Lover Reborn (63 page)

“I’m… I’m sorry. What…” As she weaved on loose legs, John stepped in and held her up. “But how can you be sure…”

“I was the one who put those bruises on his face, Layla. I beat the shit out of him—so that Wrath could get home safely and have his gunshot wound treated. That’s our enemy, Layla—sure as the Lessening Society is.”

“The other—” She had to clear her throat. “The other soldier, though, the one who took me to him. He was in the training center. Phury brought me to feed him—with Vishous. They told me he was a soldier of worth.”

“They said that? Or allowed you to believe that.”

“But… if he was the enemy, why harbor him?”

“That’s Throe, Xcor’s second in command. He’d been left for dead by his boss—and we were going to be goddamned if he was dying on our watch.”

John took out his cell phone with his free hand and texted quickly, but Layla wasn’t tracking anything. Her lungs were burning, her head swimming, her gut twisting.

“Layla?”

Someone was calling out to her, but the panic that claimed her was the only thing she could connect with. As her heart hammered, and her mouth opened wide for air, a blackness descended upon her—

“Fucking hell, Layla!”

Working the rooftops of Caldwell, Xhex kept on Xcor at a distance, tracking him from alley to alley and district to district as he went up against
slayers. From what little she saw, the male was an incredibly efficient fighter, that scythe of his doing some serious fucking work.

Damn shame he was a megalomaniac with delusions of the thronal variety.

At all times, she stayed a minimum of a block away. There was no reason to press her luck and run the risk of his tweaking to the fact that he was being followed. She had a feeling he knew, though. If the way he handled the enemy was any indication, he’d be smart enough to assume that Wrath and the Brotherhood would send emissaries out after him, and it wasn’t like he was in hiding. He was an individual with a pattern within a limited geographic space: He fought in Caldwell. Every fucking night.

Hello.

As snowflakes began to swirl in the air, the male in question moved position, falling into a jog with his right-hand man, Throe, by his side. Staying on them, she dematerialized to another building. And another. And a third. Where were they going? she thought, as they left the fighting sector.…

Half a mile or so later, Xcor paused down at street level, clearly trying to decide between left and right. As Throe came up next to him, angry words were exchanged. Maybe because Throe recognized they were headed in the wrong direction?

While they argued, she glanced at the sky. Checked her watch. Shit. Xcor was going to dematerialize at the end of the night, and that was how she was going to lose him. With her instincts roaming only so far, he was going to get out of range fast when he ghosted away.

But at least she had his grid now. And sooner or later, either he or one of his soldiers was going to get injured and have to be driven out of the city. It was inevitable—and that was how she was going to get them: a scattering of molecules she couldn’t track. But a car, a van, a truck, an SUV—that was her way in. And shit knew they were months overdue for a goddamn injury.

Abruptly, Xcor went on the move again, heading around the building she was up on top of, calling her back into action. With grim intensity, she crunched through the crusted snow of the rooftop, circling with him, jogging by HVAC vents and other mechanicals. When she got to the other side, she—

John Matthew.

Shit, her John was not far. What the hell—

He’d told her he was staying home tonight because he was off rotation.

Who was he out with? Qhuinn had given up his man-whore ways… wrong part of the city for that, anyway. This was the theater district.

Dematerializing to the lip of the building, she looked down. Across the street, at the head of an alleyway, John was standing in the shadows, with Qhuinn and… Layla. Who was up off the ground in the former’s arms, looking like she’d passed out?

Shiiiiit. Lot of drama down there. Big drama—the kind that was threatening to fritz out the Chosen’s emotional grid altogether.

Scattering her molecules, Xhex re-formed in front of John, startling the bunch of them. “Is she okay?”

We’re waiting for Butch
, John signed.

“Is he on his way?”

He’s tied up across town on cleanup. But we need him now.

Clearly. Whatever had happened here was deep.

“You can put me down now,” Layla said gruffly.

Qhuinn just shook his head and kept holding her up off the snow.

