J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [395]
“Knowing her, necrophilia would be a turn-on.”
Behind Trez, a lovely glow pierced the horizon.
“Oh, shit, is it that late,” Rehv said, diving for the remote that closed the steel shutters on the house.
Except it wasn’t the sun. At least, not the sun that pin-wheeled in the sky.
A figure of light was coming up the lawn toward the house, walking with a saunter.
There was only one thing that Rehv could think of that could get that effect.
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he muttered, sitting up. “Man, is this night over yet?”
Trez was already on his feet. “You want me to let him in?”
“Might as well. He’d just walk through the glass anyway. ”
The Moor slid one of the doors back and stood to the side as Lassiter came into the den. The guy’s gliding walk was the physical manifestation of a drawl, all smooth and slow and insolent.
“Long time, no see,” the angel said.
“Not long enough.”
“Always with the hospitality.”
“Listen, GE,” Rehv blinked hard. “Mind if you dim your disco ball?”
The brillant glow drifted away until Lassiter appeared normal. Well, normal for someone with a serious-ass piercing fetish and aspirations for being some country’s gold currency standard.
Trez shut the door and stood behind it, a wall of youfuck -with-my-boy-and-angel-or-not-ima-show-your-ass-a-beatdown.
“What brings you onto my property?” Rehv said, cradling his mug with both hands and trying to absorb its warmth.
“Got a problem.”
“I can’t fix your personality, sorry.”
Lassiter laughed, the sound ringing through the house like church bells. “No. I like myself just as I am, thank you.”
“Can’t help your delusional nature, either.”
“I need to find an address.”
“Do I look like the phone book?”
“You look like shit, as a matter of fact.”
“And you with the compliments.” Rehv finished his coffee. “What makes you think I’d help you?”
“Because.”
“You want to toss in a couple of nouns and verbs there? I’m lost.”
Lassiter grew serious, his ethereal beauty losing its SOP fuck-yourself smirk. “I’m here on official business.”
Rehv frowned. “No offense, but I thought your boss pink-slipped your ass.”
“I’ve got one last shot at being a good boy.” The angel looked hard at the coffee mug between Rehv’s hands. “If you help me, I can pay you back.”
“Can you.”
When Lassiter tried to take a step forward, Trez was on him like paint. “No, you don’t.”
“I’ll heal him. If you let me touch him, I’ll heal him.”
Trez’s brows came down, and he opened his mouth like he was about to tell the angel to heal himself right out of the goddamn house.
“Hold up,” Rehv said.
Shit, he was so tired and achy and miserable, it was hard not to imagine himself feeling like this when night fell. A week from tomorrow.
“Just what kind of address is it.”
“The Brotherhood’s.”
"Ha. Even if I knew it—and I don’t—I couldn’t tell you that.”
“I have something they’ve lost.”
Rehv was about to laugh again when his symphath side fired up. The angel was an asshole, but he was totally serious. And, shit . . . could it be true? Could he have found—
“Yes, I have,” Lassiter said. “Now, are you going to help me help them? And in return, ’cause I’m a stand-up guy, I’ll take care of your little problem.”
“And what problem would that be?”
“The MRSA infection in your forearm. And the fact that, at the moment, you’re about two more exposures away from anaphylaxis with that scorpion venom.” Lassiter shook his head. “I’m not going to ask any questions. On either account.”
“You feeling okay? Usually you’re nosier than that.”
“Hey, if you want to share—”
“Whatever. Rock out if you want.” Rehv extended his gutted forearm. “I’ll do what I can for you, but I can’t make any promises.”
Lassiter shot Trez a smile. “So, big guy, you going to take a breather and step aside? Because your boss has consented—”
“He’s not my boss.”
“I’m not his boss.”
Lassiter inclined his head. “Your colleague, then. Now, you mind getting out of my way?”
Trez bared his fangs and clapped