He knew who was calling without picking up. But such were the connections between symphaths.
Speak of the devil, he thought as he answered his blackmailer ’s call.
When he hung up, he had a date with the Princess the following evening.
Lucky him.
Qhuinn had this long, fucked-up dream that he was at Disney World on a ride with lots of ups and downs. Which was weird, as he’d only seen roller coasters on the TV. ’Cuz you couldn’t get on Big Thunder Mountain if you couldn’t handle the sun.
When whatever ride he was on ended, he opened his eyes and discovered he was in the PT/first-aid room at the Brotherhood’s training center.
Oh, thank fuck.
Obviously he’d gotten cracked in the head while spar-ring with someone during class, and that shit with Lash and the stuff with his family and his brother honor-guarding him had all been a nightmare. What a relief-
Doc Jane’s face appeared in front of his. “Hey, there… you’re back.”
Qhuinn blinked and coughed. “Where… I go?”
“You had a little nap. So I could take your spleen out.”
Shit. Wasn’t a hallucination. Was the new reality. “Am… I okay?”
Doc Jane put her hand on his shoulder, her palm warm and weighty even though the rest of her was translucent. “You did very well.”
“Stomach still hurts.” He lifted up his head and looked down his bare chest to the bandage sashing his waist.
“It would be wrong if it didn’t. But you’ll be happy to know you can go back to Blay’s in an hour. The operation was totally textbook, and you’re already healing well. I have no problem with daylight, so if you need me, I can be at his house in a moment. Blay knows what to watch for, and I’ve given him some meds for you.”
Qhuinn shut his eyes, subsumed by some kind of fucked-up sadness.
As he tried to chill, he heard Doc Jane say, “Blay, you want to come over here-”
Qhuinn shook his head, then turned it away. “Need a minute alone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
As the door closed quietly, he put a shaking hand over his face. Alone… yeah, he was alone, all right. And not just because there was no one else in the room with him.
He’d really enjoyed thinking the last twelve hours had been a dream.
God, what the fuck was he going to do with the rest of his life?
In a flash he remembered the vision he’d had when he’d approached the Fade. Maybe he should have gone right through that damn door in spite of what he saw. Sure as shit would have made everything easier.
He collected himself for a moment. Or maybe more like half an hour. Then he called out in as strong a voice as he could muster, “I’m ready. I’m ready to go.”
Chapter Twenty-four
A house can be empty even when it’s full of people. And wasn’t that a good thing.
About an hour before dawn, Phury lurched around one of the mansion’s countless corners and had to put his hand out to steady himself.
He wasn’t truly by himself, though, was he. Boo, the household’s black cat, was right there with him, padding along, supervising. Hell, the animal was arguably running the show, as somewhere along the line, Phury had taken to following, not leading.
Leading would so not be a good call. His blood alcohol level was way over the legal limit for anything other than brushing his teeth. And that was before you added on the numbing effects of a haystack’s worth of red smoke.
How many blunts? How much hooch?
Well, it was now…He had no idea what time it was. Had to be close to dawn, though.
Whatever. Trying to get a tally on the bender would have been a waste of time anyway. Given how fogged-out he was, it was doubtful he could count high enough, and besides, he couldn’t really recall what his hourly rate of consumption had been. All he was sure about was that he’d left his room when the Beefeater had run out. Originally, he’d planned to get another bottle of gin, but then he’d hooked up with Boo and started on this walkabout.
All things considered, he should have been passed out on his bed. He was polluted enough for the lights-out routine, and it had, after all, been his goal. Problem was, even with all the self-medicating, his head was suffering from the 4 Cs of heebie-jeebies: Cormia’s situation. The Chosen responsibility. The clinic’s infiltration. And Bella’s child.
Okay, the last one was a human term. But still.
At least the wizard was relatively quiet.
Phury pushed open a random door and tried to figure out where the cat had led him. Oh, right. If he kept going, he’d hit doggen territory, the vast wing where the staff stayed. Which would be trouble. If he was found wandering there, Fritz would pop an aneurysm on the assumption that the servants had somehow not discharged their duties properly.
As Phury hung a right, the base of his brain started to fire with the need for another hit of red smoke. He was on the verge of turning back when he heard sounds coming down from the third floor’s back stairwell. Someone was up in the movie theater… which meant he really needed to beat feet in the opposite direction, because running into one of his brothers would be a bad thing.
He was turning away when he caught the scent of jasmine.
Phury froze. Cormia…
Cormia was up there.
Letting himself fall back against the wall, he scrubbed his face and thought of that erotic drawing he’d done. And the hard-on he’d had while working on it.
Boo let out a meow and padded right up to the theater’s door. As the cat looked over his shoulder, his green eyes seemed to read, Go on, getcha ass up there, buddy.
“I can’t.” Try shouldn’t.
Boo didn’t buy it. The cat curled into a sit, his tail flexing up and down as if he were waiting for Phury to get with the program already.
Phury locked stares with the animal in a classic chicken challenge.
He, not the cat, blinked first and looked away.
Giving up the fight, he ran a hand through his hair. Straightened his black silk shirt. Jacked up his cream trousers. He might be totally cooked, but at least he looked like a gentleman.
Evidently satisfied with the resolve he was seeing, Boo trotted away from the door and brushed against Phury’s leg as if he were giving him an attaboy.
As the cat headed off, Phury opened the door and put his Gucci loafer up on a step. Then repeated. And repeated. He used the brass handrail to steady his big body, and tried to justify what he was doing as he ascended. He couldn’t. If you were barely in good enough shape to use Colgate, you absolutely shouldn’t interact with the Chosen female who was no longer officially yours, but who you wanted until your cock ached.
Especially given the news he had to share.
He got to the top of the stairs, rounded the corner, and looked down the gently descending rows of seats. Cormia was in front, her white Chosen’s robe pooling at her feet. Up on the screen images were flickering fast. She was rewinding a scene.
He breathed in. God, she smelled good… and for some reason that jasmine scent of hers was especially strong tonight.
The rewinding stopped, and Phury glanced up at the vast screen. Holy… Christ.
It was… a love scene. Patrick Swayze and that Jennifer woman with the nose were working each other out on a bed. Dirty Dancing.
Cormia leaned forward in the chair, her face coming into view. Her eyes were rapt on what was up ahead, her lips parted, one hand resting on the base of her throat. Long blond hair fell over her shoulder and brushed the top of her knee.
Phury’s body hardened, his erection popping a tent in the front of his Prada trousers, laying waste to the tailored pleating. Even through the haze of red smoke, his sex roared.