Lover Reborn (7 page)

Which had proved to be less than secure.

As her eyes misted over, she fought the pull of the past. She’d been through that black hole too many times to count—

“You should burn that robe.”

No’One wheeled around so fast, she nearly tore the dress off the worktable.

In the doorway was a massive male with blond-and-black hair. Verily, he was so big he filled the double-size jambs, but that was not the astonishing thing.

He appeared to gleam.

Then again, he was covered with gold, hoops and studs marking his ears, his eyebrows, his lips, his throat.

No’One dived for what normally covered her, and he stood calmly as she girded herself with the robe.

“Better?” he said softly.

“Who are you.”

Her heart beat so fast that the three words came out in a rush. She wasn’t good with males in enclosed spaces, and this was very enclosed, and he was very male.

“I’m a friend of yours.”

“Then why have I yet to make your acquaintance.”

“Some people would say you’re lucky to have been spared,” he muttered. “And you’ve seen me at meals.”

She supposed she had. She typically kept her head down and her eyes on her plate, but yes, in the periphery, he had been there.

“You’re very beautiful,” he said.

There were two things that kept her from completely panicking: First, there was no speculation in that deep voice of his, no masculine heat, nothing that made her feel preyed upon; and second, he had shifted his position so he was lounging back against the jamb—leaving her room to bolt out if she had to.

As if he knew what made her nervous.

“I’ve been giving you some time to settle in and get your bearings,” he murmured.

“Why would you have cause to do that.”

“Because you’re here for a very important reason, and I’m going to help you.”

The male’s bright white, pupil-less eyes held hers, even though her face was in shadow… as though he were not merely looking at her, but into her.

She took a step back. “You do not know me.”

At least that was a truth so solid she could plant her feet on it: Even if whoever this was was familiar with her parents, her family, her lineage, he did not know her. She was not who she had once been: the abduction, the birth, her death had wiped that slate clean.

Or had broken it to pieces, more accurately.

“I know that you can help me,” he said. “How about that.”

“Are you looking for a maid?”

Hard to imagine, given the number of staff in this household—but that was beside the point. She didn’t want to serve a male in any kind of intimate way.

“No.” Now he smiled, and she had to admit he looked a little… kind. “You know, your default doesn’t have to be servile.”

She kicked her chin up a notch. “All work is honorable.”

That was a fact that she had missed before everything had changed. Dearest Virgin Scribe, she’d been a spoiled, overpampered, entitled brat. And the shedding of those ugly, jeweled robes of self-inflation had been the only good thing that had come out of it all.

“Not maintaining to the contrary.” He tilted his head, as if he were imagining her in a different place, with different clothes. Or maybe he just had a stiff neck; who knew. “I understand you’re Xhex’s mom.”

“I am the female who birthed her, yes.”

“I heard that Darius and Tohr put her up for adoption after she was born.”

“They did. They sheltered me through my convalescence.” She skipped the part about her taking the latter’s dagger and putting it to use upon her own flesh: she had already spoken o’er much to this male.

“You know, Tohrment, son of Hharm, spends a lot of time looking in your direction at meals.”

No’One recoiled. “I am certain you are wrong.”

“My eyes work just fine. As do his, apparently.”

Now she laughed, the hard, short burst breaking out of her throat. “I can assure you, it is not because he fancies me.”

The male shrugged “Well, friends can disagree.”

“With all due respect, we are not friends. I do not know you—”

Abruptly, the room was infused with a golden glow, the light so buttery and delicious, she felt her skin prickle with warmth.

No’One took a further step back as she realized it was not an optical
illusion courtesy of all the jewelry he wore. The male was the source of the illumination, his body, his face, his aura like a banked fire.

As he smiled at her, his expression was that of a holy man. “My name’s Lassiter, and I’ll tell you all you need to know about me. I’m an angel first and a sinner second, and I’m not here for long. I’ll never hurt you, but I’m prepared to make you pretty goddamn uncomfortable if I have to, to get my job done. I like sunsets and long walks on the beach, but my perfect female no longer exists. Oh, and my favorite hobby is annoying the shit out of people. Guess I’m just bred to want to get a rise out of folks—probably the whole resurrection thing.”

