Lover Mine(51)

As her body broke free, she slammed into the corridor's wall, to the point where she expected to take a layer of paint off with her face and chest as she slid down onto the floor.

With her head spinning and her eyes filled with flashing lights, she kicked her own ass into gear. She was out, but was not free.

Glancing back, she watched the rippling of the spell as it recast itself . . . and wondered if her breaching it didn't send some kind of signal out to Lash.

Go . . . now . . . get out . . . run!

Dragging herself off the floor and down the hall, she hit the stairs on unreliable legs, careening around, stumbling. In the foyer below, the stink of lesser blood choked her to the point of gagging, and she moved away from it, although not because of her nose. All of the egress and ingress at the house happened in the back. If she had nothing but a sliver of time on her side, she needed to focus on finding another way out.

Up ahead, the front door was a massive, ornately carved thing, with glass into which iron bars were set. But all they had for locks were simple dead bolts.

Candy-from-a-baby time.

She walked up, put her hand on the Schlage mechanism, and focused what she had left of her energy on shifting the pins. One . . . two . . . three . . . and the fourth.

Throwing the door wide, she had one foot outstide when she heard the creak of someone coming into the kitchen.

Oh shit, Lash was back. He'd come back for her.

In a flash she was gone, panic giving her wings that her focused mind put to good use. Given the shape she was in, she knew she wasn't going to make it far and decided the best she could do was her basement place. At least there, she could be safe while she regrouped.

Xhex took form in the sheltered alcove that led down into her studio and sprang the copper locks with her mind. As she went through the door, the motion-sensing lights came on in the whitewashed corridor, and she lifted her arm to shield her eyes as she stumbled down the steps. Locking the door with her thoughts, she tripped forward, becoming dimly aware she had a limp.

The impact of the wall? The scramble down the stairs? Who the fuck knew or cared.

She made it into her bedroom and shut herself in. As the automatic lights came on, she looked at the bed. Clean white sheets. Pillows all arranged. Duvet spread flat.

She didn't make it to the mattress. As her knees gave out, she let herself go, her skeleton collapsing in on itself until she was nothing but a pile of sticks covered by skin.

It was not sleep that claimed her as she hit the floor. But that was okay.

Unconsciousness worked better anyway.





Blaylock reentered the brownstone with Rhage and Vishous a mere twenty minutes after they'd left with John. As soon as they'd gotten him back to the compound safely, they'd returned to finish the sweep of the premises: this time, they were looking for the small stuff like ID, computers, cash, drugs, anything that gave them intel.

Having watched the carnage John Matthew had thrown around, the aftermath barely registered as Blay walked in the kitchen, and immediately started pulling open cupboards and drawers. Vishous headed up to the second floor while Rhage rooted around the front of the house.

He was just finding his groove when Rhage called out, "The front door's wide open."

So someone had been back here since they'd pulled out with John. Lesser? Not likely as they would never have left things unsecured. Maybe a human thief? The Brothers hadn't locked up the back when they'd taken off so perhaps someone had waltzed right in.

If it had been a human, what a sight they'd gotten. Might have explained a rushed exit out the other way.

Blay popped his heat just in case there was someone in the house, and with his free hand, he was quick as he rifled around. He found two cell phones in a drawer with the knives, neither of which had chargers--but V would solve that. There were also some business cards by the phone, but they were all for humans in the contracting trade--who had probably been used to work on the brownstone.

He was tackling the cupboards under the counter when he frowned and looked up. Right in front of him was a bowl of fresh apples.

Glancing down in the direction of the stove, he saw some tomatoes. And a loaf of French bread in a paper wrapper.

Straightening, he walked over to the Sub- Zero and cracked the thing open. Organic milk. Takeout from Whole Foods. A fresh turkey ready to be cooked. Smoked Canadian bacon.

Not exactly prisoner food.

Blay looked up at the ceiling, where heavy footsteps sounded out as V went from room to room. Then his eyes traced the kitchen as a whole, from the cashmere dress coat draped over a stool to the copper pans stacked in the open shelving to the coffeepot that had a brew in its belly.

Everything was name-brand and new and neater than a picture out of a catalog.

This was up to Lash's standards for real . . . but lessers weren't supposed to be able to eat. So unless he was treating Xhex like a queen, which was highly unlikely . . . someone was chowing down on a regular basis in this house.