Trez outed the gun he’d shoved in his waistband at the small of his back. He didn’t point it at s’Ex. He put it right under his own chin.
“If you try to, I’ll pull this trigger. Then you have a dead body, and unless that daughter of hers is a sick bitch, she ain’t gonna want me then.”
s’Ex went inanimately still. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“Anything you want on the outside, s’Ex. You take care of this for me, and I’ll take care of you.”
As the queen’s executioner considered the deal, Trez breathed smoothly, and thought of the only two people who really mattered. Selena … Jesus Christ, he wanted her, but he was no good for the likes of that Chosen. Hell, even if this flier of a negotiation worked, he was still going to be a pimp, and there was no changing his past.
And then there was iAm.
The idea of losing his brother was … he couldn’t even put it into thought. But the male was going to be better off without him if he couldn’t fix this problem.
“I’m surprised that you want to save your parents this badly,” s’Ex said offhandedly.
“Are you kidding me? If they lose their station, it’s worse than death for them. What they did to me has ruined my life and my brother’s. That shit’s my revenge. Besides, like I said, no matter what you do with them, I’m not going back there.”
The executioner broke off and strolled the length of the terrace, his robing swirling around him like the promise of violence, the puffs of his breath like a dragon breathing fire.
After a long moment, he clasped his hands behind his back, and returned.
It was a while before he finally spoke, and when he did, he wasn’t looking at Trez. He was staring at the glass of the apartment.
“I like this place.”
Trez kept the gun to his chin, but felt a stab of … hope? Well, not that cheery an emotion, certainly. But maybe there was a solution after all.
s’Ex lifted a brow. “Three bedrooms, two and a half baths, nice kitchen. Plenty of light. But the beds are the best—big beds in there.”
“You want this, it’s yours.”
As s’Ex’s eyes slid back to him, Trez heard the phrase deal with the devil over and over in his head.
“It’s missing something.”
“What.”
“Women. I want women brought to me here. I’ll tell you when. And I want three or four at a time.”
“You got it. Name the number and the hour and I’ll bring them to you.”
“So sure of yourself.”
“What the fuck do you think I do for a living.”
s’Ex’s eyes flared. “I thought you were a club owner.”
“I don’t just sell booze,” he muttered.
“Hmm, what a job.” The executioner frowned. “Just so we’re clear, she may order me to go after your brother.”
“Then I’m going to have to kill you.”
s’Ex threw his head back and laughed. “Very cocky.”
“Let me make myself perfectly clear. You touch iAm and I will find you. Your last breath will be mine and your heart will still be warm when I take it out of your chest and eat it raw.”
“You know, it’s a wonder we don’t get along better.”
Trez put out his free hand. “Have we come to terms?”
“There is the queen to consider. I may not be able to sway her. And just so you’re aware, if she doesn’t go for it, your deadline will have passed.”
“So kill them.” He held s’Ex’s black stare without wavering. “I mean it.”
The executioner tilted his head, as if considering all angles. “Yes, evidently you do. Meet me here at noon tomorrow with a sample—and I’ll see what I can do in the Territory.”
Before s’Ex disappeared, the male clasped the palm that was offered briefly. And then he was gone, like a nightmare banished upon waking.
Unfortunately … Trez knew the male would be back.
The question was, with what kind of news. And what kind of appetite.
THIRTY-EIGHT
It was an hour past sundown when Abalone left his home, dematerializing off his side lawn. The night was bitterly cold, and as he re-formed on the estate of one of the glymera’s wealthiest families, he took a moment to breathe until his sinuses went numb.
Others were gathering, the males and females appearing out of the darkness, straightening their furs and fine clothes and jewels before striding toward the light.
With a heavy heart, he followed.
The grand carved doors of the mansion were held open by doggen, the staff unmoving in their livery, naught but blinking stops.
The lady of the house, such that she was, was standing under a chandelier in the foyer, her dress a bright red couture number that fell to the ground in drapes of silk. Her jewels were rubies, the flashes at her throat and her ears and her wrists an ostentatious display.
For no particular reason, he thought that the true queen of the race’s red gems were much better, bigger, clearer. He had seen an oil painting of the majestic female back in the Old Country, and even distilled through paint and age, the Saturnine Ruby and its counterparts had had a resplendence that would destroy the pretense before him.
The hostess’s mate was nowhere to be seen. But then again, that male had difficulty standing for long periods of time.
Not long for the world, he was.
The receiving line that had formed proceeded apace, and soon enough Abalone was kissing the powdered cheek of the female.
“So glad you could come,” she said grandly, flicking a hand in the direction behind her. “The dining room, if you will.”
As her rubies flashed, he pictured his daughter as such, a grand lady in a grand house with glassy eyes.
Mayhap the punishment for not going along with this affront to the throne was worth it. He had found love with his shellan for the years she had been on the Earth, but that had been luck, he’d come to realize. Most of his contemporaries, now slaughtered in the raids, had been in loveless, sexless relationships that had revolved around the party circuit instead of the familial dinner table.
He did not want that for his daughter.
Yet, if love had happened for him, surely there was a chance for her even in the glymera?
Right?
Walking into the dining room, he found that it was just as it had been when the King had addressed them all so recently: the long thin table was moved out and the twenty or so chairs were set up in rows. This time, however, the survivors of the aristocracy were settling in along with their mates.
Usually shellans were not included in Council meetings, but there was nothing usual about this gathering. Or the last.
And indeed, the gathered should have been more somber, he thought as he picked a silk-covered seat in the back: As opposed to showing any respect for the historical significance, the danger, the unprecedented nature of all this, they were chatting among themselves, the gentlemales blustering, the ladies casting their hands this way and that so that their jewels flashed.
Indeed, Abalone was alone in the back row, and instead of greeting those whom he knew, he freed the button on his suit jacket and crossed his leg at the knee. When somebody lit up a cigar, he took a cheroot out and did the same, just to give himself something to do. And as a doggen immediately showed up at his elbow with an ashtray on a brass stand, he nodded thanks and focused on tapping the ash.
He was small potatoes to all of them, because he had long ago decided that under the radar was best. His blood had seen firsthand the cruelties of court and society, and he had learned that lesson through reading the diaries that had been passed down to him. The truth was, he had financial resources that all of them in this room collectively could barely meet.
Thank you, Apple computer.
Best investment anyone in the eighties could have made. And then there had been big pharma in the nineties. And before that? The steel corporations and railroad companies around the turn of the century.
He’d always had a knack for where humans were going to want to go with both their enthusiasms and their necessities.
If the glymera knew this, his daughter would be a commodity of great value.
Which was another reason he didn’t talk about his net worth.
Incredible how far his bloodline had come over the centuries. And to think they owed it all to this King’s father.
Ten minutes later, the room was full—and that, more than the party-party affect, was the sign that the glymera had at least some appreciation of the magnitude of what they were doing. Fashionably late did not apply this evening; the doors were going to be locked right about …