to shut out his walleyed, Depends-wearing neighbors. The only advantage was that no one in the Society knew what the address was. Although he slept at the Omega's for safety reasons, coming back to this side left him logy for a half hour or so, and he didn't want to be caught unawares by anyone.



Thing was, sleep was a misnomer for what he needed. He didn't so much close his eyes and snooze away; he all but passed out, which, according to Mr. D, was what happened when you were a lesser. For some reason, with his father's blood in them they were like cell phones that couldn't be used when they were charging.



As he thought about going back to the ranch, he got depressed and found himself driving into the wealthiest part of Caldwell instead. The streets here were as well-known to him as the lines of his own palm, and he found the stone pillars of his old house easily.



The gates were shut tight, and he couldn't see over the tall wall that went around the property, but he knew what was inside: the grounds and the trees and the pool and the terrace...everything perfectly kept.



Shit. He wanted to live like that again. This downmarket existence with the Lessening Society felt like a cheap suit of clothes. Not him. On any level.



He put the Mercedes in park and just sat there, staring at the drive. After murdering the vampires who'd raised him and burying them in the side yard here, he'd stripped the Tudor of everything that wasn't nailed down, the antiques being stored at various lesser houses around and outside of town. He hadn't been back since he'd gone to pick up this car, and he assumed that through his parents' wills, the property had passed to whatever blooded relative of theirs was left after the raids he'd performed on the aristocracy.



He doubted the estate was still in the race's name. After all, it had been infiltrated by lessers and was therefore permanently compromised.



Lash missed the mansion, though he couldn't have used it as HQ. Too many memories, and more to the point, it was too close to the vampire world. His plans and his accounts and the Lessening Society's intimate details were not the kind of shit he wanted to risk falling into Brotherhood hands.



There would be a time when he met up with those warriors again, but it would be on his terms. Since he'd been murdered by that mutant defective Qhuinn, and his true father had come for him, no one but that fucker John Matthew had seen him-and even with that mute-ass idiot it had been in only a hazy way, the kind of thing that, considering they'd all seen his dead body, someone would write off as a misperception.



Lash liked making big entrances. When he came out to the vampire world, it was going to be from a position of dominance. And the first thing he was going to do was avenge his own death.



His future plans made him miss the past a little less, and as he looked up at the leafless trees getting blown around in the stiff wind, he thought of the force of nature.



And wanted to be exactly that.



As his cell phone went off, he cocked it and put it to his ear. "What."



Mr. D's voice was all business. "We've had an infiltration, suh."



Lash's palms squeezed the wheel hard. "Where."



"Here."



"Motherfucker. What did they get?"



"Jars. All three of them. That's why we done know it was the Brothers. Doors are solid, windows, too, so no idea how they got in. Must have happened sometime in the last two nights, because we ain't been sleeping here since Sunday."



"Did they get into the apartment below?"



"No, that is secure."



At least they had one thing going for them. Still, lost jars were a problem.



"Why didn't the security alarm go off?"



"It was not engaged."



"Jesus Christ. You'd better fucking be there when I pull up." Lash ended the call and wrenched the steering wheel around. As he floored the Mercedes, the sedan shot toward the gates, the front bumper raking across the iron slates.



Fucking wonderful.



When he got to the apartment, he parked right by the stairwell entrance and nearly ripped the door off the car getting out. With ice-cold gusts blowing his hair around, he took the stairs two at a time and shot into the place, ready to cap someone.



Grady was sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter's overhang, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up, a whole lot of I'm-so-staying-out-of-this on his puss.



Mr. D was coming out of one of the bedrooms in the middle of a sentence. "...don't get how they found this here-"



"Who were the fuckups?" Lash said, shutting out the howling wind. "That's all I care about. Who was the dumb-ass who didn't engage the alarm and compromised this address? And if someone doesn't man up, I'm holding you"-he pointed to Mr. D-"responsible."



