Lover Reborn (37 page)

That made her smile… and then laugh a little.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. Except… shit, she wasn’t his. What the hell had come out of his mouth?

Forcing himself back to the door, he stepped out into the corridor, shut her in and—

“What the fuck?” Lifting his lower leg, he inspected the bottom of his bare foot. There was silver paint on it.

Glancing at the runner, he found a trail of… silver paint heading down the hallway toward the second-story balcony.

With a curse, he wondered which of the
doggen
was working on what part of the house. Good thing stains made the poor bastards cheerful; otherwise Fritz was going to be pissed.

Following the line of drops to the head of the great staircase, he descended to the foyer along with them.

The mess went right out into the vestibule.

“Sire, good day. Do you require anything?”

Tohr turned to Fritz, who was coming through the dining room with some floor polish. “Hey, yeah. I need to get some food. But what’s up with the paint? You guys doing something obscene to the fountain out there?”

The butler shuffled over and frowned. “There is no one painting anywhere in the compound.”

“Well, someone’s pulling a Michelangelo.” Tohr sank down on his haunches and dragged a finger through one of the little pools…

Wait a minute—not paint.

And the shit smelled like flowers.

Fresh flowers?

In fact, it was the scent that had been in his room.

As his eyes shot to the door to the vestibule, he thought of the shower of bullets he had walked into. And worried that a miracle hadn’t been the reason he wasn’t dead, after all.

“Get Doc Jane, stat,” he barked to the
doggen
.

Ah, yeahhhh, Lassiter thought as he rolled over on hot stone and started to sun his bare ass. That’s what’s up.…

All things considered, it had been a good day to get shot at.

Well, night, rather.

Make that season.

Thank the Maker it was summer: Lying on the front steps of the mansion, the brilliant July megawatts beat down on him, the rays healing his bullet-ridden body. Without it? He might well have died again—which was not the way he wanted to meet up with his boss. Indeed, the sunlight was to him what blood was to the vampires; a necessity that he really enjoyed. And as he bathed in the stuff, the pain faded, his strength returned… and he thought of Tohr.

What a dumb-ass, pulling a move like that in the alley. What in the name of all that was holy had the fucker been thinking?

Whatever. There had been no way he was going to let that bastard walk into all that gunfire without protection. The pair of them had come too far to crap out just as progress was being made.

And now, thanks to his having turned himself into a pincushion, Tohr and No’One were having sex.

So all had not been lost. He was, however, seriously thinking of punching that Brother in the balls as payback. For one, that shit had stung like a motherfucker. For another, if this had been December? He might not have made it—

The sound of the heavy front door swinging open brought his head up and around. Doc Jane, that fantastic healer of theirs, burst out like she’d planned on having to run some distance.

She skidded to a halt so she didn’t trip over him. “There you are!”

Oh, look, she’d brought her fun box with her, the little red cross denoting emergency supplies.

“Helluva time to get a tan,” she murmured.

He rested his head back down, his cheek lying flat on all that warm rock. “Just takin’ my medicine like a good little patient.”

“Mind if I examine you?”

“Will your mate kill me if you see me naked?”

“You are naked.”

“You’re not looking at my business side.” When she just loomed over him without further comment, he muttered, “Fine. Whatever—but don’t stand in my sun. I need it more than I need you.”

She put the box down next to his ear and got on her knees. “Yeah, V told me a little about how you work.”

“I’ll bet. You know, he and I have had our go-arounds.” The SOB had even saved him once—which had been a miracle given how much they hated each other. “We’ve got history.”

“He mentioned that.” Her words were spoken with distraction, as if she were checking his holes out. “You might have some lead left in you—do you mind my rolling you over?”

“The lead doesn’t matter. My body will consume it—provided I get enough sunshine on my shoulders.”

“You’re bleeding badly still.”

“It’s going to be okay.”

And he was beginning to think that wasn’t a lie. After it had all happened, he’d kept himself invisi and had hidden in the passenger seat of the Mercedes that had taken Tohr back to the clinic. Minute he’d arrived at medical central, he’d stolen some bandages and gone mummy on his own ass so he didn’t bleed all over the place. There’d been no reason to hurry outdoors—there had been no sunlight available at that point—or at least not enough to make a difference. Besides, he’d thought he’d just walk it off.

