Lover Enshrined (47 page)

“Your mother—”

“Got away in their van,” Qhuinn answered. “John got her free.”

Both Blay and his father sagged at that news. Which was when Qhuinn noticed Blay was bleeding from a cut on the shoulder and one across his abdomen and another on his back and . . .

His father wiped his brow with his arm. “We’ve got to get ahold of her—”

John held up his phone, a ringing coming out over the speaker.

When Blay’s mother answered, her voice cracked, but not because the connection was bad. “John? John is—”

“We’re all here,” Blay’s father said. “Keep driving, darling—”

John shook his head, handed the phone over, and signed,
What if there’s a tracking device in the van?

Blay’s father muttered a curse. “Darling? Pull over. Pull over and get out of the van. Dematerialize up to the safe house, and call me when you’re there.”

“Are you sure—”

“Now, dearest.
Now
.”

There was the sound of an engine decelerating. The slam of a car door. Then silence.

“Darling?” Blay’s father grabbed for the phone. “Darling? Oh, Jesus . . .”

“I’m here,” came her voice. “Here at the safe house.”

Everyone took a deep breath.

“I’ll be right there.”

Other words were said, but Qhuinn was busy listening for sounds of footsteps up the stairs. What if more
lessers
came? Blay was injured, and the guy’s father looked wiped.

“We really gotta get out of here,” he said to no one in particular.

They went upstairs, put the suitcases in Blay’s father’s Lexus, and before Qhuinn could count one, two, three, Blay and his father were off into the night.

It all went so fast. The attack, the fighting, the evac . . .the good-bye that was never spoken. Blay just got in the car with his father and took off with their luggage. But what else was going to happen? Now was hardly the time for a long, drawn-out thing, and not just because the
lessers
had come for a little house tour ten minutes ago.

“I guess we should take off,” he said.

John shook his head.
I want to stay here. More are going to come when the ones we killed don’t check in.

Qhuinn looked at the family room, which was now a porch thanks to Blay’s Hollywood-stuntman routine. There was a lot to loot in the house, and the idea that even a box of Kleenex from Blay’s might fall into the Lessening Society ’s hands pissed him off royally.

John started texting.
I’m telling Wrath what happened and that we’re hanging here. We trained for this. It’s time we get into the action.

Qhuinn couldn’t agree more, but he was pretty damn sure Wrath wasn’t going to approve.

John’s phone went off a moment later. He read what it was to himself, and then slowly smiled and turned the screen around.

The text was from Wrath.
Agreed. Call if you need backup.

Holy shit
. . . They’d joined the war.

Chapter Thirty-five

Rehv parked the bentley at the southeast entrance of Black Snake State Park. The gravel lot was small, big enough for only ten cars, and whereas the other lots were chained off after hours, this one was always open because it had trails to the rentable cabins.

As he got out of the car, he took his cane, but not because he needed it for balance. His vision had gone red about halfway through the drive and now his body was alive and humming, warmed up, with sensation everywhere.

Before he locked up the Bentley, he stashed his sable coat in the trunk, because the car was noticeable enough without twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of Russian fur in plain view. He also double-checked that he had the antivenom kit with him and plenty of dopamine.

Yup. Yup.

He shut the trunk, hit the alarm, and turned to the thick line of shorter trees that formed the park’s outer boundaries. For no good reason, the birches and oaks and poplars around the man-made lot reminded him of a crowd penned in at a parade, all of them packed in tight at the edge of the gravel, their branches overlapping out-of-bounds even as their trunks stayed where they should.

The night was still except for a crisp, dry breeze that was all about fall’s impending arrival. Funny, this far upstate, August could get downright cold, and as his body was now, he liked the chill. Thrived on it, even.

He walked over to the main trailhead, going past an unmanned check-in and a series of signs for hikers. A quarter mile in there was an offshoot into the forest, and he took the dirt path deeper into the park. The log cabin was a mile farther, and he was about two hundred yards away from the thing when a tangle of leaves scampered by his feet. The shadow that carried them forward was tropical-hot around his ankles.

