Lover Mine (24 page)

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Authors: J.R. Ward

BOOK: Lover Mine
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No one seemed surprised by the exchange . . . but then John realized his secret had to be out. After the way he’d behaved up in that bedroom at the brownstone—to say nothing of how he’d torn into that
lesser
, they all knew how he felt about Xhex.
That was the reason the group had come. They were recognizing his status, paying it due. The rights and boundaries of bonded males were respected when it came to their females.
John glanced at Qhuinn and signed,
Tell him I’ll go
.
After his boy translated, Rehv nodded and then turned to Wrath. “I go with him and him alone. He can’t bring Qhuinn. We’re going to have enough trouble with her if the pair of us show up unannounced.”
Wrath frowned. “Damn it, Rehv—”
“She’s a flight risk. I’ve been through this once before with her. Anyone else shows, she’s going to bolt and she’s not going to call again. Besides, John here . . . he’ll follow me anyway, won’t you, son. You’ll ditch Qhuinn and follow me anyway.”
John didn’t hesitate to nod.
As Qhuinn cursed like a motherfucker, Wrath shook his head. “Why in the hell I gave you him as an
ahstrux . . .”
There was a period of tense silence, during which the king measured both John and Rehv. Then he said, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, fine—I’ll let you go without your guard this one time, but you do not engage the enemy. You go to that cabin, and only there, and then you come back and get Qhuinn before you head out into the field. We clear?”
John nodded and turned away to hit the bathroom.
“Ten minutes,” Rehv said. “You got ten minutes and we’re driving out.”
John was ready in four and downstairs pacing the foyer in six. He was fully weaponized, as was protocol, and covered in protective leather. More to the point, he was alive to the point of mania, his blood humming at a tornadic pitch.
As he paced, he felt eyes on him. From the billiard room. From the dining room. From up above on the second floor’s balcony. Silent mouths, but eyes that missed nothing.
The Brotherhood and the other members of the house were clearly reeling from the Xhex connection and he supposed he could understand. Surprise! He’d bonded with a
symphath
.
But you couldn’t help who you fell in love with—or change the feelings of someone who didn’t love you back.
God, not that that part mattered.
She was alive!
Rehvenge came down the grand stairs, his red cane hitting the carpeted steps every time his right foot came forward. He was dressed not for war, but for warmth, his floor-length mink skimming the tops of his wingtips and the cuffs of his elegant black suit.
As he came up to John, he just nodded and opened the way into the vestibule. Together, they stepped through and penetrated the cool night.
The air smelled like clean, unfrozen earth.
The perfume of spring. The very scent of hope and rebirth.
Walking over to the Bentley, John drew the fragrance into his lungs and held it there as he told himself that Xhex was doing the very same thing on this very same night.
And not because she was buried underground.
Tears pricked his eyes as gratitude washed through every vein he had, pumped around by a singing heart.
He couldn’t believe he was going to get to see her . . . God, to see her once again. To look into her gunmetal eyes. To . . .
Shit, it was going to be hard not to throw his arms around her and hold her until tomorrow morning. Or maybe next week.
When they got into the car, Rehv started the engine, but didn’t put it in drive. He just stared out through the windshield at the cobblestone drive ahead.
In a quiet voice, he said, “How long’s this been going on for you? With her.”
John took out a small pad he’d brought with him and wrote:
Since the moment I first met her.
After Rehv read the scribble, he frowned. “She feel the same way?”
John did not drop his eyes as he shook his head. No sense hiding shit. Not with a
symphath
.
Rehv nodded once. “That’s so like her. Goddamn it . . . okay, let’s do this.”
With a roar, they were off into the night.
TWENTY
H
ope was a treacherous emotion.
It was two evenings hence when Darius finally walked into the home of the abducted female’s family, and as the grand door opened to both himself and Tohrment, they were met by a
doggen
whose eyes were filled with the tragedy of hope. Verily, the butler’s expression was of such high regard, it was clear he felt he was ushering into his master’s house saviors, rather than mortals.
Only time and the vagaries of fortune would bear out whether his faith was well- or misplaced.
With alacrity, Darius and Tohrment were led into a formal study and the gentlemale who rose from a silk-covered sitting chair had to steady his weight.
“Welcome, sires, thank you for coming,” Sampsone said as he reached out with both palms to shake Darius’s hands. “I’m sorry that I have not been receiving these last two evenings. My beloved
shellan . . .”
The male’s voice cracked and in the silence, Darius stepped aside. “May I present my colleague, Tohrment, son of Hharm.”
As Tohrment bowed low with his hand over his heart, it was clear that the son had all the manners his sire did not.
The master of the house returned the deference. “Would you care for libations or gastronomic provision?”
Darius shook his head and took a seat. As Tohrment came to stand behind him, he said, “ Thank you. But mayhap we could speak of what has happened within this manse.”
“Yes, yes, of course. What may I tell you?”
“All things. Tell us . . . all things.”
“My daughter . . . my light in the darkness . . .” The male took out a handkerchief. “She was of worth and virtue. A more caring female you should never come across. . . .”
Darius, aware that they’d already lost two evenings, allowed the father a certain time of remembrance before refocusing him. “And that night, sir, that terrible night,” he cut in when there was a pause. “What happened here within this house?”
The male nodded and dabbed at his eyes. “She awoke from her slumbers feeling a certain disquiet and was advised to attend to her private quarters for her health. She was brought a meal at midnight and then another well before the dawn’s arrival. That was the last she was seen. Her evening quarters are upstairs, but she also has, along with the rest of the family, rooms underground. She often elected not to move down below with us for the day, however, and as we have access to her through inner hallways, we assumed she would be safe enough—”
The male choked up at this point. “How I wish I had insisted.”
