faster than she had before, to the point where she was literally racing toward the house.
Toward him.
Indeed, she headed directly for Assail, for this juncture between the bushes that marked the front of the mansion, and the tall hedge that ran around to the rear garden.
Clearly, she knew the property.
Clearly, he had chosen the perfect spot.
And upon her approach, he stepped back only a little...because he wouldn't have minded getting caught spying.
The woman skied right up to within five feet of where he was, getting so close he could catch her scent not only in his nose, but down the back of his throat.
He had to stop himself from purring.
After the effort of covering that stretch of lawn so quickly, she was breathing heavily, but her cardiovascular system recovered fast - a sign of her overall health and strength. And the speed with which she now moved was likewise erotic. Off with the skis. Off with the pack. Open the pack. Extract...
She was going onto the roof, he thought, as she assembled what appeared to be a speargun, aimed the thing high, and pulled the trigger on a grappling hook. A moment later, there was a distant metal clang from above.
Glancing upward, he realized that she had picked one of the few stretches of stone that had no windows in it...and it was shielded by the very long wall of tall shrubs that he himself was obstructed by.
She was going inside.
At that point, Assail frowned...and disappeared from where he'd been watching her.
Re-forming around the back of the house at ground level, he peered into a number of windows, cupping his hands on the cold glass and leaning in. The interior was mostly dark, but not completely so: Here and there, lamps had been left on, the bulbs casting a glow on furnishings that were a combination of old antiques and modern art. Fancy, fancy: In its peaceful slumber, the place looked like a museum, or something that had been photographed for a magazine, everything arranged with such precision that one wondered if rulers hadn't been used to arrange the furniture and the objets d'art.
No clutter anywhere, no casually thrown newspapers, bills, letters, receipts. No coats cast over the back of a chair or pair of shoes kicked off by a sofa.
Each and every ashtray was clean as a whistle.
One and only one person came to his mind.
"Benloise," he whispered to himself.
Chapter Thirty-six
Based on the regular vibrations that came from his breast pocket, Xcor knew his presence was being sought by his fighters.
He did not respond.
Standing outside the facility that his Chosen had been taken into, he was powerless to leave even as a regular flow of others of his kind drove up or materialized before the portal she had been taken through. Indeed, as so many came and went, there was no doubt this was a health clinic.
At least none appeared to notice him, too preoccupied were they with whate'er ailed them - in spite of the fact that he was standing all but out in the open.
Fates, the very thought of what had brought his Chosen here made him nauseated to the point of clearing his throat -
Dragging icy air into his lungs helped fight the gag reflex.
When had her needing come? It must have been fairly recently. He had last seen her...
Who was the sire? he thought for the hundredth time. Who had taken what was his -
"Not yours," he told himself. "Not yours."
Except that was his mind talking, not his instincts. At the core of him, in the most male part of his marrow, she was his female.
And ironically, that was what kept him from attacking the facility - with all of his soldiers, if necessary. As she was receiving care, the last thing he wanted to do was interrupt the process.
Whilst time passed, and the information void tortured him to the point of madness, he realized that he hadn't even known about this clinic. If she had been his? He wouldn't have known where to take her for help - certainly he would have sent Throe to find someplace, somehow, to ensure her care, but in the event of a medical emergency? An hour or two spent hunting for a healer could mean the difference between life and death.
The Brotherhood, on the other hand, had known exactly where to deliver her. And when she was released from the facility, they would undoubtedly return her to a warm, safe home, where there would be