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It wasn’t like he had death, in the traditional sense, to look forward to.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Tracking the box van into the property, Lash was very careful to stay downwind and out of sight as he re-formed behind a hedge that had been pruned into the shape of a rabbit up on its hind legs. With his aggression firing on all cylinders, disappearing himself wasn’t possible, so he was glad that his new suit was dark gray—and to make sure that he wasn’t seen, he unbuttoned his white shirt and pushed it into the jacket’s confines so it didn’t create a visual clue. Then he disappeared himself up to the next topiary—a lion. And after that, the third in line, which was a—well, he wasn’t sure what it was.
Maybe the gardener had had a stroke halfway through the trimming. There was a gopher feel to things, but also a raccoon vibe, although neither was the kind of fauna typical of pretentious property owners.
As he continued on, he was careful to stay waaaaay back. He was alone and there was no backup coming, and as much as he would have loved a fight with one of the Brothers who had taught him everything he knew, he needed the intel more. Members of the Brotherhood were precious commodities, so if Vishous was out and about in the world?
This had to be important, and he had to know what was going on.
The estate’s layout was not dissimilar to that of the one Lash had just tried on for size, the drive long and winding, the gardens professionally cultivated and maintained. The mansion was a Tudor replica, but it had been built in the early twenties—of the previous century—so there weren’t the cheap materials, distorted angles, and rinky-dink details of new McMansions. And this was a vampire house. Had to be, if Vishous himself was tooling up and making some kind of a delivery.
A glymera family that had somehow escaped Lash’s raids.
He must know the owners from his previous life, but he hadn’t ever been here before—so this had to be something that had been purchased as a relocation after all the aristocratic landholdings had been compromised when he’d attacked them.
The van drove directly up to the front entrance and the mansion’s door was opened, not by a servant, but by a female in a gown. She was all done up, her hair in orderly waves, diamonds at her throat and wrists, even white gloves to her elbows. Her makeup was a mess, however, black streaks melting down her face, her lipstick partially wiped across her jaw. She stumbled as she ran out to the back of the van, one of her heels flipping off her foot, her stride going entirely lopsided. A male in a tuxedo quickly caught up with her, and all but carried the female the rest of the way.
Vishous disembarked from behind the wheel, and as he went to meet the pair at the rear of the vehicle, he scanned the environs. He was heavily weaponized, those black daggers on his chest, multiple guns holstered on his waist, extra ammo locked in at the small of his back. He wasn’t wearing a Kevlar vest, and there was no leather jacket to cover the show.
He had come directly from the field.
One by one, other Brothers arrived, re-forming out of the darkness, and he recognized them from his time at their training center: Zsadist and Phury, the twins who looked alike except for the hair and that scar; Tohrment, the second-in-command who had disappeared for a while, but was clearly back; Rhage with his movie star looks and blond hair. They formed a protective semicircle around the tableau of suffering.
To get a better look, Lash dematerialized to another position, ever mindful of which way the wind was blowing. And as a gurney with a body in a bag was rolled out the back, he caught the scent—
Baby powder and rancid meat.
“What the fuck,” he breathed.
As a shot of pure fury went through him, his hand instinctively went to the hunting knife at his belt. But he didn’t follow through on any attack—because what the hell had his subordinates gotten into while he’d been at Saks?
See what happens when you bang demons in department stores? a disapproving voice pointed out in the back of his head.
And then he realized… the sinking spell he’d just had. Had one of his lessers been stabbed back to him? If that was the reason for his collapse, he was going to need to get over that shit quick.
As a trickle-down of implications made him growl softly, he cut the sound. What he did not need right now was a one-on-five fight with the Brothers. Yes, he was the very definition of special weapons and tactics, but he’d just weebled his wobble and he was monstrously outnumbered.
