Because she would. And wasn’t that sweet?
Lying down on the bed and closing his eyes, his body was slow and cold, and as he breathed deep, he felt as though he was thawing out like a slab of beef. Not that it was freezing on the other side. In fact, his father’s digs were toasty and well-appointed—assuming you were into the Liberace shit.
Daddy-o had almost no furniture, but enough candelabra to sink a ship. The oh-chillies seemed to have something to do with the leap back into this reality and every time he returned to this side, it was more of a struggle to rebound. The good news was that he didn’t think he was going to have to go over there as much. Now that his bag of tricks had been fully explored and mastered, there was really no need, and truth was, the Omega wasn’t exactly stimulating company.
It was a case of enough-about-me-what-do-you-think-about-me. And even if said demand for ego masturbation was being thrown out by an admittedly powerful, evil fucker who happened to be your pops, it got old fast.
Besides, his father’s love life was disturbing as shit.
Lash didn’t even know what those fucking things in that bed were. Black beasts, yeah, but the sex of them was as indiscernible as their species, and the way they oiled around was creepy. Plus they were always looking for a fuck even if there was company present.
And his father never said no.
As a beep sounded out, Lash reached into his suit jacket for his phone. It was a text from Mr. D: On the way. Gots the guy.
Lash looked at the clock and shot upright, thinking that the time couldn’t be right. He’d come back two hours ago—how had he lost track so badly?
Going vertical threw his stomach in a roll and putting his hands up to rub his face took more effort than it should have. The deadweight of his body, coupled with the aches, made him remember back to a time when he’d gotten colds or flus. Same feeling. Was it possible he was getting sick?
Made him wonder if anyone had come up with a product like Dead-quil or some shit.
Probably not.
Letting his arms fall into his lap, he glanced over to the bathroom. The shower seemed miles away and not really worth the effort.
It took him another ten minutes before he could throw off the lethargy, and when he got to his feet, he stretched hard to get his black blood flowing. The bathroom turned out to be not miles away but a matter of yards, and with each step he felt stronger. Heading over to start the hot water, he admired himself in the mirror and checked out his collection of bruises. Most of them from the night before were gone, but he knew he was going to get more—
Lash frowned and lifted up his arm. The sore on the inside of his forearm was larger, not smaller.
When he prodded it with his finger, it didn’t hurt, but the thing looked nasty as shit, a flat, open wound that was gray in the middle and bordered by a black line.
His first thought was that he needed to go see Havers... except that was ridiculous and nothing but a remnant from his old life. Like he was going to show up at the clinic and be all, Hey, could you fit my ass in?
Besides, he didn’t know where they’d moved the damn thing to. Which was the problem with a successful raid. Your target took your threat seriously and went deep underground.
Getting under the warm spray, he was careful to scrub the spot with some soap, figuring if it was some kind of infection that had to help; and then he thought about other things.
He had a big-ass night. The induction at eight. Meeting with Benloise at ten.
Back here for some more lovin’.
When he got out, he dried himself and inspected the sore. The damn thing appeared to be pissed off at the attention he’d given it, a thin black ooze welling up over its surface.
Oh, that stuff was going to be great to get out of his fucking silk shirts.
He slapped a Band-Aid the size of an index card on the thing and thought that maybe tonight he and his GF would play nice.
He’d tie her up for a change.
It took him no time at all to put on a sweet Zegna suit and head out. As he passed by the master bedroom’s door, he paused and made a fist. Banging on the wood loud enough to wake the dead, he smiled.
“Be back soon and I’m bringing chains.”
He waited for a response. When there was none, he reached for the knob and put his ear to the door. The sound of her even breathing was soft as a gentle current of air, but it was there. She lived. And she would be alive still when he returned.
With deliberate self-control, he released the knob. If he opened the door, he’d lose another couple of hours and his father was not into waiting.
Down in the kitchen, he took a stab at some eats and came up with nothing. The coffee machine had been timed to start up two hours ago, so a quick lift of the pot showed something close to crankcase oil. And cracking the fridge, he didn’t see anything that appealed even though he felt starved.
Lash ended up dematerializing from the kitchen empty-handed and with a bottomless gut. Not a great combo for his mood, but he wasn’t going to miss the show—if for no other reason than he wanted to see what had been done to him during his induction.
The farmhouse was out north and east of the brownstone, and the instant he took form on the lawn, he knew his father was inside: An odd shiver in his blood bubbled up every time he was around the Omega, like an echo in an enclosed space... although he wasn’t sure whether he was the sound and his father the cave, or if it was the other way around.
The front door was open, and as he mounted the porch steps and went into the shitty little hall, he thought about his induction.
“When you became truly mine.”
Lash wheeled around. The Omega was in the living room, his white robes covering his face and hands, his black energy seeping out onto the floor, a dark shadow formed by no illumination.
“Are you excited, my son?”
“Yeah.” Lash glanced over his shoulder at the dining room table. The bucket and the knives that had been used on him were right there. Ready and waiting.
The sound of gravel crunching under tires had him turning to the door. “They’re here.”
“My son, I should like you to bring me more. I find myself hungry for fresh ones.”
Lash went to the doorway. “No problem.”
In this at least, they were fully aligned. More inductees meant more money, more fighting.
The Omega came up behind Lash and there was a soft brushing movement as a black hand ran down his spine. “You are a good son.”
For a split second, Lash’s dark heart ached. The phrase was exactly the one the vampire who’d raised him had said from time to time. “Thanks.”
Mr. D and the two others got out of the Lexus... and brought the human forward. It hadn’t dawned on the little bastard yet that he was a pair of jeans and a T-shirt away from being a sacrificial lamb. But the instant he got a look-see at the Omega, shit was going to become clear as a bell.
TWELVE
As John lay facedown and the footsteps of his enemy got closer, he breathed through his nose and got a sinus-load of fresh dirt. Pulling a possum was not a bright idea generally speaking, but this motherfucker with the epileptic trigger finger didn’t fit the profile of someone who was going to be too careful about whether he’d hit his mark or not.
Letting loose the lead in the middle of a public park?
Had the idiot never heard of the Caldwell Police Department? The Caldwell Courier Journal?
The boots stopped and that sweet, choking smell lessers carried on their skin nearly made him gag. But funny how life and death got the attention of your esophagus.
He felt something blunt push at his left arm, like the slayer was checking with his boot to see if they were in toe tag territory. And then on cue, Qhuinn let out a low, pathetic moan from around the far side of the shed.