"Might as well be."
"I'm terrified. I don't know what I'm missing here." He rubbed the towel over his face again. "I don't sleep much, and I can't decide whether that's because I'm scared of what I'll see - or what I won't see. I don't know how she's holding on."
The short answer was that she wasn't.
"I talk to her," Tohr murmured. "When Autumn is asleep, I sit up in bed and stare into the dark. I tell her..."
When the guy's voice cracked, Lassiter wanted to scream - and not because he thought Tohr was being a pu**y. More like it hurt that badly to hear the agony in that voice.
Shit, sometime in the last year he must have developed a conscience or something.
"I tell her that I still love her, that I'll always love her, but that I've done what I can to... well, not fill her void, because no one can do that. But at least try to live some kind of a life..."
As the male continued to speak in soft, sad tones, Lassiter was struck with a sudden terror that he'd led the guy wrong in some way, that he'd... shit, he didn't know. Fucked this up, made a bad call, sent this poor, sorry bastard in a wrong direction.
He reviewed everything he knew about the situation, starting from the ground floor, building the logic tier by tier, reconstructing where they were.
He could find no faults, no missteps. They had both done the best they could.
In the end, it appeared that was the only solace he could take - and didn't that just suck ass. The idea he might have even inadvertently harmed this male of worth was so much worse than his version of purgatory.
He should never have agreed to this.
"Fuck," he breathed as he closed his aching eyes. They had come so far, but it was as if they were chasing a moving target. The faster they ran, the farther they traveled, the farther away the end seemed to become.
"I've just got to try harder," Tohr said. "That's the only answer. I don't know what else I can do, but I've got to go deeper somehow."
"Yeah."
The Brother turned to him. "You're still here, right?"
Lassiter shot him a look. "If you're talking to me, that's a yes."
"Okay... that's good." The Brother punched up to his feet. "Then we've still got some time left."
Woo-hoo. Fantastic. Like that was going to make any difference.
Outside her private cabin, Xhex stood alone on the shores of the Hudson, her boots planted in the white snow, her breath leaving her nose in puffs that drifted off over her shoulder. The sunset's peach-and-pink glow rained down on the frozen landscape from behind her, the colors picked up by the sluggish waves in the center of the channel.
There wasn't much open water left in the river - ice was building up from the shores and closing in, threatening to strangle the surface as the cold endured through the season.
Without any command from her, her symphath senses pierced the gloaming, invisible tentacles that probed the thin, frigid air. She did not expect to get any hits, but she was so used to being receptive after these last couple of months, she found that side of her wanting to stretch and extend outward, if only for exercise.
She had not found the Band of Bastards' lair. Yet.
Right person for the job, huh. Frankly, the shit was getting embarrassing.
Then again, the reasons to handle everything carefully were too many to count: So much was riding on her getting a bead on them as quietly and unobtrusively as possible, and at least the king and the Brothers understood that.
John had likewise been endlessly supportive of her mission. Patient. Ready to discuss any angle or not bring it up at all when she was at the mansion - which had been on a regular basis as it turned out: Between seeing her mother, updating the Brotherhood and the king, or even hanging out a little, she was there two or three times a week.
Yet, when it came to John, things had never gone further than a polite meal.
Even though his eyes burned for her.
She knew what he was doing. He was keeping his word, holding back until she penetrated the B.o.B. so he could prove that he meant what he said. Except, as crass as it was... she wanted to be with him. And not as in separated-by-a-dinner-table "be with him."
It was an improvement over the summer and fall for them, to be sure - and not nearly enough.
Refocusing, she continued to search the environs for no good reason until all around her, darkness descended fast, the light draining out of the sky in the way of late December - which was to say, the shit flushed out like it was on the run, pursued by the cold.
Over to her left, at the mansion on the peninsula, lights came on rather suddenly, as if Assail had shutters on the inside of all his glass: One moment the property was unlit; the next it was like a football stadium.
Ah, yes, the gentlemale Assail... not.