Darius could very much understand the regret. “We shall find your daughter. One way or the other, we shall find her. Would you permit us to go now unto her bedroom?”
“Please do.” As the male nodded at his
doggen
, the butler came forward. “Silas will be pleased to escort you. I shall . . . prefer to wait here.”
“But of course.”
When Darius stood up, the father reached forward and snagged his hand. “A word, if I may? Between you and me.”
Darius acquiesced, and after Tohrment and the
doggen
left, the master of the house collapsed back into his formal chair.
“Verily . . . my daughter was of worth. Of virtue. Untouched by . . .”
In the pause that stretched out, Darius knew what the male was concerned with: If they didn’t get her back in that virginal condition, her honor, as well as the family’s, was in jeopardy.
“I cannot say this in front of my beloved
shellan
,” the male continued. “But our daughter . . . If she has been defiled . . . perhaps it would be better to leave . . .”
Darius’s eyes narrowed. “You would prefer her not be found.”
Tears sprang up in those pale eyes. “I . . .” Abruptly, the male shook his head. “No . . . no. I want her back. No matter the outcome, no matter her condition . . . of course I want my daughter.”
Darius was not inclined to offer support—that such a denial of his blooded child had even crossed the male’s mind was grotesque. “I should like to go to her room now.”
The master of the house snapped his fingers and the
doggen
stepped back into the archway of the study.
“This way, sire,” the butler said.
As he and his protégé were taken through the house, Darius scanned the reinforced windows and doors. There was steel everywhere, either separating the panes of glass or fortifying the stout oak panels. To get in without welcome would not be easy . . . and he was willing to bet that every room on the second and third floors was similarly well-appointed—as were the servants’ quarters.
He also measured every painting and rug and precious object as they ascended. This family was high up within the
glymera
, with coffers choked with coin and an enviable bloodline. Thus, the fact of their unmated daughter going missing affected more than just their heartstrings: She was a marketable asset. With this sort of background, a female of mate-able age was a thing of beauty . . . and social and financial implication.
And that was not the full extent of it. As with all such valuations, the converse was true as well: To have such a daughter ruined, either in fact or by rumor, was a taint that would take generations to even dim. The master of this mansion no doubt loved his daughter honestly, but the weight of all this distorted the relationship.
Darius quite believed that in the male’s eyes it was better that she come home in a pine box as opposed to breathing, but defiled. The latter was a curse, the former a tragedy that would garner much sympathy.
Darius hated the
glymera
. He truly did.
“Here are her private quarters,” the
doggen
said, swinging open a door.
As Tohrment stepped inside the candlelit room, Darius asked, “Have these been cleaned? Have they been tidied since she was herein?”
“Of course.”
“Leave us, please?”
The
doggen
bowed deeply and disappeared.
Tohrment wandered around, looking at the silk draperies and the beautifully appointed sitting area. A lute was in one corner and a fine piece of needlework that was partially completed in another. Books by human authors were stacked neatly on shelves along with scrolls in the Old Language.
The first thing one noticed was that nothing was out of place. But whether that was a case of the staff or the circumstance of the disappearance, it was hard to know.
“Touch nothing, yes?” Darius said to the boy.
“But of course.”
Darius went into the lush bedroom. The draperies were made of thick, heavy tapestry such that the sunlight couldn’t hope to penetrate and the bed was ringed with more of the same, great panels of cloth hanging from the canopy.
Over at the wardrobe, he pulled open the carved doors. Gorgeous gowns in sapphire and ruby and citrine and emerald hung together, full of beautiful potential. And a single empty hanger rested on a hook on the inside of the panels, as if she had taken the night’s choice from its padded shoulders.
The dressing table had a hairbrush on it and various pots of unguents and scented oils and tinting powders. All of which were arranged in neat rows.
Darius pulled open a drawer . . . and let out a soft curse. Jewelry cases. Flat leather jewelry cases. He picked one up, popped the golden clasp, and lifted the lid.
Diamonds gleamed in the candlelight.
As Darius returned the box to its comrades, Tohrment stopped in the doorway, his eyes focusing on the fine woven rug that was done in peaches, yellows, and reds.
The faint blush on the male’s face made Darius sad for some reason. “You’ve never been in a female’s boudoir then?”
Tohrment got even redder. “Ah . . . no, sire.”
Darius motioned with his hand. “Well, this is business. Best to put aside any shyness.”
Tohrment cleared his throat. “Yes. Of course.”
Darius went over to the two sets of French doors. Both opened onto a terrace and he went out with Tohrment right on his heels.
“You can see through the distant trees,” the boy murmured, walking to the balcony.
Indeed one could. Through the spindly arms of the leafless branches, the mansion on another property was visible. The great house was of comparable size and distinction, with fine metalwork on its turrets, and gracious grounds . . . but as far as Darius was aware, it was not inhabited by vampires.
He turned away and walked the length of the terrace, inspecting all the windows and all the doors and all of the handles, hinges, and locks.
There had been no kind of break-in, and given how cold it was, she wouldn’t have tallied with anything wide open to the elements.
Which meant she had either left of her own volition . . . or let whoever had taken her in. Assuming the entrance had been gained up here.
He looked through the glass into her rooms, trying to imagine what had transpired.
To hell with the ingress, the exit was more the point, wasn’t it. Highly unlikely the abductor would have dragged her out through the house: She must have been spirited away during darkness or else she would have been burned to ash and there were always people out and about during the night hours.
No, he thought. They had to have left from this suite of rooms.
Tohrment spoke up. “Nothing is disturbed, inside or out. No scratches on the floors or marks on the wall, which means . . .”

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