Lover Reborn

“You don’t honestly think you’re ever alone anymore, do you? And the problem isn’t No’One. It’s you—you don’t want to be attracted to her.”

“I wasn’t attracted to her. I’m not.”

“But it’s okay if you are. That’s the point—”

Tohr reached over, grabbed the front of the angel’s shirt, and yanked their heads together. “I got two things to say to you. I don’t believe a thing you’re telling me, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut the fuck up about my mate.”

As Tohr shoved free and got to his feet, Lassiter cursed. “You don’t have forever with this, buddy.”

“Stay the hell out of my room.”

“Are you willing to bet her eternity on your anger? Are you really that arrogant?”

Tohr glared over his shoulder… except the son of a bitch was gone: There was nothing but air on the bench where the angel had been. And it was hard to argue with that.

“Whatever. Fucking whack-job.”

TWELVE

When Xhex walked into the Iron Mask, she felt like she was stepping back in time. For years, she had worked in clubs like this, weeding through desperate people like this, keeping her eyes peeled for trouble… like this little knot of tension that had formed up ahead.

Directly in front of her, two guys were squaring off, a pair of Goth bulls all but pawing at the ground with their New Rocks. Just to the side, a chick with black-and-white hair, glittery cleavage, and a dumb-ass getup involving buckled straps of black leather was looking pretty damn satisfied with herself.

Xhex wanted to slap her upside the head and send her packing just for that attitude alone.

The real problem, however, was not this bonehead with the breasticles, but the two pieces of meat who were about to go Dana White on each other. The concern was not so much what they did to each other’s noses or jawlines; it was the other two hundred people who were basically behaving. Male bodies flying backward in twelve different directions could knock a lot of bystanders on their asses, and who needed that?

She was about to step in when she reminded herself that this wasn’t her job anymore. She was no longer responsible for these asshats and their libidos and their jealousies, their drug dealing and doing, their sexual exploits—

Annnnnnd here was Trez “Latimer,” taking care of it anyway.

The humans in the crowd saw the Moor as simply one of them, just bigger and more aggressive. She knew the truth, however. That Shadow was far more dangerous than any of the Homo sapiens could have guessed. If he’d wanted to, he could have ripped their throats out in the blink of an eye… then thrown the carcasses on a spit over a fire, basted them for a couple of hours, and had them for dinner with an ear of corn and a bag of chips.

Shadows had a unique way of disposing of their enemies.

Tums, anyone?

As Trez’s bulk made an impression, the dynamic onstage changed instantly: Dipshit chippie took one look at him and appeared to forget the names of the two guys she’d whipped up into a tizzy. Meanwhile, the pair of boozing bozos cooled off a little, stepping back and reevaluating their situation.

Good plan—they were one second away from having it forcibly reevaluated for them.

Trez’s eyes met Xhex’s for a heartbeat, and then he focused on his three patrons. As the female tried to sidle up to him, flashing her eyes and her breast tissue, she made all the impression of a strip steak to a vegetarian: Trez was vaguely disgusted.

Over the din of the music, Xhex only caught a few words here and there, but she could have guessed the script well enough: Don’t be an ass. Take it outside. First and only warning before you’re persona non grata.

At the end of it, Trez practically had to peel the harpy off him with a crowbar—somehow, she’d grafted herself onto his arm.

Shaking her off with a, “You can’t be serious,” he stepped up. “Hey.”

That slow, sexy smile of his was the problem, of course. And the deep voice didn’t help. Or that body.

“Hey.” She had to smile back. “Female problems again?”

“Always.” He glanced around. “Where’s ya man?”

“Not here.”

“Ahhhhh.” Pause. “How you?”

“I don’t know, Trez. I don’t know why I’m here. I just…”

Reaching out, he put a heavy arm around her shoulders and drew her up against him. God, he smelled the same, a combination of Gucci Pour Homme and something that was altogether him.

“Come on, girlie,” he murmured. “Back to my office.”

“Don’t call me ‘girlie.’ ”

“Okay. How ’bout ‘buttercup.’ ”

She snaked an arm around his waist and leaned her head on his pec as they started walking together. “You like your balls where they are?”

“Yeah. I don’t like the way you’re lookin’, though. I prefer you feisty and pissed off.”

“Me, too, Trez. Me too…”

“So we’re good on the ‘buttercup’? Or do I have to get even tougher with you? I’ll pull out ‘pookie’ if I have to.”

In the way back of the club, next to the locker room where the “dancers” changed in and out of their street clothes, Trez’s office had a door on it like a meat locker. Inside, there was a black leather couch, a big metal desk, and a lead-lined blanket chest that was bolted to the floor. That was it. Well, aside from the purchase orders, receipts, phone messages, laptops.…

It felt like a million years since she’d been around all this.

“Guess iAm hasn’t been here yet,” she said, nodding to the mess on the desk. Trez’s twin would never have stood for it.

“He’s over at Sal’s cooking until midnight.”

“Same schedule, then.”

“If it ain’t broke…”

As they settled in, he in his thronelike chair, she on the couch, her chest hurt.

“Talk to me,” he said, his dark face serious.

Propping her head on her hand and crossing her leg ankle to knee, she fiddled with the laces on her shitkicker. “What if I told you I wanted my old job back?”

In her peripheral vision, she watched him recoil a little. “I thought you were fighting with the Brothers.”

“So did I.”

“Wrath not exactly comfortable with a female in the field?”

“John isn’t.” As Trez cursed, she exhaled hard. “And as I’m his shellan, what he says goes.”

“He actually looked you in the eye and—”

“Oh, he did more than that.” When a threatening growl percolated through the air, she waved her hand. “No, nothing violent. The argument—arguments weren’t a party, though.”

Trez sat back. Drummed his fingers on the clutter in front of him. Stared at her. “Of course you can come back—you know me. I’m not bound by any vampiric notion of propriety—and ours is a matriarchal society, so I’ve never understood the misogyny of the Old Ways. Am worried about you and John, however.”

“We’ll work it out.” How? She hadn’t a clue. But she wasn’t giving her fear that they wouldn’t be able to any more credibility by putting it into words. “I just can’t sit in that house doing nothing, and I don’t want to even lay eyes on the bunch of them. Shit, Trez, I should have known this mating thing was a bad idea. I’m not cut out for it.”

“Sounds like you’re not the one creating the problem. Although I do get where he’s coming from. If anything