“Thanks, man,” he said to Trez.

I’LL MEET YOU THERE.

“Good.”

As his bodyguard misted across the ground, Rehv straightened his tie for no good reason. Shit knew the thing wasn’t going to stay around his neck for much longer.

The clearing where the cabin was located was awash in moonlight, and he couldn’t tell which of the shadows among the trees was Trez. But that was why his bodyguard was worth his tremendous weight in gold. Even a
symphath
couldn’t tease him out of the landscape when he didn’t want to be seen.

Rehv went up to the rough-hewn door and paused, looking around. The Princess was here already: All around the ostensibly bucolic spot was a dense, invisible cloud of dread—the kind that kids felt when they looked at abandoned houses on dark, windy nights. It was the
symphath
version of
mhis
, and it guaranteed that the two of them wouldn’t be disturbed by humans. Or other animals, for that matter.

He wasn’t surprised she’d come early. He could never predict whether she would be late, early, or on time, and therefore he was never off his game, no matter when she showed.

The cabin door opened with its familiar creak. As the sound went right into the cringe center of his brain, he covered up his emotions with the picture of a sunny beach he’d once seen on TV.

From out of the shadows in the corner of the open space, accented words drifted over thick and low. “You always do that. Makes me wonder what you hide from your love.”

And she could keep guessing. He could not allow her to get into his head. Aside from the fact that self-protection was critical, shutting her out drove her crazy, and that made him glow with satisfaction like a fucking spotlight.

As he closed the door, he decided to play the jilted romantic tonight. She would expect him to be wondering what the hell had happened to their reg/sched and she’d hold him hostage for the info as long as she could. But charm worked, even on
symphaths
—although naturally in a fucked-up, roundabout way. She knew he hated her and that it cost him to pretend to be in love with her. His grind and chafe at speaking pretty lies would be what would put him in her good graces, not the lies themselves.

“How I’ve missed you,” he said in a deep, intent voice.

His fingers went to the tie he’d just straightened and slowly worked the knot free. Her response was instantaneous. Her eyes flashed like rubies in front of a bonfire, and she did nothing to hide the reaction. She knew it made him sick.

“You missed me? Of course you missed me.” Her voice was like that of a snake, the
S
’s lingering through long exhales. “But by how much?”

Rehv kept the beach scene in the forefront of his mind, nailing the sucker to his frontal lobe, keeping her out of him. “I missed you to distraction.”

He put his cane aside, shed his jacket, and let loose the top button on his silk shirt . . .then the next . . .and the next, until he had to pull the tails out of his slacks to finish the job. As he shrugged his shoulders and let the silk fall to the floor, the Princess hissed for real and his cock swelled.

He hated her and he hated the sex, but he loved that he had the power over her that he did. Her weakness gave him a sexual thrill that was damn close to when you were actually attracted to someone. Which was how he managed to get it up even as his skin crawled like it was draped in a blanket of worms.

“Keep your clothes on,” she said in a sharp voice.

“No.” He always took them off when he wanted to, not when she said. His pride demanded it.

“Keep your clothes on, whore.”

“No.” He undid his belt and snapped it free from his hips, the supple leather cracking in the air. He dropped it as he had the shirt, without care.

“The clothes stay on . . .” Her words drifted because her strength was weakening. Which was the fucking point.

With a deliberate hand, he cupped himself, then unzipped his fly, freed the fastener, and felt his pants fall down to the rough floor in a rush. His erection stood straight out from his hips, and pretty much summed up their relationship. He was viciously angry at her, and he hated himself, and he despised the fact that Trez was outside witnessing this all.

And as a result his cock was rock-hard and glistening at the tip.

For
symphaths
, a trip into mental illness was better than any Agent Provocateur splurge, and that was why this whole thing worked. He could give that sick shit to her. He could give her something else, too. She craved the sexual combat they had.
Symphath
mating was a civil chess match with an exchange of body fluids at the end. She needed the carnal grunt and grind only his vampire side could give her.

