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He went to the right, to the foyer. At the base of the grand staircase, he looked up. The red carpet and all the gold leaf of the balustrades made him think of the tsars, and so did the crystal sconces and the marble columns. The art installations weren’t bad, either: Under his feet, the mosaic depiction of an apple tree in full bloom was a masterpiece, and overhead, three stories up, the fresco of great warriors on stallions was also one for the history books.
But all was not museum-serene.
Up on the second-floor landing, the double doors of Wrath’s study burst open, and the sound of male voices in a full-on argument exploded out and echoed around. The chaos was cut off as the panels were re-shut.
Sahvage appeared at the top landing all dressed for war, the black daggers on his chest not just a symbol of his status but the tools of his trade. With his hair freshly shorn and his eyes hyperalert, the brother was exactly who anyone would want on their front line.
“You rang,” the male said as he came down, light on his feet, in spite of his heavy weight. “And I’m surprised you’re not up there with us.”
“I’ll join in after you and I… you know, talk. How’s it going?”
Sahvage jumped off the last two steps, landing with a muffled boom. “They’re arguing about whether or not to close down the Audience House. Permanently or otherwise.”
Lassiter frowned. “Why would they do that?”
The story was told efficiently, and when the brother was finished, Lassiter had a pit in his stomach. “And they think it was the Omega’s son? How the hell’d he find the place?”
“Don’t know. But between that drive-by of Fritz, or whatever the hell it was, and the lesser in the back of that club last night, we’re clearly back in business in the worst possible way.” Sahvage narrowed his eyes. “Hey, are you all right?”
Nope. He didn’t want to think about evil, or any of its forms, not tonight. Not any night, actually.
“Ah… yeah.” As a vacuum started whirrrrrring in the background, Lassiter glanced toward the billiards room. “Can we, ah, go in there for a minute? This won’t take long and then we can head upstairs.”
Sahvage nodded, and the two of them side-by-side’d their way into the other space. Walking around the green felt tables, Lassiter eyed the leather couch he’d spent so much time on. The remote was on the arm, just where he liked it, and there was a sealed bottle of his favorite Tropicana orange juice on the coffee table.
“I love Fritz,” he murmured as he touched the whacker and pivoted to the massive flat-screen.
So many days he’d sat here and fired up that TV, tuning out the world to Betty White.
“That doggen is something else for sure.” Sahvage deliberately stepped in front of him. “Let’s not fuck around, shall we—and frankly, I don’t know why, if you want a QT conversation, it’s not with Tohr. He’s not only the King’s right-hand male, he’s a helluva lot more stable than I am—”
“This isn’t about the war. Or the Brotherhood.”
Across the foyer in the dining room, his peripheral vision picked up a maid in the house’s black-and-white uniform as she started pulling out chairs and running an old-school box broom under the table to make sure there were no crumbs anywhere.
In his mind, during the day in the cave, he’d pictured a much more private scene for this.
Sahvage’s brow went up. “Well, if you’re looking for advice about what to watch on your boob tube over here, I’m not your guy. You’d better ask Rhage. Or if you want to turn over a new leaf and try some stuff that doesn’t melt your brain, Mary is the way to go—”
“It’s about Rahvyn.”
All at once, everything about the male changed. No more jokey-jokey, and those eyes got real focused. “What.”
Lassiter took a couple of steps toward the TV. Came back. Then he rerouted and headed for the bar—remembered he didn’t drink, reconsidered the abstinence thing. Came back.
Meanwhile, Sahvage stayed right where he was, his expression getting grimmer.
Finally, Lassiter just threw his hands up in defeat. Then again, why had he thought this was going to be easy? “Look, I know I don’t have the best reputation for being a serious guy. I fuck around a lot and you don’t really know me outside of my poking the shit out of V or chilling on that sofa. But the reality is…”
When he couldn’t go on, Sahvage took a step in. “Have you seen something about her? In the future? Is it bad? What’s going on—”
“I’m in love with her. And I want your permission to ask her to mate me. I want to be her hellren.”
In the aftermath of the announcement, Sahvage was so dumbfounded, there was a temptation to call Doc Jane for a stroke eval.
