Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (75 page)

Abruptly, he nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “We go inside. Now. And you will tell me

more.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Assail stared at her from his superior height. “You shall have it anyway.”

SEVENTY-TWO

Trez was not used to being chauffeured around. He liked driving himself. Being in control.

Choosing the left or the right.

That kind of self-determination was not on the menu tonight, however.

At the moment, he was riding phat in the back of a Mercedes that was the size of a house.

Up in front, Fritz, as his name was, was driving like a bat out of hell—not exactly something you

expected from a butler who looked like he was seven thousand years old.

Now, given that Trez was still a little off after the previous night’s headache, he supposed he was okay with being a passenger in this instance. But if he and iAm were going to live here, they were

going to have to know where the damn property was—

What. The. Fuck.

For some reason, his senses were picking up on a change in the atmosphere, something tingling on

the edges of his consciousness—a warning. And what do you know, outside the window, the moonlit

landscape grew wavy, a vital distortion tweaking his vision.

His eyes checked out the inside of the Mercedes. Everything was fine: the grain of the black

leather, the burled walnut trim, the partition that had been raised into place all exactly as they should appear. So it wasn’t his optical nerves going bad.

Shifting his eyes back to the great outdoors, he knew the distortion wasn’t because a fog had

rolled in. Not some weird-ass sleet thing, either. No, this shit was not the weather—it was something else entirely…as if dread had crystallized in the very particles of the air, and was causing the

landscape to morph out of shape.

Niiiiiiiiiice protective cover, he thought.

And here he’d assumed he and his brother were the only ones with tricks up their sleeves.

“We’re close,” he said.

“What is this stuff?” iAm murmured as he too looked out his window.

“I don’t know. But we need to get some of it.”

Abruptly, the car went into an ascent, which, given the speed of Old Man Lead Foot, resembled

the launch of a roller coaster. They didn’t crest and free-fall at the top, though: From out of nowhere, a massive stone mansion materialized, making such a quick appearance, Trez grabbed for the hand

rest and braced himself.

But their chauffeur knew exactly where they were, and how much distance was required to bring

the Benz to a halt. With the expertise of a Hollywood stunt driver, the butler wrenched the wheel and nailed the brakes, bringing them to a park between a GTO Trez had an immediate hard-on for…and a

Hummer that looked like an abstract sculpture rather than anything that was drivable.

“Maybe he made his mistakes on that one,” Trez said dryly.

As the locks were released, he and iAm got out at the same time.

Man. Get a loada the house, Trez thought as he tilted back his head and looked up, up, way up. In

comparison to the giant pile of rock, he felt about the size of a thumb.

Like, a two-year-old’s thumb.

Looming high into the cold night, with gargoyles that watched from eaves, and a pair of sinister-

looking, four-story wings that extended off on either side, the place appeared to be exactly like what you’d expect the king of the vampires to live in: spooky, creepy, threatening.

It was all that Halloween shit, except this was for real. The people in there did bite, and not just when they were asked to.

“Cool,” Trez said, feeling instantly at home.

“Sires, why do you not proceed inside,” the butler said cheerfully. “And I shall endeavor to get

your bags.”

“Nah,” Trez countered as he headed over to the trunk. “We got a lot of shit—er, crap.”

It was kind of hard to curse in front of a guy in tails.

iAm nodded. “We’ll take care of this for you.”

The butler looked back and forth between them, smile still firmly in place. “Please do go in for

the festivities, sires. We shall handle these mundane things.”

“Oh, no, we can—”

“Yeah, I mean, it won’t take—”

Fritz looked confused, and then slightly panicked. “But please, sires, you must join the others. I

shall take care of this. This is my position within the household.”

The distress seemed so out of place, but it wasn’t as if it could be argued with without causing

more upset: Clearly, the guy was going to throw a clot if they took their own luggage through that front door.

When in Rome…Trez thought. “Okay, yeah, thanks.”

“Yes, thank you very much.”

That endearing, wide-open grin immediately returned. “Very well, sires! Very well indeed.”

As the butler indicated the way to the door, as if the purpose of that grand, cathedral-like entrance was a mystery, Trez shrugged and headed up the steps.

“Do you think he’ll let us wipe our own asses?” he said under his breath.

“Only if he doesn’t see us go to the loo.”

Trez barked out a laugh and looked over. “Was that a joke, iAm? Huh? I think it was.”

After elbowing his brother, and getting a growl in response, he reached out and grabbed the heavy

portal’s handle. He was a little surprised to find that it wasn’t locked, but then again, with that…

whatever it was…all around, why would you need the likes of anything Schlage-ish? No squeak when

he opened the way in, and that wasn’t a surprise. The place was landscaped to within an inch of its life, everything fully shoveled, thoroughly salted, absolutely ordered.

Then again, with that butler in charge? One dust bunny was probably a national emergency.

Stepping out of the cold, he found himself in a small anteroom with a mosaic floor and a tall

ceiling, facing a check-in station that included a camera lens. He knew what that was for—and he

shoved his mug right into its field of vision.

Instantly, the inner door, which could have lapped a bank vault when it came to heft, was opened

wide.

“Hello!” a female said. “You’re here.”

Trez barely even noticed Ehlena as he took note of what was behind her. “Hey…how are you…”

He didn’t hear her response.

Oh…wow. Oh…what beautiful color.

Trez was unaware of walking forward, but he did…into the most incredible architectural wonder

he had ever seen. Great columns of malachite and marble rose to a ceiling higher than the heavens.

Crystal chandeliers and golden sconces twinkled. A bloodred staircase as big as a city park rose up from a mosaic floor that seemed to depict…an apple tree in full bloom.

