Lover At Last(198)

“So he deserved it.” Not a question; more a statement of approval.

He couldn’t help but favor her take on things. “Yes, he did.”

There was a period of silence, and then he had to ask, “What is your name?”

She laughed. “You mean you don’t know?”

“How would I have found out?”

“Good point—and I’ll tell you, if you explain what you said to my vovó.” She hugged her torso, as if cold. “You know, she liked you.”

“Who likes me?”

“My grandmother.”

“How ever does she know me?”

His burglar frowned. “When you came before now. She said she thought you were a good man, and she wants to invite you back for dinner.” Those astonishing dark eyes returned to his. “Not that I’m advocating—what? Hey, ow.”

Assail forced his hold to loosen, unaware of having gripped her arm. “I did not come by earlier. At no time have I spoken to your grandmother.”

His burglar opened her mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. “You weren’t here tonight?”

“No.”

“So who the hell is looking for me?”

As a vast protective urge came over him, his fangs elongated and his upper lip began to curl back—but he caught himself, tamping down the outer show of his inner emotions.

Abruptly, he nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “We go inside. Now. And you will tell me more.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Assail stared at her from his superior height. “You shall have it anyway.”





SEVENTY-TWO


Trez was not used to being chauffeured around. He liked driving himself. Being in control. Choosing the left or the right.

That kind of self-determination was not on the menu tonight, however.

At the moment, he was riding phat in the back of a Mercedes that was the size of a house. Up in front, Fritz, as his name was, was driving like a bat out of hell—not exactly something you expected from a butler who looked like he was seven thousand years old.

Now, given that Trez was still a little off after the previous night’s headache, he supposed he was okay with being a passenger in this instance. But if he and iAm were going to live here, they were going to have to know where the damn property was—

What. The. Fuck.

For some reason, his senses were picking up on a change in the atmosphere, something tingling on the edges of his consciousness—a warning. And what do you know, outside the window, the moonlit landscape grew wavy, a vital distortion tweaking his vision.

His eyes checked out the inside of the Mercedes. Everything was fine: the grain of the black leather, the burled walnut trim, the partition that had been raised into place all exactly as they should appear. So it wasn’t his optical nerves going bad.

Shifting his eyes back to the great outdoors, he knew the distortion wasn’t because a fog had rolled in. Not some weird-ass sleet thing, either. No, this shit was not the weather—it was something else entirely…as if dread had crystallized in the very particles of the air, and was causing the landscape to morph out of shape.

Niiiiiiiiiice protective cover, he thought.

And here he’d assumed he and his brother were the only ones with tricks up their sleeves.

“We’re close,” he said.

“What is this stuff?” iAm murmured as he too looked out his window.

“I don’t know. But we need to get some of it.”

Abruptly, the car went into an ascent, which, given the speed of Old Man Lead Foot, resembled the launch of a roller coaster. They didn’t crest and free-fall at the top, though: From out of nowhere, a massive stone mansion materialized, making such a quick appearance, Trez grabbed for the hand rest and braced himself.

But their chauffeur knew exactly where they were, and how much distance was required to bring the Benz to a halt. With the expertise of a Hollywood stunt driver, the butler wrenched the wheel and nailed the brakes, bringing them to a park between a GTO Trez had an immediate hard-on for…and a Hummer that looked like an abstract sculpture rather than anything that was drivable.

“Maybe he made his mistakes on that one,” Trez said dryly.

As the locks were released, he and iAm got out at the same time.

Man. Get a loada the house, Trez thought as he tilted back his head and looked up, up, way up. In comparison to the giant pile of rock, he felt about the size of a thumb.

Like, a two-year-old’s thumb.

Looming high into the cold night, with gargoyles that watched from eaves, and a pair of sinister-looking, four-story wings that extended off on either side, the place appeared to be exactly like what you’d expect the king of the vampires to live in: spooky, creepy, threatening.