Lover Reborn (70 page)

“Are you going to kill him?”

“No, but I’m going to give the Brotherhood the ammunition to do so. The weapon that was used to shoot at Wrath was a rifle with a long-range scope—not the kind of thing anyone would take into the field on a normal night. Assuming they haven’t destroyed it, they’ll leave it behind when they go out. If I can get ahold of it, and we can prove what they did, things are going to take their natural course.”

Kind eyes, she thought… the male had had such kind eyes when he’d stared up at her. But in fact, he was the enemy of her king.

Layla felt her head nod. “I shall help you. I shall do anything I can… and not say a word.”

The female came over and put a surprisingly gentle hand on her shoulder. “I hate putting you in this position. War is an ugly, ugly business that specializes in compromising good people such as yourself. I can feel how this is tearing you up, and I’m sorry that I’m asking you to lie.”

It was lovely of the
symphath
to offer concern, but her conflict was not with giving false testimony to the Brotherhood. It was the fighter she would be helping to kill.

“Xcor used me,” she said, as if trying to convince herself.

“He’s very dangerous. You’re lucky to have come out of meeting him alive.”

“I will do what is right.” She glanced up at Xhex. “When do we leave?”

“Right now. If you’re able to.”

Layla called upon deep recesses of strength. Then nodded. “Allow me to get my coat.”

H
ours later, as Marissa sat at her desk at Safe Place, she answered her cell phone and couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “It’s you again.”

Butch’s Boston-accented voice was full of gravel. As usual. “When are you coming home?”

She looked at her watch and thought, Where had the night gone? Then again, it was always this way at work. She came in as soon as the sun was safely below the horizon, and before she knew it, the light was threatening in the east, and driving her back to the compound.

Into the arms of her male.

Hardly a chore, that was.

“About forty-five minutes?”

“You could come now.…”

The way he drawled those words suggested an altogether different meaning to that verb than “return home.” “Butch—”

“I didn’t make it out of bed tonight.”

She bit her lip, picturing him naked in the sheets that had been messy when she left. “No?”

“Mmm, no.” He drew out the syllables—at least until his breath caught. “I’ve been thinking about you.…”

His voice was so deep, so raw, that she knew exactly what he was doing to himself, and for a moment she closed her eyes and indulged in some seriously beautiful mental pictures.

“Marissa… come home.…”

Snapping herself together, she pulled out of the spell he knew damn well he was weaving around her. “I can’t leave quite now. But I’ll start getting ready to check out—how about that?”

“Perfect.” She could hear the grin on his face. “I’ll be here waiting for you—and listen, all kidding aside, take as long as you need. Just come back here first before you go to Last Meal? I want to give you an hors d’oeuvre you won’t forget.”

“You’re pretty unforgettable already.”

“That’s my girlie. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

As she ended the call, that big, fat, happy smile stayed on her face. Her mate was a traditional kind of male, “old-school,” as he called himself, with all the biases that came with that mental set: Females should never pay for anything, open a door, pump gas into their cars, step through a mud puddle, carry something larger than what could fit in a sandwich bag… you name it. But he never got in the way of her job. Ever. That was the one area of her life where she called the shots, and he never complained about her hours, her workload, or her stress level.

Which was just one of the many reasons she adored the Brother. The displaced females and children who stayed at Safe Place were a kind of family to her, one that she was the head of: She was in charge of the facility, the staff, the programs, the resources, and, most important, everything and everybody who was under its roof. And she loved her job. When Wrath had given her the charter to run the charity, she had nearly balked, but she was so glad she had fought through the fear to find her professional purpose.

“Marissa?”

Glancing up, she found one of the newer counselors standing in her office’s doorway. “Hi, there. How was group tonight?”

“Really good. I’ll be filing my report in about an hour—right after we finish making cookies down in the kitchen. I’m sorry to interrupt you, but there’s a gentlemale here with a delivery?”

“Really?” She frowned at the calendar on the wall. “We don’t have anything scheduled.”

