*
Standing just outside Throe's bedroom, Assail turned about to confront the female who'd made the inquiry of him--all the while wondering what level of complication this was going to result in.
But it was only the maid who had been transporting laundry as he had come up the mansion's back stairs--and the doggen's eyes were wide and a bit frightened, hardly a suggestion of trouble even though his presence had been discovered where he should not have been.
Assail sought to reassure her by offering an easy smile. "I'm afraid I am a bit lost."
"Forgive me, sire." She bowed deeply. "I thought that the mistress's guests were arriving closer to dawn."
"I am early. But there is naught to worry about. Are the main stairs that way?"
"Indeed." The maid bowed again. "Yes, sire."
"Problem solved. You have been most helpful."
"My pleasure, sire."
He paused before he pivoting away. "Tell me, how many are expected?"
"There have been six bedrooms prepared, sire."
"Thank you."
Striding off, he left her in the hall, making a show of pretending to take note of the decor as he strolled with his hands in his pockets. As he approached the main stairwell, he glanced back. She was gone--and given her station in the household, it was unlikely she would say anything to anyone. Maids were little more than washer/dryers who needed to be fed--at least in terms of the hierarchy of staff.
She was more likely to be rebuked for interrupting the butler, even though she had news that was pertinent to the household.
Assail proceeded down the main stairs on a saunter. After all, the best disguise in a situation like this was to be out in the open--and he was prepared, his story set.
Alas, he ran into no other servants and no one else as he went to the rear of the house and reconnected with the staff stairs that he had previously ascended. Taking them back down to the basement, he stopped in front of the padlocked door.
Now that he was less rushed, he discovered a scent lingering in the air. It was one that he could not immediately place, but he did not tarry to suss it out.
Continuing on, he proceeded to the mistress's dungeon and sneaked back in. Things had progressed with admirable efficiency, his cousins swarmed over the female's naked flesh, blood marking skin and mattress alike, their cocks and her sex slick with orgasms. That Hermes tie was still in place over her eyes, however.
Such well-performing cousins he had--
The door opened wide mere moments after his return, and Assail looked over his shoulder.
"Well, well, well," he said with a smile, "madam's favorite houseguest returns."
Throe was none too pleased, going by the tight brows and tension in his body. "I was not aware you were coming."
"The cellular phone is an incredible device. It allows one to call others and to receive calls from others, resulting in meetings taking place."
The mistress of the house moaned and arched as Ehric traded places between her legs with his brother.
Throe's eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're doing here."
Assail indicated the sex that was ongoing. "This is not enough of a rationale? And if you are so concerned about my presence, do speak with your madam. This is her show, is it not?"
"Not for much longer," the male said under his breath.
"Busy with plans. Such a surprise."
"Watch and learn." Throe's eyes glinted with malice. "This household is about to be transformed."
"Do tell."
"Enjoy her while you can."
Throe departed, closing the door behind himself with no sound at all. Thanks to Assail's ministrations.
As Assail turned his attention back to the bedding platform . . . he had the distinct impression a funeral was coming. The question was whether it was the master's or the mistress's first.
FORTY-SIX
Layla sat up on her elbows as Doc Jane began wiping off the clear lubricant from her big belly. This previously scheduled exam had turned out to be well-timed--even though she'd just had one, the double-check was reassuring.
"Yup, everything's fine." The physician smiled as she helped bring the pink robe's two halves back in place. "You're doing really well."
"Just a little longer. And then I can relax some, right?"
"You betcha. Soon enough, those two sets of lungs will be at a point where we can handle them better." Doc Jane looked across the exam room. "Any questions from the dads?"
From over in the corner, Qhuinn shook his head as he twitched in the chair and rubbed his mismatched eyes. Beside him, Blay massaged the male's shoulder.
"We were wondering about the feedings," Blay said. "Is Layla getting enough from us?"
"Her levels have been looking great. What you all are doing is working just fine."
