Blacker than Black (34 page)

But it never was my strong suit. Jhez says as much quite often, in a tone of mournful sarcasm that usually makes me want to laugh. Right now, though, I’m getting a rather uncomfortable vibe from Leonard. Hostile, aggressive. Edged with a sort of “alpha male” possessiveness. Or something akin to it, at least. My interpretations could be horrendously off the mark. But I don’t think they are.

“It is,” I manage to respond. “What do you intend to do about it?”

“You mean,” he says, stepping from the overlapping shadows to loom over me, “besides chaining you to a bedpost somewhere?”

His yellow eyes are sharp and piercing, with a faint trace of luminescence. The tangy aroma of liquor tickles my nose. I’m quite certain the snifter in his hand is full of Glen Liven scotch whiskey. I inhale slowly. Fifty-year-old brew, at least. I’d bet my chi on it. My mouth waters.

“I don’t believe that’s a viable alternative
.
Nor will it solve any of the current issues.” Bigger picture, Leonard. Bigger picture here. Come on, you can do it.

“Indeed,” he agrees. And takes a long, thoughtful swig from his snifter. I lick my lips in envy. I won’t envy his hangover in the morning, though.

Lyche
do get hangovers, right? I scramble through what I know, trying to remember. I get nothing. Some part of me knows I should possess this niggling sliver of information. Damn it, wouldn’t it just be the height of unfairness if they didn’t?

Remind me again why I’m standing here? Despite the fact that I have no desire to be chained like a dog. Despite the fact that he has the strength to overpower me against my will. Oh, yes. Because the Monsieur of York deigned not to kill me. After
he
screwed up. Such a trustworthy sort, is he not? I think I’m starting to feel all that wine I chugged. Leave it to someone who can’t get intoxicated to get me trashed. Damn good thing Jhez didn’t notice. She would’ve wanted to hunt Garthelle down herself and castrate him.

I clear my throat and revisit the reason I’m here. “The guilty party is a woman with brunette hair and fuchsia highlights. Sound familiar?”

Garthelle twists his lips into a grimace and then drains his snifter. “Yes. That’d be Ardienne, the Madame of Orleans. Come with me.” He sets the glass down on the sidebar and strides for the door. Hugging my arms around my chest, I turn to watch him. With the wine in my blood, there’s probably some sort of goofy grin on my face, but I can’t help it. His slacks hug his ass rather nicely. I suppress the urge to ask him who his tailor is. Barely.

“Let’s go, Black.”

I blink. “What?”

“I think it’s important for you to witness this. I’d have Jhez along as well, but I don’t doubt your sister is rather worked up. This way, you can assure her that the matter has been dealt with to her satisfaction.”

Gaia have mercy. My wonderful buzz just fled. Quick as that. When he arches a brow and continues watching me over his shoulder, I relent with a sigh, trailing in his wake toward the door. “Fine. No blood and gore though, if you don’t mind. That was a very nice meal and I prefer it stays where I put it.”

He nods curtly and yanks the door open.

The Monsieur of York locates the Madame of Orleans with frightening speed. While I’m sure it has something to do with
lyche
senses and physiology, the level of his awareness is disturbing. It feels like a message aimed at me.

See what I can do with ease? Do you really think that being back on the streets will mean I can’t find you whenever I want?

The fuchsia-haired woman possesses as much awareness of style as she does of her surroundings. Garthelle clasps his hands behind his back and hovers at the corner of the couch where she sits, waiting in silence. A pace behind him, I watch his fingers clench and twitch. Clever poker player, hiding his tell.

The gaggle of
lyche
scattered around the collection of settees and chairs gradually falls silent as the glances flickering over their host increase. None greet or acknowledge him, however. Another ploy of politicking . . . they leave it to the most senior-ranking amongst them. I just can’t decide if her omission is calculation or ignorance.

Either way, she feigns innocence with casual aplomb. “Monsieur Garthelle! What a pleasure this is. We were led to believe you wouldn’t be making an appearance.”

