Where Winter Finds You

Trez recognized the figure immediately. Then again, like anyone else on the Eastern seaboard wore a floor-length sable coat indoors, and carried a walking cane that doubled as a weapon? Rehvenge was back in his element, strolling through the club like he owned it, his Mohawk and his amethyst eyes nothing that any of the clubbers had ever seen the likes of before, the aura of don’t-fuck-with-me exactly the kind of thing their survival instincts recognized as a cue to skidoo.

Trez backed off from the glass wall and went to the door to his office. As he left and proceeded down the stairs, he couldn’t think of why his old boss was doing an out-and-about, especially in a club. Rehv had staged his own death a couple of years ago in a spectacular explosion, wiping out the identity he’d cultivated as a drug dealer and club owner on the scene. Why the resurrection?

Down on the floor, Trez came around the base of the staircase as Rehv broke through the last of the congregation.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Trez murmured as they met face-to-face.

Rehvenge was not merely your average vampire. He was a symphath, and not just a Joe Schmoe one. He was king of the territory, ruler of a subspecies that made sociopaths look like family-focused nurturers. So yes, he was as dangerous as he looked.

“My man,” Rehv said as they hugged it out, clapping each other on the back.

“What brings you into the riffraff?”

Rehvenge looked around. “Just checking the scene.”

“Bullshit.”

The smile that came over that slightly evil face was hard. “Am I not welcome here?”

“You know that’s not the case.” Trez nodded at the crowd, most of whom were checking out the symphath with barely disguised fascination—and God only knew how many phones that were discreetly sneaking pics or a video. “You’re catching a lot of views, that’s all. The cost-benefit analysis usually isn’t there for you.”

“They won’t remember me.”

“Not without your help, they won’t.”

“I’ll handle it.” Rehv nodded at the back stairs. “You got time to talk?”

“Depends on the subject.”

“Good, I appreciate you making the time.”

Rehv walked past him, like whatever conversation Trez was probably going to want to avoid had been booked on the social calendar with a Sharpie.

Great. Fucking fantastic.

As Trez followed the leader, he remembered the way things had been, Rehv in charge, Trez and iAm’s job to keep the fucker alive as he had done his dirty business with the Princess. Talk about bumping uglies. God, those had been horrible nights, Rehv going up there to that cabin in the woods with satchels of rubies bought with the money he made from drug sales and the clubs, the male turning those precious stones over before he had to give his own body to that damn bitch. Trez had always followed in the ether, staying hidden, so that after it was done, he could scrape Rehv up off the dirty floor and help him home. The male had always been so sick, the contact with that Princess making him ill, and not just because he despised the female and hated himself even more for doing what he had to. She’d been poison to him. Literally.

Instantly, Trez thought of iAm, lying through his teeth about being okay.

Maybe it was good that Rehv had come. Maybe the symphath knew what the hell was going on with his brother. iAm had always been the quiet one, and him finding his love with maichen hadn’t loosened his lips. But Rehv had been known to get things out of the guy—whether iAm liked it or not. That was the problem with symphaths. Hiding anything from them was a losing game.

Back inside the office, Trez felt a little weird sitting behind the desk. For so long, Rehv had been the one in charge. Yet he seemed perfectly comfortable to be on the subordinate side of things.

“So,” his former boss said, “how you doing?”

Trez narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t this about iAm?”

“iAm? Why, what’s going on with him?”

“So you haven’t come because of him.” When Rehv slowly shook his head and didn’t go any further, Trez wanted to curse. “All right, so let’s play pin the tail on the meddler. Who put you up to this? Was it my brother?”

Maybe that was why iAm had been distracted at the restaurant.

And as Trez entertained an image of himself at that traffic light, contemplating suicide in the new car that had done nothing to elevate his mood, he refused to think that his brother might have reason to worry. After all, Trez’s life was his own to destroy, goddamn it. No one else was welcome at that table.

When Rehv just shook his head again, Trez considered other likely whistle-blowers. “Oh, so it was Mary, huh. I mean, she’s the resident therapist, although I haven’t been around her enough—wait, it was Xhex? Really?”

He would have assumed his head of security was too much of a hard-ass to pull in reinforcements if she was worried about him. She was more the type to get up in his face and not move. But was he so bad off that even she was daunted by the idea of talking to him—

“No, it was Beth.” Trez slapped his thigh. “It was because of movie night last week. She wanted me to come and asked me twice. I didn’t show and she looked worried. Or maybe it was more like upset.”

“Is Beth upset with you?”

“So it was her.”

“The Queen has said nothing to me. I don’t know whether she’s worried or not.”

Trez looked away, mentally reviewing the household cast of characters. Well, shit. The only people he could rule out were the doggen. Fritz and his staff would never be so presumptuous as to suggest so much as a wardrobe change to someone they served, much less form a consensus on a person’s mental stability. Or lack thereof.

“Look,” he gritted out. “Will you just get on with it? No offense, but I got business to take care of.”

Not really, the club ran itself. He had to play what cards he had, however.

As the silence stretched out, Trez took an inventory of his former boss. Rehv’s purple eyes were utterly level, the color reminding Trez of Rhage’s GTO. And between that huge body, and all that fur, the chair that ordinarily was perfectly big enough for anyone who sat in it looked like dollhouse furniture. Worse, as the king of the symphaths just sat there, batting his walking stick back and forth between his knees, his white suit and white shirt like he’d worn the storm indoors, the male seemed content to ride out the bad weather. Until, like, August.

“What.” Trez sat forward and fiddled with two accounts payable reports. “Can we just get this over with.”

“Ehlena says hi.”

“And you came all this way to tell me?”

“Well, not everything has to be on text. Have you heard about the privacy concerns going around? Smartphones are evil.”

“Fuck you,” Trez said in an exhausted voice. “No offense.”

Rehv got to his feet and strolled over to the glass wall, that sable coat flaring out behind him, the glittering cane flashing in the dim lights from overhead. As Trez watched his old friend, he realized it had been so long since he had hung out with the male. Both of their lives had changed so much, although only Rehv’s for the better.

“You know I’m still on the dopamine, right?” Rehv said as he angled his sight downward toward the dance floor.