Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (81 page)

All things considered, his obsession was a little sad, particularly in its manifestations: Every

night for the past week, he’d hung around after First Meal, waiting, looking casual, talking to the godforsaken Lassiter—who was actually not that bad a guy when you got to know him. Matter of fact,

that angel was a font of information about the house, and so into his crap TV that he didn’t seem to notice how many questions were clustered around the subject of the females. The Primale. Whether

there was any hooking up going on anywhere, with anybody outside of mated couples.

Pausing by his computer, he turned off
The Howard Stern Show
, cutting short another round of Baba Booey bashing; then he left his room, stalking past the vaulted wall that retracted whenever

Wrath or Beth wanted to come or go from their quarters. Hitting the carpeted stairs, he emerged at the head of the hall of statues.

Or hall of buck-ass naked dudes, as he thought of it.

Rounding to the right, he went by the king’s study, which was closed, and descended the grand

staircase into that incredible foyer. On the way down, he bitched about the time, wishing he didn’t have to go. Business was business, however, and—

He was halfway to the mosaic floor below when the female he had wanted to see emerged from

the billiards room and headed in the direction of the library.

“Selena,” he called out, going across to the balcony and leaning on all that gold leaf.

As he looked over the drop, her head lifted, and her eyes rose to his own.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

His heart got loud as a war chant in his chest, and his hands automatically went to his coat,

making sure that the front stayed closed. She was a female of worth, after all—and he didn’t want to frighten her with his weapons.

Oh, man, she was beautiful.

With her dark hair twisted high off her nape, and her diaphanous robe draping her body, she was

far too precious and gentle to be around anything violent.

Or anything like him.

“Hello,” she said with a slight smile.

That voice. Sweet Jesus, that voice…

Trez went on full high-tail, doing a down-and-around at a dead run. “How are you?” he said as he

all but skidded to a halt in front of her.

She bowed a little. “Very well.”

“That’s good. That’s real good. So…” Fuck. “Do you come here often?”

He wanted to smack himself in the head. What, like this was a bar? Shit—

“When I am called, yes.” Her head tilted to one side, her eyes narrowing. “You’re different,

aren’t you?”

As he glanced at the dark skin of his hands, he knew she wasn’t talking about chromatics. “Not

that different.”

He had fangs, for instance—that wanted to bite. And…other things. That happened to be getting

aroused just being in her presence.

“What are you?” Her stare was steady and strong, as if she were assessing him on some level

deeper than sight or hearing or scent. “I cannot…place it.”

That is not for you.

As his brother’s voice checked in, Trez pushed it aside. “I’m a friend of the Brotherhood’s.”

“And the king’s, or you would not be here.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you fight with them?”

“If they call on me.”

Now her eyes shone with respect. “That is right and proper.” She bowed again. “Your service is

laudable.”

Silence cropped up between them, and as he racked his brain for something, anything, he was

reminded of all that fucking he’d been doing. Now, that shit he was able to tee up at a moment’s

notice. Polite conversation, on the other hand? Talk about your foreign languages.

God, he hated thinking of any of that around her.

“Are you all right?” the Chosen asked.

And that was when she touched him. Reaching out, she put her hand on his forearm—and even

though there was no skin-to-skin contact, his body felt the connection all over, his arms and legs

stilling, his mind going into a kind of blankness, as if he were in a trance.

“You are…incredibly beautiful,” he heard himself say.

The Chosen’s eyebrows shot up.

“Just being honest,” he murmured. “And I’ve got to tell you…I’ve been waiting to see you all

week.”

Her hand, the one that touched him, retracted and rose to the collar of her robing, closing the

lapels. “I…”

That is not for you.

As her awkwardness tore through him, Trez dropped his lids, a sense of what-the-hell-was-he-

thinking hitting him hard: From what he understood about the Scribe Virgin’s Chosen, they were the

purest and most virtuous variety of female on the planet. The polar opposite of his “partners” of late.

What did he think was going to happen if he started laying lines on her? She was going to hop up

and throw her legs around his hips?

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“No, listen, you don’t have to apologize.” He took a step away, because although she was tall, she

was a quarter of his size, and the last thing he wanted was for her to feel crowded. “I just wanted you to know.”

“I…”

Great. Anytime a female had to search her mind for appropriate words? You knew you’d really

put your foot in it.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“No, it’s okay. It’s cool.” He lifted his hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s just that I—”

I’m in love with someone else. I’m taken. I’m not interested in you on any level.

“No.” He cut her off, not wanting to hear the specifics. They were just vocabulary for the

inevitable. “It’s all right. I understand—”

“Selena?” came a voice from over on the left.

It was Rhage’s. Shit.

As her head turned in that direction, the light hit her cheeks and lips from a different angle, and they looked every bit as good, of course. He could so stare at her forever….

Hollywood leaned out from the arches of the library. “We’re ready for you—oh, hey, man.”

“Hey,” Trez shot back. “How you been?”

“Good. Little business to take care of.”

Fucker. Cocksucker. Bas—

Trez rubbed his face. Right. Okay. There was no room in this five-bajillion-square-foot house for

that kind of aggression, particularly when it was about a female who he’d met twice. Who didn’t want to know him. While she was doing her job.

“I’m heading out,” he said to the Brother. “I’ll catch you before dawn.”

“Roger that, big guy.”

Trez nodded at Selena and strode off, proceding through the vestibule and dematerializing off to

downtown—where the hell he belonged.