No’One’s hand crept up and held her robe together in a tight grip. “Why ever are you here?”

“If I told you now, you’d just fight it tooth and nail, but let’s just say I believe in full circles—I simply didn’t see the one we’re in until you came along.” He gave her a little bow. “Take care of yourself—and that beautiful dress.”

With that, he was gone, drifting away, taking the warmth and the light with him.

Slumping back against the counter, it took her a while to realize her hand hurt. Looking down, she observed it from a distance, seeing the white knuckles and the rigid flesh against the robe’s lapels as if it were someone else’s appendage.

It was always thus when she regarded any part of her body.

But at least she could command her flesh: Her brain ordered the hand attached to the arm that plugged into the torso to release and relax.

As it obeyed, she glanced back over to where the male had stood. The doors were closed. Except… he hadn’t shut them, had he?

Had he even been here?

She rushed over and looked out into the hall. In all directions… there was no one.

A
fter nearly two hundred years of having been mated, Tohr was pretty familiar with the way arguments between pigheaded fighters and hot-tempered females went. And how ridiculous was it to have a case of the nostalgias over the way John and Xhex were hairy-eyeballing each other.

God, he and his Wellsie had gone a few good rounds during their day.

Just one more thing to mourn.

Dragging his exhausted brain back on track, he stepped in between the pair, figuring the situation needed a reality injection. If it had been any other two, he wouldn’t have wasted his breath. Romance was not his business—whether it was going well or badly—but this was John. This was… the son he’d once hoped to have.

“Time to go back to the compound,” he said. “You both need treatment.”

“Stay out of this—”

Stay out of this—

Tohr reached over and clamped a hold on the nape of John Matthew’s neck, squeezing those tendons until the male was forced to look at him. “Don’t be an asshole about this.”

Oh, sure, it was okay for you to be an asshole
—

“You got it, kid. That’s the privilege of age. Now shut up and get in the fucking car.”

John frowned as if he’d just noticed Butch had rolled up in the Escalade.

“And you,” Tohr said in a softer tone. “Do everyone a favor and get that shoulder dealt with. Afterward, you can call him a fuck-twit, an ass-hat, and any other thing that strikes you—but right now, that injury of yours is reknitting in three or four different bad ways. You need to see our surgeons fast, and as you are a reasonable female, I know you see the merits of what I’m saying—”

Tohr took his forefinger and shoved it in John’s face. “Shut. Up. And no, she’s going to get herself back to the compound. Aren’t you, Xhex. She’s not getting in that SUV with you.”

John’s hands started going, but they stopped when Xhex said, “Okay. I’ll head north now.”

“Good. Come on, son.” Tohr shoved John in the direction of the SUV, prepared to pick him up by the short hairs if he had to. “Time to have a little ride.”

Man, John was so pissed off, you could have fried an egg on his forehead.

Tough. Shit. Tohr whipped open the passenger-side door and packed the fighter into the front seat like he would have an overnight duffel, or a set of golf clubs, or maybe a bag of groceries.

“Can you do the seat belt yourself like a big boy—or should I work it for you?”

John’s lip curled up, his fangs making a reveal.

Tohr just shook his head and propped an arm on the SUV’s black body paint. Man, he was fucking tired. “Listen to me—as a male who’s been in your boots with this kind of thing a million times, you two have to have some space right now. Separate corners, a little calm-down—then you can talk shit through and…” His voice got gruff. “Well, makeup sex is fantastic, if memory serves.”

John Matthew’s mouth formed a couple variations on
fuck
. Then he slammed his head back against the rest. Twice.

Mental note: Have Fritz check for structural damage to the seat.

“Trust me, son. The pair of you are going to do this from time to time, and you might as well start to deal with it rationally now. Took me a good fifty years of making shit worse till I figured out a better way to handle arguments. Learn from my mistakes.”

