impossible transformation. The green of spring and summer is just a shadow of the trees’ true identity, and all that color as the nights grow cold is a miracle every stinking time it happens. It’s like they’re making up for the loss of the warmth with all their fire. I like… Autumn.” He stared into her eyes. “You’re like that. You’re beautiful and you burn brightly—and it’s time for you to come out. So I say… Autumn.”
In the silence that followed, she was aware of a pricking at the corners of her eyes.
“What’s the matter?” he rushed in. “Shit—you don’t like it? I could pick another. Lihllith? How about Suhannah? What… Joe? Fred? Frickin’ Howard?”
She put her hand upon his face. “I love it. It’s perfect. I shall henceforth be known by the name you have given me, and the season of the year when the leaves burn—Autumn.”
Lifting herself up, she pressed her lips to his. “Thank you. Thank you…”
As he nodded solemnly, she wrapped her arms around him, and held him tightly. To be named was to be claimed, and it made her feel… reborn.
FORTY-SEVEN
It was a long while before Tohr and Autumn reemerged from the warm, humid confines of their pool. Man, he was never going to go into that place again without thinking of it as “theirs.”
Holding open the door into the corridor for her, he took a deep, easing breath. Autumn… the perfect name for a perfectly lovely female.
Walking side by side, they made their way to the office together, his feet leaving wet prints, because the damp pants he’d squeezed himself back into were dripping at the hems. She, on the other hand, left no trail, as her robe was dry.
Last time she was going to wear the damned thing.
Shit, her hair looked good all loose around her shoulders. Maybe he could get her to lose the braid, too.
When they stepped out into the tunnel, he put his arm around her, tucking her in against him. She fit well. She was smaller than… Well, Wellsie had been much taller. Autumn’s head was lower on his pecs, her shoulders not as wide, and her gait was uneven, whereas his mate’s had been smooth as silk.
But she fit. Differently, yes, but the lock and key of their bodies was undeniable.
Approaching the door that led up to the mansion, he dropped back and let her go up the stairs first. At the top, he reached past her, punched in the code, and opened the way into the foyer, holding the heavy panels wide for her.
As she pased through, he asked, “Hungry?”
“Famished.”
“Then you go upstairs and let me wait on you.”
“Oh, I can get something in the kit—”
“Nope. Don’t think so. I wait on you.” He took her around the base of the grand staircase. “You go up and get into bed. I’ll bring the food.”
She hesitated at the bottom step. “That’s really not necessary.”
He shook his head as he thought of all the exercise they’d gotten poolside. “It’s very necessary. And you’re going to humor me by losing that robe and getting in between the sheets naked.”
Her smile started out shy… ended up spectacular.
And then she pivoted and flashed him her backside.
Watching her hips sway as she ascended got him hard. Again.
Bracing one hand against the carved banister, he had to look down at the carpet and compose himself—
A nasty curse brought his head around.
Bad word, good timing…
Striding across the mosaic of an apple tree in bloom, he leaned into the billiards room. Lassiter was on the couch, focused on the wide-screen over the fireplace.
Even though Tohr was half-naked and half-wet, he strode over, getting in between the angel and the TV. “Listen, I—”
“What the fuck!” Lassiter started motioning like his hands were on fire and he was trying to flap them free of flames. “Get outta the way!”
“Did it work?” Tohr demanded.
More cursing, and then the angel jacked to the side in an attempt to get at the screen. “Just give me a minute—”
“Is she free?” he hissed. “Just tell me.”
“Aha!” Lassiter pointed at the boob tube. “You mother
Tohr fought the urge to slap some sense into the son of a bitch. His Wellsie’s future was at stake, and this dumb-ass was worried about Maury’s paternity tests? “Are you kidding me.”
“No, I’m damn serious. Bastard has three kids by three sisters—what kind of man is that?”
Tohr smacked his own head in lieu of the angel’s. “Lassiter… come
“Look, I’m still here, aren’t I,” the guy muttered as he muted the screaming and hopping up and down on Maury’s stage. “As long as I’m still here, there’s work to be done.”
Tohr let himself fall into a chair. Propping his head in his hand, he bit down on his molars. “I don’t fucking get it. Destiny wants blood, sweat, and tears—well, I’ve fed from her, we’ve—ah, sweated, for sure. Shit knows I’ve cried enough.”
“The tears don’t count,” the angel said.
“How is that possible?”
“It just is, my man.”
Great. Fantastic. “How much longer do I have to get my Wellsie free?”
“Your dreams are the answer to that. In the meantime, I suggest you go feed your female. I gather by your wet pants that you just gave her a helluva workout.”
The words,
The angel just shook his head back and forth, as if he were well aware of both the sentiment that had remained unspoken… and the future that was as yet unknown.
“Goddamn it,” Tohr muttered as he got to his feet and started for the kitchen. “Goddamn me.”
Some thirty miles away, at the Band of Bastards’ farmhouse, the sound of wheezing drifted up into the stale air of the cellar, rhythmic, ragged, wretched.
As Throe stared into the candlelight aimlessly, he didn’t feel good about where his leader was.
Xcor had been in one hell of a hand-to-hand contest toward the end of the engagement at Assail’s house. He had refused to say with whom, but it must have been a Brother. And naturally, he had had no medical attention since then—not that they had much to offer in that regard.
Cursing to himself, Throe crossed his arms over his chest and tried to remember the last time the male had fed. Dearest Virgin Scribe… had it been back in the spring with those three prostitutes? No wonder he wasn’t healing up… and he wouldn’t until he was better nourished—
The wheezing shifted into a rough cough… then resumed at a slower, more painful rate.
Xcor was going to die.
That dire conclusion had been dawning with relentless vigor ever since that breathing pattern had changed hours ago. To survive, the male needed one of two things, preferably both: access to medical facilities, supplies, and personnel the likes of which the Brotherhood enjoyed; and the blood of a female vampire.
There was no way of getting him the former, and the latter had proven to be a challenge over the last few months. The vampire population in Caldwell was slowly increasing, but since the raids, females had been at an even
