And then she had said those words—
“I’m not going to be able to hold him back forever, asshole. So you better get talking.”
As the syllables being spoken at him got through the fuzzy delirium that lessened his powers and his focus, he forced his eyes to get with the program. The shorter of the pair of males had a good haircut, handsome features, and a pair of diamond studs in his earlobes that were the size of quarters. The other one, the one with the braid down the center of his head and the long black hair, was the guy to worry about, and not just because of his tremendous size. With a face that was carved with aggression, and eyes that gleamed with hatred, it was clear he’d try to kill somebody just for jaywalking in front of his car, and that was not even close to what was going on here. To what had happened… back there.
Yet there was utility in this meeting, wasn’t there. Something had been jelling for Dev, something that was radical, impossible, and dangerous as hell.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for that female,” he said roughly.
“Well, she’s never seeing you again,” the bigger vampire snapped. “Ever.”
Yeah, he’d heard that.
“You want to get to Lash.” He looked directly into the taller one’s pale green eyes and let the male’s thoughts flow through him. “It’s your first and only goal, isn’t it. Except… no, there’s a shadow, too. Of a female—”
The punch came flying from the right, and the follow-through was masterful. As Dev’s head snapped back, he spat blood and slowly righted himself on his feet.
“Okay,” he muttered. “We’ll leave the female stuff alone. But like I can’t read your thoughts clear as day? You want Lash, I can take you to him.”
Even if Lyric had rightfully fucked him off, even if she’d all but banished him from what he feared might be her death, that didn’t mean he couldn’t help her, help her species. Meeting her, bonding with her—in the way of a male vampire—had transformed his world, shaking him out of his solitude, waking him up to a purpose he never would have contemplated before.
Because he’d been too busy being bitched at the cards destiny had dealt him. Or parents, rather.
Nothing like true love to change your course. Too bad this was going to be a solo flight, not that he blamed Lyric—oh, God, what if she was dying?
“I can take you to my father,” he said because he couldn’t bear where his thoughts were going. “In honor of her. I will… take you to my sire. Hell, I want him eradicated, too.”
There was a tense silence as the pair of vampires did all kinds of shocked-to-the-core math. And all he could think of was Lyric, down on that floor, bleeding out while conventional medical help was “on the way.”
It wasn’t going to be enough to save her—
“Why would the heir to the Lessening Society want to give up his own sire,” the shorter one demanded.
“The two of you are the very last people I should have to spell that out to.”
“I don’t trust you. At all.”
Dev lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I wouldn’t either.”
“What proof do you have that you’re not going to fuck us—”
“He’s trying to kill the female I love and everybody who’s like her. What more proof do I need to have.”
On that note, he got fed up with the stalling and was gripped by a sudden, prescient terror. So he dematerialized out from under them.
In a scatter of molecules, Dev traveled down through the floors that separated him from Lyric, returning to his studio. There were allkinds of people standing around her now, and for a moment, he kept himself invisible in the corner, wrapping his arms around his chest as he made sure no one sensed his presence… not the members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood who’d arrived—he recognized them by the blades holstered upon their chests. Not the medical staff who’d come—one of whom appeared to be a ghost? Not that male who did not leave Lyric’s side.
So Dev was there.
When Lyric died.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Conrahd Mainscowl the Elder hovered in the doorway of Whestmorel’s bedroom. The male was still laid out upon the monogrammed duvet, but sometime during the day, his clothing had been removed and replaced with satin bedclothes that were like a dark stain upon the paler sheetings. The room had also been darkened, and something else had changed: There was a strange scent on the air.
A sickly sweet undertow that lingered in the sinuses.
As alarm bells continued to ring in Conrahd’s mind, he took pains to calm himself with rational considerations. There had been many opportunities to take control of the movement along the way. Slipups of Whestmorel’s leadership. Suspicions among the ranks. And then leaving Jenshen behind in that hidden room at their “leader’s” house, still alive, just to punish the male for asking questions.
