Things were indeed afoot in the aristocracy.
Assail could sense it sure as a scent upon the night air. He just knew not what yet. Time, and sex, was going to fix that, however.
Stepping out of the shower, he appreciated the thick, warm pile of the bath mat beneath his feet and dried off with a towel heated upon a bar next to the shower enclosure. Indeed, he had purchased the mansion fully furnished from its builder, and all had been considered and attended to in the construction and kitting out of the house. Every luxury provided. Not a penny spared.
The place seemed utterly empty, however, in spite of its three occupants. Rather like the inside of his skin, wasn’t it. A thing of refinement and beauty on the exterior, yet soulless inside.
For a brief interlude, things had not been as such. In both cases.
But that time had passed.
Out in his bedroom, he got in between his silk sheets naked and made a mental note to switch them out at nightfall. Although it was not traditional for a male of his station, he had grown used to attending to his own baths and dressings, changing his sheets, washing his clothes. There was a strange comfort to taking care of such simple things, a start and finish to each endeavor from which he derived a certain satisfaction.
And that was how he usually passed the days whilst his cousins slept down below. Tidying up. Scrubbing floors and sinks, toilets and counters. Vacuuming. Polishing. It was a productive way to burn off the cocaine jitters.
Not these particular daylight hours, however. After the feeding, he required rest, not just of the mind, but of the body—
Beside him, his cell chimed softly with the old-fashioned bell ring of phones that were nowhere to be found anymore.
He didn’t bother to see who it was. He knew. “I would have called you,” he said, “but I didn’t want to be rude. It is rather early in the morning for business.”
The Brother Vishous didn’t miss a beat. Which was rather one of his most predominant characteristics. “What happened? Did you get anything?”
“Indeed, yes. In rather a number of different positions. Naasha was most accommodating.”
A dark laugh came over the connection. “With a male like you, I’m sure she was. And we expect you to hit that on the regular until she starts talking.”
“She already has.” Assail smiled cruelly in the dark. “Tell me, is your Dom reputation just talk or are you truly that perverted?”
“Waste my time with gossip and I’ll answer that firsthand.”
“Kinky.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Your name came up in conversation.”
“How.”
The fact that that wasn’t a question, but a demand was not a surprise. “She was speaking of sexual conquests she had enjoyed. You apparently were one of them, back when she was younger—and she made it clear you had done the conquesting, as it were.”
“I’ve fucked a lot of people,” V said in a bored tone, “and forgotten ninety-five percent of them. So tell me what you know—and not about sex. Mine or others’.”
Assail was not surprised about the conversation’s redirection. “The aristocracy is going to be approaching the King soon. They’re going to request his appearance at a private reception for her hellren’s nine hundredth birthday—an event that even in good bloodlines is a thing of rarity.”
“Are they planning on shooting my Lord again?”
“Possibly. My instincts tell me there is a path being forged.” Assail shook his head even though the Brother could not see him. “I’m just not sure by whom. Naasha is more renowned for her horizontal accomplishments rather than her mental ones. She is not capable of developing a strategy, whether one of treasonous nature or even for a Last Meal encounter. That is why I believe there is someone guiding her. But again, I know not whom—yet.”
“When are you seeing her next?”
“She is having a dinner on the eve and I shall attend with my cousins. I shall endeavor to discover more at that time.”
“That’s tight. Good job.”
“I haven’t performed yet.”
“Not true. How many times did she come?”
“I lost count after seven.”
Another dark laugh came over the connection. “A male after my own heart. And don’t knock perversion, you judgmental little fuck. You never know when you might find it appealing. Call me tomorrow.”
“We keep this up and I’ll talk to you more than I speak with my own mahmen.”
“Isn’t she dead?”
“Yes.”
“Some bastards have all the luck.”
After the meeting with Wrath and the Brotherhood broke up, Rhage returned to his and Mary’s room, and as he opened the door, he was hoping she was asleep—
“Hi.”
Okay, right. Mary was anything but in a doze. She was sitting up in their bed, leaning against the headboard, knees tucked to her chest, arms linked around them.
As if she had been waiting for him.
“Ah, hi.” He shut the door. “I thought maybe you’d be resting.”
She just shook her head. And stared at him.
In the awkward silence that followed, he remembered another night that seemed like forever ago—when he’d walked into this room after he’d taken his edge off with a human woman. Mary had been staying with him, and it had killed her to see him afterward—hell, it had killed him to come back to her like that, too. But at the time, it had been a case of him either giving his body some sex or him mounting Mary and risking the beast coming out while he was inside of her. After all, his Mary had juiced him up so high, so fast that his curse had threatened to emerge just in her presence alone, and he had been terrified of hurting her. Scared to reveal that part of his nature to her. Convinced that his unworthiness would emerge and ruin everything.
So he had returned here and had had to look her in the face, knowing what he had done with another.
Short of the night he had learned she was dying, it was the single worst memory in his whole life.
Funny, this felt the same in some ways. A reckoning he didn’t want, but could do nothing to prevent.
“I talked to Beth,” she said grimly. “She told me you sat with L.W. when she was getting her hand treated.”
Rhage closed his eyes and wanted to curse. Especially as there was a long pause, as if she were giving him a chance to explain.
“Do you want to tell me why holding L.W. made you so emotional?”
Her tone was even. Controlled. Gentle, might even be apt.
So it made his truth seem especially cruel and unfair. But she wasn’t going to let him off the hook, change the subject, push this aside. That was not his Mary’s way, not when it came to stuff like this.
“Rhage? What happened down there.”
Rhage took a deep breath. He wanted to go over to her by the bed, but he needed to walk around—the churn and burn in his skull required some kind of physical expression or he was going to start screaming. Or punching walls …
He just had to figure out how to phrase this so it didn’t sound as if he were blaming her. Or catastrophically unhappy. Or—
“Rhage?”
“Just gimme a minute.”
“You’ve been pacing around for over twenty.”
He stopped. Glanced across at his mate.
Mary had changed positions, and was now sitting with her feet dangling off the high mattress. She was dwarfed by the size of the bed, but they needed a mattress the size of a football field; he was so big, he couldn’t really stretch out on anything smaller.
Shit. He was losing focus again—
“Was it because you…” Mary stared down at her feet. Then looked back over at him. “Is it because you want to have your own baby, Rhage?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
Stood there like a plank as his heart thundered in his chest.
“It’s all right,” she whispered. “Your brothers are starting to have families—and watching the people you love do that stirs up things. It brings up … wants … that maybe people weren’t aware of—”
“I love you.”
“But that doesn’t mean you aren’t disappointed.”