Lover at Last (Black Dagger Brotherhood #11) - J.R. Ward Page 0,225

and shook his shoulders back and forth so the folds of black settled correctly.

Stepping back, he regarded himself. No signs of the weapons. And in his fancy-ass dress, there were no clues that his business was booze and prostitutes, either.

Meeting his own eyes in the mirror, he wished he was in a better field. Something classier, like…political analyst or college professor or…nuclear physicist.

Of course, that was all human shit he didn’t give a crap about. But it sure beat what he actually did for a living.

Checking his Piaget watch—which was not the one he usually wore—he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. He walked out into his bloodred room, with its heavy velvet drapery and its damask silk walls, his footfalls making no sound across the Bukhara that covered the floor.

Yup, given his most recent…predilection…he liked the way he felt in the decor, in these clothes, with this mind-set.

Of course, the illusion was going to be shattered as soon as he reached his club, but here was where the up-and-up mattered.

Or…might matter.

For fuck’s sake, he hoped to goddamn hell it would finally matter.

His Chosen, the one he’d met up north at Rehv’s Great Camp, and had seen that first night he’d arrived, hadn’t been around. So in a way, he thought as he walked out, all this wardrobe nonsense and appearances stuff had been for nothing much.

He was optimistic, though. Through a series of carefully orchestrated conversations with various household members, he’d learned that the Chosen Layla had been servicing the blood needs of folks who’d had them—but could no longer do so, thanks to her pregnancy.

Blessed event, indeed.

So the Chosen Selena…

Selena. What a great name that was….

Anywho, the Chosen Selena had been coming to take care of these things, and that meant, sooner or later, she had to be back. Vishous, Rhage, Blay, Qhuinn, and Saxton all had to feed regularly, and given the way those boys had been fighting for the past couple of nights, they were going to need a vein.

Which meant she had to come.

Although…damn. He couldn’t say he really appreciated the reason why. The idea of someone else at her vein kind of made him want to go Ginsu on whoever it was.

All things considered, his obsession was a little sad, particularly in its manifestations: Every night for the past week, he’d hung around after First Meal, waiting, looking casual, talking to the godforsaken Lassiter—who was actually not that bad a guy when you got to know him. Matter of fact, that angel was a font of information about the house, and so into his crap TV that he didn’t seem to notice how many questions were clustered around the subject of the females. The Primale. Whether there was any hooking up going on anywhere, with anybody outside of mated couples.

Pausing by his computer, he turned off The Howard Stern Show, cutting short another round of Baba Booey bashing; then he left his room, stalking past the vaulted wall that retracted whenever Wrath or Beth wanted to come or go from their quarters. Hitting the carpeted stairs, he emerged at the head of the hall of statues.

Or hall of buck-ass naked dudes, as he thought of it.

Rounding to the right, he went by the king’s study, which was closed, and descended the grand staircase into that incredible foyer. On the way down, he bitched about the time, wishing he didn’t have to go. Business was business, however, and—

He was halfway to the mosaic floor below when the female he had wanted to see emerged from the billiards room and headed in the direction of the library.

“Selena,” he called out, going across to the balcony and leaning on all that gold leaf.

As he looked over the drop, her head lifted, and her eyes rose to his own.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

His heart got loud as a war chant in his chest, and his hands automatically went to his coat, making sure that the front stayed closed. She was a female of worth, after all—and he didn’t want to frighten her with his weapons.

Oh, man, she was beautiful.

With her dark hair twisted high off her nape, and her diaphanous robe draping her body, she was far too precious and gentle to be around anything violent.

Or anything like him.

“Hello,” she said with a slight smile.

That voice. Sweet Jesus, that voice…

Trez went on full high-tail, doing a down-and-around at a dead run. “How are you?” he said as he all but skidded to a halt in front of her.

She bowed a