“Look, iAm’s not far.” Xhex took out her cell and flashed it. “Will you let me call him?”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Qhuinn replied.

As she hit up the Shadow, she stared at John while the phone rang. “Hey, iAm, how’s you? Yup. Uh-huh—how’d you know? Yeah, I need a set of wheels in the theater district, stat.… You are so the man, iAm.” She ended the call. “Done. ETA is less than five minutes.”

Thank you
, John signed.

“What is it?” Qhuinn said as Layla started to stiffen.

Xhex narrowed her eyes on the Chosen’s face as the female’s grid lit up… with arousal. And shame. And pain.

“He’s here,” the Chosen whispered. “He’s not far at all.”

John and Qhuinn instantly went for their weapons—which was a good trick on the latter’s part, given that he still had Layla up in his arms.

Who the hell was she talking about—

“Xcor,” Xhex breathed as she looked in the same direction the Chosen was focusing on. And then connecting the dots, she thought out loud, “Jesus Christ… Xcor?”

iAm picked that moment to pull up in a BMW X5, and a split second later, he was out and holding the door open.

Qhuinn lunged for the SUV, and Layla didn’t put up any fight as she was shoved in there like an invalid.

“Take the vehicle,” iAm told the males. “Use it as your own.”

After an abrupt thank-you from Qhuinn, there was a brief moment of now-what as John looked at Xhex.

Bracing herself for some male chest thumping, she wanted to curse—

We’ll take her back
, John signed.
You stay here and do what you have to.

Just like that they hopped into iAm’s SUV and off they went.

“Do you need help?” iAm asked.

“Thanks, but nope,” she murmured as she watched the red brakes flare and then disappear around the far corner. “I got this.”

X
cor had sensed the Chosen female from blocks away. Drawn to her, he had changed direction and headed toward her—until Throe had gotten in the way and argued with him.

Which had been, in a manner of speaking, a good thing. It meant that the male was staying true to his vow to never see her again.

Xcor, on the other hand, had made no such promise—so he had pressed onward, leaving his soldier in the dust. Fates, but he had spent so many days staring up at the cobwebbed beams above his bunk, wondering where she was, what she was doing. How she was doing.

If the Brotherhood ever found out who she had been of aid to in that field, they would be furious—and Wrath, the Blind King, had long been known to live up to his name. Lo, how Xcor still regretted that his second lieutenant had brought her into this mess. She was guileless, an innocent seeking only to help, and they had made a traitor out of her.

She deserved better.

Indeed, it felt insane to pray for his target’s mercy in her case. But he did. He prayed that Wrath would spare her if the truth ever came out…

Closing in on her, he’d dared not get too close… and he found her in the lee of a little café, draped in shadows that, no matter how hard his eyes strained, he could not penetrate.

She was not alone; she was guarded by soldiers—two of them male, one of them female.

Would she sense him? he wondered, his heart beating sure as if he were being chased. Would she tell them he was nearby—

A black vehicle came tearing up to the group, and what got out was something he’d only heard whispers about: Was that a Shadow? An actual living, breathing Shadow?

The Brotherhood had worthy allies, that was for sure—

With speed, his Chosen was carried to the car in the arms of the soldier he had fought with that night at Assail’s.

Xcor bared his fangs, but kept the growl to himself. That another male was touching her made him violent to his core. That she might be injured in some way? Made him terrified to the point of tremors.

In the last moment, just before she disappeared into the backseat, she looked his way.

The moment of connection slowed time down until everything from the snowflakes that were falling to the blink of the neon sign beside her to the speed with which she was dispatched out of sight went into single frames, the photographs taken by his mind one by one.

She was not in a white robe, but rather human clothes that he did not favor. Her hair was still pulled up high above her neck, however, accentuating the spectacular features of her face. And as he breathed in, his sinuses hummed from both the cold and her delicate scent.

It was everything he remembered about her. Except now she was clearly in distress, her skin too pale, her eyes too wide, her hand shaking as she raised it to her throat as if to protect herself.

