BDB 13 The Shadows (36 page)

It didn’t feel like enough.

Approximately ten blocks over and fifty floors down from Circle the World, Xcor was standing flush against a sweaty brick wall.

The
lesser
he and Balthazar had been tracking was behind and to the left of where they stood, the stench of its body floating down on a breeze that carried a sting of industrial grit and grime along with it.

His body was itching for a fight, everything that had happened with Layla the night before making his inner demons ride him until he had been so nasty, all of his soldiers had left him underground alone during the daylight hours.

Better to face the risk of sunshine than deal with his mood.

At least he had a good killing to look forward to.

On his signal, Balthazar ghosted over the damp pavement, becoming one with the shadow of the building across the way. There was a clear night sky overhead, but the added moonlight was a largely irrelevant complication. Caldwell’s downtown had enough ambient illumination that he could have read a novel even here in this narrow alley.

Assuming he were magically literate.

Staying in the shadows was not only part of the vampire myth, but a very prudent reality for them all.

With a practiced movement, he withdrew his scythe from its holster, freeing the weapon from the strap that ran across his back. Balthazar, on the other hand, preferred the more conventional double-dagger armaments, the pale blades flashing as he sank down on his thighs.

Footfalls came at them. Fast, multiple, but not at a run.

Two human males, hands in pockets, feet moving quickly, came down the alley. They paid no attention as they passed, and that probably saved their worthless little lives.

And then it was a waiting game.

A single set of footfalls now, at a much slower speed. Accompanied by the stench that preceded the undead.

As the
lesser
came into view, rounding a corner and hitting their straightaway, he, too, was paying no attention to them. He had cash in his hands, the sum of which he appeared to be obsessed with, counting, recounting, as he went by.

Xcor stepped out in his wake. “How much did you get for blowing them?”

The
lesser
wheeled around, shoving the money away into a baggy coat. Before it could respond, Balthazar sprang from his position, leaping high into the air and landing dagger-first. The slayer screamed as those blades penetrated his shoulder and throat, proving that though soulless and heartless, the bastards had central nervous systems that registered pain quite efficiently.

And that was when the bullets started flying.

Xcor was twisting around, prepared to swing his beloved scythe wide as soon as Balthazar rolled himself free, when a telltale popping sound echoed down at him. And then another.

And then a fury of them.

The discharging was too quick for even autoloaders.

The first hit he took was in the shoulder. Second was in the thigh. Third grazed his ear, leaving a burning that felt as if he had a bright red car blinker up there.

Balthazar was hit as well.

They had no choice but to run and pray. Was it humans? Unlikely, but not unheard-of. It could not be slayers; they were so pitifully armed, the heaviest firepower any of them brought into the alleys were nine-millimeters, and very few at that.

A quick dodge to the right and he and Balthazar were in a narrower lane, temporarily out of the onslaught. That would change as soon as the shooter or shooters got to the corner they had wheeled off around.

“Left!” Balthazar barked.

Sure enough, there was another opportunity in the maze of streets to pare off, and they ghosted down the next alley, ironically running past the pair of humans who had sauntered by previously. The two men were likewise going as fast as they could, having clearly heard the racket. Their speed was much slower, however.

So, as the machine gun came around the corner, they provided some vital cover.

Screams, deep throated and terror-filled, exploded as the next round of fire came down at them, the humans taking the brunt of the impacts.

“Left!” Xcor said, leaning into the turn.

His thigh was going numb, but he didn’t waste time glancing down to measure any damage. That would come later, assuming he survived.

Another bullet came close, the sound as it whistled by his ear loud enough to overpower even his sawing breath and thunderous boots.

Balthazar was right beside him, that big body going at a dead run.

More discharges pinged off of a Dumpster as they passed it. Off the brick wall. Off the pavement. From time to time there were pauses, as if the gun or guns were being reloaded—or mayhap there were a pair of them working together, one handing off the ammo as the other shot.

Keep going. It was all they could do.