“Touch yourself,” she breathed. “Touch yourself for me.”

He didn’t do as she asked. With a growl, he kicked off his loafers and stepped away from the pile of his clothes. As he walked forward, he was damn aware of the picture he made, all hard and heavy. He stopped in the middle of the cabin, a slice of moonlight streaming through the window and running over the planes of his body.

He hated to admit it, but he craved this bad shit with her, too. It was the only time in his life that he could be who he really was, that he didn’t have to lie to the people around him. The ugly truth of it was, part of him needed this sick, twisted relationship, and that, more than the threat to him and Xhex, was what kept him coming back month after month.

He wasn’t sure whether the Princess knew his weakness. He was always careful not to tip his hand, but you could never be too sure what a
symphath
had on you. Which, of course, made the maneuvering all the more interesting because the stakes were higher.

“I thought we would start off tonight with a little show,” he said, turning around. With his back to her, he started to pleasure himself, taking his thick cock into his big hand and stroking it.

“Boring,” she said breathlessly.

“Liar.” He squeezed the head of his arousal so hard a gasp shot out of him.

The Princess moaned at the sound he made, his pain drawing her even further into the game. As he looked down at what he was doing, he felt a brief, troubling displacement, like it was someone else’s cock and someone else’s arm moving up and down. But, then, the distance from the act was necessary, the only way his decent vampire nature could handle this thing they did. The good part of him wasn’t here. He checked it at the door when he stepped inside.

This was the land of the Sin-eater.

“What are you doing,” she groaned.

“Stroking myself. Hard. The moonlight looks good on my cock. I’m wet.”

She sucked in sharply. “Turn around. Now.”

“No.”

Even though she made no sound, he knew she came forward at that moment, and the triumph he felt wiped out the disassociation. He lived for breaking her. It was fucking heroin in his veins, this power coursing through him. Yeah, afterward he would feel dirty as fuck, and, sure, he lived with nightmares because of all this, but right now he was seriously getting off.

The Princess came around in the shadows, and he knew when she saw what he was up to, because she moaned out loud, not even her
symphath
reserve strong enough to hold in her response.

“If you’re going to look at me”—he squeezed the head of his cock again until it went purple and he had to arch his back from the pain—“I want to see you.”

She stepped into the moonlight, and he lost his rhythm for a moment.

The Princess was dressed in a brilliant red gown, the rubies at her throat glowing against her paper white skin. Her blue-black hair was coiled on her head, her eyes and lips the same color as the bloodred stones around her neck. From her earlobes, two albino scorpions hung from their stinger tails, watching him.

She was hideously beautiful. An upright reptile with hypnotic eyes.

Her arms were crossed in front of her waist and tucked into the floor-length sleeves of her dress, but she dropped them now, and he didn’t look at her hands. Couldn’t. They disgusted him too much, and if he caught sight of them he would lose his erection.

To keep himself aroused, he slipped his palm under his balls and stretched them up so they framed his cock. As he let both parts of his sex fall back into place, they bobbed with potency.

There was so much she wanted to see of him that her eyes didn’t know where to go. As they traced over his chest, they lingered on the pair of red stars that marked his pecs. Vampires thought they were just decoration, but to
symphaths
, they were evidence of both his royal blood and the two murders he’d committed: Patricide got you stars, as opposed to matricide, which got you circles. Red ink meant he was a member of the royal family.

The Princess did away with her gown, and beneath its lush folds her body was covered in a red satin netting that dug into her skin. In keeping with the largely sexless appearance of her kind, her breasts were small and her hips smaller. The only way you could be sure she was female was the tiny slit between her legs. The males were likewise androgynous, with their long hair that they wore up as the females did and their identical gowns. Rehv had never seen one of the males naked, thank fuck, but he assumed their cocks had the same little anomaly his own did.