His fighting palm actually reached forward for her, as if there was something he could do to relieve her suffering, as if he could help her in some way.

It was a gesture that would have to remain forever in the shadows. She knew he was here, and that was probably why they were taking her away.

And she was scared of him now. Likely because she knew he was her enemy.

The two males packed in with her, the taller one getting behind the wheel, the one he’d fought slipping in beside her in the back.

Without his being aware of it, his palm sneaked inside his jacket, and
found his gun. The temptation to flash into the path of that vehicle, kill the two males, and take what he wanted was so great, he actually shifted his position down the street.

But he could not do that to her. He was not his fath—he was
not
the Bloodletter. He would not torture her conscience for the rest of her days with such violence—because surely she would extrapolate and blame herself for the deaths.

No, if he ever had her, it would be because she came unto him of her free will. Which was an impossibility, of course.

And so…he let her go. He stepped not into the path of the motorcar to put a bullet through the forehead of the driver. He did not then rush forth, shoot the one in the backseat, and turn about to kill the female soldier who was, as of this moment, directly behind him by about half a block. He did not infiltrate the vehicle, lock the Chosen in and drive her off to somewhere warm and safe.

Whereupon he would take those dreadful human dressings from her skin… and replace them with his naked body.

Dropping his head, he closed his eyes and recalibrated his thoughts, reining them in, steering them away from the fantasy. Indeed, he would not even use her as a way to find the Brothers: that would be signing her death warrant sure as if he could actually write his own name.

No, he would not use her as a tool in this war. He had already compromised her too much.

Pivoting in the snow, he faced the direction of the one who was behind him. That the soldiers had left with the Chosen instead of fighting with him was logical. A female such as she was a highly valuable commodity, and they’d likely called in many reinforcements for the trip to wherever they were going.

Interesting that the one they had picked to stay behind was of the fairer sex. They must have assumed he’d give chase.

“I sense you clear as day, female,” he called out.

To her credit, she stepped into the light of a doorway down the alley. With short hair and a tight, powerful build that was encased in leather, she was definitely a female fighter.

Well, wasn’t this a night for surprises: If she was associated with the Brotherhood, he had to assume she was dangerous so this could be fun.

And yet, as she confronted him, she took out no weapons. She was prepared, though—indeed, her stance told him she was ready to do what she must. But she was not on the offensive.

Xcor narrowed his eyes. “Too ladylike to fight?”

“You are not mine to take.”

“So whose am I.” When she didn’t reply, he knew there was a game afoot. The question was, what kind. “Nothing to say, female?”

He took a step toward her. And another. Just to test where the boundaries were. Sure enough, she didn’t retreat, but instead slowly unzipped the front of her jacket as if she were ready to get at her guns.

Standing in that pool of light, with the snow falling around her and her boots planted on the white, fluffy ground, her black figure cut quite a picture. He wasn’t attracted to her, however—mayhap it would be easier if he was. Someone with her intrinsic harshness might fare better in the face of his… face, as it were.

“You appear rather aggressive, female.”

“If you force me to kill you, I will.”

“Ah. Well, I shall keep that mind. Tell me, do you tarry here for the pleasure of my company?”

“I doubt there’d be much pleasure in it.”

“Right you are. I am not known for my social graces.”

She was tracking him, he thought. That was the reason she was here. In fact, he had had the sense since the earlier part of the night that there had been a shadow on him.

“I’m afraid I shall have to be going,” he drawled. “I have a feeling our paths shall cross again, however.”

“You can bet your life on it.”

He inclined his head toward her… and promptly disappeared himself far away. Whatever her tracking skills were, she couldn’t follow molecules. No one was that good.

Not even his Chosen could do that—and thank the Fates for it. For truth, the thought had long lingered in his mind that she might find him if she wished, her blood in him a beacon she could follow for quite some time.

But she hadn’t done so, and she wouldn’t. She was not of the war—