None of the alleys they were coming upon offered anywhere meaningful to hide; in fact, there were not even doors to break through.

It was strictly a question of outrunning the number of rounds the shooters had brought with them. Assuming he and his fighter didn’t get gunned down first.

As the next rounds came at them, he knew without looking over his shoulder that it had to be the enemy and not humans in pursuit.

Only slayers could run this fast, this far … and appear to have energy stores sufficient to keep going.

It was possible, he noted in the back of his mind, that he and his soldier might be in trouble.

“T
he check has been taken care of.”

Trez paused in the process of taking his wallet out. “Excuse me?”

“It’s been taken care of.” The waiter smiled and bowed. “It has been our pleasure to serve you.”

Jesus, if he hadn’t known the guy was human, he’d have assumed one of Fritz’s staff had followed them here. The service had been phenomenal all night.

“Enjoy your cappuccinos at your leisure.”

Trez looked across at Selena. Her eyes were on the view again, but she was not smiling. Her perfect profile was cast in grave lines.

Reaching over, he took her hand in his, a spike of fear going through his chest. “You all right?”

Surreptitiously, he ducked into his coat and palmed up his cell phone.

“Oh, yes.” Except she didn’t look at him.

The soft patter of conversation around them dimmed down and the striding movements of the waiters disappeared from his periphery.

“Selena, what’s going on?”

“I don’t want it to be over.”

“We can come here again.”

“Yes.” She squeezed his hand. “Of course.”

As the restaurant continued to turn, turn, turn, the Commodore’s flank came around into view again, the building’s tall expanse speckled with random lights—including some in the penthouse.

Guess Rehv was in res.

Trez looked down at the coffee cup he hadn’t touched. The steam rising up was spiced with cinnamon, which he’d never been a fan of. He’d ordered it only because his queen didn’t seem to want to leave.

“It was so nice of them,” she murmured. “To pay for dinner.”

“I’ma take care of that when I get home.”

“You should let them be kind.”

Trez searched what he could see of her body, looking for signs that she was having problems that would require a quick call downstairs to Manny and Rhage.

“Selena?”

She shook herself and glanced over. “I’m sorry?”

“You want to order another dessert?”

“No.” She gave his hand another squeeze before releasing her hold and folding her napkin and placing it on the table. “Shall we?”

He popped out of his chair to help her so fast, the four feet squeaked over the glossy floor. “Here, let me—”

But his queen rose to a stand on her own with an elegant shift, her body perfectly stable, perfectly at ease. At least physically, that was. He could sense the weight of her mood.

Escorting her out, he was aware of the eyes of the room on them once again, hushed comments being uttered behind the rims of wineglasses and the squares of napkins as the humans tried to place them upon the grid of celebrity. There was satisfaction to be had in the fact that the peanut gallery would never be able to.

At the great glass doors, he opened one of the panels for her, and as she stepped through, she paused and stared over her shoulder, as if she were worried she would forget some nuance of the way the place looked or smelled or sounded.

“We can always come back,” he repeated.

“Oh, yes.”

She flashed a smile at him and continued out into that minimalist open space where the elevators were. Going ahead, he hit the down button and then stood next to her, putting his hand on the small of her back.

“So where do you want to go next?” he asked.

“You mean tonight? I’m rather tired—”

“No. Tomorrow night.”

She glanced over at him. “I…”

“Come on. Give me the next destination so I can get things ready for sundown tomorrow.”

The elevator doors opened, and he urged her inside—and he was so focused on her, he barely noticed that hideous glass wall that was open to the lobby. Pressing the L button, he stroked Selena’s shoulder.

“So…?” When she didn’t reply, he leaned in and kissed the side of her throat. “This is not the only night we’re going to have.”

“How do you know that.” She met his eyes. “I don’t want to ruin this, but how do you know?”

“Because I won’t have it any other way.”

