Right after the lessers had poofed to their royal reward, the sound of cop sirens had broken out, an acoustic rash that meant someone had called 911 after having heard the fighting or seen the flashes of light. They'd barely had time to get gone with the corpse in Vishous's Escalade.
Back at Darius's, V had searched the body. In the male's wallet there had been a slip of paper with the old language's characters on it. Name, address, age. He'd been six months out from his transition. So damn young.
An hour before dawn, they'd taken the body to the very edge of town, to a good-looking house set way back in the woods. An older civilian couple had answered the door, and their terror at finding two warriors on the other side had smelled like burning garbage to Wrath. When they'd confirmed that they had a son, Vishous had gone back to the car and picked up the remains. The father had burst from the doorway, going for his boy, taking him from Vishous's arms. Wrath had caught the mother as she'd crumpled.
The fact that the death had been avenged had calmed the father a little. But it hadn't felt like enough. Not to Wrath.
He would see all lessers dead before he could rest.
Wrath closed his eyes, listening to the beat of Jay-Z's The Black Album, trying to let go of the night before.
A rhythmic knocking broke through the music, and he willed the door open. “What's up, Fritz?”
The butler came in carrying a silver tray. “I took the liberty of preparing a repast for you, master.”
Fritz put the food down on the low table in front of the couch. As he lifted the top off a covered dish, Wrath caught a whiff of herbed chicken.
Come to think of it, he was hungry.
He went over and sat down, picking up a heavy silver fork. He eyed the flatware. “Man, Darius liked expensive shit, didn't he?”
“Oh, yes, master. Only the best for my princeps.”
The butler hovered as Wrath focused on getting some of the meat off the bone with the utensils. Fine motor skills were just not his bag, and he ended up picking the leg off the plate.
“Do you like the chicken, master?”
Wrath nodded as he chewed. “You're damned handy with the stove.”
“I'm so glad you've decided to stay here.”
“Not for long. But don't worry, you'll have someone to look after.” Wrath pushed the fork into what looked like mashed potatoes. It was rice, and the stuff scattered. He cursed and tried to marshal some on the tines with his forefinger. “And she'll be a hell of a lot easier to live with than I am.”
“I rather like looking after you. And master, I won't prepare the rice again. I'll also make sure your meat is cut up. I didn't think.”
Wrath wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “Fritz, don't waste your time trying to please me.”
There was a soft laugh. “Darius was so very right about you, master.”
“That I'm a miserable son of a bitch? Yeah, he was a perceptive one, all right.” Wrath chased a piece of broccoli around with the fork. Damn it, he hated eating, especially if someone was watching him. “Never could figure out why he wanted me to come stay here so badly. No one could be that starved for company.”
“It was for you.”
Wrath narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Really.”
“He worried that you were so alone. Living by yourself. No real shellan, no doggen. He used to say that your isolation was a self-imposed punishment.”
“Well, it's not.” Wrath's voice sliced through the butler's gentle tone. “And if you want to stay here, you'll keep the psych theories to yourself, got it?”
Fritz jerked as if he'd been hit. He bent at the waist and started backing out of the room. “My apologies, master. It was grossly inappropriate of me to address you as I did.”
The door closed quietly.
Wrath leaned back against the sofa, Darius's fork gripped in his hand.
Ah, Christ . That damn doggen was enough to drive a saint crazy.
And he was not lonely. Never had been.
Vengeance was one hell of a roommate.
Mr. X eyed the two students sparring with each other. They were well matched in size, both eighteen years old and built strong, but he knew which one was going to win.
Sure enough, a side kick came out fast and hard, putting the receiver on his back.