Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(114)

293

J. R.Ward

"I'd tell you to take a chair, but as you can see, I only have one."

"I'm not f*cking around." Gregg took a step forward. "I know what happened with her. She didn't want you."

"She wanted the sex."

Motherf*cking *. "She was asleep."

"Was she." The boot tip swung up and down. "Appearances, like psyches, can be deceiving."

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I own this fine house. That is who I am. I'm the one who gave you permission to play with all your cameras."

"Well, you can kiss that shit goodbye now. I'm not advertising this place."

"Oh, I think you will. It's in your nature."

"You don't know dick about me."

"I think it's the other way around. You don't know . . . dick, as you call it . . . about yourself. She said your name, by the way. When she came."

This made Gregg furious, to the point that he took another step

forward.

"I would be careful there," the voice said. "You don't want to get hurt.

And I'm considered to be insane."

"I'm calling the police."

"You have no cause. Consenting adults and all that."

"She was asleep!"

That boot shifted around and planted on the ground. "Watch your

tone, boy."

Before there was time to get fired up about the insult, the man leaned forward in the chair . . . and Gregg lost his voice.

What came into the light made no sense. On a shitload of levels.

It was the portrait. From downstairs in the parlor. Only living and

breathing. The only difference was that the hair was not pulled back; it was down over shoulders that were two times the size of Gregg's and the stuff was black and red.

Oh, God . . . those eyes were the color of the sunrise, gleaming and

peach-colored.

Utterly hypnotic.

And yes, partially mad.

"I suggest," came a drawl in that odd accent, "that you back out of this attic and go down to that lovely lady of yours--"

"Are you a descendant of Rathboone's?"

The man smiled. Right, okay . . . there was something very wrong 294

J. R.Ward

with his front teeth. "He and I have things in common, it's true."

"Jesus . . ."

"Time for you to run along and finish your little project." No more with the smiling, which was a relief of sorts. "And a word of advice in lieu of the ass-kicking I'm tempted to give you. You might take care of your woman better than you have been lately. She has honest feelings for you, which is not her fault, and which you clearly have been undeserving of--or you wouldn't smell like guilt at this moment. You're lucky to have the one you want by your side, so stop being a blind fool about it."

Gregg didn't get shocked all that often. But for the life of him, he

didn't have any idea what to say.

How did this stranger know so much?

And Christ, Gregg hated that Holly had been with someone else . . .

but she had said his name?

"Wave goodbye." Rathboone lifted his own hand and mimed a child's gesture. "I promise to leave your woman alone, provided you quit ignoring her. Now go on, bye-bye."

Out of a reflex that was not his own, Gregg brought up his arm and

did a little flapping before his feet turned his ass around and started walking toward the door.

God, his temples hurt. God . . . damn . . . why was . . . where . . .

His mind ground to a halt, as if its gears had been glued up.

Down to the second floor. Down to his room.

As he took off his clothes and got into bed in his boxers, he put his aching head on the pillow next to Holly's, drew her up against him, and tried to remember. . . .

He was supposed to do something. What was--

The third floor. He had to go up to the third floor. He had to find out what was up there--

Fresh pain lanced through his brain, killing not only the impulse to go anywhere, but any interest in what was above them in the attic.

Closing his eyes, he had the strangest vision of a foreign stranger with a familiar face . . . but then he passed the f*ck out and nothing else mattered.

295





J. R.Ward

FORTY-THREE

The infiltration into the mansion next door posed no problem at all.

After regarding the activity of the manse, and finding nothing to suggest movement within the walls, Darius declared that he and Tohrment would go in . . . and in they went. Dematerializing from the ring of woods that separated the two estates, they re-formed beside the kitchen wing--

whereupon they simply walked right in through a stout wooden-framed door.

Indeed, the biggest obstacle to breaching the exterior was overcoming the crushing feeling of dread.

With every step and every breath, Darius had to force himself to go forward, his instincts screaming that he was in the wrong place. And yet he refused to turn back. He was out of other practical roads on which to traverse, and though Sampsone's daughter might well not be here, with no other leads, he had to do something or go mad.

"This house feels haunted," Tohrment muttered as they both looked around the servants' common room.