"I'm ready for you," she said in a low, husky voice.
Qhuinn frowned, thinking that even in that designer whatever it was, the chick came off as a tart. Not his problem, though.
As he filed in with the others, the room they entered was some kind of conservatory, the oversize potted green things and grand piano suggesting many an evening with guests staring up at some opera singer yodeling in the corner.
Gag.
"This way," the female announced with a flourish of a hand that sparkled.
In her wake, that perfume - maybe it was more than sprays from a single source, like a layering of all kinds of crap? - nearly colored the air behind her, and her hips were doing double duty with every step, like she was hoping they were all looking at her ass and wanting a piece of it.
Nope. As with the others, he was searching every nook and cranny, ready to shoot and ask questions after the body dropped.
It wasn't until they came out to the front hall, with its oil paintings spotlit from the ceiling, and its dark red Oriental rugs, and the...
Shit, that mirror was exactly like the one that had hung in his parents' house. Same position, same floor-to-ceiling, same curlicue gold leafing.
Yeah, he had the creeps. Bad.
The whole house reminded him of the mansion he'd grown up in, everything in its place, the decor far, far, far from middle-class, yet not anything gaudy and Trumpilicious. Nah, this shit was that subtle blend of old wealth and classic sense of style that could only be bred, not taught.
His eyes searched out Blay.
The guy was doing his job, staying tight, checking the place out.
Blay's mom and pops hadn't been quite this rich. But his home had been so much nicer on so many levels. Warmer - and that hadn't been about the HVAC systems.
How were Blay's parents? he wondered abruptly. He'd spent almost more time under their roof than his own, and he missed them. The last time he'd seen them...God, long time. Maybe that night of the raids, when Blay's father had gone from Mr. Suit accountant to serious ass-kicker. After that, the pair of them had moved out to their safe house, and then he and Blay had completely fallen apart.
He hoped they were well -
The image of Blay and Saxton standing chest-to-chest, hip-to-hip, in Blay's bedroom sliced into his brain.
God...damn...that had hurt.
And man, karma was good at its job.
Replugging into reality, he followed that double-jointed pelvis and the Brotherhood into a huge dining room that had been set up to Tohr's specifications: All the drapery had been pulled across the bank of windows that overlooked the back gardens, and the flap door that he figured led into the kitchen had been barricaded by a weighty antique sideboard. Whatever table had sat in the center of the room had been removed, and twenty-five matching mahogany chairs with red silk seats had been lined up in rows facing a marble fireplace.
Wrath was going to stand in front of the mantel to make his address, and Qhuinn went over and checked that the steel flue was closed. It was.
On either side of the fireplace, there were two sets of paneled doors that opened into an old-fashioned receiving salon. He and John Matthew and Rhage did a walk-through of the room, closed the thing off, and then he took up res in front of the entrance on the left, and John Matthew did the same on the right.
"I trust all is to your liking?" the female said.
Rehv went over to the fireplace and turned to face all the empty chairs. "Where's your hellren?"
"Upstairs."
"Get him down here. Now. Otherwise, if he moves through the house, he's liable to get shot in the chest."
The female's eyes flared, and this time when she walked off, there was no exaggeration to her hips, no check-me-out toss of the hair over the shoulder. Clearly the we're-not-fucking-around message had been received, and she wanted whoever her mate was to live through the night.
In the wait that followed, Qhuinn kept his gun in his palm, his eyes on the room, his hearing fine-tuned for something, anything out of order.
Nothing.
Which suggested their host and hostess had followed orders -
A strange prickling unease tickled its way up his spine, causing him to frown and go from high alert to DEFCON I. On the far side of the fireplace, John seemed to catch the same gist, his gun lifting, his eyes narrowing.
And then a cold mist hit Qhuinn's ankles.
"I've asked a couple of special guests to join us," Rehv said dryly.
At that moment, two columns of haze pulled up from the floor, the disturbance of air molecules finding forms...that Qhuinn instantly recognized.
Thank f**k.
With Payne out of commission for whatever reason, he'd been feeling like they were a little light on coverage, even recognizing the skills in the Brotherhood. But as Trez and iAm appeared, he took a deep breath.
Now that was a pair of straight-up killers, the kind of thing you really didn't want against you in any kind of fight. The good news was that Rehvenge had long been aligned with the Shadows, and Rehv's connection with the Brotherhood and the king meant that the two brothers were obviously willing to come and play a little backup.
Qhuinn stepped up to say hello to the pair, greeting them as the others did with a palm join, a quick pull, and a clap on the back. "Hey, my man..."
"What's doing..."
"How you been..."
After the hi-how're-yas were done, Trez glanced around. "Okay, so we're just going to stay outta sight unless you need us. But rest assured, we're here."
After a course of thank-yous from the Brothers, Rehv said a couple of private words to the Shadows...and then the two were gone, misting out of their forms and seething around the floors, that cold draft now a reassurance.
Perfect timing. Less than a minute later, the hostess came back with a diminutive older male at her side. Given the way vampires aged, with a rapid acceleration of physical decline toward the end of the life span, Qhuinn guessed the guy had five years left. Ten at the very most.
Some introductions were made, but Qhuinn didn't care about that shit. He was more worried about whether the rest of the house was empty.
"Any doggen here?" Rehv demanded as the female settled her geezer into one of the dining chairs.
"As you have requested, they are all gone for this part of the evening."
V nodded to Phury and Z. "The three of us'll search the premises. See if that's right."
Even though Blay trusted himself, the Brotherhood, and John Matthew, and Qhuinn, he felt a lot better knowing the Shadows were around. Trez and iAm were not just awesome fighters, and inherently dangerous to anyone they declared an enemy; they had a striking advantage over the Brotherhood.