Lover Unleashed (42 page)

With another curse, she pushed past him and strode out into the corridor, figuring Manuel would find himself freed very shortly—

“It was your brother. Wasn’t it.”

The calm, low words echoed down the barren hallway, stopping not just her feet, but her heart.

“I saw the condition he’s in,” Manuel said in a deep voice. “Any chance your father did that to the guy?”

Payne slowly turned back around. Standing in the middle of the corridor, her healer was showing neither shock nor horror, just an intelligence she was coming to expect from him.

“Why would you think that,” she said in a dead tone.

“When I operated on him, I saw the scars, and it’s pretty clear someone tried to castrate him. Extrapolating? From my limited interaction with him, I’d say he’s way too touchy and aggressive for anyone to get the better of him. So it was either a gang of people or somebody who got him when he was really, profoundly vulnerable. I’m thinking the latter is more likely because . . . well, let’s just say I’d be surprised if abusive parents didn’t happen for your kind, too.”

Payne swallowed hard, and it was a long, long while before she could find her voice. “Our father . . . had him held down. A blacksmith was ordered to tattoo him . . . and then get a pair of pliers.”

Manuel squeezed his eyes shut briefly. “I’m sorry. I’m really . . . damned sorry.”

“Our father was chosen as a sire for his aggression and ruthlessness, and my brother was given over to him when he was very young—whereas I stayed up at the Sanctuary with our
mahmen
. With naught to pass my time, I watched what transpired down here on Earth in the seeing bowls and . . . over the course of years in the war camp, my brother was abused. I brought this to my mother time and time again, but she insisted upon adhering to the deal she had made with the Bloodletter.” She curled her hands into tight fists. “That male, that forsaken, sadistic male . . . he was not capable of siring sons, but she guaranteed him one so he would agree to mate with her. Three years after we were born, she relinquished Vishous unto our father’s cruelty whilst she did her best to force me into a mold I would ne’er fit into. And then that last episode where Vishous was . . .” Tears speared into her eyes. “No more—not any longer could I do nothing. I came down here and . . . and I hunted the Bloodletter down. I held him to the ground whilst I burned him into ash. And I do not regret it.”

“Who put you in jail?”

“My mother. But the imprisonment was only partially because he was dead. Sometimes I believe it was more her colossal disappointment in me.” She wiped her face quickly and rubbed the wetness away. “But enough of this. Enough of . . . all of it. Go now . . . I shall speak to the king and send you off. Good-bye, Manuel.”

Rather than waiting for him to respond, she headed off once more—

“Yes, I want you.”

Payne stopped, and then looked over her shoulder again. After a moment, she said, “You are a fine healer and you have done your job, as you so aptly pointed out. We have no further cause to speak.”

When she resumed walking, his footsteps approached fast and he caught her, wheeling her around. “If I didn’t keep my pants on, I couldn’t have kept myself out of you.”

“Really.”

“Give me your hand.”

Without looking, she held one unto him. “Why ever for—”

He moved fast, putting her palm between his legs, and pressing her into the hot, hard length at his hips. “You’re right.” He moved against her, his pelvis undulating, the arousal pushing against her palm as he started to breathe deeply. “Even as I tried to tell myself otherwise, I knew that if I got naked, you were going to stay a virgin only long enough for me to get you on your back. Not romantic, but really, totally fucking true.”

As her lips parted, his eyes dropped to her mouth and he growled, “You can feel the truth, can’t you. It’s in your goddamn hand.”

“Do you not care about what I did . . .”

“You mean with your father?” He stopped the rubbing and frowned. “No. To be clear, I’m a
lex talionis
kind of guy. Your brother could easily have died from those wounds—I don’t care how fast you people heal. But more to the point, I’m willing to bet that father/son bonding moment fucked his head up for the rest of his life—so yeah, I don’t have a problem with what you did.”

Retaliatory justice, she thought as his words sank in.

Tightening her hold on him, she resumed what he had stopped, tracing up and down his sex, stroking. “I am glad you feel this way.”