“And yet you’ve forced the necessity upon me, Ardienne. Poorly played. Even an adolescent demonstrates a better grasp of finesse.”

“What are you going on about? Do you mean that female human you sent us as entertainment? Surely you’ve better than that at your disposal. Your territory has such a wealth of humans, as I recall. Usually, you’re renowned for your quality.”

I shift to the left, trying to put the Monsieur of York squarely between myself and this sharp-tongued woman. One of the other female
lyche
, however, catches sight of me. Her eyes widen as if the resident chef just strolled in with a tray of petit fours.

“Oh, Ardienne,” the woman purrs, rising from the settee. Her sinuous movements lack any trace of humanity and set my teeth on edge. “He was holding out on us. But I think he’s more than redeemed himself, bringing his tastiest morsel to assuage you.”

What am I thinking?
Like hell I’m going to hide from one
lyche
behind another one. I step to the side, cross my arms and scowl at the woman. Her step falters, until she stops a generous five feet from Garthelle. And glares at him.

“This one doesn’t appear to be any more accommodating than the earlier one,” the woman observes. When Leonard only gazes at her in silence, she turns a pouting expression on Ardienne. “Madame, please?”

I recognize Desmonde when she shifts from her spot on a couch in the corner, making her presence known. “Really, Gahandre. You should know by now that not every man will fall at your feet to worship you. Especially not in the Monsieur of York’s territory.” She doesn’t look at me, or Garthelle. She focuses solely on her glass of wine, with a look of utter boredom. I wonder who twisted her arm to get her in attendance?

Ardienne is swift to interject, her voice keyed a fraction louder than Desmonde’s. “However, Monsieur, we were led to believe that you would provide sustenance. Thus far you’ve done little of the sort.” My brow furrows in a scowl as I flick my gaze around the room. I don’t know all these
lyche
, but I have the distinct impression I’m witnessing a crucial power struggle.

“Ardienne. You know better than to play coy with me. Sustenance does not include sexual gratification. I sent the highest quality source available, and you offended her with your crass behavior and overtures. My responsibilities in such circumstances no longer parallel your interests. You’ve offered a slight against my household that will not be tolerated.”

A stiff silence filters through the occupants of the room, and my eyebrows try to crawl up into my hairline yet again. His household? Jhez and I, we’re Nightwalkers, hired on contract to satisfy the debt of our crimes. That puts us in his employ, and thus under his protection. But he makes it sound a bit more permanent than that. Deeper.

I don’t have a clue about the variations in
lyche
relationships. It’s like slogging through a swamp of wet cement, in a heavy fog. On a dark, moonless night.

And taking my cues from him presents its own dangers. Because I’ve no idea what assumptions he’s made based on our convoluted conversations this afternoon. He certainly hasn’t shared his conclusions with me, that’s for sure.

“She’s a human, Monsieur Garthelle. You can’t mean that.” The disgust in her tone is highly offensive. My sister isn’t some lesser being, some barely sentient beast. And how does a
lyche
not take notice of the fact that Jhez and I are both decidedly not quite human? I feel like I’m missing something. Perhaps, for some, the difference between mutt and human is negligible.

“She may very well be human, Madame. But I’m very serious. And you’re aware of the consequences. You knew when you assaulted her. Did you not?”

“I certainly didn’t think you’d demand restitution! Will you next claim every human within the York metro is a member of your
household
?”

“If I choose to do so, it is within my rights, is it not? You’re in no position to question it, nor is anyone else. Will you subject yourself, or will you refuse?”

“This is the height of insanity,” Gahandre mutters, flouncing back to her chair. She glares at me, and I plaster an evil grin on my face. No, I wouldn’t do it if the Monsieur of York weren’t standing at my shoulder. But he is.

Desmonde, on the other hand, pushes out of her place on the couch and strolls closer in a nonaggressive and roundabout fashion. Not challenging him that I can see; more like she wants a front-row seat for this. There’s a curve of a smile on her lips that isn’t friendly in the least. Total predator.