John’s head cranked over, and he started to mouth,
I love her so much. I’d die if anything happened to h—

When he stopped short, Tohr took a deep breath through the pain in his chest. “I know. Trust me… I know.”

Shutting the door with a clap, he went around to Butch’s side. When the window was put down, he said quietly, “Drive slow and take the long route. Let’s try to have her in and out of surgery before he gets there. Last thing we need is him riding Manny’s ass in the OR.”

The cop nodded. “Hey, you want a ride back? You don’t look so hot.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure you know what those two words mean?”

“Yup. Later.”

When he turned away, he saw that Xhex was gone, and knew there was a good probability she had done what she’d said she was going to. Even though she was as pissed off as John, it was doubtful she’d be stupid about her health, or their future.

Females, after all, were not just the fairer sex, but the fairly reasonable one. Which was the only reason the race had survived this long.

As the Escalade eased off at a snail’s pace, Tohr anticipated all the fun Butch was going to have on the way home. Hard not to feel sorry for the poor bastard.

Annnnnnd then he faced off at his peanut galley. Looked like the cop from Boston wasn’t the only one about to get an earful, and sure enough, each one of the males lobbed a sentence back at him:

“Time to go back to the training center.”

“You need treatment.”

“You are a reasonable male, and I know you see the merits of what I’m saying.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

Rhage summed up the regurgitation with two words: “Kettle. Black.”

Fucking hell. “Did you guys plan that out?”

“Yeah, and if you don’t fight us”—Hollywood bit down on his grape Tootsie Pop—“we’ll do it again—only with the dance moves this time.”

“Spare me.”

“Fine.
Unless
you agree to home it, we
will
rock the dance moves.” To prove the point, the moron linked his palms behind his head and started doing something obscene with his hips. Which was backed up by a series of, “Uh-huh, uh-huh, ohhhh, yeeeeeeeaaaah, who’s your daddy…”

The others looked at Rhage like he’d grown a horn in the middle of
his forehead. Nothing unusual there. And Tohr knew that, in spite of this ridiculous diversion, if he didn’t cave, the lot of them would crawl so far up his ass, he’d be coughing up shitkickers.

Also nothing unusual.

Rhage wheeled around, shoved out his butt, and started slapping his moneymaker like it was bread dough.

The only advantage? Whatever shit he was spouting was muffled.

“For the love of the Virgin Scribe,” Z muttered, “put us out of this misery, and go the fuck home.”

Someone else chimed in, “You know, I never thought there were advantages to being blind.…”

“Or deaf.”

“Or mute,” somebody added.

Tohr looked around the periphery, hoping that something that smelled like three-day-old sandwich meat would jump out of the shadows.

No luck.

And next thing you knew, Rhage would break into the robot. Or the Cabbage Patch. Or go Twist and Shout on their asses.

His brothers would never forgive him.

An hour and a half…

It took one hour and thirty cocksucking minutes to get back home.

As far as John could figure, the only way the trip could have taken longer was if Butch had detoured through Connecticut. Or maybe Maryland.

When they finally pulled in front of the great stone mansion, he didn’t wait for the Escalade to get parked—or even slow down. He unlocked the door and leaped out while the SUV was still crusing. Landing in a flat-out run, he took the stone steps up to the front entrance in a single leap, and after ripping into the vestibule, shoved his face so tightly into the security camera, he almost broke the lens with his nose.

The massive bronze portal opened fairly quickly, but damned if he could have said who did the honors. And the incredible rainbow-colored foyer with its marble and malachite columns and its lofty painted ceiling made no impression at all. Neither did the mosaic tiles on the floor that he crossed at a dead run, or the calls of his name from who-the-fuck-knew.

Hitting the door that was tucked underneath the grand staircase, he plowed into the underground tunnel that connected to the training center,
punching in pass codes so viciously it was a wonder he didn’t break the keypads. Entering through the back of the office’s supply closet, he vaulted around the desk, shot out through the glass door, and—

“She’s being operated on now,” V announced from fifty yards away.

The Brother was standing outside the main examination room’s doorway, a hand-rolled between his teeth, a lighter in his gloved hand.