Abruptly, he wanted to punch the mirror, even though all it was showing was a whole lot of shadow.
"Sire?"
In the darkness, he squeezed his eyes shut.
Shit, he'd forgotten Layla was still in his bed.
FORTY-NINE
Xhex wasn't precisely sure which farmhouse she was looking for, so she materialized in a wooded area off Route 149 and used her nose to tell her what direction to head in: The wind was coming out of the north, and when she caught the slightest whiff of baby powder, she tracked the scent, vaporizing herself at hundred-yard intervals through the scruffy, mowed-down cornfields that had been lambasted by winter's winds and snow.
The spring air tingled in her nose and the sunlight on her face warmed wherever the breeze didn't brush over her skin. All around, skeletal trees had halos of bright green, their tentative buds drawn out of hiding by the promise of warmer hours.
Lovely day.
For a killing spree.
When the stench of lessers was all she could smell, she unsheathed one of the knives Vishous had given her and knew that she was so close she could--
Xhex took form at the next row of maples and stopped dead.
"Oh . . . fuck."
The white farmhouse was nothing to write home to Mom about, just a wilted structure next to a cornfield, surrounded by a ring of pines and bushes. Good thing it had a lawn, though.
Otherwise the five police cars that were jammed up close to the front entrance wouldn't have had enough room to get their doors open.
Masking herself as symphaths did, she ghosted her way up to a window and looked inside.
Perfect timing: She got to see one of Caldwell's finest throw up into a bucket.
Although it wasn't as if he didn't have good reason to. The house looked like it had been bathed in human blood. Actually, scratch the "looked." It had been covered in the shit, to the point where she tasted copper on the back of her tongue even though she was out in the fresh air.
It was like Michael Myers's kiddie pool in there.
The human cops were walking around the living room and dining room, picking their way with care not only because it was a crime scene, but obviously because they didn't want the stuff splashing up on their pants.
No bodies, though. Not one single body.
At least, not that was visible.
There were nascent lessers in the house, however. Sixteen of them. But she couldn't see them and neither could the cops, even though from what she sensed, the men were walking right over them.
Lash's cloaking again?
What the fuck was he up to? Calling the Brothers, announcing this shit . . . and then getting the cops to come? Or had someone else done the dialing to 911?
She needed answers to so much . . .
Mixed in with all the blood was some inky residue and one of the officers was frowning over a patch of it, looking like he'd found something icky. Yup . . . that amount of oily mess wasn't sufficient to explain the strong sweet scent she'd followed--so she had to assume that the inductions had been successful and what was hidden was no longer human.
She glanced around the forest behind and before her. Where was the Omega's golden boy in all of this?
Moving around to the front of the house, she saw a postman who was clearly struggling with some PTSD as he gave a statement to a uniform.
U.S. Postal Service to the rescue.
No doubt he'd been the one to drop a dime. . . .
Staying camo'd, she just observed the scene, watching the cops fight their gag reflexes to do their jobs, and waiting for Lash to make himself known--or for any other lesser to make an appearance. When the television crews showed up about a minute and a half later, she played witness to an almost beautiful blond woman doing a poor man's Barbara Walters on the lawn. The second the taping was finished, she started pestering the cops for information until she annoyed them enough that they let her get a gander of what was doing inside.
Didn't that just slap the serious journalist right out of her.
As she went full chick and passed out into the arms of one of the uniforms, Xhex rolled her eyes and headed around back again.
Shit. She might as well get comfy. She'd come jonesing for a fight, but as so often happened in war, she was in a waiting game until the enemy showed.
"Surprise."
She wheeled around so fast, she nearly lost her balance: The only thing that saved her from falling over was the counterbalance of her dagger hand, which was raised up high, over her shoulder, ready for use.
"I wish we'd showered together."
As Blay choked on the coffee he'd made them both, Saxton sipped at his cup just fine. To the point where it was pretty obvious the guy both engineered and enjoyed the reaction he'd gotten.
"I really like surprising you," the male said.
Bingo. And naturally, those damn fool redhead genes made hiding a blush impossible.
Easier to put a sedan in your pocket. It was that obvious.