And I get the impression Garthelle won’t fail to deliver. He leans into me, his upper arm pushing against my shoulder. Heat tingles through my skin at the aural contact, pools in my gut. Adrenaline thickens my blood, and I feel a flush creep up my neck.

Ardienne tucks her chin and lowers her gaze to the floor, down and away from Garthelle’s face. A move screaming of submission, even amongst the most lowly of beasts. Why a
lyche
would employ this tactic of nonverbal communication is beyond me.

Beside me, Garthelle shifts, chest swelling as he inhales. Tingles suffuse my skin, running up and down my body. I want to scratch everywhere at once, but dig my fingers into my arms and resist the urge. His hand slides down my back, under my shirt, to rest against the bare skin of my hip. I suck in a breath as his aura blends into mine for the second time this evening. The tingling increases to a level of pleasure-pain.

Why’s he involving me in this? When he said he wanted me to witness it, there was no mention of participation. With him inside my aura, I can feel him reach out and tap Ardienne’s aura—
without touching her
.

I sense the weight of her energy, lighter than his but still a heady infusion, as he draws it from her. Minimal finesse, no surgical precision here. It reminds me of an alpha wolf wrestling a pack-mate into submission. I had no idea they could do this. No idea he could tap me without contact. Can he? Or is it strictly a
lyche
connection or sympathy of some sort?

Though her energy brushes against my aura, it flows into him, down into the base of his chi. From the corner of my eye, I can almost see it glowing in his abdomen. Which reminds me of those rippling muscles I glimpsed not too long ago. Wouldn’t mind seeing them again. Not a bit. I sidle closer, leaning into him, and feel the faint pulse of energy surging into him. It’s strange, to witness it like this as a bystander. From the outside.

Ardienne gasps, her body convulsing, and Leonard severs the tap with a rough tug.

“Never, ever disrespect a human beneath my roof again, Ardienne. Next time, I will not be so lenient.” The Monsieur of York’s voice is ominous in its depth, coarse and husky with a faint rasp. His hand tightens almost painfully on my hip as he propels me toward the door.

He doesn’t let go of me until he pushes the door shut behind us in his little black den. Then he stalks off into the depths of the shadows without a word. The clink of crystal, the slosh of liquid is loud in the stillness.

I’m getting this vibe that he didn’t enjoy that. Not in the least bit; this is slightly odd to my way of thinking.
Lyche
are all about their sustained levels of power and personal energy, and Garthelle just amped his. Noticeably. Ardienne wasn’t a weak member of their ilk and he just ripped her down to the level of an omega without batting an eye. With all those others there to bear witness. They didn’t attempt to intervene. Not even a token resistance.

The more you know, the more you know you don’t know.
And the more I know I don’t want to know, too. I very much want to go back to my little dilapidated flat with Jhez, back to eking out our existence one john and one skimpy credit chit at a time. Hey, the familiar is comfortable.

What he just did? The implications have more weight than the actual discomfort of the punishment. That much is obvious. But since I’ve no concept of those implications, I’m at a loss for what I should tell Jhez. I can just imagine how much of a train wreck that conversation will be.

“Would you like to be alone, Monsieur? I should probably go speak with my sister—”

“Stay. Just . . . give me a moment.”

I purse my lips and wander forward in the darkness until my legs smack against the edge of a couch. When I sink down into pliant velvet, it’s enough to make me want to curl up and go to sleep. But then I feel my aura tingling against my skin, and Leonard sits down next to me. So close his thigh is snug against mine.

I let him sit in silence for a few moments, and have to clear my throat before managing to whisper. “Tell me what really just happened.”

He empties the contents of the snifter and slides it soundlessly onto the coffee table, then turns to study me. I can’t make out his expression, or any details of his face. In fact, it’s almost hurting my eyes just to see the little I can. Waiting for them to adjust isn’t going to help, since there’s not enough ambient light for anything to register beyond vague forms and movement. I’m sure he can make out every last pore in my skin.