The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood 13)

His Mary came at him like she was being chased, and as she jumped into his arms, he dropped the damn bag, closed his eyes and held her so hard it was a wonder she could still breathe. But, like she said, oh, God …

Her scent, her feel, her body, the way her arms wrapped around his neck and squeezed the ever-loving shit out of him—it was all like water in a desert, filling him up, soaking him with a nourishment that he had sorely missed, giving him back his strength and power.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she said in his ear. “So, so, so much.”

Not wanting to put her down, he bent and picked up her bag; then carried her and the duffel full of clothes to the far corner, away from the eyes of the receptionist.

Which were focused on them like the female was writing romantic dialogue in her head.

Whatever, he wasn’t going to get pissy about it, but he didn’t exactly want to broadcast his reunion to the world, either.

Settling his Mary in his lap, he ran his hands down her arms and then went in for a kiss, fusing his mouth with hers as a way to solidify the reconnection. He didn’t trust himself, though—so he broke shit off fast.

Too much lip-to-lip and he was liable to mount her in public.

Oh, heeeeeey, Havers, how you doin’?

His Mary smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a year.”

“Me, too, only it was a decade on my end.”

Yeah, so what if he was a panting dog for her. Fuck ya.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“No, I’m wasting away to normal. I haven’t eaten, I can’t sleep, and I feel like someone has put itching powder in my jock strap.”

She laughed. “That bad? Jeez, I shouldn’t feel complimented, should I?”

Leaning in, he said softly, “And I’ve got carpal tunnel in my left wrist.”

“From doing what?” she drawled.

“What do you think?” He nuzzled at her neck. Nipped her vein. “I’ve had to do something to keep busy in our mated bed. And the shower. And once in the pantry.”

“In the pantry? Downstairs?”

“We had baby new potatoes for Last Meal. They reminded me of you naked.”

More of that laughter and he closed his eyes, letting the joy resonate in his hollow skull.

“How is that possible?” she asked.

“They look like breasts.”

“They do not!”

“I didn’t say they looked like good breasts.” He kissed down to her collarbone. “Or your breasts, which, parenthetically, are the most perfect ones I will ever see. In my life. Or my afterlife. Or whatever comes after that.”

“You’re that desperate that you’re triggered by carbohydrates.”

“Aren’t they a starch? And I jerked off twice in the pantry, actually. Because after I took care of things the first time, I realized I was standing next to the canned peaches.” He surreptitiously inched his hand up her thigh. “And you can imagine what that got me thinking about.”

Ohhhhh, yeah, he thought as her scent changed, her arousal super-charging the air around them.

Abruptly, he eased back. “Hey, you got a minute?”

She cleared her throat like she was trying to refocus. “Yes, sure. Is there anything wrong?”

“I just have to show you something out in my car.”

“You took the GTO?”

“I had to bring your stuff, so I figured I’d take it for a drive.”

“How nice.” Getting to her feet, she stretched in a way that made him want to palm her breasts. “Actually, I’d love to get some real air for a second. I could use the break.”

As they went past reception, he put the duffel on the counter. “Okay if we leave this here for about ten minutes?”

As the receptionist nodded, it appeared that something had gotten the better of her voice. And her sense of balance apparently, because as she went to sit back down, she nearly yard-saled it by falling off the side of her chair.

Over at the elevators, Mary whispered, “I think she likes you.”

“Who?”

“The receptionist?”

Leaning down, he said back, “She might as well be a vacuum cleaner for all I care. And I mean that with all due respect.”

As the doors opened, that small, secret smile on his Mary’s face was a gift from God as far as he was concerned.

Up, up, up they went, and then they were outside and he was sheltering her with his body as he put his arm around her and led her over to the GTO. By some stroke of complete luck, he’d parked the car in a darkened patch, away from the security lights—and that was just perfect.

Opening the driver’s-side door, he put the seat forward and indicated the way into the back.

Mary frowned, but bent down and shuffled into the backseat. As he joined her, he shut them in, and was really glad the glass had been recently tinted.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s going on—”

Taking her hand, he put it on his rigid arousal. “This.”

“Rhage!” She laughed some more. “You brought me out here just to—”

He started kissing her mouth and putting his hands around her waist. “Outcome engineer. You knew it when you mated me.”

As she kissed him back, he and his Beast were all about the thank-fuck, and he moved fast, because he didn’t want them to get caught—not because he had anything against sex in semi-public places, but rather because he didn’t want to have to tear the throat out of some innocent son of a bitch who had come for a Band-Aid and ended up with an eyeful or an earful of what they were doing.

Talk about your boo-boos.

He got her loose pants off one of her legs and her in his lap before pulling a fly-away in front of his hips.

And then it was go time.

When he thrust up hard, Mary let out a curse—as her head bonked into the roof of the car.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he groaned.

“Like I care?” she said, taking his mouth with her own. “I need you so badly.”

SIXTY-THREE

Trez pulled Manny’s Porsche up in front of Marcus Reinhardt’s jewelry store. The oldest jeweler in town, the place had been featured in things like the New York Times, and even the Robb Report, for its extensive inventory.