"What about the delivery?" Blay asked. "How do we know if . . . I guess we don't know if it'll be okay, do we."
Doc Jane sat back on her rolling stool and crossed one knee over the other. "I'd like to tell you that we can predict anything about what will happen, but I can't. I will say that Manny and I are all set, Havers will be on standby, and Ehlena has assisted at over a hundred deliveries. We are ready to help nature take its course--and when they're out, I have two incubators here, as well as breathing assistance equipment that's like nothing I've ever seen before. I understand, and I'm glad, that you all are open to anyone lending a vein if it comes to that. And the good news is that the babies are tracking perfectly at this moment in time. We're prepared, and that's the best position we can be in. Bear in mind, though, that there could be months and months left to go. The two-week mark from now is just the bare minimum for survival. I'm hoping they stay where they are for another six months, at least."
Layla looked down at her belly and wondered how much more space she had to give. She already felt as though her lungs were crammed up under her collarbones and her bladder was somewhere south of her knees. Whatever it took, though. Whatever the young needed.
As Qhuinn and Blay got to their feet, there was some lighthearted conversation, something about Rhage and Mary flooding their bathroom, and then there were hugs good-bye as the males left.
Doc Jane sat back down on her stool. "Okay, so what do you want to ask me?"
"I'm sorry?" Layla pushed her hair back over her shoulder. "About?"
"You've been my patient for how long now? I can read you--which Qhuinn and Blay probably could, too, if they weren't so worried about you and the babies."
Layla fiddled with the fluffy lapel of her robe. "It's nothing about the pregnancy. I feel better about everything there."
"So . . ."
"Well, ah, Luchas and I were wondering." Layla smiled in what she hoped was a nonchalant way. "You know, he and I don't have a lot to talk about down here. Other than how big I'm getting and how hard PT is for him."
Doc Jane nodded. "You two are both working really hard."
"So how is the prisoner doing?" Layla put her hands out. "I know it's none of my business--well, our business. We're just curious. And I didn't ask in front of Qhuinn and Blay because they want me to exist in a bubble where nothing worries me and, you know, there is no ugliness to speak of in the world. I just thought maybe you could tell Luchas and me what's going on with him now that he's been moved. Has he recovered from his strokes?"
Doc Jane shook her head. "I shouldn't have said anything."
"Is he still alive?"
"I'm not going to answer that. I'm sorry, Layla. I know you must be curious, I get it. But I just can't go there."
"Can you at least tell me if he lives?"
Doc Jane took a deep breath. "I can't. I'm sorry. Now, if you'll excuse me? Time for me to have something to eat."
Layla lowered her eyes. "I apologize. I don't mean to force the issue."
"It's all right--and don't worry about anything other than taking care of yourself and those kidlets, okay?" Doc Jane patted her on the knee. "Do you need help getting
back down the corridor?"
Layla shook her head. "No, thank you."
Shifting off the table and onto the floor, she rearranged her robing, left the exam room and started the shuffle back to where she stayed. As a prevailing guilt dogged her, she told herself it was what happened when you made bad choices--
From out of nowhere, her belly tightened front to back, to the point where she stopped and sagged against the corridor wall. A moment later, though, the invisible band was gone as if it had never been, nothing lingering in its place--and she suffered no dreaded loss of bladder control, either.
It was fine.
"You guys okay in there?" she whispered to her belly as she stroked it in a circle.
When someone kicked as if they were answering, she was incredibly relieved.
Doc Jane was correct: She needed to focus on what she was doing here--eating well, sleeping well, and making sure she wasn't responsible for anything going wrong that was within her control.
Besides, it was better for everyone if she let this Xcor thing go.
On so many levels.
As she resumed her rocking walk, she cursed. Why did she have to have the same conversation with herself over and over again?
*
After Vishous left Rhage in the alley, he rematerialized on the mansion's front steps, grabbed a set of car keys from Fritz and took Qhuinn's Hummer back down the mountain. Cueing up the sound system, he mellowed out with some old-school Goodie Mob, cranking "Soul Food" before he slid into some 'Pac. He didn't light up. That would be rude.