"It weren't me." Mr. D stared hard at his men. "I weren't back here since two day ago."



The lesser on the left raised his arms, but typical to his breed, it wasn't in subjugation, but because he was ready to fight. "I got my wallet and I ain't talked to no one."



All eyes went to the third slayer, who got annoyed. "What the fuck?" He made a show of going into his back pocket. "I got my..."



He shoved his hand in farther, like that might help. Then he did a Three Stooges, checking every pocket he had among his pants, his jacket, and his shirt. No doubt the fucker would have opened his own ass up for a look-see if he'd thought there was a chance his billfold had worked its way up into his colon.



"Where's your wallet," Lash asked smoothly.



Light dawned on Marblehead. "Mr. N...that fucker. We got into an argument 'cause he wanted some green from me. We fought and he must have nicked my billfold."



Mr. D calmly walked up behind the slayer and nailed him in the side of the head with the butt of his Magnum. The force of impact sent the slayer spinning like a beer cap and slamming into the wall, a black smudge staining the linen-white paint as he slid down onto the cheap tan rug.



Grady let out a bark of surprise, like a terrier who'd gotten smacked with a newspaper.



And then the doorbell rang. Everyone looked to the sound, then at Lash.



He pointed to Grady. "You stay right where you are." When the bell came again, he nodded at Mr. D. "Answer it."



As the little Texan stepped over the downed slayer, he tucked his heat into his waistband at the small of his back. He opened the door only a crack.



"Domino's," a male voice said as a blast of wind blew in. "Oh-crap, watch it!"



It was a comedy of fucking errors, the kind of thing you'd see in a movie full of slapstick cock-ups. The stiff wind caught hold of the pizza box as the delivery guy took it out of his red insulated box-bag, and the pepperoni-and-something went flying toward Mr. D. Ever the good employee, flyboy with the Dom cap lunged forward to catch the thing-and ended up plowing over Mr. D and busting into the apartment.



Which Lash was willing to bet employees of Domino's were specifically instructed never to do, and with good reason. You cracked into someone's house, even if you were being a hero, and you could find all kinds of bad shit: Perverted porn on a TV. Fat hausfrau in her granny panties and no bra. A nasty-ass hovel with more cockroaches than people.



Or a member of the undead bleeding black blood from a head wound.



There was no way Pizza Guy wasn't going to see what was doing across the way. And that meant he would have to be dealt with.



After having spent what was left of the night roaming around downtown Caldwell looking for a lesser to fight, John took form in the courtyard at the Brotherhood's mansion, next to all the cars that were parked in an orderly row. Bitter wind shoved at his shoulders, a bully wanting to knock him down, but he stood tall against the onslaught.



A symphath. Xhex was a symphath.



As his mind churned over the revelation, Qhuinn and Blay materialized beside him. To their credit, neither had asked him what the hell had happened back at ZeroSum. Both, however, continued to look at him like he was a beaker in a science lab, as if they were waiting for him to change colors or froth up all over himself or something.



I need some space, he signed without meeting either of their stares.



"No problem," Qhuinn replied.



There was a pause as John waited for them to go in the house. Qhuinn cleared his throat once. Twice.



Then in a choked voice, he said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you again. I-"



John shook his head and signed, It's not related to sex. So don't worry, k?



Qhuinn frowned. "Okay. Yeah, cool. Ah...you need us, we're around. Come on, Blay."



Blay followed, the two of them walking up the shallow stone steps and going into the mansion.



Standing alone, finally, John had no idea what to do or where to go, but dawn was coming soon, so short of a quick jog through the gardens, he had few outdoor options.



Although, God, he wondered whether he could even go inside. He felt contaminated by what he'd learned.



Xhex was a symphath.



Did Rehvenge know? Did anyone else?



He was well aware of what the law required him to do. He'd learned that in training: When it came to symphaths, you reported them for deportation or you were deemed an accomplice. Pretty damn clear-cut.



Except what happened then?



