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“So they pay the taxes on this mountain? I was unaware that the land had changed hands. I rather thought this was a preserve.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You know exactly what I mean.”
Blade debated on whether or not to further provoke her. And then lost interest and energy in such an escapade. “I am happy to share with the Black Dagger Brotherhood all that I know. And I just did. That’s it.”
Xhex glanced at her mate. Then returned her stare to Blade’s. As her gray eyes narrowed on him, he was reminded of how deadly his sister was, and that made him respect her.
Then he thought of his wolf.
Ever since she had left him, an idea had been kindling deep within him, and he found himselfpraying he wouldn’t decide to do the right thing by her. If he did, he had the sense he would be giving up the one true love of his life forever.
And really, why should he do that—especially, as asymphath, he was genetically engineered for self-advancement: There was nothing more antithetical to congenital narcissism than sacrificing yourself for another’s happiness.
After all, Lydia would never know he could have interceded. No one would ever know—and he could show up here on this mountain in the wake of her mate’s funeral, and drape himself in red robes and seduce her with some line of spiritual bullshit during her mourning period.
If Lydia chose him, honestly chose him—well, mostly honestly chose him—then Xhex would have no reason to ride him off the proverbial range.
He refocused on his sister, seeing her properly, and in the back of his mind, in the way back, he wondered what she would think if she knew that he had beenahvengingher all these years. She must never know what he had been doing, however.
If anyone in the Colony ever learned how much he cared for her, she would become a target to be used against him—and she had spent too many years of her life already in danger.
He would not put her in that position, even though it meant that she would continue to hate him—and hate him she did.
“Forgive me, sister mine. My bath is concluding. You either need to shoot me in the head or leave me to my privacy. I am done talking—although I suppose you must be used to the silence with your mute mate.”
Blade winked at John Matthew—and got bared fangs in response.
As Xhex snarled across the cave’s rocky interior, Blade’s heart ached. But that, like so much…
… he kept to himself.
THIRTY-EIGHT
THE FOLLOWING DAY,the hours passed with an aching slowness for Lydia: dawn arriving, the sun drifting by overhead, night assuming prominence. Like every living thing on the planet, it was the cycle that she had always known, and yet now the components of minutes and hours were revealed as a very specific form of torture.
She spent most of the time in bed, staring at the door, hoping it would burst open to reveal Daniel’s return. When she did get up, it was to go to the bathroom. Take a quick shower. Ghost down to the kitchen to pick up food and bring it back—as if he would somehow change his mind only if she were laying her head on his pillow.
The day after that was exactly the same. Well, except that sometime after noon, her phone went off. She all but lunged for it on the bedside table—only to discover that it was someone who wanted to talk to her about the warranty on her car.
“You’ve got to call Candy for that,” she muttered as she hung up on the telemarketer.
Back onto the pillow—and it was then that she finally fell asleep. She knew this because she was able to be present in a dream that repeatedly laid claim to her, her hyperawareness causing her to be awake within her subconscious’s dance of delusions.
Naturally, it was about Daniel.
And he was dying.
The images, sights, and sounds were all based on memories. She had been present many times when he’d crashed. She had watched him turn blue and gasp for breath, or be unable to respond to simple commands. She had seen the medical staff rush in and had to jump back, jump out of the way. She’d begged and prayed for his survival. And naturally, all of that terror was where she went: She was at his bedside down in the clinic, and he was fighting for breath, clawing at the air in front of him for relief, nothing but a wheeze coming out of him—
Now is when you call for help, she told herself.
Straining with everything she was worth, she called out to the closed door. Screamed for Gus, even though she’d been told he’d left, hollered for someone, anyone, to—
Her grandfather was the one who stepped into the room.
And abruptly, she traded places with Daniel:Lydia was now the one in the bed and she had no idea where he had gone—no, wait. That wasn’t true. He had died, and now she was dying, too. Of a broken heart.
Her grandfather came up to her bedside. He was dressed in his tweed jacket and his wool slacks, his pipe in his hand, his bushy gray eyebrows down low, as if he were very concerned about her.