Nope. It was shortly after he’d gone up to that bedroom with Tohr that he’d recognized he was in trouble. Breathing got harder. Pain got hotter. Vision started to fritz out. Fortunately, the sun had fully risen by then.

And he would have had to leave about the time No’One showed up anyway—

“Lassiter. I want to see the front of you.”

“That’s what all the girls say.”

“Do you expect me to roll you over? ’Cuz I will.”

“Your mate’s not going to like this.”

“As if that’s going to bother you?”

“True. It actually makes it worth the effort.”

With a groan, he shoved his palms into the shimmering silver pool of blood beneath him, and flopped over like the side of beef he was.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“I know, right? Hung like a horse.”

“If you’re really nice—and you live through this—I’ll promise not to tell V.”

“About my size.”

She laughed a little. “No, that you assumed I’d look at you in any fashion other than professionally. Can I bandage any of these?” She touched him lightly on the pec. “Even if I leave the bullets in, maybe it would slow the bleeding?”

“Not a good call. Sunshine and surface area are what it’s about. And I’m going to be fine. As long as we don’t cloud up.”

“Should we be getting you a tanning bed?”

Now he laughed—which made him cough. “No, no—has to be the real thing.”

“I don’t like the sound of that rattle.”

“What time is it?”

“One twenty-six.”

“Come out in another thirty minutes and see where we’re at.”

There was a period of quiet. “Okay. I will. Tohr will want an—” Her phone went off, and she answered it with, “I was just talking about you. Yup, I’m with him, and he’s… bad, but he says he’s taking care of himself. Of course I’ll stay with him—no, I’m good on supplies, and I’ll call in another twenty minutes. Fine, ten.” There was a long pause and then she took a deep breath. “It’s—ah—it’s a lot of gunshots. In his chest.” Another pause. “Hello? Hello, Tohr— Oh, good, I thought I’d lost you. Yeah—no, listen, you gotta trust me. If I thought he was in danger, I’d drag him kicking and screaming into the foyer. But to be honest, I’m watching him heal as we speak—I can see his internal bruising dissipating with my own eyes. Okay. Yup. Bye.”

Lassiter didn’t make any comment on all that; he just stayed where he was, eyes closed, body solar-paneling its way back to health.

“So you’re the reason Tohr got out of that alley alive,” the good doctor murmured after a while.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“S
orry, my man, but you only get one feeding. That’s what I’ve been told.”

As Throe lay in the bed he’d been strapped to, he was not surprised at the human doctor’s response to his inquiry. Strength in a prisoner did not work in the Brotherhood’s favor. The problem was, he wasn’t recovering very well, and more blood would help.

Of course… if he were to feed, would it not be just a lovely coincidence that he’d get to see that Chosen once more before he left.

She was close by. He could sense her.…

“In fact, I believe plans are being made for your imminent departure. Night’s falling soon enough.”

Mayhap if he simply refused to move?

No, that would likely not slow the Brotherhood down. They would just handle him like any other variety of refuse.

The human surgeon left thereafter—how ever were they using a human, by the way?—and then he was alone again.

When the door reopened, he didn’t bother cracking his lids. It wasn’t the Chosen—

The click of metal on metal close to his ear got his attention. Popping his eyes wide, he stared into the barrel of a .357 Magnum.

Vishous’s gloved finger was attached to the trigger. “Wakie, wakie.”

“If you turn me out now,” he said weakly, “I’m not going to make it.”

In this, he told the truth. Having lived off the weak sustenance of human females for as long as he had, he was not in a position to heal himself of wounds this serious so quickly.

Vishous shrugged. “Then we’ll deliver you to Xcor in a pine box.”

“Best of luck with that, mate. I shall not tell you where to find him.” Although not because of Xcor. He didn’t want his fellow soldiers—or more properly, his
former
comrades—to be attacked unaware. “You can torture me if you wish. But nothing shall escape my lips.”