Yeah, no guessing at that. Xhex would be shipped off like trash to a dump-and things would not go well for her. It was clear she was a half-breed. He'd seen photographs of symphaths, and she looked nothing like those tall, thin, creepy-ass SOBs. So chances were very good she'd be killed up in the colony, because from what he knew, symphaths were like the glymera when it came to discrimination.



Save for the fact that they liked to torture what they derided. And not in the verbal sense.



What the fuck did he do...



When the cold had him shivering under his leather jacket, he went into the house and directly up the grand staircase. The doors of the study were open, and he could hear Wrath's voice, but he didn't stop to see the king. He kept walking, going around the corner to the hall of statues.



He wasn't heading for his room, though.



John pulled up in front of Tohr's door and paused to stroke his hair flat. There was only one person he wanted to talk this through with, and he prayed that for once there would be something coming back to him.



He needed help. Badly.



John knocked softly.



No answer. He knocked again.



As he waited and waited, he stared at the panels of the door and considered the last two times he'd burst into rooms uninvited. The first had been over the summer when he'd barged into Cormia's bedroom and found her naked and curled on her side with blood on her thighs. Result? He'd pummeled the holy hell out of Phury for no reason, as the sex had been consensual.



The second had been Xhex, tonight. And look at the situation that had put him in.



John knocked harder, his knuckles banging loud enough to wake the dead.



No answer. Worse, no sounds at all. No TV, no shower, no voices.



He stepped back to see if there was a glow coming from under the door. Nope. So Lassiter wasn't in there.



Dread made him swallow hard, as he slowly opened the door wide. His eyes went first to the bed, and when Tohr wasn't lying there, John flat-out panicked. Racing across the Oriental rug, he shot through into the bath, fully expecting to find the Brother sprawled out in the Jacuzzi with his wrists cut.



There was no one in either room.



A strange, giddy hope flared in his chest as he went back into the hall. Looking left and right, he decided to start with Lassiter's bedroom.



No answer, and, looking inside, he found a whole lot of neat and tidy along with the dimming scent of fresh air.



This was good. The angel had to be with Tohr.



John hot-stepped it down to Wrath's study and, after he knocked on the jamb, he put his head in, doing a quick review of the spindly sofa and the armchairs and the mantel by the fireplace that the Brothers liked to lean against.



Wrath looked up from the desk. "Hey, son. What's doing?"



Oh, nothing. You know. Just...excuse me.



John headed down the grand staircase at a jog, knowing that if Tohr was having his first foray back into the world, he wouldn't want to make a big deal out of it. He'd probably start simple, just going into the kitchen for food with the angel.



Downstairs, John hit the foyer's mosaic floor, and when he heard male voices to the right, he looked inside the billiards room. Butch was bent over the pool table about to take a shot, and Vishous was behind him, heckling. The wide-screen was showing a whole lot of ESPN, and only two squat glasses were out, one with amber liquid in it, the other with crystal-clear stuff that was not water.



Tohr wasn't there, but he'd never been big into games. Besides, with the way Butch and V went after each other, they were not the kind of company you'd want if you were just dipping your feet in social waters again.



Turning away, John hurried through the dining room, which had been set for Last Meal, and went into the kitchen, where he found...doggen preparing three different kinds of pasta sauces and taking homemade Italian bread out of the oven and tossing salads and opening bottles of red wine to breathe and...no Tohr.



Hope decanted out of John's chest, leaving behind a sour tightness.



He went up to Fritz, butler extraordinaire, who greeted him with a brilliant smile on his old, wrinkled face. "Hello, sire, how fare thee?"



John signed in front of his chest so no one else could see. Listen, have you seen...



Shit, he didn't want to make a panic in the household for no reason other than that he was jumping to conclusions. The mansion was huge and Tohr could be anywhere.



...anyone? he finished.



Fritz's fuzzy white eyebrows pulled together. "Anyone, sire? Do you refer to the ladies of the house or-"



Males, he signed. Have you seen any of the Brothers?