See, he was a fucking peach. A real stand-up motherfucker.
When he got to the road at the base of the compound's property, he hit the accelerator and roared toward the twin bridges downtown. Twenty minutes later, he headed over the river, took the first exit on the far side and proceeded onto a thin road that followed the shore to the north.
Assail's glass house was on a peninsula that jutted out into the Hudson, and V pulled into the rear parking area by the banks of garage doors. As he killed the lights and the engine, he remembered a different night when he had come here, all kinds of chaos reigning--especially after Wrath had been shot in the fucking throat.
Goddamn nightmare.
The back door opened and Assail stepped out of the modern mansion, dressed like he was going to a French restaurant for dinner--except for the fact that his tie was hanging out of one of his side pockets.
"You ready for me?" V asked as he lit up.
"Always. But you're going to want to pull in, if you do not mind."
On cue, one of the garage doors began to roll up, revealing a brightly lit interior with a van, a black Range Rover, and a spot for Qhuinn's whip.
"Gimme a minute," V said as he took another drag.
Assail laughed. "Alas, I am in need as well. For something different, however."
The male turned away, as if the dirty little secret he stroked off by sniffing up one nostril and then the other was going to be cooooompletely missed.
V smiled through his own exhale. "That monkey's riding you so hard, true."
Assail tucked his vial back into his jacket's inside pocket. "Cannot you smoke in the vehicle?"
"Not my ride. And hey, at least your little problem doesn't need an air freshener."
As the male rubbed his nose, once . . . twice . . . and again, V frowned as he caught a scent on the air. "You got a bleed there, buddy."
Next thing you knew, Assail had taken that perfectly nice silk tie, which was the color of the inside of a cantaloupe and covered with some kind of pattern, and pressed it to his schnoz. Because it was either that or ruin that fancy-schmancy shirt and jacket of his.
Vishous lifted one shitkicker, stabbed his hand-rolled out on the tread, and put the smudged butt into the pocket of his leather jacket.
"Back up, asshole." He shoved the guy against the SUV, forced his jaw up and took over holding the tie in place. "How often does this happen?"
As Assail made some kind of a sound, V rolled his eyes and pinched the SOB's nose. "Whatever, this is your lucky night. I'm a medic, and I'm going to look in there as soon as you stop doing this imitation of a golf sprinkler. And you can shut it unless it's a thank-you."
The two of them stood out there in the cold for a while. From time to time, Assail muttered some shit, which came out sounding like Pee-wee Herman, but V ignored him.
"Here, hold this," V muttered. "And don't move."
V put the guy's fingers where his had been. Then he ducked into the Hummer and got the Swiss army knife that Qhuinn kept in the cup holders up front. Back at his patient, he snagged his phone, turned on its flashlight, and moved Assail's hand out of the way.
Using the flat part of the biggest knife blade as a separator, he looked into the nostrils that had been worked so hard.
Clicking the beam off, he wiped the blade on his leathers and snapped it back in its slot. "You have a nicely perforated septum. Do you have trouble sleeping? Any of the cast of thousands you're fucking tell you you snore?"
"I sleep alone. And I do not sleep much."
"You have trouble breathing? Any sense of smell left?"
"I can smell. And I haven't thought about breathing."
"Well, my advice, not that you'll hear it, is to stop with the snorting. Or you can make shit so bad in there that surgery is not only your sole option, but possibly ineffective."
Assail stared off into the forest without focusing.
"Not so easy, is it." V shook his head. "Creeps up on you."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Assail crushed the bloodstained tie in his fist. "I find myself in a curious prison. One of my own manufacture, as it were. The trouble appears to be that whilst I was constructing it, I was wholly unaware of the bars I set around myself. They have proven to be rather . . . enduring, as it were."
"How much are you doing? For real."
It was a while before the guy answered. And when Assail finally did, it was clear the delay had been a result of the enormous addition and multiplication involved in the math.