“I know, so I haven’t unlocked the door. He said you’d know him, but he didn’t give his name. I’m wondering if we shouldn’t call the Brotherhood?”

“What does he look like?”

The female reached a hand up over her head. “Very tall. Big. He’s got dark hair with a white stripe in front?”

Marissa jumped up so fast her chair let out a squeak on the floor. “Tohrment? He’s alive?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ll handle this. It’s okay—you head back to the kitchen.”

Marissa shot out of her office and went down the front set of stairs. Pausing by the main entrance, she checked the security monitor that V had installed, and then immediately yanked open the door.

She threw herself at the Brother without thinking. “Oh, God, where have you been! You were lost for nights!”

“Not really.” He returned her embrace gently. “I was just taking care of some business. But it’s all good.”

She stepped back, but held on to both his thick biceps. “Are you okay?”

Everyone at the mansion knew that Autumn had gone through her needing, and she could imagine how hard that had been on him. And she’d hoped, as they all had, that the growing relationship between the Brother and the quiet, fallen aristocrat would heal him. Instead, he’d disappeared after she’d come out of her fertile time, and Autumn had moved out of the house.

Not a happy outcome, obviously.

“Listen, I know you take donations, right?” he said.

Respecting the fact that he hadn’t answered her question, she stopped probing. “Oh, we absolutely do. We’ll take anything—we’re experts at adaptive reuse around here.”

“Good, because I have some things I’d like to give the females, maybe? I’m not sure you can use any of it, but…”

He turned and led the way over to the Brotherhood’s van, which was parked at the head of the driveway. Fritz was in the passenger seat, and the old butler hopped out as she approached.

For once, he did not have a cheery smile on his face. He did bow deeply, however. “Madam, how fare thee?”

“Oh, very well, Fritz, thank you.”

She fell silent as Tohr slid the side panel back—

One look inside and she stopped breathing.

Illuminated by the van’s overhead light were neat piles of what appeared to be clothes in laundry baskets, cardboard boxes, open duffels. There were also skirts and blouses and dresses still on their hangers, draped with care on the floorboards.

Marissa looked at Tohr.

The Brother was silent and staring at the ground—and clearly not about to make eye contact. “Like I said, I’m not sure you can use any of it.”

She leaned in and fingered one of the dresses.

The last time she had seen it, it had been on Wellsie.

These were his
shellan
’s clothes.

In a voice that cracked, she whispered, “Are you sure you want to give this away?”

“Yeah. Throwing it all out just seems like such a waste, and she wouldn’t approve of that. Wellsie would want them to be used by others—that would be important to her. She hated waste. But, yeah, I don’t know about the whole female-size thing, though.”

“This is very generous of you.” She studied the male’s face, realizing it was the first time since he’d come back after the killing that she’d heard him say the name. “We will use all of it.”

He nodded, his eyes still avoiding hers. “I included unopened toiletries, too? Like shampoo and conditioner, her moisturizer, that Clinique soap she liked? Wellsie was really fussy about that kind of stuff—she tended to find something she liked and stick to it—she was also big into backups, so there was a lot when I cleaned out our bathroom. Oh, and I also have some of her kitchen things—those copper pans she preferred, and her knives? I can take that to a human Goodwill if you—”

“We’ll take anything you have.”

“Here’s the cooking stuff.” Tohrment went around and opened the back to show her. “And I know you don’t allow males inside, but maybe I could put it all in the garage?”

“Yes, yes, please. Let me go and get some extra hands to help us—”

“I’d like to carry it in myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh yes, of course… yes.” Shaking herself, she jogged over and punched in the code on the keypad by the garage doors.

As the left side trundled open, she went over and stood by the butler as Tohrment went back and forth at a steady pace, carrying his mate’s possessions with care, creating a tall, orderly pile right by the door that led into the kitchen.

“He’s packing up the house?” she whispered to Fritz.