And by extensive, that was carat weight.

Glancing over at Selena, he said, “You ready?”

“I have never had a ring of my own.”

“Really?”

She shook her head. “There were jewels in the Treasury—” She stopped. “Are jewels in the Treasury, but as Chosen, we were unadorned except for our pearl—and that was not really ours.”

Unlatching his door, he said over his shoulder, “Yet another pity as far as I’m concerned.”

But he was going to rectify of that tonight. Walking in front, he opened her door, and as her beautiful hand extended, he caught hold and gave in to the urge to bend down and kiss the back of it. Then he pulled her carefully to her feet and offered her his elbow.

As she took it, he had a feeling that both of them were ignoring how the gesture was not just that of a polite gentlemale, but something that was needed.

She wasn’t walking as well as she had been.

Before they got to the door, the iron-barred thing opened wide. “Mr. Latimer, greetings.”

The man was dressed in a formal suit and had a neat head of hair and a precisely cropped beard. Along with his patrician accent, and the fact that he had a three-point pocket square, he was pretty much central casting for what you’d blue-sky as a guy who specializes in six- to seven-figure engagement rings.

“Thanks for opening things up for us,” Trez said as they shook hands. “This is my fiancée, Selena.”

“My pleasure. Madam.”

Okay, you had to approve of that bow.

Inside, everything was set up for a private showing, and Trez suddenly felt really fucking good about all this. The cases with their fillings of precious gems twinkled under the special lights, as if they were applauding Selena’s and his arrival. Champagne was cooling in a silver bucket, and a pair of crystal flutes had been set out.

“May I offer you some Veuve Clicquot?” they were asked.

“I think I’m good,” he said. “Selena?”

She tilted up her chin as if she were determined to enjoy herself. “I would like some, please.”

“Make that two,” Trez amended.

Pop! Fizz! Pour and hand over.

He clinked their glasses. “Let’s do this.”

Mr. Reinhardt took them into a private room that had a video camera mounted in the corner on the ceiling. “Mr. Perlmutter gave me your specifications, and I took the liberty of preparing you a tray for consideration.”

Annnnnnnd out came the ice.

In black velvet slots, diamond rings sat up like good little children panting to get picked to answer a question.

Selena’s inhale was like a pat on the back for him.

“See anything you like?” Trez asked.

She tried on every single one, putting the rings on any finger that fit and turning her wrist this way and that under the light. The coup de grâce was her sliding on alllll of them, her ten fingers stacked with about twenty spectacular baubles. ary came at him like she was being chased, and as she jumped into his arms, he dropped the damn bag, closed his eyes and held her so hard it was a wonder she could still breathe. But, like she said, oh, God …

Her scent, her feel, her body, the way her arms wrapped around his neck and squeezed the ever-loving shit out of him—it was all like water in a desert, filling him up, soaking him with a nourishment that he had sorely missed, giving him back his strength and power.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she said in his ear. “So, so, so much.”

Not wanting to put her down, he bent and picked up her bag; then carried her and the duffel full of clothes to the far corner, away from the eyes of the receptionist.

Which were focused on them like the female was writing romantic dialogue in her head.

Whatever, he wasn’t going to get pissy about it, but he didn’t exactly want to broadcast his reunion to the world, either.

Settling his Mary in his lap, he ran his hands down her arms and then went in for a kiss, fusing his mouth with hers as a way to solidify the reconnection. He didn’t trust himself, though—so he broke shit off fast.

Too much lip-to-lip and he was liable to mount her in public.

Oh, heeeeeey, Havers, how you doin’?

His Mary smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a year.”

“Me, too, only it was a decade on my end.”

Yeah, so what if he was a panting dog for her. Fuck ya.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“No, I’m wasting away to normal. I haven’t eaten, I can’t sleep, and I feel like someone has put itching powder in my jock strap.”

She laughed. “That bad? Jeez, I shouldn’t feel complimented, should I?”

Leaning in, he said softly, “And I’ve got carpal tunnel in my left wrist.”

“From doing what?” she drawled.

“What do you think?” He nuzzled at her neck. Nipped her vein. “I’ve had to do something to keep busy in our mated bed. And the shower. And once in the pantry.”

“In the pantry? Downstairs?”

“We had baby new potatoes for Last Meal. They reminded me of you naked.”

More of that laughter and he closed his eyes, letting the joy resonate in his hollow skull.

“How is that possible?” she asked.

“They look like breasts.”

“They do not!”

“I didn’t say they looked like good breasts.” He kissed down to her collarbone. “Or your breasts, which, parenthetically, are the most perfect ones I will ever see. In my life. Or my afterlife. Or whatever comes after that.”

“You’re that desperate that you’re triggered by carbohydrates.”

“Aren’t they a starch? And I jerked off twice in the pantry, actually. Because after I took care of things the first time, I realized I was standing next to the canned peaches.” He surreptitiously inched his hand up her thigh. “And you can imagine what that got me thinking about.”

