She paced over to the stove quietly. Came back again. Paid a visit to the back door onto the porch. Came back again. “Look, I don’t need your help. I appreciate it—”
As she turned around to take the route to the stove again, he was right in front of her. Gasping, she jumped—she hadn’t even heard him move— His chair was in the same position it had been when he’d sat in it.
Not like hers, pushed aside.
“What…” She fell silent, her mind spinning. Surely, she was not about to ask him what he was— As he reached out and cupped her face, she knew she would have had trouble saying no to anything he suggested.
“You will call me,” he commanded, “and I shall come to you.”
The words were so low they nearly warped, his voice deep…so very deep.
Pride formed a protest in her brain, but her mouth refused to speak it. “All right,” she said.
Now he smiled, his lips curling upward. God, his canines were sharp, and longer than she remembered.
“Marisol,” he purred. “A beautiful name.”
As he started to lean in to her, subtle pressure on her jaw lifted her chin. Oh, no, hell, no, she should not be doing this. Not in this house. Not with a man like him…
Screw it. With a sigh of surrender, she closed her eyes and lifted her mouth to accept his— “Sola! Sola, what you doing down there!”
They both froze—and instantly, Sola regressed to the age of thirteen.
“Nothing!” she called out.
“Who is with you?”
“No one—it’s the television!”
Three…two…one…“That does not sound like no TV!”
“Go,” she whispered as she pushed against his broad chest. “You have to leave now.”
Assail’s lids dropped low. “I think I want to meet her.”
“You don’t.”
“I do—”
“Sola! I’m coming down!”
“Go,” she hissed. “Please.”
Assail drew his thumb across her lower lip and leaned into her, speaking directly into her ear. “I have plans to pick this up where we’ve been interrupted. Just so that you know.”
Turning away, he moved with frustrating leisure to the door. And even as her grandmother’s slippers closed in down the stairs, he took the time to glance across his shoulder while he opened the way out.
His glowing eyes raked over her body. “This is not over between you and me.”
And then he was gone, thank the good Lord.
Her grandmother rounded the corner a split second after the exterior screen door clicked into place. “Well?” she said.
Sola glanced over to the window by the table, reassuring herself that it was still dark as the inside of a hat out there. Yup. Good.
“See?” she said, sweeping her arms around the otherwise empty kitchen. “No one’s here.”
“The television is not on.”
Why, oh, why couldn’t her grandmother have the grace to get soft in the head like so many other geriatrics?
“I turned it off because it was disturbing you.”
“Oh.” Suspicious eyes roamed about….
Shit. There was melting snow on the linoleum from where they’d tracked it in.
“Come on,” Sola said as she steered the woman into an about-face. “Enough upset for tonight. We go to bed now.”
“I’m watching you, Sola.”
“I know, vovó.”
As they headed up the stairs together, part of her was wondering exactly who the hell had come looking for her here and why. And the other half? Well, that part was still in the kitchen, on the verge of kissing that man.
Probably better that they had been interrupted.
She had the unmistakable impression that her protector…was also a predator.
The phone call Xcor had been waiting for came at a most opportune time. He had just finished stalking and killing a lone slayer under the bridges downtown, and was cleaning his lady love, the black blood on the blade of the scythe coming off easily as he ran a chamois cloth up and down.
He put his female away on his back first, and only then took out his phone. As he answered, he looked over at his fighters as they gathered together and talked of the night’s fighting in the cold wind.
“Is this Xcor, son of the Bloodletter?”
Xcor gritted his teeth, but didn’t bother to correct the inaccuracy. The Bloodletter’s name was of use to his reputation. “Yes. Who is this?”
There was a long pause. “I do not know whether I should be speaking to you.”
The tones were aristocratic, and informed him of the caller’s identity well enough. “You are the associate of Elan.”
Another long pause—and, Fates, that tried his patience. But that was another thing he kept to himself.
“Yes. I am. Have you heard the news?”
“About.”
When a third stretch of silence came along, he knew this was going to take a while. Whistling to his soldiers, he indicated they were all to proceed to their skyscraper, a number of blocks to the east.
A moment later he was up on its roof, the gusts so much stronger at his preferred elevation. As such a gale precluded discourse, he took cover in the lee of some mechanicals.
“News about what,” he prompted.
“Elan is dead.”
Xcor bared his teeth as he smiled. “Indeed.”
“You do not sound surprised.”
“I am not.” Xcor rolled his eyes. “Although naturally, I am bereft.”
Which was somewhat true: It was rather like losing a handy gun. Or, more accurately, a screwdriver. But those things could be replaced.
“Do you know who did it?” the caller demanded.
“Well, I believe you do, am I right?”
“It was the Brotherhood, of course.”
Another misconception, but again, Xcor was prepared to let it stand. “Tell me, are you expecting me to ahvenge him?”
“That is not my concern.” The stilted tones suggested the male was in fact worried about facing the same fate himself. “His family shall go after redress.”
“As is their right.” When there was nothing further coming, Xcor knew what was awaited and required. “I can assure you of two things: my confidentiality, and my protection. I can guess that you were at the gathering at Elan’s house in the fall. My position vis-à-vis the king has not changed, and I am surmising that this call places you in a sympathetic orientation to mine own views. Am I correct.”
“I am not one who seeks political or social power.”
Bullshit. “Of course not.”
“I am…worried about the future of the race—in this, Elan and I were aligned. I did not agree with the tactics he proposed, however. Assassination carries too many risks, and ultimately, it will not accomplish what is warranted.”
Au contraire, Xcor thought. A bullet through the brain fixed many things— “The law is the way to bring down the king.”
Xcor frowned. “I do not follow.”
“With all due respect, the law is mightier than the sword. To paraphrase a human saying.”
“Your oblique references are a waste of words to me. Be specific, if you do not mind.”
“The Old Laws provide the power that Wrath wields. They spell out his unilateral dominion over all manner of our lives and our society, giving him free rein to act as he chooses, with a complete lack of accountability.”
Which was why Xcor wanted the job, thank you very much. “Go on.”
“There are no restrictions on what he may do, what courses he may take—in fact, he can also change the Old Laws if he so chooses, and alter the very fabric of our traditions and foundations.”
“I am well aware of this.” He checked his watch. Assuming he didn’t get stuck on this damn phone for the next two hours, there was still plenty of time left to fight. “Mayhap you and I should get together in person tomorrow evening—”
“There is but one caveat.”
Xcor frowned. “Caveat?”
“He must needs be capable of producing, and I quote, ‘a full-blooded heir.’”
“And this is relevant how? He is mated already, and no doubt in the future—”
“His shellan is a half-breed.”