Reaching out, she touched the neck of the statue. The marble was warm, which was a shock, but then she realized the spotlight up above was its heat source.
She thought of the Primale.
They had spent one day in the same bed, that first day she was here with him. She had had to ask if she could join him in his room and lie beside him, and as they had stretched out beneath the sheets, awkwardness had been a blanket of thistles over them both.
But then she had fallen asleep... only to wake up to a huge male body pushing into her, a hard, warm length against her hip. She had been too stunned to do anything but acquiesce as, without words, the Primale had stripped her robing from her body and replaced it with his own skin and the weight of his strength.
Indeed, speech was not always necessary.
With a slow caress, she ran her fingertips down the statue 's warm marble chest, pausing at the nipple on its flat base of muscle. Down farther, the ribs and stomach were a lovely pattern of undulations. Smooth, so smooth.
The Primale's skin was just as smooth.
Her heart beat hard as she reached to the statue's hip.
The tingling heat she felt wasn't about the stone in front of her. In her mind, it was the Primale she was touching. It was his body that was beneath her fingers. It was his sex and not the statue's that called her.
Her hand drifted down farther until it hovered right on the top of the male's pubic bone.
The sound of someone bursting into the mansion ricocheted up from the foyer.
Cormia jumped back from the statue so fast she tripped on the hem of her robe.
As heavy footfalls stormed to the stairway and pounded up to the second floor, she took cover in a window's alcove and peeked around the corner.
The Brother Zsadist appeared at the head of the stairs. He was dressed for fighting, with daggers on his chest and a gun on his hip - and by the hard set of his jaw it looked like he was still in combat.
After the male stalked out of sight, she heard knocking on what had to be the doors of the king's study.
Moving silently, Cormia went down the hall, pausing at the corner next to where the Brother was.
There was a barking command, and then the door open and shut.
The king's voice resonated through the wall she leaned against. "Not having fun tonight, Z? You look like someone 's shit on your front lawn."
The Brother Zsadist's words were dark. "Has Phury been home yet?"
"Tonight? Not that I know of."
"Fucking bastard. He said he was going home."
"Your twin says a lot of things. Why don't you four-one-one me on the current drama bomb?"
Flattening herself in hopes of being less visible, she prayed that no one came down the corridor. What had the Primale done?
"I caught him making California rolls out of lessers."
The king cursed. "I thought he told you he was going to stop."
"He did."
There was a groan, as if the king were rubbing his eyes or maybe his temples. "So what exactly did you walk into?"
There was a long pause.
The king's voice dropped even lower. "Z, my man, talk to me. I gotta know what I'm dealing with if I'm going to do anything about him."
"Fine. I found him with two lessers. His leg was knocked off, and he had a burn mark around his neck like he'd been strangled with a length of chain. He was leaning over a slayer's belly with a dagger in his hand. Goddamn it... he wasn't aware of his surroundings at all. Didn't look up at me until I said something. I could have been another f**king lesser, and if I had been? He'd either be getting tortured right now or he'd be deader than dead."
"What the f**k am I going to do with this guy?"
Z's voice took on a tight tone. "I don't want him kicked out."
"Not your call. And don't look at me like that - I'm still your boss, you hotheaded SOB." There was a pause. "Shit, I'm beginning to think your twin needs to be airmailed to a goddamned shrink. He's a danger to himself and others. Did you say anything to him?"
"We'd just gotten jacked by the CPD - "
"There were cops involved in this, too? Christ - "
"So, no, I didn't gum-flap."
The voices grew muffled until the Brother Zsadist said more loudly, "You consider what that would do to him? The Brotherhood is his life."
"You're the one who brought this to my attention. Use your head. A week off rotation and a little vacay is not going to be enough to fix this."
There was another silence. "Look, I need to go check on Bella. Just talk to Phury before you burn his house down. He'll listen to you. And give him this back."
When something heavy hit what was likely a desk, Cormia ducked into one of the guest rooms. A moment later she heard the Brother Zsadist's heavy footsteps as he went down to his room.
Danger to himself and others.
She couldn't picture the Primale brutalizing their enemy or putting himself in harm's way because he was careless. But why would the Brother Zsadist lie?
He wouldn't.
Suddenly exhausted, she sat on the corner of the bed and idly looked around. The room was done in the same shade of lavender as her favorite rose.
What a lovely color, she thought, letting herself fall back against the duvet.
Lovely, indeed, though it did nothing to soothe her agitated nerves.
The Caldwell Galleria was two stories of Hollister, H&M, Express, Banana Republic, and Ann Taylor, located in the exurbs of the city. With JCPenney, Lord and Taylor, and Macy's anchoring the ends of the floor plan's three spokes, it was solidly in the middle tier as malls went, and the crowd it drew was three parts teenage and one part restless soccer mom. Food court had McD's, KuikWok, California Smoothie, Auntie Anne's, Cinnabon. Kiosks down the center aisles sold knitted shit, bobble-head dolls, cell phones, and animal calendars.
The place smelled like stale air and plastic strawberries.
Holy shit, he was in the mall.
John Matthew couldn't fricking believe that he was in the mall. Talk about your trippy full circles.
The place had been given a surface upgrade since he'd last seen it, the shades of beige having been replaced with a pink and ocean green Jamaican theme. Everything from the floor tiles to the garbage cans to the fake potted plants and the fountains screamed, We be jammin'.
It was kind of like a Hawaiian shirt on a fifty-year-old man. Cheerfully and unattractively out of whack.
God, how things changed. The last time he'd been here, he'd been a scrawny orphan tagging along behind a bunch of other unwanted kids. Now here he was, with fangs in his mouth and size-fourteen shoes and a big body that people didn't want to get in the path of.
He was still an orphan, though.
And speaking of orphans, man, he could remember so clearly those field trips here to the mall. Every year, St. Francis had taken its charges to the Galleria before Christmas. Which had been kind of cruel, as none of the kids had had money to buy any of the shiny, pretty stuff that was for sale. John had always been afraid that they'd get kicked out or something, because no one carried any shopping bags to validate the group's use of the bathrooms.
But that wasn't going to be a problem tonight, he thought, as he patted his back pocket. In his wallet was four hundred dollars he'd earned working in the training center's office.
What a relief to have green to burn and to belong amid the strolling masses.
"You forget your wallet?" Blay asked.
John shook his head. Got it.
Up ahead by a number of feet, Qhuinn was in the lead and moving quickly. He'd been in a rush since they'd walked in, and as Blaylock paused in front of Brookstone, the guy looked at his watch with bracing impatience.
"Let's hustle it, Blay," he snapped. "We've only got an hour before closing time."
"What is your damage tonight?" Blay frowned. "You're tight as hell, and not in a good way."
"Whatever."
They walked faster, passing groups of tweens that hung together like schools of fish, each by species and sex: Girls and boys didn't mix; Goths and preps didn't mingle. The lines were very clear, and John remembered exactly how all that worked. He'd been on the outside of every group, so he'd been able to watch all of them.
Qhuinn stopped in front of Abercrombie and Fitch. "Urban Outfitters' too core for you. We're going to A-and-F your flow."
John shrugged and signed, I still don't think I need a ton of new clothes.
"You have two pairs of Levi's, four Hanes T-shirts, and a set of Nikes. And that fleece." Fleece was pronounced with the same enthusiasm as fresh roadkill.