“I decide to torture you and a whole lot will come up, trust me.”

“So proceed—”

The surgeon got between them. “Okaaaay, let’s relax before I need to go get my needle and thread again. You”—he nodded to Throe—“shut the fuck up—this is not a boy who needs encouragement when it comes to bloodletting. And as for the release of him?” He focused on the Brother. “My patient has a point. Look at his vitals—he’s hanging by a thread. I thought the whole point of this was to make sure he lives? Bottom line, he’s going to need another shot at the vein thing. Either that or a week or two of recovery time.”

The Brother’s icy eyes shifted to the machines that beeped and flashed behind the bed.

As the fighter cursed under his breath, Throe smiled to himself.

The Brother left without a word.

“Thank you,” Throe said to the healer.

The man frowned. “It’s just my clinical opinion—believe me, I can’t wait to get you the fuck off my turf.”

“Fair enough.”

Once again left alone, he waited with anticipation. And the fact that no one came in for a while told him that the Brothers were arguing about his fate.

Likely a lively discussion.

When the door was finally thrown wide, his nostrils flared, and his head whipped to the side… there she was.

As lovely as a dream. As heavenly as the moon. As real as it got.

Flanked by the Brothers Phury and Vishous, the Chosen smiled at him sweetly—as if she were entirely unaware that those males were prepared
to tear him apart if he so much as sneezed in her direction. “Sire, I am told you require more?”

I require all of you, he thought as he nodded to her.

Approaching the bed, she went to sit down next to him, but Phury bared his fangs over her head and Vishous subtly trained that gun on his crotch.

“Here,” Phury said, redirecting her to a chair with finesse. “You’ll be much more comfortable in this.”

Not at all true, as now she had to reach up to him. Yet the Brother’s voice was so charming and easy, it made the statement seem to have veracity.

Whilst she brought up her arm, Throe wanted to tell her she was beautiful, and that he’d missed her, and that he’d worship her if she gave him a chance. But he liked his tongue in his mouth—not sliced off and ground into the floor.

“Why ever do you look at me like that?” she said.

“You are so beautiful—”

Over her shoulder, Phury bared his fangs again, his face transforming into nothing short of total violence.

Throe did not care. He was getting another taste of ambrosia, and these two males wouldn’t do anything truly horrible in front of the fair Chosen.

Who was currently blushing up a storm—and didn’t that make her all the more resplendent.

As the Chosen stretched forward and put her wrist to his mouth, his arms jerked against the chains that bound him—and there was a moment of confusion for her as she heard the rattle. There was nothing to see above the blankets, however; everything was covered up beneath what kept him warm.

“ ’Tis just the bedsprings,” he murmured.

She smiled again and repositioned her wrist o’er his mouth.

Embracing her with his eyes, he struck as carefully as he could, not wanting to hurt her even in the smallest way—and as he drank, he stared at her face, committing it to memory so that he could hold it close in his heart.

Because this was likely the last time he would ever see her.

Indeed, so torn he was between thanking the Scribe Virgin for having this female come into his life even for a moment, and yet viewing these two chance meetings as a kind of curse.

She was going to stay with him, he feared. Haunting him as sure as any ghost…

Too soon it was over, and he was retracting his canines from her fragrant flesh. He licked once, twice, stroking at her with his tongue—

“Okay, that’s enough.” Phury gathered her up from the chair, smiling at her with true warmth. “You go find Qhuinn now—you’re going to need some strength.”

This was true, Throe thought with a stab of guilt. Indeed, she looked pale and seemed slightly woozy. Then again, she had fed him twice in as many hours.

He wished his name was Qhuinn.

Phury escorted her to the door and sent her off with kind words in the Old Language. And then he turned back… and made sure that the lock was in place.

The fist came flying at him from the side, and given his brief impression of black leather, it was clearly the Brother Vishous’s.

And the resulting crack was so loud it was as if a log had been snapped in half.

Then again, he’d always had a sturdy jaw.

As cathedral bells rang in Throe’s head and he spit out blood, Vishous said grimly, “That is for looking at her like you were fucking her in your mind.”