Lover Mine

was in, she knew she wasn’t going to make it far and decided the best she could do was her basement place. At least there, she could be safe while she regrouped.

Xhex took form in the sheltered alcove that led down into her studio and sprang the copper locks with her mind. As she went through the door, the motion-sensing lights came on in the whitewashed corridor, and she lifted her arm to shield her eyes as she stumbled down the steps. Locking the door with her thoughts, she tripped forward, becoming dimly aware she had a limp.

The impact of the wall? The scramble down the stairs? Who the fuck knew or cared.

She made it into her bedroom and shut herself in. As the automatic lights came on, she looked at the bed. Clean white sheets. Pillows all arranged. Duvet spread flat.

She didn’t make it to the mattress. As her knees gave out, she let herself go, her skeleton collapsing in on itself until she was nothing but a pile of sticks covered by skin.

It was not sleep that claimed her as she hit the floor. But that was okay.

Unconsciousness worked better anyway.

Blaylock reentered the brownstone with Rhage and Vishous a mere twenty minutes after they’d left with John. As soon as they’d gotten him back to the compound safely, they’d returned to finish the sweep of the premises: this time, they were looking for the small stuff like ID, computers, cash, drugs, anything that gave them intel.

Having watched the carnage John Matthew had thrown around, the aftermath barely registered as Blay walked in the kitchen, and immediately started pulling open cupboards and drawers. Vishous headed up to the second floor while Rhage rooted around the front of the house.

He was just finding his groove when Rhage called out, “The front door’s wide open.”

So someone had been back here since they’d pulled out with John. Lesser? Not likely as they would never have left things unsecured. Maybe a human thief? The Brothers hadn’t locked up the back when they’d taken off so perhaps someone had waltzed right in.

If it had been a human, what a sight they’d gotten. Might have explained a rushed exit out the other way.

Blay popped his heat just in case there was someone in the house, and with his free hand, he was quick as he rifled around. He found two cell phones in a drawer with the knives, neither of which had chargers—but V would solve that. There were also some business cards by the phone, but they were all for humans in the contracting trade—who had probably been used to work on the brownstone.

He was tackling the cupboards under the counter when he frowned and looked up. Right in front of him was a bowl of fresh apples.

Glancing down in the direction of the stove, he saw some tomatoes. And a loaf of French bread in a paper wrapper.

Straightening, he walked over to the Sub- Zero and cracked the thing open. Organic milk. Takeout from Whole Foods. A fresh turkey ready to be cooked. Smoked Canadian bacon.

Not exactly prisoner food.

Blay looked up at the ceiling, where heavy footsteps sounded out as V went from room to room. Then his eyes traced the kitchen as a whole, from the cashmere dress coat draped over a stool to the copper pans stacked in the open shelving to the coffeepot that had a brew in its belly.

Everything was name-brand and new and neater than a picture out of a catalog.

This was up to Lash’s standards for real... but lessers weren’t supposed to be able to eat. So unless he was treating Xhex like a queen, which was highly unlikely... someone was chowing down on a regular basis in this house.

The butler’s pantry was right off the kitchen and Blay stepped through the wet remains of the slayer to give the shelved room a quick once-over: enough canned foods to keep a household going for a year.

He was on his way out when his eyes caught something on the floor: There was a subtle series of scratches across the otherwise mirror-perfect surface of the hardwood... and they were arranged in a half-moon shape.

Blay’s knees cracked as he got down on his haunches and shoved aside a canister vacuum cleaner. The beadboard wall looked flush and uninterrupted by any seams that shouldn’t have been there, but a quick rapping trip around with his knuckles and he found a hollow space. Taking out his knife, he used the hilt as a sonar device to determine the precise dimensions of the hidden tuck hole; then he flipped the weapon around and penetrated the tongue-and-groove pattern with the tip of the blade.

Forcing open the cover, he took a penlight and flashed it inside.

Trash bag. The Hefty kind that was the color of lesser blood.

Dragging it out, he pulled open the drawstring. “Holy... shit.”

Rhage appeared behind him. “What you got?”

He shoved his hand in and pulled out a palmful of wrinkled bills. “Cash. Lotta cash.”

“Grab it. V found a laptop and a broken window upstairs that was not there before. I closed the front door just so no humans get nosy.” He checked his watch. “We need to blow before the sun gets rolling.”

“Roger that.”

Blay grabbed the sack and left the space all open and violated, figuring the more evidence of a break-in, the merrier. Although it wasn’t like the bits and pieces of lesser could be ignored.

If only he could see Lash’s face when the motherfucker came home.

The bunch of them headed out the back into the garden, and he and Rhage dematerialized while Vishous hot-wired the Lexus in the garage so they could confiscate it.

It went without saying that they’d rather stay and wait to see what showed up. But there was no negotiating with the dawn.

Back at the Brotherhood mansion, Blay walked into the foyer with Hollywood and there was a receiving line of people waiting for them. All of the booty got handed over to Butch for processing at the Pit, and as soon as Blay could break away, he went upstairs to John’s bedroom.

His knock was answered by a grunt, and as he opened up and walked in, he saw Qhuinn seated in a wing chair by the bed. The lamp on the table next to him cast a yellow pool within the darkness, illuminating both him and the recumbent mountain underneath the duvet.

John was out cold.

Qhuinn, on the other hand, was laying into the Herradura, the bottle of Seleccion Suprema at his elbow, his crystal glass full of the outstanding tequila that had recently become his drink of choice.

Christ, with him sucking back that and John into Jack, Blay was thinking he needed to upgrade his own tipple. Beer abruptly seemed sophomoric.

“How’s he doing?” Blay asked softly.

Qhuinn took a sip and swallowed. “Pretty rough. I called Layla. He needs to feed.”

Blay approached the bed. John’s eyes were not so much closed as on lockdown, his brows drawn so tightly it looked like he was trying to solve a law of physics in his sleep. His face was preternaturally pale, his hair appearing darker in contrast, and his breathing was too shallow. His clothes had been removed and most of the lesser blood had been washed off him.

“Tequila?” Qhuinn asked.

Blay held his hand out to the guy without looking, still focused on their buddy. What hit his palm was the glass instead of the bottle, but he didn’t care and he drank hard.

Well, at least he knew why Qhuinn liked the stuff.

As he gave the glass back, he crossed his arms over his chest and listened to the quiet, glugging refill. For some reason, the loose, charming sound of that expensive booze hitting cut crystal eased him.

“I can’t believe he cried,” Blay murmured. “I mean... I can, but it was a surprise.”

“She’d obviously been held in that room.” The Herradura was put back on the side table with a subtle thump. “And we’d just missed her.”

“Did he talk at all?”

“Nope. Not even when I shoved him in the shower and got in with him.”

Okay, that was a visual Blay could do without. Good thing John didn’t flip that way—

There was a soft knock at the door and then a waft of cinnamon and spice. Blay walked over and let Layla in,