J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [533]
As he forced his eyes to focus better, Trez, one of Rehv’s personal guard, opened the double doors on the porch that faced the lake and raised his palm in greeting.
Wrath and V walked up the frosty, crunchy lawn and though they kept their weapons holstered, V took the glove off his glowing right hand. Trez was the kind of male you respected, and not just because he was a Shadow. The Moor had the muscled body of a fighter and the smart stare of a strategist, and his allegiance was to Rehv and Rehv only. To protect the guy? Trez would level a city block in the blink of an eye.
“So how you doing, big man,” Wrath said he mounted the porch steps.
Trez came forward and they clapped palms. “I’m solid. You?”
“Tight as always.” Wrath knocked the guy in the shoulder. “Hey, you ever want a real job, come soldier with us.”
“I’m happy where I am, but thanks.” The Moor grinned and turned to V, his dark eyes flicking down to V’s exposed hand. “No offense, but I’m not shaking that thing.”
“Wise of you,” Vishous said as he offered his lefty. “You understand, though.”
“Abso, and I’d do the same for Rehv.” Trez led the way to the doors. “He’s in his bedroom waiting for you.”
“He sick?” Wrath asked as they entered the house.
“You want anything to drink? Eat?” Trez said as they headed to the right.
As the question remained unanswered, Wrath glanced at V. “We’re okay, thanks.”
The place was decorated right out of Victoria and Albert’s back pocket, with heavy Empire furniture and garnet and gold everywhere. True to the Victorian period’s affection for collection, each room had a different theme to it. One sitting parlor was full of antique clocks ticking away, from grandfathers to brass windups to pocket watches in display cases. Another had shells and coral and centuries-old driftwood. In the library, there were stunning Oriental vases and platters, and the dining room was kitted out in medieval icons.
“I’m surprised there aren’t more Chosen here,” Wrath said as they went through empty room after empty room.
“The first Tuesday of the month, Rehv has to come up. He makes the females a little nervous, so most of them go back over to the Other Side. Selena and Cormia always stay, though.” There was no small measure of pride in his voice as he tacked on, “They’re very strong, those two.”
They took a grand set of stairs up to the second floor and went down a long hall to a pair of carved doors that positively screamed master of the house.
Trez paused. “Listen, he is a little ill, okay. Nothing contagious. It’s just…I want you both to be prepared. We’ve given him everything he needs and he’s going to be fine.”
As Trez knocked and opened both doors, Wrath frowned, his vision sharpening on its own as his instincts pricked.
In the midst of a carved bed, Rehvenge was lying still as a corpse, a red velvet duvet pulled up to his chin and sable folds draped over his body. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow, his skin pasty and tinged with yellow. His close-cropped mohawk was the only thing that looked remotely normal…that and the fact that standing at his right hand was Xhex, that half-breed symphath female who looked like she performed castrations for fun and profit.
Rehv’s eyes opened, and the amethyst color was dulled to a murky bruised purple. “It’s the king.”
“S’up.”
Trez shut the doors, parking it to the side and not in the middle to block the way as a measure of respect. “I already offered them libations and eats.”
“Thanks, Trez.” Rehv grimaced and made a move to push himself off the pillows. When he just sagged, Xhex leaned in to help him, and he shot her a glare that smacked of don’t-even-think-about-it. Which she ignored.
After he was settled upright, he pulled the duvet up to