sighed out loud. Giving up on her hair and her face, she opened the door. When she stepped out, both females looked down, which in this instance was a good thing.
Her hair was a train wreck.
"Worry not. I will say nothing," she murmured. Because sex was never to be discussed in a public place. Or any private ones, really.
The two curtsied dutifully and did not reply while Marissa left.
As soon as she walked out of the lounge, she felt more glances sliding away from her, all eyes going elsewhere... especially those of the unmated males smoking cigars over in the corner.
Just before she turned her back on the ball, she caught Havers's stare through the crowd. He nodded and smiled sadly, as if he knew she couldn't stay a moment longer.
Dearest brother, she thought. He had always supported her, had never given any indication he was ashamed of how she had turned out. She would have loved him for their shared parents, but she adored him for his loyalty most of all.
With a last look at the glymera in all its glory, she went to her room. After a quick shower, she changed into a simpler floor-length dress and lower-heeled shoes, then went down the mansion's back stairs.
Untouched and unwanted she could deal with. If that was the fate the Scribe Virgin laid upon her, so be it.
There were far worse lives to be led, and bemoaning what she lacked, considering all she had, was boring and selfish.
What she couldn't handle was being purposeless. Thank God that she had her position on the Princeps Council and that her seat was secure by virtue of her bloodline. But there was also another way to leave a positive mark on her world.
As she keyed in a code and unlocked a steel door, she envied the couples dancing at the other end of the mansion and probably always would. Except that was not her destiny.
She had other paths to walk.
Chapter Two
Butch left ZeroSum at three forty-five, and though the Escalade was parked in the back, he headed in the opposite direction. He needed air. Jesus... he needed air.
Page 15
J R Ward: Lover Revealed
The middle of March was still winter so far as upstate New York was concerned, and the night was meat-locker cold. As he walked alone down Trade Street, his breath left his mouth in white clouds and drifted over his shoulder. The chill and the isolation suited him: He was hot and crowded even though he'd left the club's crush of sweaty people behind.
As he went along, his Ferragamos hit hard against the sidewalk, the heels grinding the salt and sand on the little concrete strip between dirty snowbanks. In the background, muffled music thumped out of the other bars on Trade, though business hours were soon going to be over.
When he came up to McGrider's, he popped his collar and up'd his pace. He avoided the blues bar because the boys on the force hung out there and he didn't want to see them. Far as his former colleagues in the CPD
knew, he'd up and disappeared, and that was the way he wanted to keep it.
Screamer's was next and hard-core rap pounded, turning the whole damn building into a bass extender. When he got to the far side of the club, he paused and looked down the alley that ran the length of the place.
It had all started here. His weird trip into the vampire world had started right here the previous July, with a car bomb he'd investigated at this site: a BMW blown to shit. A man ashed.
No material evidence left behind except a couple of martial-arts throwing stars. The hit had been very professional, the kind of thing that sent a message, and shortly thereafter the bodies of the prostitutes had appeared in the alleys. Throats cut. Blood levels sky high with heroine. With more martial-arts weapons around.
He and his partner, José de la Cruz, had assumed the blast was a pimp-related turf toaster and the dead women payback, but soon enough he'd learned the whole story. Darius, a member of the Black Dagger Brotherhood, had been taken out by his race's enemies, the lessers. And the murders of those prostitutes were part of a strategy by the Lessening Society to capture civilian vampires for questioning.
Man, back then he'd never have even guessed vampires existed. Much less drove $90,000 BMWs. Or had sophisticated enemies.
Butch walked down the alley, right to the spot where the 650i had been