The guy's hold on the drug scene in Caldwell was nearly secure, with no one of any significance left other than that big-fish supplier Benloise. What she couldn't figure out was who the vampire's troops were. He couldn't be operating a business that involved by himself, and yet there was never anyone coming or going from his house other than him.
Then again, why would he want his associates in his private space?
A little later, a car eased down the lane, heading out. That Jaguar of his.
Man, bitch needed to invest in an armor-plated Range Rover. Or a Hummer like Qhuinn's. The Jag was fast, and suited the motherfucker, but come on. Little traction in all this snow was never a bad idea.
The sports car slowed to a stop as it approached her, its exhaust curling around and glowing in the red tail lights like something a magician would call up onstage.
A window went down and a male voice said, "Enjoying the view?"
The temptation was to flip him off, but she kept her middle finger sheathed as she crunched through the drifts to him. At this point, Assail was not viewed as a "suspect," per se - he had done nothing but help the Brotherhood get Wrath out of there when the assassination attempt had gone down. But still, the attack had occurred at his house, and she wondered about where Xcor was getting his financial resources: Assail had had money even before he'd decided to be a drug kingpin, and wars required cash.
Especially if you were trying to fight the king.
Focusing her symphath side on the male, she read his grid and saw a whole lot of... well, lust, for one thing. He wanted her, but she was willing to bet that was not specific to her.
Assail liked sex with chicks. Fine. Got it.
Beneath that testosterone surge, however, she found a hunger for power that was curious. It wasn't about taking down the king, though. It was...
"Reading my mind?" he drawled.
If only he knew what he was talking to. "You'd be surprised what I can find out about people."
"So you know I want you."
"I would suggest you don't go there. I'm mated."
"So I've heard. But where's your man."
"Working."
As he smiled, the lights of the dashboard picked up his features, highlighting them and making them even more handsome. But he wasn't just a pretty boy: There was a lick of evil in those heated eyes of his.
Dangerous male. Even though he looked like he was nothing more than a coiffed member of the glymera.
"Well," he murmured, "you know what they say. Too much time apart makes the heart grow - "
"Tell me something. You see Xcor around anywhere?"
That shut him up. And lowered his lids.
"I have no idea," he said after a moment, "why you'd ask me that."
"Oh, really."
"Not a clue."
"I know what happened at your house in the fall."
There was a another pause. "I wouldn't have thought that the Brotherhood mixed business with pleasure." When she just stared at him, he shrugged. "Well, frankly, I can't believe they're still looking for him. Matter of fact, it's a surprise that that bastard is still breathing."
"So you've seen him lately."
At that, his grid lit up in one specific sector - obstruction. He was hiding something from her.
She smiled coldly. "Haven't you, Assail."
"Listen, I'm going to give you some free advice. I know you're all leather wearing and tough and a self-actualized female of the world, but you don't want to have anything to do with that guy. Have you seen what he looks like? You're mated to a pretty boy like John Matthew, you don't need - "
"I'm not looking to f**k the bastard."
Her deliberately crass language made him blink. "Indeed. And, ah, good for you. As for myself, I haven't seen him. Not even that night he ambushed Wrath."
Liar, she thought.
When Assail spoke next, his voice was very low. "Leave that male alone. You don't want to get in his path - he's got less mercy than I have."
"So you think only the big boys should deal with him."
"You got it, sweetheart."
As he put the Jag in gear, she stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. Too frickin' typical. What was it about the c**k and balls that made males think they had a lock on strength?
"I'll see you around, neighbor," she drawled.
"I'm serious about Xcor."
"Oh, I can tell you are."
He shook his head. "Fine. It's your funeral."
As he drove off, she thought, Wrong pronoun there, buddy. Wrong goddamn pronoun...
Chapter Fifty-Four
Autumn was dead asleep when she was joined in the bed, but even in her deep, nearly painful repose, she knew whose hands came upon her skin, and traveled over her hip, and eased up her stomach. She knew exactly who cupped her br**sts and rolled her over.