“Yes, madam. We’ve worked all night—John, Qhuinn, myself, and him. He did their rooms and the kitchen, whilst the other males and I worked on the rest of the house. He’s asked me to return with him after this coming sunset so that all the furniture and the art can be moved to the mansion.”

Marissa put her hand up and covered her mouth so that her shock was less apparent. But she needn’t have worried about her reaction making Tohr uncomfortable; the Brother was solely focused on his task.

When the van was empty, he closed everything up and came around to her. Just as she was trying to marshal appropriate words of gratitude, of profound respect, of deepest sympathy, he cut her off by taking something out of his pocket—a velvet bag.

“I have one more thing. Give me your hand?” When she extended her palm, he loosened the cord at the neck of the thing. Tilting it upside down, he poured out—

“Oh, my God!” Marissa gasped.

Rubies. Big red rubies set with diamonds. Lots of them—a necklace—no, a necklace and a bracelet. Earrings, too. She needed both hands to hold it all.

“I bought these for her back in nineteen sixty-four. From Van Cleef and Arpels? It was supposed to be for our anniversary, but I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. Wellsie wasn’t a big fan of jewelry—she liked art more. She always said that jewels were fussy. Anyway, you know, I saw these in a magazine at Darius’s—in a
Town and Country
. I thought they would go well with her red hair, and I wanted to do something over-the-top and romantic just to prove I could. She didn’t really care for them, but every year afterward, every single year without fail, she took the set out from the gun safe and put it on. And every year—every single year—I got to tell her that they didn’t hold a candle to how beautiful she was—” He stopped short. “I’m sorry, I’m totally rambling.”

“Tohr… I can’t accept these. This is too much—”

“I want you to sell ’em. Sell ’em and take the money and use it to expand the house in the back. Butch was saying something about you needing more space? I think they’ve got to be worth a quarter of a million, maybe more. Wellsie would have loved what you’re doing here—she would have supported it, volunteered with the females and the kids, really gotten involved. So, you know, there isn’t a better place for these to go.”

Marissa started to blink really fast—it was either that or have tears fall. It was just… he was being so brave.…

“Are you sure,” she said roughly. “Are you certain you want to do all this?”

“Yeah. It’s time. Holding on to it hasn’t brought her back and never will. But at least it can help the females in this house—so none of it’s wasted. It’s important to me that the things we bought together, had together, used together… aren’t, you know, wasted.”

At that, Tohr leaned in and gave her a quick hug. “Be well, Marissa.”

And then he closed up the van, helped the butler into the driver’s seat, and, with a final wave, dematerialized into the waning night.

Marissa looked down at the fortune in her hands, then back up at the van Fritz was cautiously reversing out of the driveway. As the
doggen
went, so she followed, walking down to the street, putting the gems back in their little bag. While he K-turned, she lifted her arm and waved. He did the same.

Wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill, she watched the tail lights fade.

With the weight of the gems still in her hands, she pivoted around toward the house and pictured the expansion she could do out into the rear yard, creating more rooms for more females and their young—especially underground, where it was safe during the day.

Her eyes misted over again, and this time there was no stopping the tears from hitting her cheeks. As the facility in front of her grew wavy, the future became clear: She knew exactly who she was going to name the new wing after.

Wellesandra had such a nice ring to it.

L
ayla had never been out close to dawn before, and she found it interesting to note that there was a real change in the air, a vitalization she could sense but not see: The sun was indeed powerful, capable of illuminating the whole world, and the gathering illumination made her skin prickle in alarm, some instinct bred deep in her flesh telling her now was the time to be heading home. Yet she did not want to go.

“How you doing?” Xhex asked from behind her.

For truth, it had been a long evening. They had been on the outskirts of Caldwell for hours, circling in the darkness, tracking Xcor and his fighters—which had proven easy enough to do. Her sense of the male was clear as a spotlighted location, her tie to him from that feeding months ago as yet unfaded. And on his side… Xcor appeared to be so caught up in his fighting that he did not know she was on the periphery; certainly if he was aware of her vicinity, he did not approach her, and nor did the other soldier.