And then the vampire sauntered over and extinguished his cigar in the dead mouth of the first to go down.
Xcor laughed softly as Assail returned to his vehicle.
"Do we follow him?" Zypher asked.
Wasn't that the question. There were lessers to fight here in the downtown area, and there was no reason to care if Assail was making money off the addictions of humans. Still, there was a lot of night left to be utilized, and there might as yet be a meeting between the male and the king forthcoming.
"Aye," Xcor replied. "But only myself and Throe. If there is a rendezvous with Wrath we will find you. "
"This is why we all need cell phones," Throe said. "Faster, better coordination. "
Xcor ground his teeth. Since their arrival in the New World, he had allowed Throe to engage one such cellular, and no others: A fighter's sense of smell and hearing, his instinct honed by training and practice, his knowledge of his enemy and himself, these did not come with a monthly bill, the need for recharging, or the threat of being laid aside and lost or stolen.
Ignoring the commentary, Xcor ordered, "The rest of you go forth and find the enemy. "
"Which one," Zypher said with a hearty laugh. "There are a growing number from which to choose. "
Indeed. For Assail was not behaving like an aristocrat. He was acting like a male who might be trying to build some kind of empire of his own.
It was entirely possible this member of the glymera was Xcor's kind of vampire. Which meant he might well have to be eliminated at some point - and not simply as collateral damage.
There was room for only one king in Caldwell
.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As Tohr resumed form at the Brotherhood mansion, he was pissed off at the world. Rankly ugly. Rattlesnake mad.
Pushing his way into the vestibule, he prayed that Fritz just released the lock remotely and didn't go the personal route. No one needed to see him like this -
His prayers were answered as the inner door gave way, and he marched into the foyer to an audience of nobody: All around the first floor the house was silent, the doggen taking the opportunity to attend to the upstairs bedrooms before beginning preparations for Last Meal.
Shit. He probably needed to text Phury about where Layla was -
On a sudden, gripping instinct, his head cranked around on the top of his spine, his eyes focusing on the dining room.
Some inner cue told him to get walking, the impulse carrying him through the arches, past the long, glossy table. . . and out the flap door into the kitchen.
No'One was at the counter cracking eggs into a ceramic bowl.
Alone.
She stopped in midstrike, her hood coming up and turning to face him.
For some reason, his heart started beating hard. "Did I imagine you?" he said.
"I'm sorry?"
"Did I imagine you in the foyer before I left. "
No'One slowly lowered her hand, the egg saved from shattering. Temporarily. "No. You did not. "
"Take your hood off again. "
It was not a question, but a demand - the kind of thing Wellsie would never have stood for. No'One, on the other hand, solemnly obeyed him.
And there she was, revealed to his eyes, her cap of blond hair terminating in the start of that rope-thick braid, her pale cheeks and eyes luminous, her face. . . .