Turning her to face him, he deliberately put his hips against her body and dropped his lips to hers. “Unless you’re sick of me. Or seriously unimpressed by my being a vertical pussy.”

Her eyes seemed very blue and very scared as they met his. “Boat.”

He’d expected something else. “I’m sorry?”

“I, ah, I want to go on a boat ride on the river.”

“Fast or slow?”

“Both?”

“You got it.”

“Just like that?” she whispered. “Can you make everything happen?”

He put his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Come back to my room and I’ll show you just how talented I am.”

As her scent changed, he nuzzled her, kissing her neck, nipping over her vein. He wasn’t playing fair, of course. He knew that she was likely to get distracted, and he wanted her to be. In fact, he couldn’t guarantee her tomorrow night or even the coming dawn, but like forever memories, the illusion of them having all that time had to stand in for whatever fate had waiting for them.

Kissing her, holding her, feeling her body against his own, he discreetly took out his phone and brought it up behind her back. The text to Manny and Rhage was short and to the point:
Owh tx.

On way home. Thank you.

The elevator reached the lobby just fine, and all the kissing helped him stay good and distracted, too. And then they were walking out of the building, into the cold, blustery fall night. Fritz was across the street in the Mercedes, and the
doggen
brought the car over the second he saw them.

There was no waiting for the butler to get out and do the duty with the door.

Trez wanted to be the one to wait on her.

Just as she was sliding into the warm interior, the last sound he ever wanted to hear when she was in his presence caught his attention:

Pop-pop-pop.

Gun fire.

Fuck.

Trez jumped into the sedan with her, and jacked up between the seats. “Get us out of here! U-ie now!”

Fritz didn’t miss a beat. Throwing the S600 into reverse, he pounded the gas so hard Trez nearly ended up playing air freshener on the rearview. Recovering fast, he covered Selena with his body—so he could get to her seat belt. Yanking the band across her, he’d just gotten the catch home when centrifugal force threw him against the opposite side of the backseat, ringing his bell—but he didn’t give a shit. Bracing his feet against the wheel wells and his palms against the roof and the door frame, he kept himself from battering Selena as they finished the spin that got them pointed in the right direction.

Make that the wrong way on the one-way they’d come in on.

“Let us proceed,” Fritz shouted over the squealing tires.

The roar of the Mercedes-Benz engine and the explosion forward reminded Trez of an airplane takeoff. And as his body was sucked into the bucket seat, he looked over at Selena.

Her eyes were popping wide. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

The buildings on either side of the three-lane road were steel and glass and pale concrete, and they started to flash by, faster, faster, faster. Glancing up in the front, Trez checked the road ahead, the grilles of the parked cars facing them like disapproving parents as they went in the wrong direction.

“Nothing’s up!” he yelled over all the noise. “I’m just really excited to get you naked—”

Selena’s brows rose even higher. “Trez, I heard something—”

“—’cuz I’m that desperate to have you!”

“—that sounded like a gun!”

They were both hollering over the engine, going back and forth as Fritz bat-out-of-hell’d it away from all the bullets.

And then the fun really began.

They’d gone about two blocks when the Caldwell police cars started showing up. And unlike the Benz? The blue-and-whites with their flashing lights were going the right way on the street.

“I shall have to go onto the sidewalk,” Fritz called out. “Just a bit of a bump—”

That crazy bitch-ass butler yanked the steering wheel to the left and hopped the curb, capping a fire hydrant that promptly exploded in their wake, sending a gusher of water up into the air. And then, by the grace of God, the Benz landed like a gentleman, its superior shock absorbers cushioning what was no doubt a slam and a half.

Wrenching around, Trez looked out the back windshield. Cop cars were spinning around and breaking rank to follow them as Fritz hit a wall of newspaper dispensers, sending the red and yellow and green plastic boxes flying behind them. The flimsy things broke apart as they crashed on the sidewalk, sheets of papers fluttering off like doves released from cages.

As he turned back to Selena, he braced himself, trying to think of a way to reassure her—