Talk about carrying the ones and the fives.
Vishous whistled softly. "Okay, I'ma be straight with you. Although your average vampire has a tremendous leg up on humans when it comes to health, you can still blow your heart up doing that much. Or your brain. At the very least, at this level, you're going to get seriously paranoid, if you aren't already, and no wonder you can't sleep."
Assail rubbed under his nose, and then looked at the blood that had dried on his fingers.
"When you're ready," V said, "call us. You're going to want to detox under medical supervision and we can do this discreetly. And don't waste my time or yours denying the extent of your problem or trying to pretty this shit up. You got yourself an ugly parasite, and if you don't get on top of it, it's going to get on top of you. Your grave, specifically."
"How long?"
"Do you have before you tach out and wake up dead?"
"Does the detox last?"
"Depends on how well it's managed. The physical withdrawal isn't life-threatening, but the psychological shit is going to make you wish you were dead."
Assail remained silent for quite a while, and since V itched for a cigarette, he gave in and lit one up.
"I know about addictions." V glanced at the glowing end of his hand-rolled. "Thank God vampires don't get cancer, true? So I'm not judging you. And you know where to find me when you're ready."
"Maybe I am getting paranoid."
"How so?"
"I was at Naasha's house before I came here."
"And?"
The male shook his head back and forth. "I had this sense of impending death in that house."
"That hellren of hers is in poor health."
"Indeed." Assail glanced over, his silvery, moonlight-colored eyes flashing. "But it wouldn't surprise me if he was helped into his state of ashes. Or at least that was what I was thinking earlier."
"Inheritances are powerful thing
s."
"Aye." Assail shook himself as if he were pulling back from an internal ledge. "Would you care to pick up your guns the now?"
Vishous exhaled a stream of smoke away from the guy. "That's why I'm here."
"Please move your vehicle inside when you're ready. We shall load you up there."
As Assail looked over, V cut him off. "I got your money--don't worry. And the medical advice is free."
"Such a gentlemale you are, Vishous."
"Not even close. Now let's get this over with."
FORTY-SEVEN
As the Brotherhood household gathered for Last Meal in the grand dining room, Mary went over and sat next to Marissa. "You mind if we talk a little shop before we eat?"
Marissa put her wineglass down and nodded with a glowing smile. "I'm sorry I left work early tonight, but Butch took me out for a date."
"Oh, you guys deserve it! Where'd you go?"
"Nowhere special. Just a pizza place in the suburbs. He was right--it was the best pepperoni-and-onion I've ever had. He's helping V unpack some supplies and then he'll be here just for the conversation as I am. It was so good to just have a little time off together, you know?"
"Totally. Rhage and I are going out tomorrow night, actually." Mary cleared her throat. "Which is part of what I need to talk to you about. I've finally made a breakthrough with Bitty."
"You did?" Marissa leaned in for a quick hug. "I knew you could do it! That's wonderful. There's so much for her to process."
"Yes." Mary eased back. "But there's something I want to have checked out. Medically, that is. It's not emergent or anything . . . it's just that she's thirteen, not nine."
As Marissa's brows jumped in surprise, the female murmured, "Are you sure?"
Mary went into everything, including what Bitty had said about her mom telling her to lie about her age, and the visit to the grave site and the supermarket.
Marissa frowned. "You took her to your mother's grave?"
"She wanted to see it. She asked to. Her treatment is going to have to involve more than just sitting in a chair talking. She's incredibly intelligent, but she's led a life that has been so remote, so full of violence that if she's got any hope of getting through her grieving in one piece and transitioning into the world, she's going to need exposure."
"There are group field trips to accomplish things like that."
"She'd never been to a supermarket before." As Marissa recoiled, Mary nodded. "She didn't know what automatic doors were. She'd never seen downtown. She didn't tell me at the time, but when Rhage and I took her for ice cream last night? She'd never been in a restaurant or a cafe before."