J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [803]
John swallowed hard and signed without thinking. To who?
“Humans. She got herself free, though, just like she did this time. And then she went away for a while.” Now Rehv’s amethyst eyes flashed. “She’d always been tough, but after whatever those humans did to her, she got hard.”
When, John mouthed.
“Some twenty years ago.” Rehv resumed staring out at the water. “FYI, she wasn’t kidding in that message. She’s not going to appreciate anyone coming in and being her hero with Lash. She’s going to have to do that herself. You want to help the situation? Let her come to you when she’s ready— and stay out of her way.”
Yeah, well, she probably wasn’t going to be in a hurry to text his ass, John thought. And as for the Lash thing? He wasn’t sure he could let that one go. Even for her.
To cut off his own thinking, John put out his palm. The two of them met chest-to-chest in a brief hug and then John dematerialized.
When he took form, he was back at the Xtreme Park, behind the shed, looking out over the empty ramps and bowls. The head drug pusher wasn’t back. No skating, either. Both made sense. Raid the night before with a shitload of cops coming? To say nothing of the bullet shower?
Place was going to be a ghost town for a while.
John leaned against rough wood, his senses alert. He was aware of time passing, both because of the position of the moon pinwheeling in an arc overhead, and because his brain downshifted from manic spin to a more reasonable churn. Which still sucked but was easier to sit with.
She was out and he didn’t even know what condition she was in. Was she hurt? Did she need to feed? Did—
Right. Time to stop playing that loop.
And he probably should take off. Wrath had been pretty damned clear about that no-fighting-without-Qhuinn business and this would still be considered a hot spot for the enemy.
Abruptly, he realized where he had to go.
Pushing himself out of his lean, he paused and looked around with a frown. The sensation of being watched, of being followed, cloaked him once again—just like it had back at that tat shop.
Tonight, however, he just didn’t have the energy to support a good dose of paranoia, so he simply dematerialized, figuring whoever or whatever it was would either track him again or he’d lose them in the ether—and he didn’t care which it would be.
He was pretty fucking worn-out.
When he took form again, he was a mere handful of blocks from where he’d done the number on that lesser the night before. From the inner pocket of his leather jacket, he took out a copper key that was just like the one Rehv had put to use on the hunting cabin.
He’d had the thing for about a month and a half. Xhex had given it to him the night he had told her she could trust him with her symphath secret, and like her cilices, he took it with him wherever he went.
Ducking under the stairs of a brownstone, he inserted the sliver of metal and opened the door. The lights in the basement hall were motion-activated and the stretch of whitewashed stone was instantly illuminated.
He was careful to lock up behind himself and then he went down to the only door.
She had given him sanctuary in this private place once before. Had granted him access to her basement room when he had needed to be alone. And when he’d taken advantage of the hospitality, it had led to her taking his virginity.
She’d refused to kiss him, though.
The same key worked in the door to the bedroom, the locking mechanism shifting smoothly. As he swung the metal panels wide, the light came on and he stepped in—
John died a little at what he saw on the bed: His heart and breath stopped, his brain waves ceased, his blood froze in