And wasn’t that true on a lot of levels: His erection was delicious, so hard and blunt at the tip. She wanted to explore him as he had her . . . with her fingers . . . her mouth . . . her tongue. . . .

Manuel’s eyes briefly rolled back into his head as he gritted his teeth. “But . . . your brother’s still right.”

“Is he . . .” She leaned in and licked at his lips. “Are you sure?”

When she drew back, there was a sizzling moment as their eyes met . . . and then, with a growl, he spun her around and pushed her into the wall.

“Be careful,” he growled.

“Why.” She dipped her lips to his neck and slowly, inexorably dragged one fang up over his jugular.

“Oh . . . fuck . . .” With a desperate curse, he locked his hand on hers, holding her palm in place at his hips, obviously trying to refocus. “Listen to me. As good as this is between us . . .” He swallowed hard. “As good . . . Shit, look, your brother knows what’s doing—I can’t take care of you properly and—”

“I can take care of myself.” She pressed her mouth to his, and she knew she had him when his pelvis began to push forward and ease back again: He may have halted her hand, but his body was more than making up the slack on the friction front.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, “do you want me to come right here?”

“Yes, I do. I want to know what it is like.”

More kissing. And even though he was the one gripping her and pinning her against the wall, she was the aggressor.

Manuel pulled back, but only, it seemed, upon a great struggle within himself. After taking a number of deep breaths, he said, “You asked me whether I would stay if I could? In a heartbeat. You are beautiful and sexy and I don’t know what the hell your mother or anyone else is doing comparing you to anything or anybody. Nothing comes close to you . . . on any level.”

As he spoke, he was lethally serious and abidingly sincere . . . and the acceptance he offered was as generous as it was unique: She had never gotten it from anyone. Even her own brother wanted to deny her her choice of mate.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“It’s not a compliment. That’s just the way it is.” Manuel kissed her mouth softly, and lingered with the contact. “But the Goateed Hater is still right, Payne.”

“Goateed . . . Hater?”

“Sorry. Little nickname I dreamed up for your twin.” He shrugged. “But even still, I really think he does have your best interests at heart, and you do need someone other than me long-term—whether I can stay here or not is just part of the problem.”

“Not in my eyes.”

“Then you need to see more clearly. I’m going to be dead in another four decades. If I’m lucky. Do you really want to watch me age? Die?”

She had to close her eyes and turn her head away at the thought of him passing away. “Fates . . . no.”

In the quiet that followed, the energy between them changed, shifting from everything sexual . . . to a different kind of yearning. And as if he felt as she did, he tucked her in against his body, holding her tightly within his strong arms.

“If there’s one thing that I’ve learned as a doctor,” he said, “it’s that biology prevails. You and I can do all the deciding we want, but the biological differences are nothing that we can change. My life expectancy is a fraction of yours—at most, we’d get a ten-year window before I’m in Cialis land.”

“What’s that?”

“A very, very flat, gelded place,” he said drily.

“Well . . . I would go there with you, Manuel.” She pulled back so she could look into his beautiful brown eyes. “Wherever it is.”

There was a beat of silence. And then he smiled sadly. “I love the way you say my name.”

Sighing, she put her head on his shoulder. “And I love saying it.”

As they stood there, one against the other, she wondered whether it was for the very last time. And that made her think of her brother. She was worried about Vishous and needed to talk with him, but he had chosen to leave her with no way of finding him.

So be it. Difficult as it was, she would let Vishous go temporarily for now . . . and focus on the male who was with her.

“I have something to ask of you,” she said to her healer—Manuel, she corrected herself.

“Name it.”

“Take me into your world. Show me . . . if not everything, then something.”

Manuel stiffened. “I don’t know if that’s such a hot idea. You’ve been on your feet for just over twelve hours at this point.”

“But I feel strong, and I have ways of dealing with travel.” Worse came to worst, she could just dematerialize back here to the compound: She knew from the seeing bowls that her brother had surrounded this facility with
mhis
, and that was a beacon she could readily find. “Trust me, I shall be in no danger.”

“How would we get out together, though?”

