There was a curious awkwardness between them, the fire’s cheery conversation failing to relieve the growing heaviness in the house.
“Do you intend to consummate our arrangement,” she blurted. “Is it … time?”
“It’s a ghost town up here, true?”
As V called out from up in the colonial’s attic, Rhage leaned into the bathroom of the master suite. “Nothing here, either. ’Cept a fuck load of pink.”
Heading back into the bedroom, he got a second chance at the rose-colored stuff. The shit was everywhere, from the rug and the drapes, to the wallpaper and the sheets, and Xcor’s scent was all over the place. Clearly, this was his private room—and there was some serious satisfaction that the fucker had had to crash in this estrogen-dominated nightmare.
Like sleeping in a goddamn womb.
Rhage shuddered as he walked out into the hall. “Wonder if he’s been suffering from a phantom urge to wear high heels.”
“There’s a picture.” V came out of the hole in the ceiling and down the folding stepladder. “Abandoned. They just ghosted off and left this place.”
Nothing. There had been absolutely, positively nothing suspicious or threatening, no booby-traps to catch them, no bombs set to detonate, no alarms.
There had also been nothing personal left upstairs, either—like in the living room, there were piles of trash here and there, but no clothes, no weapons, no computers or cell phones.
Moving quickly, they went down the staircase, and backtracked through the empty house. After dematerializing out through the open window in the kitchen, they rejoined Phury and Z.
“Nada,” V said.
Rhage took out his phone for a quick look-see, and when there were no replies to either of his texts, he frowned and disappeared the thing again. Antsy, he went to the other side of his jacket and snagged a Tootsie Pop—then saw that it was orange, and traded that for a grape one. The purple wrapper slid off easily, like the suckah was ready to go to work, and he eased the sugar ball into his mouth.
“It’s completely clean?” Phury asked. “That can’t be right.”
Rhage popped his mouth toy out. “Don’t get me wrong—I think disarming bombs and booby traps is a bore, but I was ready to put the time in. I don’t get it. They leave here because Throe’s out and likely defecting? They must know that we’re going to come as soon as we got the addy from that asshat.”
V’s white eyes shifted over the empty house. “They missed an obvious chance.”
“Didn’t think Xcor was that stupid—or lazy.” Rhage shrugged. “Maybe they’re hurting for money.”
“Doubt that it’s a lack of resources,” Phury muttered. “They’re well armed, going by their kills downtown.”
There was some fast conversation and it was decided they’d go back and report to Wrath that Throe hadn’t lied. Just before they dematerialized, however, Rhage spoke up around his lollipop.
“Listen, you boys mind if I take a little detour?”
“No problem, we’ll start the debrief,” V said.
“Thanks, my brothers. I just need ten minutes or so.”
He clapped palms with his fellow fighters, and then one by one, they all disappeared …
… but instead of re-forming in the backyard of Darius’s old house, where Wrath held audiences with his subjects, Rhage materialized in front of a large, but far less opulent, home in the suburbs. A blue Volvo XC70 station wagon was parked in the driveway, and though the drapes were all pulled, lights were on in every single window all around the three-story house.
Rhage took out his phone, went into Favorites, and hit green-means-go. As the ringing started, he shifted his weight back and forth between his shitkickers.
“Hey,” he said as the call was answered. “You okay?”
“Hey.” His Mary, his perfectly beautiful and brilliant female, sounded all wrong. “How did you know.”
Instantly, his beast surged under his skin, ready to tear into anything or anybody that threatened their mate. “What’s going on?”
“We’re having trouble with one of our moms.”
Rhage’s eyes sought out the windows. “Can I help?”
“Where are you?”
“Out on your lawn.”
“I’m coming down.”
Rhage hung up the phone and did a quick pass with the tidy-up, smoothing his hair, making sure his jacket was hanging right, pulling up his leathers.
Safe Place had been started by Marissa to meet the needs of victims of domestic violence within the Race. Although humans had a lot of programs and resources for their women and children, female vampires and their young had had absolutely nothing to turn to until Marissa had opened up this facility. Staffed with social workers trained thanks to the human world—night school or online—and nurses managed by Doc Jane and Ehlena, the residents were allowed to stay, without charge, for as long as they needed in order to get back on their feet and be safe.