"Well, I have been here preparing dinner for much of the last hour, but I know that several have come home from the field. Rhage had his sandwiches as soon as he returned, Wrath is in the study, and Zsadist is with the young one in the bath. Let's see...oh, and I believe Butch and Vishous are playing pool, as one of my staff served them drinks in the billiards room just a moment ago."



Right, John thought. If a Brother who no one had seen out and about for, oh, say, four months had shown up, surely his name would have been at the top of the list.



Thanks, Fritz.



"Was there anyone in particular you were searching for?"



John shook his head and went back out into the foyer, this time moving with heavy feet. As he walked into the library, he didn't expect to find anyone, and what do you know. The room was full of books and completely devoid of any Tohr.



Where could-



Maybe he wasn't in the house at all.



John bolted from the library and skidded around the bottom of the grand staircase, the soles of his shitkickers squeaking as he turned the corner. Ripping open the hidden door beneath the steps, he took the underground tunnel away from the mansion.



Of course. Tohr would go to the training center. If he were going to wake up and start living, that would mean he was going back into the field. And that meant working out and getting his body back into shape.



As John emerged into the facility's office, he had fully returned to hope-land, and when Tohr wasn't at the desk, he wasn't surprised.



That was where he had been told about Wellsie's death.



John hauled ass out into the corridor, and the dim sound of weights clanking together was a fucking symphony to his ears, relief blooming in his chest until his hands and feet tingled.



But he had to be cool. Approaching the workout room, he shook off his smile, and opened the door wide-



Blaylock glanced over from the bench. Qhuinn's head bobbed up and down on the StairMaster.



As John looked around, both stopped what they were doing, Blay resetting the weight bar, Qhuinn slowly sinking down to the floor.



Have you seen Tohr? John signed.



"No," Qhuinn said while wiping his face with a towel. "Why would he be in here?"



John left in a hurry and headed into the gym, where he found nothing but caged lights and glossy pine floors and bright blue mats. The equipment room had only equipment in it. PT suite was empty. Jane's medical clinic was the same.



He broke out in a run as he gunned back for the tunnel to the main house.



Once he got there, he went directly upstairs to the study's open doors, and he didn't knock on the jamb this time. He walked straight up to Wrath's desk and signed, Tohr is gone.



As the Domino's delivery guy fumbled to catch the pizza box, everyone else went stock-still.



"That was close," the human said. "Don't want to get it-"



The guy froze in a crouch as his eyes traced the black stain on the wall to the crumpled, moaning lesser who'd made it. "...on...your...carpet."



"Christ," Lash spat, grabbing the switchblade out of his breast pocket, triggering the blade, and going up behind the man. As Domino's got to his feet, Lash locked his arm around his neck and drove the knife straight into his heart.



As the guy shriveled and gasped, the pizza box landed on the floor and busted open, the tomato sauce and pepperoni in the same color family as the blood that was leaking from the wound.



Grady jumped off his stool and pointed at the slayer who was still on his feet. "He let me order the pizza!"



Lash pointed the tip of the knife in the idiot's direction. "Shut the fuck up."



Grady sank back onto his bar stool.



Mr. D was vicious pissed as he went up to the remaining slayer. "You let him order that there pizza? Didja?"



The lesser snarled back, "You asked me to go in and guard the window in the back bedroom. That's how we found out the jars were gone, remember? Ass-wipe on the carpet over there was the one who let him call."



Mr. D didn't seem to care about the logic, and as fun as it might have been to watch him go Jack Russell on that rat of a lesser, there was not a lot of time. This human who'd shown up with the 'za wasn't going back to make more deliveries, and his cronies in uniform were going to tweak to that soon enough.



"Call reinforcements," Lash said, closing up his blade and going over to the incapacitated lesser. "Have them come with a truck. Then get the gun crates. We're evac'ing here and downstairs."