Payne stepped from his hold. “You re-dress your body whilst I take care of everything.” When it looked like he was going to argue, she shook her head. “You say biology always wins? Fine. But I say to you, we have this night—why should we waste it.”

“More time together . . . is only going to make it harder to leave.”

Oh, how that hurt. “You said you would grant me a favor. I have put it upon you. Is your word not your bond?”

His lips thinned out. But then he inclined his head. “Fair enough. I’ll go change.”

As he headed back to their room, she returned to the office and picked up the phone, as Jane and Ehlena had shown her how to do. The dialing went well enough—and the butler
doggen
answered in a cheery voice.

This had to work, she told herself. This absolutely had to work.

In the Old Language, she said,
“This is Payne, blooded sister of the Black Dagger Brother Vishous, son of the Bloodletter. I should wish to speak with the king, if he would grant me the courtesy.”

THIRTY-SIX

A
s Vishous burst into the Pit from the underground tunnel, he had to wipe his bloody face with his palm so he could keep going down to the bedrooms. He supposed it was a good thing that the mirror had mostly bull’s-eyed, because it meant there were few shards in him—but in truth, he didn’t really give a shit.

When he came up to Butch and Marissa’s door, he knocked. Hard.

“Gimme a minute.”

Butch didn’t take that long to open up, and he was still pulling his robe on when he did. “What is—” That was as far as he got. “Jesus Christ . . .
V.
”

Over the guy’s shoulder, Marissa sat up in their bed, her cheeks flushed, her long blond hair tangled, the covers pulled up to her breasts and held there. Drowsy satisfaction was quickly replaced with shock.

“I should have just called.” V was impressed at the calm tone of his voice, and he tasted copper as he spoke. “But I don’t know where my phone is.”

As his stare locked onto his best friend’s, he felt like a diabetic desperate for insulin. Or maybe it was more like a heroin addict pining for a needle. Whatever the metaphor, he had to get out of himself or he was going to lose his mind and do something criminally stupid.

Like get his blades on and turn that surgeon into so much hamburger meat.

“I caught them together,” he heard himself say. “But don’t worry. The human is still breathing.”

And then he just stood there, the question that he’d come to ask as plain as the blood on his face.

Butch glanced back at his
shellan
. Without hesitation, she nodded, her eyes sad and kind and so understanding that V was momentarily touched—even in his numbed-out state.

“Go,” she said. “Take care of him. I love you.”

Butch nodded at her. Probably mouthed an “I love you” back.

Then he looked at V and muttered gruffly, “You go wait in the courtyard. I’ll bring the Escalade around—and get a towel from the bathroom, would ya? You look like Freddy-frickin’-Krueger.”

As the cop peeled off for the closet and ditched his robe to get dressed, V looked at the male’s
shellan
.

“It’s all right, Vishous,” she said. “It’s going to be all right.”

“I do not crave this.” But he needed it before he became a danger to himself and others.

“I know. And I love you, too.”

“
You are a blessing beyond measure
,” he pronounced in the Old Language.

And then he bowed to her and turned away.

When the world came back into focus sometime later, V found himself sitting on the passenger side of the Escalade. Butch was behind the wheel, and the pedal-metal routine the cop was pulling meant some serious mileage had been covered: The lights of downtown Caldwell were not just in the distance; they were all around, glimmering through the front and side windows.

The silence in the SUV was as tense as a dagger hand and as dense as a brick. And even as they closed in on their destination, V had trouble comprehending this trip they were taking. There was no going back, however. Not for either of them.

Down into the Commodore’s parking garage.

Engine off.

Two doors opening . . . two doors closing.

And then the ride up in the elevator. Which was like the trip from the compound to the Commodore: nothing that stuck in V’s mind.

Next thing he knew, Butch was using the copper key to open the way into the penthouse.

V walked in first and he willed the black candles on their stanchions to light up. The instant the black walls and flooring were illuminated, he went from zombie to live wire, his senses coming alive to the point where his own footfalls sounded like bombs dropping, and the sound of the door shutting them both in was like the building falling in on itself.