The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood #13) - J. R. Ward Page 0,193

own. He’d left maichen buck-ass naked in his bed and he was worried she was going to take off without his getting back.

Rushing down to the foyer, he bolted through the vestibule, broke out into the night, and dematerialized to the Commodore.

As he assumed form on the terrace, he yanked back the glass door and rushed across to the corridor that led to the bedrooms.

“maichen,” he called out.

Just as he rounded the door to his bedroom, she said, “Yes?”

He took a deep breath as he saw her reclining against the pillows, her bare shoulders emerging from the cover of the duvet.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he said.

“Are you all right?” She sat up. “iAm?”

Kicking off his shoes, he didn’t answer her. He couldn’t. There was too much to say about things he couldn’t change and hated.

Instead, he pulled back the sheets and got in fully clothed. Her body was warm and naked and yielding as he brought them heart-to-heart.

As her arms came around him, and she stroked the back of his head, he shuddered—and realized that in all the years he’d had on the planet, this was the first time he’d had somewhere to go when he felt like the world was a shitty place and time was nothing more than torture to be endured.

It was so much better than even the sex.

This moment where he sought and was given haven? It made him understand why the Brothers lit up every time their shellans came into the room, and why those males would lay down their lives for those females.

“Thank you,” he heard himself say.

“For what?” maichen whispered.

“Being here.”

“Is Selena unwell?” she asked. Because he’d told her why he’d needed to go.

“Not acutely so. But she and my brother got into it.”

“Why?”

“There’s nothing like your fiancée finding out you’re betrothed to another while she’s dying. That is just such an awesome conversation to have.”

maichen stilled. “This has to end.”

“The shit with Trez and that fucking Princess? I agree—if you come up with any bright ideas … let me know,” he said starkly.

SIXTY-FIVE

It was very easy to escape from his own house.

Assail simply cracked the window on the upper floor and departed his premises with all the fuss and circumstance of a draft escaping into the night.

He had been tracking the movements of the Brothers in his woods with his night-vision cameras, the huge shapes of the males moving like T. Rexes through his property, their presences sticking to the trees.

Following the sun’s disappearance, he had kept the illusion blinds in place, effectively preserving the daytime, vacant appearance of his interior. It would give the Brothers something to do as they contemplated the where and when of his and his cousins’ nocturnal reappearance aboveground.

Which would not be until he had completed a specific endeavor.

With alacrity, he traveled to the east, to a prearranged location at an abandoned strip mall approximately five miles outside of the downtown area.

The Hertz rental car was parked grille-out against the rear wall of a building that had a faded BLUEBELL’S BIRTHDAY BOUTIQUE, DELIVERIES ONLY sign hanging cockeyed from above a paint-chipped reinforced door.

Ehric put the driver’s-side window down as Assail reformed. “Are you driving?”

“Yes, I am.”

As his cousin got out and Assail assumed the male’s place behind the wheel, Evale spoke up from the backseat. “What do you want us to do?”

“Nothing.”

He put the engine in gear and headed off, moving swiftly, but obeying all traffic laws. He’d gone but a couple of miles when the cocaine that he’d taken about two hours earlier began to wear off in earnest.

But he was not going to reload. He needed to be focused enough to dematerialize if need be.

He took the three of them and the pedestrian Ford Taurus through the sprawling suburbs and out farther from the metro hub, into the farmland that formed a skirting around the Adirondack Mountains. As he went along, the roads became narrower, the yellow line in the middle and the white lines at the shoulders growing so faint, the headlights failed to pick them out. And still he continued onward, no one behind him, no cars or trucks coming toward him.

Some miles later, he arrived at the dairy farm he was looking for. Like Bluebell’s Birthday Boutique, it, too, was abandoned, and the sedan bumped along as he transitioned off the asphalt onto a dirt lane that went out into the overgrown fields. Crossing through the bramble and cornstalk tangle, he drove all the way to the forest’s edge and found shelter among