Mr. D got on the horn and started barking orders while the other slayer went into the far bedroom.



Lash looked over at Grady, who was staring at the pizza as if he were seriously considering eating it off the rug. "Next time you-"



"Guns are gone."



Lash turned his head to the lesser. "Excuse me."



"Gun crates are not in the closet."



For a split second, all Lash could think about was killing something, and the only thing that saved Grady from being that guy was that he ducked into the kitchen, getting out of the visual field.



Logic took over emotion, however, and he looked over at Mr. D. "You are responsible for the evac."



"Y'sir."



Lash pointed to the slayer on the ground. "I want him taken to the persuasion center."



"Y'sir."



"Grady?" When there was no answer, Lash cursed and went into the kitchen to find the guy leaning into the refrigerator and shaking his head at the empty shelves. Fucker was either very tight in the head or truly self-involved, and Lash was betting it was the latter. "We're leaving."



The human shut the fridge door and came like the dog he was: quickly and without argument, moving so fast he left his coat behind.



Lash and Grady bolted out into the cold, and the Mercedes' warm interior was a relief.



As Lash slowly eased out of the complex, because hurrying might have gotten people's attention, Grady looked over. "That guy...not the pizza one...the one who died...he wasn't normal."



"Nope. He wasn't."



"Neither are you."



"Nope. I am divine."



Chapter TWENTY-SIX



After night fell, Ehlena dressed in her uniform even though she wasn't going into the clinic. This was for two reasons: One, it helped with her father, who didn't deal well with any changes in schedule. And two, she felt as though it would buy her a little distance when she met with Rehvenge.



She hadn't slept at all during the day. Images from the morgue and memories of the way Rehvenge's strained voice had sounded were a hell of a tag team, battering at her as she lay in the dark, her emotions spinning and flipping until her chest ached.



Was she really going to meet Rehvenge now? At his home? How had this happened?



It helped to remind herself that she was just going to deliver meds to him. This was caretaking on a clinical level, nurse to patient. For godsakes, he'd agreed she shouldn't be dating anyone, and it wasn't as if he'd asked her for dinner. She was going to drop off the pills and try to persuade him to go see Havers. That was it.



After checking on her father and giving him his meds, she dematerialized to the sidewalk in front of the Commodore building in the thick of downtown. Standing in the shadows, looking up at the high-rise's sleek flank, she was struck by its contrast to the dingy, low-to-the-ground place she rented.



Man...to live in all this chrome and glass cost money. A lot of money. And Rehvenge had a penthouse. Plus this had to be just one of the places he owned, because no vampire in his right mind would crash out during daylight hours surrounded by all those windows.



The divide between the normal and the rich seemed as wide as the distance between where she stood and where Rehvenge was supposedly waiting for her, and for a brief moment she entertained the fantasy that her family still had money. Maybe then she'd be wearing something other than her cheap winter coat and her uniform.



As she stood down below him on the street, it seemed impossible that she'd connected with him as she had, but then, the phone was virtual relating, one step up from being online. Both people were in their own environments, invisible to each other, only their voices mixing. It was false intimacy.



Had she really stolen pills for this male?



Check your pockets, moron, she thought.



With a curse, Ehlena materialized up to the terrace of the penthouse, relieved that the night was relatively still. Otherwise, with how cold it was, any wind this high up-



What...the hell?



Through innumerable panes of glass, the glow of a hundred candles turned the dark night into a golden fog. Inside, the walls of the penthouse were black, and there were...things hanging from them. Things like cat-o'-nine-tails made of metal, and leather whips, and masks...and there was a large, ancient-looking table that was-No, wait, that was a rack, wasn't it? With leather straps hanging at the four corners.



Oh...hell, no. Rehvenge was into this shit?



Right. Change of plan. She'd leave the antibiotics for him, sure, but it was going to be in front of one of those sliding doors, because there was no way she was going in there. No. Frickin'. Way-



A tremendous male with a goatee came out of a bathroom, drying off his hands and straightening his leathers as he went over to the rack. With one easy hop, he got up on the thing and then he started shackling his ankle.