For sex.
Cool air hit her skin as the covers were folded aside, and on instinct she parted her legs, preparing to welcome the one male she would e'er take within her.
She was ready for Tohrment. Had seemed in recent weeks to always be ready for him.
Handy - as he would have said. As he was always ready for her.
Her great warrior found his way between her thighs, opening them further with his hips - no, those were now his hands, as if he had had one plan and then changed his mind -
His mouth found her, locking on, then licking.
With her eyes still closed and her mind in that fuzzy netherworld that was neither sleep nor awakening, the pleasure was so intense she bucked and thrashed against his tongue, giving herself over to him with everything she had as he sucked and teased and penetrated....
Except there was no orgasm for her. No matter how much he pleasured her.
Try as she might to capture the release, she couldn't fall off the edge, pleasure sharpening to the point of agony - and still she could find no climax, even as sweat beaded up her skin, and breath sawed in her throat.
Desperation made her grab his head and press him harder against her.
Except then he disappeared.
This was naught but a nightmare, she thought as she cried out at the denial. A torturous dream with erotic overtones -
Tohrment surged back at her, and this time it was his full body against her own. Tucking his arms behind her knees, he split her wide as he cranked her into a tight little ball underneath his great weight.
And then he entered, hard and fast.
Now she came. The instant he filled her with that long length of his, her body responded with a tremendous, cracking explosion, the orgasm so violent she bit her own lip with both fangs.
As blood flooded her mouth, he slowed his pounding to lap it up. But she didn't want slow. Using his arms to push against with her legs, she found her own rhythm against his shaft, riding him, taking him... until she soon found herself again on the verge.
And going nowhere.
In the beginning, it had been so easy for her to get what she needed when they mated. Lately, though, it was harder and harder....
As she strained against him, pumping herself faster and faster, her frustration made her wild.
She bit him.
In the shoulder.
Scored him. With her nails.
The combination should have had him stopping and demanding more civilized behavior. Instead, with his blood flowing onto her, he let out a roar so mighty there was a crash in the room, as if it had rattled something off the wall.
Then he orgasmed. And thank the sweet Virgin Scribe for his release. As he jabbed into her and his erection kicked violently, she finally caught that elusive ride herself, her body rocking with him, the headboard banging.
Someone was shouting.
Her.
There was another crash.
The lamp...?
When they finally stilled, she was soaking wet all over, throbbing between her legs, limp to the point of being boneless. One of the bedside lamps had indeed been knocked off its table, and as she looked across the way, she saw that the mirror over the bureau had cracked its glass.
Tohrment lifted his head and stared at her. In the light from the bathroom, she saw the damage to his shoulder.
"Oh... dearest..." She put a hand to her mouth in horror at the gaping wound. "I'm so sorry."
He glanced at himself and frowned. "Are you kidding me?"
When he looked back at her, he was smiling with a male pride that made absolutely no sense at all.
"I have hurt you." She wanted to cry. "I have - "
"Shh." He brushed a damp strand away from her face. "I love it. I f**king love it. Scratch me. Dent me. Bite me - s'all good."
"You are... nuts." To use a colloquialism she'd picked up on.
"I'm not finished is what I am - " Except as he went to move in her, she winced.
Instantly, he froze. "Shit, that was pretty rough."
"It was wonderful."
Tohrment propped his great chest up on his arms and withdrew so slowly and carefully, she barely felt it. And yet she started cramping somewhere inside. Or maybe that was another orgasm? Hard to know, as her body was so o'errun with sensation.
Either way, the delicious wear and tear was a good thing. They were so familiar with each other now, so comfortable with mating, and the incredible intensity they achieved was a result of the lack of barriers, and the freedom... and the trust they shared.
"Let me run you a bath to clean you up in."
"That's okay." She smiled at him. "I'm just going to relax here while you take a shower. Then I'll do the same in a bit."