He couldn’t believe he’d waited a week for that; and he should have guessed how it was going to

go.

Feeling like a fool, he reassumed form behind the Iron Mask, in the shadows of the parking lot.

Even out in the back, he could hear the bass beat of the music, and as he approached the rear door, with its scraped paint and well-worn handle, he knew his foul mood was a complication that was

going to have to be managed carefully for the next six or eight hours.

Humans + alcohol x urge to kill = body count.

Not what he or his business interests needed.

Inside, he went directly to his office and ditched his dumb-ass Halloween costume of legitimacy,

removing his fancy coat, as well as the silk shirt, so that all he had on was his black wifebeater and those fine slacks.

Xhex wasn’t in her office, so he waved a greeting at the working girls who were getting ready for

their shifts in the locker room and went out into the land of the great unwashed.

The club already had a critical mass of people, all of whom were wearing dark, stringy clothes

and cultivated expressions of boredom—both of which would be lost for many of them as time wore

on and their livers broke down the chemical makeup of the booze they were drinking and the drugs

they were taking.

“Hi, Daddy,” someone said to him.

Looking over, he found a short, curvy something-or-other staring up at him. With eyes lined with

so much black she might as well have had sunglasses on, and a bustier cinched up tight as a fist, she was like an anime character come to life.

Snooze.

“I’m
blah-blah-blah
. Do you come here often?” She took a sip from the red straw in her drink.

“
Blah-blah-blah
college student
blah-blah
psychology.
Blah-blah-blah?
”

In the corner of his eye, he saw the crowd part, as if they were getting out of the way of a bouncer or maybe a wrecking ball.

It was Qhuinn.

Looking as grim as Trez felt.

Trez nodded to the guy, and the fighter nodded back as he kept going toward the bar.

“Wow, do you know him?” College Student asked. “Who is he?
Blah-blah
threesome maybe

blah-blah
?”

As she tee-hee-hee’d like she was a Very Naughty Girl, Trez swung his eyes back and downward.

On so many levels, the plate of hors d’oeuvres being offered was totally unappetizing.

“
Blah-blah-blahblahblah
.” Giggle. Hip shake. “
Blah?”

Dimly, Trez was aware of his head nodding, and then they were moving into a dark corner. With

every step he took, another part of him shut down, turned off, went into hibernation. But he couldn’t stop himself. He was the junkie hoping that his next hit would be as good as the first had been—and finally bring that relief he was fucking desperate for.

Even though he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

Not tonight. Not with her.

Not anywhere in his life.

Probably never, ever.

But sometimes you just had to do something…or go insane.

“Tell me that you love me?” the chick said to him, as she pressed herself against his body.

“Pleeeeeeeeease.”

“Yeah,” he said numbly. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Whatever.

SEVENTY-EIGHT

Xcor linked his hands and placed them on the glossy tabletop. Beside him, Throe was speaking

in low tones; he himself had remained quiet since they had taken the weight off their feet in

these matching oxblood armchairs.

“This certainly seems persuasive.” His soldier flipped over another page in the set of

documents that had been proffered. “Very persuasive, indeed.”

Xcor looked across at their host. The
glymera
solicitor was built like a pamphlet, so thin that one wondered when he lay out flat whether he presented any verticality a’tall. He also spoke with an

exhausting thoroughness, his verbal paragraphs of small font and crowded, complicated wording.

“Tell me, how comprehensive is this brief?” Throe asked.

Xcor’s eyes went to the bookshelves. They were crammed with leather volumes, and he quite

believed that the gentlemale had read each and every one. Mayhap twice.

The solicitor launched another well thought-out, well-articulated cruise through the English

language. “I would not have turned it over to you both without ensuring that all efforts were made

to…”

In other words, yes, Xcor filled in in his head.

“What I do not see here”—Throe turned more pages—“is any notation of counter-opinion.”

“That is because I was unable to find any. The term ‘full-blooded’ has been used in only two

contexts—that of lineage, as in a full-blooded offspring of a given sire or a dam, and that of racial identity. Over time, there has been some minor dilution of the wider gene pool, some contamination

from humans—and yet individuals with distant Homo sapiens blood ties have as yet been construed

by law as being full-blooded provided they go through their transitions. Now, of course, that is not the case of the direct offspring of a human and a vampire. That is a true half-breed. And those

individuals, even if they survive the change, have historically been held to a different standard by the law, with lesser rights and privileges than other civilians. The concern is thus—if the king’s
shellan
is a half-breed, there is a chance that any male offspring of theirs may not go through the transition.”

Throe frowned as if considering the implications. “But within twenty-five years, we shall know

one way or the other—and the royal couple could always attempt to have multiple young.”

Xcor interjected dryly, “You assume we will still be on the planet in two and a half decades. At

this rate, we are nearing extinction as it is.”

“Precisely.” The solicitor inclined his head in Xcor’s direction. “From a practical standpoint,

being a quarter human could be enough to prevent the transition from occurring—there have been

documented incidences of this, and I’m sure Havers could give even more examples. Further, there is among many people of my generation a fear that an offspring with that close a nexus to the human race could in fact prefer a human mate—i.e., go out and seek one unaffiliated with our kind. In which case, we could have a human queen, and that is”—the male shook his head with distaste—“absolutely

untenable.”

“So there are two issues,” Xcor said as he sat back, the chair creaking under his weight. “The

legal precedent and the social implications.”