This was just getting sicker. A three-way?



"Ehlena?"



Ehlena wheeled around so fast she jammed her hip against the wall that ran around the rooftop. As she saw who it was, she frowned.



"Doc Jane?" she said, thinking this night was going from the oh-hell-nos straight into WTF? territory. "What are you-"



"I think you're on the wrong side of the building."



"Wrong side-oh, wait, this isn't Rehvenge's place?"



"No, it's Vishous's and mine. Rehv's on the east side."



"Oh..." Red cheeks. Very red, and not because of the wind. "I'm so sorry, I got it wrong-"



The ghostly doctor laughed. "It's okay."



Ehlena glanced back at the glass, but then looked quickly away. Of course, that was the Brother Vishous. The one with the diamond eyes and the tattoos on his face.



"East side's what you want."



Which Rehv had told her, hadn't he. "I'll just go over there now."



"I'd invite you to cut through, but..."



"Yeah. Better for me to take myself there."



Doc Jane smiled with a good dose of badass. "I think that's best."



Ehlena calmed herself down and dematerialized to the right part of the roof, thinking, Doc Jane a dominatrix?



Well, stranger things had happened.



As she regained her form, she was almost afraid to look through the glass, considering what she'd just seen. If Rehvenge had more of the same-or worse, stuff like ladies clothes in a male's size, or farm animals milling around-she didn't know if she could chill enough to dematerialize her ass out of there.



But no. No RuPaul. Nothing that needed a trough or a fence. Just a lovely, modern interior done in the kind of sleek, simple furniture that must have come from Europe.



Rehvenge came out from an archway and stopped as he saw her. When he lifted his hand, the sliding glass door in front of her opened because he willed it so, and she caught a wonderful scent coming out of the penthouse.



Was that...roast beef?



Rehvenge came over to her, moving with a smooth gait in spite of the fact that he relied on his cane. Tonight, he wore a black turtleneck that was clearly cashmere and a stunning black suit, and in his fine clothes, he was something off the cover of a magazine, glamorous, seductive, ever out of reach.



Ehlena felt like a fool. Seeing him here in his beautiful home, it wasn't that she thought she was beneath him. It was just clear they had nothing in common. What kind of delusions had struck her when they'd talked or been at the clinic?



"Welcome." Rehvenge stopped at the door and extended his hand toward her. "I would have waited for you outside, but it's too cold for me."



Two totally different worlds, she thought.



"Ehlena?"



"Sorry." Because it would be rude not to, she put her hand in his and stepped into his penthouse. But in her mind, she had already left him.



As their palms met, Rehv was robbed, mugged, burgled, broken and entered: He felt nothing as their hands melded, and desperately wished he could sense Ehlena's warmth. Still, even though he was numb, just watching their flesh come together was enough to make his chest sparkle like it had been steel-wooled to a bright shine.



"Hi," she said in a husky way as he drew her in.



He shut the door and kept hold of her hand until she broke the contact, ostensibly to walk around and look at his place. He sensed, though, that she needed physical space.



"The view here is extraordinary." She stopped and stared out at the sprawling vista of the twinkling city. "Funny, it looks like a model from way up here."



"We are high, that's for sure." He watched her with obsessive eyes, absorbing her through his sight. "I love the view," he murmured.



"I can see why."



"And it's quiet." Private. Just them and no one else in the world. And alone with her here now, he could almost believe all the dirty things he'd done had been crimes committed by a stranger.



She smiled a little. "Of course it's quiet. They're using ball gags next door-er..."



Rehv laughed. "You get the wrong side of the building?"



"Did I ever."



That blush told him she had seen more than just inanimate objects from V's Bondage-R-Us collection, and suddenly Rehv was dead serious. "Do I need to say something to my neighbor?"



