Lover Avenged (Black Dagger Brotherhood 7)

He'd maimed.

He'd murdered.

And yet, none of that had bothered him at the time. There had been no second thoughts, no regrets, no empathy. Just more schemes, more plans, more angles to be discovered and exploited.

Here at this empty table, though, in this empty penthouse, he felt the ache in his chest and knew it for what it was: Regret.

It would have been extraordinary to deserve Ehlena.

But that was just one more thing he wasn't ever going to feel.

Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN

As the Brotherhood met in his study, Wrath kept an eye on John from his vantage point behind the frilly desk. Across the way, the kid looked like roadkill. His face was pale and his big body was still and he hadn't participated in the discussion at all. The scent of his emotions was the worst part of it, though: There was none. Not the stinging, nostril-bracing bite of anger. Not the acrid, smoky blow of sadness. Not even the lemony pitch of fear.

Nothing. As he stood among the Brothers and his two best friends, he was insulated by his nonresponsiveness and his numbed-out trance...with them, but not really.

Not good.

Wrath's headache, which like his eyes and his ears and his mouth seemed to be permanently attached to his skull, made a renewed assault into his temples, and he sat back in his pansy-ass chair in the hope that a spinal realignment might ease the squeeze.

No luck.

Maybe a cranial amputation would work. God knew Doc Jane was good with a saw.

Over in the ugly green armchair, Rhage bit down on a Tootsie Pop, breaking one of the many thumb-up-the-ass silences that had marked the meeting.

"Tohr couldn't have gone far," Hollywod muttered. "He's not strong enough."

"I checked the Other Side," Phury said from the speakerphone. "He's not with the Chosen."

"How about we do a drive-by of his old house," Butch suggested.

Wrath shook his head. "I can't imagine he'd go there. So many memories."

Shit, not even the mention of that home John had spent time in elicited anything from the kid. But at least it was finally dark so they could go out and look for Tohr.

"I'm going to stay here and see if he comes back," Wrath said as the double doors opened and V strode in. "I want the rest of you out searching for him in the city, but before you go, first let's get an update from our very own Katie Couric." He nodded at Vishous. "Katie?"

V's glare was the ocular version of a fully extended middle finger, but he got on with it. "Last night, on the police blotter, there was a report filed by a Homicide detective. Dead body was found at the address where those gun crates came from. Human. Pizza delivery guy. Single knife wound through the chest. No doubt the poor bastard walked into something he shouldn't have. I just finished hacking into the case details and what do you know, I found a note in it about a black, oily stain on the wall next to the door." There was a grumble of curses, many of which included the f-word. "Yeah, well, here's the interesting part. Police noted that a Mercedes had been spotted in the parking lot about two hours before the Domino's manager called in that his employee hadn't returned to work after delivering to that addy. And one of the neighbors saw a blond man, natch, get into it with another guy who was dark haired. She said it was weird seeing that kind of flashy sedan in the area."

"A Mercedes?" Phury said from the phone.

Rhage, having ground another lollipop to its royal reward, pitched a little white stick into the wastepaper basket. "Yeah, since when has the Lessening Society put that kind of cash into their wheels?"

"Exactly," V said. "Makes no damn sense. But here's the shit. Witnesses also reported seeing a suspicious-looking black Escalade there the night before...with a man in black carrying off...oh, gee, what was it...crates, yeah, four f**king crates from the back of that quartet of apartments."

As his roommate stared pointedly at Butch, the cop shook his head. "But there was no mention that they got the plates on the E. And we switched the set we had on it as soon as I got back. As for the Merc? Witnesses mistake things all the time. The blond and the other guy could have had nothing to do with the murder."

"Well, I'm going to keep an eye on things," V said. "I don't think there's any chance the police are going to tie it to something involving our world. Hell, a lot of things leave black stains, but we want to be prepared."

"If the detective on it is the one I'm thinking of, he's a good one," Butch said quietly. "A very good one."

Wrath got to his feet. "Okay, sun's down. Get out of here. John, I want to talk to you privately for a moment."

Wrath waited for the doors to close behind the last of his brothers before he spoke. "We're going to find him, son. Don't worry." No response. "John? What's doing?"

The kid just crossed his arms over his chest and stared straight ahead.

"John..."

John unfurled his hands and signed something that looked to Wrath's piss-poor eyes to be, I'm going to go out with the others.

"The hell you are." That brought John's head around sharply. "Yeah, so not happening, given the fact that you're a zombie. And f**k off with the I'm-fines. If you think for even a split second that I'm going to let you fight, you are talking out your damn ass."

John walked around the study like he was trying to get hold of himself. Eventually he stopped and signed, I can't be here right now. In this house.

Wrath frowned and tried to interpret what had been said, but all the frowning just made his headache sing like a soprano. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

John wrenched open the door, and a second later Qhuinn came in. There was a lot of hand movement and then Qhuinn cleared his throat.

"He says he can't be in this house tonight. He just can't."

"Okay, then go to a club and get faced until you pass out. But no fighting." Wrath said a silent prayer of thanks that Qhuinn was grafted to the kid's side. "And, John...I'm going to find him."

More signing, and then John turned to the door.

"What did he say, Qhuinn?" Wrath asked.

"Ah...he said it doesn't matter to him if you do."

"John, you don't mean that."

The kid pivoted and signed and Qhuinn translated. "He says, yes, he really does. He says...he can't live like this anymore...waiting, wondering every night and day when he goes into that room whether Tohr has-John, slow down a little-ah...whether the male has hanged himself or taken off again. Even if he comes back...John says he's done. He's been left behind too many times."

Hard to argue with that. Tohr hadn't been a great father lately, his sole accomplishment on that front being the creation of the next generation of the living dead.

Wrath winced and rubbed his temples. "Look, son, I'm not a rocket scientist, but you can talk to me."

There was a long, quiet stretch marked by an odd scent...a dry, almost stale smell...regret? Yeah, that was regret.

John bowed a little as if in thanks and then ducked out the door.

Qhuinn hesitated. "I won't let him fight."

"Then you'll save his life. Because if he takes up arms in the shape he's in right now, he'll be coming home in a pine box."

"Roger that."

As the door shut, pain roared in Wrath's temples and forced him to sit back down.

God, all he wanted to do was go to his and Beth's room and get into their big bed and lay his head down on pillows that smelled like her. He wanted to call her and beg her to come join him just so he could hold on to her. He wanted to be forgiven.

He wanted to sleep.

Instead, the king got back to his feet, picked up his weapons from the floor beside his desk, and strapped all of them on. Leaving the study with his leather jacket in his hand, he went down the grand staircase, out the vestibule, and into the bitter night. Way he saw it was, the headache was going to be with him wherever he went, so he might as well be useful and go look for Tohr.

As he drew on his coat, he was struck by the thought of his shellan and where she had gone the night before.

Holy shit. He knew exactly where Tohr was.

Ehlena meant to leave Rehvenge's terrace right away, but while stepping into the shadows, she had to look back at the penthouse. Through the banks of glass, she watched Rehvenge turn away and walk slowly down the flank of the penthouse-

Her shin caught something hard. "Damn it!"

Hopping around on one foot and rubbing her leg, she shot a nasty look at the marble urn she'd nailed herself with.