As dour as the exterior was, the interior was absolutely resplendent.

“It rivals the palace,” iAm said with wonder. “Oh, Ehlena, hey, girl.”

Trez was dimly aware of his brother hugging Rehvenge’s
shellan
. And there were other people milling around, females, mostly, but he recognized Blay and a blond male, along with John Matthew,

and, of course, Rehv, who was coming across the floor with the help of his cane.

“The party’s not for you two, but you can pretend it is.”

iAm and Rehv embraced, but again Trez wasn’t paying any attention to them.

Matter of fact, the rainbow-colored oh-my-God had completely disappeared, too.

Standing in the archway of what appeared to be a formal dining room, the Chosen that he’d seen

up at Rehv’s Great Camp was talking to someone else who was also in a white robe.

Trez’s vision went tunnel and then some, his eyes latching onto her, and staying put.

Look at me, he willed.
Look at me.

At that moment, as if she felt the command, the Chosen glanced over.

Trez instantly hardened, his body swelling with the need to go over to the female, pick her up, and carry her to somewhere private.

Where he could mark her.

iAm’s voice was exactly, precisely, what he did not need to hear in his ear: “Still not for you,

brother.”

Fuck that for a laugh, Trez thought as his Chosen refocused on the female she had been talking

with.

He was going to have her, even if it killed him.

And if it came down to that? Well, his life wasn’t really a party right now, was it.

When Qhuinn came back around, he was lying on top of the altar. The skull was right next to his head, as if the first Brother was looking after him as he recouped from the drinking. Blinking his eyes clear, he realized he was staring at a wall of names: Every square inch of the vast marble slab he’d stood against had been etched with names in the Old Language.

Well, except for where the twin pegs were.

As he sat up and swung his legs free, his back cracked loudly and his head swam. Rubbing his

face, he jumped off and walked forward…until he could touch the carvings.

“You’re down at the far end,” Zsadist said from behind him.

Qhuinn wheeled around. The Brotherhood was once again standing down below, each of them

smiling like a motherfucker.

Butch’s Bostonian accent rang out: “It’s a rush to see your name up there. You gotta check it out.”

Qhuinn turned back around. Sure enough, after heading down to the right, he found the cop’s

name…and then his own.

His legs went loose and he lowered himself, going down on his knees before the precise lineup of

symbols. Then he looked across the wall, the distinct names disappearing into nothing but a single, cohesive pattern across the marble. Just like the Brotherhood. No individuals in it; the group was the thing.

And he was part of it.

Goddamn it…he was there.

Qhuinn got ready for a transformative experience—like something along the lines of a great

ringing bell of “You Belong” getting struck in his chest, or maybe a light-headed joy thing…or shit, a big-ass load of “You th’ Man” singing in his brain.

Didn’t happen. He was glad, yeah. He was proud, fuck, yeah. He was ready to get out there and

fight like a mack bastard.

But as he got to his feet, he realized that in spite of that newfound wholeness, part of him

remained separate and checked out. Then again, it had been a helluva couple of days—as if Fate had

put his life in the pulse blender, and was busy making salsa out of his ass.

Maybe it was more because he’d never been good at the emotion thing? And nothing was going to

change that.

At least he wasn’t running, though.

Going down to the Brothers, he got so many slaps on the back and chest bumps, he knew what a

lineman felt like after practice.

And then it dawned on him…he was going home to Blay.

Holy Mary Mother of God, to borrow a saying from the cop, he was
so
ready to lock eyes on that guy. Maybe sneak off and tell him what it was like, even though he probably wasn’t supposed to do

that. Maybe go up to his room after the party was over and…um, yeah…for a while.

Okay, now he was pumped.

Rhage threw his black robe at him. “So, welcome to the insane asylum, you sorry son of a bitch.

You’re stuck with us for life.”

Qhuinn frowned and thought of John. “What about my
ahstrux nohtrum
position?”

“Gone,” V said as he robed up as well. “You’re a free man.”

“So John knew?”

“Not that you were getting this kind of promotion, no. But he was told that you couldn’t be his

private soldier anymore.” As Qhuinn touched the tattoo under his eyes, V nodded. “Yeah, we’re going to change that—it’s an honorable-discharge thing, though, not a death or firing.”

Oh, cool. Better than a pink slip in the center of the chest and a shallow grave.

As they filed out, Qhuinn spared one last look at the cave. It was so weird; yeah, he was history

happening, but this also felt like the culmination of all those nights fighting with the Brothers, an internal logic making this extraordinary event seem…inevitable.

Retracing the trip they’d taken in, Qhuinn soon found himself in a hallway that was lined with

shelves from floor to superhigh ceiling.

“Jesus…Christ,” he breathed as he took in all the
lesser
jars.

Everyone stopped.

“The jars?” Wrath asked.

“Yeah,” Tohr said with a chuckle. “Our boy looks impressed.”

“Should be,” Rhage muttered as he jacked the belt on his robe. “We are awesome.”

Multiple groans at that point. Rolled eyes.

“At least he didn’t pull out the ‘totes amazeballs,’” somebody muttered.

“That’s Lassiter,” came an answer.

“Man, that son of a bitch has got to stop watching Nickel-fucking-odeon.”

“Among other things.”

“Focus, people,” Rhage cut in. “Can we just have a moment here?”

Growls of approval replaced the bitching, the throaty sound rising up and threading through the

mementos of their dead enemies.

“Just think,” Tohr said as he put an arm around Qhuinn’s shoulders, “now you get to put your own