What went down next proved that tits up could happen in an instant.
Abruptly, the world started spinning, the sprawling antique house twisting and turning sure as if it had eggbeaters for a foundation.
“Tohr!” someone barked out.
A hand grabbed him. Somebody else cursed.
“Has he been shot?”
“Motherfucker—”
With a curse, Tohr shoved everyone off of him and regained his balance. “For chrissakes, I’m fine—”
V crawled so far up into his grill, the bastard was practically inside his nose. “Go home.”
“Have you lost your mind—”
“You’re a liability here. I’m calling in for backup.”
Tohr was ready to argue, but Wrath just shook his head. “You need to feed, my brother. It’s time.”
“Layla’s prepared for it,” Qhuinn tacked on. “I’ve been keeping her going on this side.”
Tohr looked at the four of them and he knew he’d lost. Christ, V already had his phone to his ear.
He also knew on some level they were right. But, God, he didn’t want to face that ordeal again.
“Go home,” Wrath commanded.
V put his cell away. “Rhage’s ETA is—bingo.”
As Hollywood appeared, Tohr cursed a couple of times. But there was no fighting them… or his reality.
With all the enthusiasm of someone facing a limb amputation, he returned to the mansion… to go find the Chosen Layla.
Fuck.
Through his binoculars, Xcor watched the venerable Assail stride into a massive kitchen and pause at a window that faced the direction of the bastards.
The male was still sinfully handsome with dark, viciously black hair and tan skin. Features were so aristocratic, he actually looked intelligent—although that was the thing with the glymera. Often people with fine countenances and fit bodies were mistakenly assumed by others to have the brains to match.
As the vampire fell into some kind of activity, Xcor frowned and wondered if he wasn’t seeing things. Alas… no. It appeared that the male was indeed checking the mechanism of a gun as if he were used to doing so. And after he tucked the weapon under that precisely tailored black suit jacket, he picked up another and went through the same motions.
Strange.
Unless the king had warned him there could be trouble on the visit? But no, that would be daft. If you were the seat of power for the race, you would not want to appear under siege.
Especially if in fact you were.
“He’s departing,” Xcor announced as Assail appeared to head for the garage. “He is not meeting Wrath. At least not tonight—or certainly not here. Let us cross the river. Now.”
In a flash, they dematerialized, reassuming their forms in the stand of pines at the edge of the property.
He’d been wrong about the landscaping, Xcor realized. There were circular patches all over the lawn where the grass was filling in, and here, around the back of the house, there was a neatly stacked pile of not simply logs, but whole trees.
As well as an ax buried in a stump, and a bow saw… and corded wood newly cut for burning.
So the male had some doggen, at least. And apparently a respect for how important it was to not provide coverage for attackers. Unless the removals had been for the sake of the view?
Not much but forest on this side of the house.
Indeed, Assail did not appear to be the average aristocrat, Xcor thought grimly. The question was why.
The door to the garage bay closest to the house began to rise soundlessly, its ascent unleashing an ever-broadening pool of light. Inside, a powerful engine revved, and then some variety of low-slung, shiny black thing eased out in reverse.
As the vehicle stopped dead and the door began to descend, it was clear Assail was waiting patiently for the house to be secured before he left.
And then when he took off, it was not fast; and it was not with his headlights on.
“We follow him,” Xcor commanded, collapsing the binoculars and securing them at his belt.
By dematerializing at intervals, they were able to track the male down the river toward Caldwell. The pursuit presented no challenge at alclass="underline" In spite of being behind the wheel of what appeared to be a sports car of some speed, Assail seemed to feel no urgency… which, under other circumstances, Xcor would have chalked up to the male being a typical aristocrat with nothing better to do than look good in a leather seat.
But mayhap not so in this case.…
The car stopped at all the red lights, avoided the highway, and penetrated the downtown area’s alleys and streets with the same lack of alacrity.
Assail went left, then right… left again. Another left. Still more turns, until he was in the oldest part of the city thicket, where the brick office buildings were dilapidated, and missions and food kitchens serving the homeless were more common than for-profit businesses.
A more circuitous route there could not have been taken.
Xcor and his band of bastards kept on him by flashing from rooftop to rooftop, a practice that became tricky as the conditions degraded.
Except then the car stopped in a tight alley between a tenement house that had been condemned and the crumbled shell of a walk-up. As Assail got out, he puffed on his cigar, the sweet smoke drifting up on the currents of air to Xcor’s nose.
For a moment, Xcor wondered if they had been lulled into a trap—and as he went for his gun, his soldiers did likewise. But then a large black sedan made a fat turn and rolled into the lane. As it halted afore him, Assail’s preferred positioning became clear. Unlike the new arrivals, the vampire had parked at the head of a four-way, so that he could go in any direction.
Wise if one wanted to get away.
Humans emerged from the other car. Four of them.
“You here alone?” the one in front asked.
“Aye. As you asked.”
The humans shared looks that suggested the male’s compliance was crazy. “Do you have the money?”
“Aye.”
“Where is it?”
“In my possession.” The male’s English was similar to Xcor’s—thickly accented—but there the comparison ended. That was a high-class drawl down there, not a rough brogue. “Have you my goods.”
“Yeah, we got it. Let’s see the cash.”
“After I inspect what you have brought me.”
The man doing the talking took out a gun and pointed it at the vampire’s chest. “That’s not the way we’re going to do this.”
Assail released a puff of blue smoke and rolled the cigar between the tips of his fingers.
“Did you hear what I said, asshole?” the human barked as the three behind him disappeared hands into their suit jackets.
“Aye.”
“This is going to be done the way we want, asshole.”
“That would be ‘Assail,’ kind sir.”
“Fuck you. Gimme the cash.”
“Hm. Indeed. So you have demanded.”
Abruptly the vampire’s eyes locked on that human’s, and after a moment, the autoloader in that meaty palm began to vibrate ever so slightly. Frowning, the guy focused on his hand, as if he were sending it a command.
“That is not how I do business, however,” Assail murmured.
That gun muzzle gradually began to move, shifting away from the vampire and moving in a broad circle farther and farther afield. With growing panic, the man gripped his own wrist, as if he were fighting another, but naught of his effort derailed the changing trajectory.
Whilst the weapon was gradually turned on its own operator, the other men began to shout and shuffle about. The vampire said nothing, did nothing, remaining utterly calm and in control as he froze those three in place, locking their bodies but not their faces. Oh, those expressions of panic. Rather delightful.
When the gun was up to the man’s temple, Assail smiled, flashing white teeth that gleamed in the darkness.
“Permit me to show you how I do business,” he said in a low voice.