Going over to the car, he wondered if the key was was still in the . . . Bingo.
He opened the driver's-side door and squeezed in behind the wheel. The top was down as always, because he couldn't really fit in the thing with the roof in place. Punching his left boot into the clutch, he turned the key and--
The roar fired off like the damn thing had been waiting for way too long and was pissed off at having been ignored, thank you very much.
Half a tank of gas. Oil level was fine. Engine was turning over in perfect sync.
Ten minutes later, he reengaged the security alarm and backed out of the garage with the LV wardrobe trunk roped onto the ass of the convertible. Securing the thing had been easy; he'd put a blanket over the paint job, braced the weight on top of the boot, and tied it down every which way to Sunday.
He was going to have to go slowly, though. Which was okay.
The night was cold and the tips of his ears went numb before he'd gone so much as a mile. But the heater was kicking out a bonfire's worth of BTUs and the steering wheel was good and solid against his palms.
As he headed back for the Brotherhood's mansion, he had the sense that he had lived through a mortal test. And yet he felt no triumph at the besting.
He was resolved, though. And as Darius had said, prepared to look forward.
At least when it came to killing his enemy.
Yeah, he was looking forward to that all right. Starting tonight, it was all he had to live for and he was nothing if not prepared to meet his obligations.
SEVENTY-TWO
They took the young to her new home on the backs of warhorses.
The family who was adopting her lived villages and villages away, and Darius and Tohrment traveled through the night following the birth fully weaponed, aware of all the ways they could be stopped en route. When they got to the cottage they sought, it was not unlike Darius's own, with a thatched roof and walls made of stone. Surrounding trees offered protection from the weather, and the barn out back had goats and sheep and milking cows milling about in paddocks.
The household even had a doggen, as Darius had learned the previous evening when he had come to reach out to this modest but prosperous family. Of course, he had not been introduced to the female of the manse at that time. She had not been receiving and he and her male had spoken of the private matter on the front stoop.
As he and Tohrment pulled up on their reins, the horses clattered to a halt and refused to stay still. Indeed, the massive stallions were bred for fighting, not patience, and after Darius dismounted, his protege managed to subdue both animals only by sheer strength of shoulder.
Every mile they had covered on the way to this end, Darius had second- guessed the choice, but now that they had arrived, he knew this was where the infant needed to be.
He approached the door with his precious cargo, and it was the master of the house who opened the stout portal. The male's eyes were shining in the moonlight, but it was not joy that made them so. Indeed, an all too familiar loss had struck this household of virtue--which was how Darius had found them.
Vampires kept in contact o'er hill and dale in the same manner as humans did: by sharing stories and commiserating.
Darius bowed to the gentlemale in spite of his own higher station. "Greetings on this cold night."
"Greetings, sire." The male bowed very low, and as he rose, his kind stare went to the tiny bundle. " 'Tis getting warmer anon, however."
"Indeed." Darius unfolded the top of the swaddling blanket and looked once more upon the tiny face. Those eyes, those arresting iron gray eyes, stared back at him. "Do you care to . . . inspect her first?"
His voice broke, for he wanted no judgment upon the young, now or ever--and indeed he had done his best to ensure that. Verily, he had not shared the circumstances of her conception with the male. How could he? Who would then take her? And as she lacked the conspicuous traits of her other half, no one would ever know.
"I shall need no inspection." The gentlemale shook his head. "She is a blessing to fill my shellan 's empty arms. You have said she is healthy; that is all that we care about."
Darius exhaled a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding and continued to stare down upon the babe.
"Are you sure you wish to give her up?" the gentlemale said softly.
Darius glanced back at Tohrment. The male's eyes burned as he looked over from upon his mincing stallion, his warrior's body clad in black leather hides, his weapons strapped upon his chest and saddle, his appearance a harbinger of war and death and blood spilled.
Darius was aware he presented a similar picture as he turned back to the gentlemale and cleared his throat. "Would you permit me one license?"
"Yes, sire. Please take any you shall require."