Blood Vow (Black Dagger Legacy #2)(93)

“You made an impression on the crowd, obvi.”

A member of the staff came up to them, a different guy from the one he’d spoken to. “You Novo?”

Novo squared her jaw and met the human male straight in the eye through her mask. “Yeah.”

“If you want in, you and your sponsor come with me now.”

Novo glanced at Axe. “You’re seriously putting me up?” When he nodded, she shrugged. “Good, and thanks.”

The two of them fell in line behind Staff, and as they moved through the crowd, Novo said under her breath, “And you know the management. Impressive.”

Axe just shrugged again. “I aim to please.”





THIRTY-FIVE


As Rhage and Mary sat in front of the Christmas tree in the library, with all its twinkle and glimmer and unopened gifts, Rhage was mourning the loss of what he had hoped would become of his shellan’s favorite human holiday. He had had such a wonderful time planned for their little family, all those presents they’d been collecting ever since Bitty had come to stay with them finally being unwrapped by the girl and enjoyed.

There was so much that Bit needed, and more than that, so much Rhage had wanted to give her.

And he’d also put some surprises under there for his Mary. Not that she would approve.

His shellan was a minimalist—or maybe it was a necess-isist. She didn’t like fancy jewelry or cars or clothes. She liked her Kindle and the books she got on it … all of which had no pictures and little tiny writing and words he had never heard before in them. She didn’t collect anything, she preferred to wear her shoes until they fell apart, and her handbags were functional, not a fashion expression.

Guess that was what happened when you became fully actualized as a person: You didn’t have to worry about being defined by anything other than exactly who and what you were. No binge eating or drinking or gambling. No sexual dysfunction. No credit card debt for things you couldn’t afford but were determined to have.

It was beautiful—and frustrating if you wanted to shower your mate with presents.

With Bitty’s arrival, though? He had been looking forward to a new receptacle for his gifty exuberance.

Nothing had been touched under the tree, however.

Even though Christmas night had come and gone, the presents remained unopened, not just his and Mary’s and Bitty’s, but the whole household’s. The gifts were just sitting there, a visible representation of joy that had been rerouted into fear and sadness.

Hell, if those precisely wrapped boxes and their sloppy, gloriously misshapen compatriots had been fruit, they would have been decayed and fly-ridden, their previously perfect paper skins and satin bows eroded into rot.

“She loves Nalla,” Mary commented.

There was only one “she” between them. No need for a proper noun.

“She does.”

“Bella appreciates the help.”

“And Bitty is earning a little money.”

They were each speaking in flat tones, not because they didn’t care, but because they desperately wished they were free to care—

The scent of Turkish tobacco was the first clue. The heavy falls of shitkickers heading their way was the second.

Both he and his Mary jerked off the cushions. And Rhage knew that for the rest of his life, he was going to remember that paneled door swinging open and the birthed son of the Scribe Virgin striding in.

Vishous was back from South Carolina early.

And what do you know, it was impossible to read that goateed, tattooed face. Mostly because the brother was drinking Grey Goose right out of a bottle.

V kicked the door shut behind him and came right over. As he sat across from them, he replaced the vodka at his lips with a hand-rolled—which at least gave Rhage a little more surface area to try and tea-leaf the Brother’s expression.

No luck, but given that those diamond eyes were sharp as knives and not meeting his?

Yeah, he knew where this was going before V opened his piehole.

“He checks out,” the Brother said. “His whole story.”

It seemed kind of symbolic that Vishous was blocking the view of the presents under the tree, the Brother’s big body a physical manifestation of the reality that the gift of Bitty in their lives was being seriously road-blocked.

V continued after another swig from the bottle. “Who he says he is. Where he’s from. Who his parents were—Bitty’s grandparents—and the fact that they’re both dead. I also met with people at his household of employment—he’s worked there for decades, reliable, good employee, never a slacker. Lives alone on the estate, keeps to himself. Widely known in the community that his sister, Bitty’s mom, disappeared up North with a bad guy against the wishes of her family.” He glanced at Mary. “Nobody knew about Bitty’s existence until you posted what you did on Facebook, and it took time for word to filter to him because he’s not online at all.”

Rhage could feel the tension in Mary’s body increase with each sentence, sure as if she were being pounded on by fists. On his side, he wanted to roar, but who exactly was he going to yell at? V, the messenger? Bitty’s uncle?

Who had done nothing wrong except come forward when he learned his niece was out in the world alone as an orphan?

The Christmas tree?

Yeah, ’cuz all that tinsel was really going to give a shit.