Ehlena shook her head at him. "It was totally not his fault, and fortunately he and Jane hadn't...er, started. Thank God."



"You're not into that kind of thing, I take it."



Ehlena went back to staring at the view. "Hey, they're consenting adults, so it's all good. But me personally? Not on your life."



Talk about bubble burst. If BDSM was too much for her, he guessed that meant she wouldn't understand the fact that he was fucking for ransom a female he hated. Who happened to be his half sister. Oh, and who was a symphath.



Like him.



His silence brought her head over her shoulder. "I'm sorry. Have I offended you?"



"I'm not into that either." Oh, not at all. He was a whore with standards-kinky crap was okay only if you were forced into it. Fuck the consensual shit V and his mate were into. Yeah, 'cuz that was just wrong.



Christ, he was beneath her.



Ehlena wandered around, her soft-soled shoes making no sound on his black marble floors. As he watched her, he realized that under her black wool coat she was in her uniform. Which was logical, he pointed out to himself, if she had to go to work after this.



Come on, he told himself. Did he really think she was going to stay the night?



"May I take your coat?" he said, knowing she must be warm. "I have to keep this place hotter than most people are comfortable with."



"Actually...I should just head off." She put a hand in her pocket. "I only came to give you the penicillin."



"I was hoping you'd stay for dinner."



"I'm sorry." She held out a plastic bag to him. "I can't."



Flashes of the princess tripped through Rehv's brain, and he reminded himself of how good it felt to do right by Ehlena-and erase her number from his phone. He had no business courting her. None at all.



"I understand." He took the pills from her. "And thank you for these."



"Take two four times a day. Ten days. Promise me?"



He nodded once. "Promise."



"Good. And try to go see Havers, will you?"



There was an awkward moment, and then she lifted her hand. "Okay...so, bye."



Ehlena turned away, and he opened the glass panel with his mind, not trusting himself to get too close to her.



Oh, please don't go. Please don't, he thought.



He just wanted to feel...clean for a little while.



Just as she walked out, she stopped and his heart pounded.



Ehlena glanced back, the wind ruffling the pale wisps around her lovely face. "With food. You need to take them with food."



Right. Medical information. "I've got plenty of that here."



"Good."



After he shut the door, Rehv watched her disappear into the shadows and had to make himself turn away.



Walking slowly and using his cane, he went down the wall of glass and around the corner into the glow of the dining room.



Two candles lit. Two place settings of silver. Two glasses for wine. Two glasses for water. Two napkins folded precisely and laid on top of two plates.



He sat down on the chair he'd been going to give to her, the one to his right, the position of honor. He rested his cane against his thigh and put the plastic bag down on the ebony table, smoothing it out so that the antibiotics were resting one next to another in a neat and orderly row.



He wondered why they hadn't come in a little orange bottle with a white label on it, but whatever. She had brought them to him here. That was the main thing.



Sitting in the silence, surrounded by candlelight and the scent of the roast beef he'd just taken out of the oven, Rehv stroked the plastic bag with his numb forefinger. Sure as shit he was feeling something, though. In the dead center of his chest, he had an ache behind his heart.



He'd done a lot of evil deeds over the course of his life. Big ones and small.



He'd set people up just to mess with them, whether they were rogue dealers infringing on his turf, or johns who didn't treat his whores right, or idiots who screwed around at his club.



He'd leveraged the vices of others to his benefit. Sold drugs. Sold sex. Sold death in the form of Xhex's special skills.



He'd fucked for all the wrong reasons.



He'd maimed.



He'd murdered.



And yet, none of that had bothered him at the time. There had been no second thoughts, no regrets, no empathy. Just more schemes, more plans, more angles to be discovered and exploited.



Here at this empty table, though, in this empty penthouse, he felt the ache in his chest and knew it for what it was: Regret.



It would have been extraordinary to deserve Ehlena.



But that was just one more thing he wasn't ever going to feel.