Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(60)

He looked through the glass into her rooms, trying to imagine what had transpired.

To hell with the ingress, the exit was more the point, wasn't it. Highly unlikely the abductor would have dragged her out through the house: She must have been spirited away during darkness or else she would have been 158

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burned to ash and there were always people out and about during the night hours.

No, he thought. They had to have left from this suite of rooms.

Tohrment spoke up. "Nothing is disturbed, inside or out. No scratches on the floors or marks on the wall, which means . . ."

"She may well have let them in and not struggled o'er much."

Darius went back inside and picked up the hairbrush. Fine strands of pale hair were caught in the stiff bristles. Not a surprise, as both of the parents were fair.

The question was, what caused a female of worth to bolt out of her family's house right before dawn, leaving nothing in her wake . . . and taking nothing with her?

One answer came to mind: a male.

Fathers didn't necessarily know all of their daughters' lives, did they.

Darius stared out into the night, tracing the grounds and the trees . . .

and the mansion next door. Threads . . . there were threads to the mystery herein.

The answer he was searching for was here somewhere. He just had to stitch it all together.

"Where to?" Tohrment asked.

"We shall confer with the servants. Privately."

For the most part, in houses such as this one, the doggen would never dream of speaking anything out of turn. But these were not normal circumstances and it was entirely possible that pity and compassion for the poor female would override the staff 's reticence.

And sometimes the back of the house knew things the front did not.

Darius turned away and strode for the door. "We shall become lost now."

"Lost?"

They stepped out together and Darius looked up and down the

hallway. "Indeed. Come this way."

He chose the left because, in the opposite direction, there was a set of double doors that led out onto another second-story terrace--so it was obvious the staff stairwell wasn't down there. As they walked along, passing many well-appointed rooms, his heart ached such that his breath became tight. After two decades, his losses registered still, his fall from his station echoing as yet along the bones of his body. His mother he missed the most, 'twas true. And behind that pain was the demise of the civilized life he had once lived.

He did what he was trained and born to do for the race, and he fed 159

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certain . . . indulgences, and he had earned a respect from his comrades at war. But there was no joy for him in this existence of his. No wonder. No captivation.

Had it all just been about pretty things to him? Was he that shallow?

If he someday had a big, lovely house with countless rooms filled with fine things, would he be light of heart?

No, he thought. Not if there was no one under the lofty ceilings.

He missed people of like minds living together, a community held

within stout walls, a group that was family both by blood and choice.

Indeed, the Brotherhood did not live together, as it was viewed by Wrath the Fair as a risk to the race--if their position was compromised to the enemy in some way, all of them would be exposed.

Darius could understand the thinking, but he wasn't sure he agreed with it. If humans could live in fortified castles among their own battlefields, vampires could do the same.

Although the Lessening Society was a far more dangerous foe, to be accurate.

After going along the corridor for some time, they finally encountered what he had hoped to find: a flap panel to a back stairwell that was utterly unadorned.

Following the pine steps downward, they went into a small kitchen and their emergence stopped the meal that was in progress at the long oak table across the way. The assembled doggen dropped their mugs of ale and chunks of bread and shot to their feet.

"Verily, resume your imbibing," Darius said, urging them with his hands to sit back down. "We should wish to speak to the second-floor steward and the daughter's personal maid."

All resumed their places along the benches save for two, a female with white hair, and a young male with a kind face.

"If you could suggest a place of some privacy?" Darius said to the steward.

"We have a sitting room through there." He nodded toward a door by the hearth. "You shall have what you seek therein."

Darius nodded and addressed the maid, who was pale and shaky, as if she were in trouble. "You have done naught wrong, dear one. Come, this shall be quick and painless, I assure you."

Better to start with her. He wasn't sure whether she would make it through waiting for them to finish with the steward.

Tohrment opened the way and in the three of them went, to a parlor with as much character as a blank sheaf of parchment.

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As was always true in big estates, the family's rooms were done up to luxurious effect. And the staff's were nothing but utility.

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TWENTY-ONE

As Rehv's Bentley pulled off Route 149 North and eased onto a

narrow dirt road, John leaned forward toward the windshield. The headlights hit bare tree trunks as the sedan snaked closer and closer to the river, the landscape overgrown and unwelcoming.