Ohhhhh, yeah, he thought as her scent changed, her arousal super-charging the air around them.

Abruptly, he eased back. “Hey, you got a minute?”

She cleared her throat like she was trying to refocus. “Yes, sure. Is there anything wrong?”

“I just have to show you something out in my car.”

“You took the GTO?”

“I had to bring your stuff, so I figured I’d take it for a drive.”

“How nice.” Getting to her feet, she stretched in a way that made him want to palm her breasts. “Actually, I’d love to get some real air for a second. I could use the break.”

As they went past reception, he put the duffel on the counter. “Okay if we leave this here for about ten minutes?”

As the receptionist nodded, it appeared that something had gotten the better of her voice. And her sense of balance apparently, because as she went to sit back down, she nearly yard-saled it by falling off the side of her chair.

Over at the elevators, Mary whispered, “I think she likes you.”

“Who?”

“The receptionist?”

Leaning down, he said back, “She might as well be a vacuum cleaner for all I care. And I mean that with all due respect.”

As the doors opened, that small, secret smile on his Mary’s face was a gift from God as far as he was concerned.

Up, up, up they went, and then they were outside and he was sheltering her with his body as he put his arm around her and led her over to the GTO. By some stroke of complete luck, he’d parked the car in a darkened patch, away from the security lights—and that was just perfect.

Opening the driver’s-side door, he put the seat forward and indicated the way into the back.

Mary frowned, but bent down and shuffled into the backseat. As he joined her, he shut them in, and was really glad the glass had been recently tinted.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s going on—”

Taking her hand, he put it on his rigid arousal. “This.”

“Rhage!” She laughed some more. “You brought me out here just to—”

He started kissing her mouth and putting his hands around her waist. “Outcome engineer. You knew it when you mated me.”

As she kissed him back, he and his Beast were all about the thank-fuck, and he moved fast, because he didn’t want them to get caught—not because he had anything against sex in semi-public places, but rather because he didn’t want to have to tear the throat out of some innocent son of a bitch who had come for a Band-Aid and ended up with an eyeful or an earful of what they were doing.

Talk about your boo-boos.

He got her loose pants off one of her legs and her in his lap before pulling a fly-away in front of his hips.

And then it was go time.

When he thrust up hard, Mary let out a curse—as her head bonked into the roof of the car.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he groaned.

“Like I care?” she said, taking his mouth with her own. “I need you so badly.”

SIXTY-THREE

Trez pulled Manny’s Porsche up in front of Marcus Reinhardt’s jewelry store. The oldest jeweler in town, the place had been featured in things like the New York Times, and even the Robb Report, for its extensive inventory.

And by extensive, that was carat weight.

Glancing over at Selena, he said, “You ready?”

“I have never had a ring of my own.”

“Really?”

She shook her head. “There were jewels in the Treasury—” She stopped. “Are jewels in the Treasury, but as Chosen, we were unadorned except for our pearl—and that was not really ours.”

Unlatching his door, he said over his shoulder, “Yet another pity as far as I’m concerned.”

But he was going to rectify of that tonight. Walking in front, he opened her door, and as her beautiful hand extended, he caught hold and gave in to the urge to bend down and kiss the back of it. Then he pulled her carefully to her feet and offered her his elbow.

As she took it, he had a feeling that both of them were ignoring how the gesture was not just that of a polite gentlemale, but something that was needed.

She wasn’t walking as well as she had been.

Before they got to the door, the iron-barred thing opened wide. “Mr. Latimer, greetings.”

The man was dressed in a formal suit and had a neat head of hair and a precisely cropped beard. Along with his patrician accent, and the fact that he had a three-point pocket square, he was pretty much central casting for what you’d blue-sky as a guy who specializes in six- to seven-figure engagement rings.

“Thanks for opening things up for us,” Trez said as they shook hands. “This is my fiancée, Selena.”

“My pleasure. Madam.”

Okay, you had to approve of that bow.

Inside, everything was set up for a private showing, and Trez suddenly felt really fucking good about all this. The cases with their fillings of precious gems twinkled under the special lights, as if they were applauding Selena’s and his arrival. Champagne was cooling in a silver bucket, and a pair of crystal flutes had been set out.

“May I offer you some Veuve Clicquot?” they were asked.

“I think I’m good,” he said. “Selena?”

She tilted up her chin as if she were determined to enjoy herself. “I would like some, please.”

“Make that two,” Trez amended.

Pop! Fizz! Pour and hand over.

He clinked their glasses. “Let’s do this.”

Mr. Reinhardt took them into a private room that had a video camera mounted in the corner on the ceiling. “Mr. Perlmutter gave me your specifications, and I took the liberty of preparing you a tray for consideration.”

Annnnnnnd out came the ice.

In black velvet slots, diamond rings sat up like good little children panting to get picked to answer a question.

Selena’s inhale was like a pat on the back for him.

“See anything you like?” Trez asked.

She tried on every single one, putting the rings on any finger that fit and turning her wrist this way and that under the light. The coup de grâce was her sliding on alllll of them, her ten fingers stacked with about twenty spectacular baubles.