Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #9)(67)

Outside world, he thought.

Going right up to it, he threw his weight against the bar, and—surprise! He burst out into the parking garage, where his Porsche was parked at the curb.

“What the f*ck do you think you’re doing?”

His eyes snapped over to a blacked-out Escalade: windows, rims, grille, everything was tinted. Standing next to it was the guy he’d seen that first night, the one he’d thought he’d recognized . . .

“I’ve seen you somewhere,” Manny said as the door shut behind him.

From his pocket, the vampire took out a baseball cap and put it on. Red Sox. Of course, given the Boston accent.

Although the big question was, how in the hell did a vampire end up sounding like he was from Southie?

“Nice Jesus piece,” the guy muttered, glancing at Manny’s cross. “Are you looking for your clothes?”

Manny rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Someone stole them.”

“So they could impersonate a doctor?”

“Maybe it’s your Halloween—how the f*ck do I know?”

From under the dark blue brim, a smile cranked into place, revealing a cap on one of his front teeth . . . as well as a set of fangs.

As Manny’s brain cramped, the conclusion it struggled with was unassailable : He’d been a human once, this guy. And how did that happen?

“Do yourself a favor,” the male said. “Stop thinking, go back to the clinic, and get dressed before Vishous shows up.”

“I know I’ve seen you, and eventually I’m going to put it all together. But whatever—right now, I need access to the feeds from the security cameras down here.”

That snarky half smile evaporated. “And why the hell is that.”

“Because my patient just sat herself up—and I’m not talking about her raising her torso off the damn pillows. I wasn’t there when she did it and I need to see how it happened.”

Red Sox seemed to stop breathing. “What . . . I’m sorry. What the f*ck are you saying.”

“Do I need to reenact it in charades or some shit?”

“I’ll pass on that—I so don’t need you on your knees in front of me with only a towel on.”

“Which makes two of us.”

“Wait, are you serious?”

“Yeah. I’m really not interested in blowing you, either.”

There was a pause. And then the bastard barked out a laugh. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you, I’ll give you that—and yeah, I can help you, but you got to get your clothes on, my man. V catches you like that around his sister and you’re going to need to operate on your own legs.”

As the guy started to walk back to the door, Manny put it together. It wasn’t from the hospital. “St. Patrick’s. That’s where I’ve seen you. You sit in the back pews during the midnight Masses alone, and you always wear that hat.”

The guy threw open the entrance and stood to the side. No telling where his eyes were because of that brim, but Manny was willing to bet they weren’t on him.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, buddy.”

Bull. Shit, Manny thought.





TWENTY-FOUR


Welcome to the New World.

As Xcor stepped out into the night, everything was different: The smell was not of the woods around his castle, but a city’s musk of smog and sewer, and the sounds were not of distant deer soft-footing about the underbrush, but of cars and sirens and shouted talk.

“Verily, Throe, you have found us stellar accommodations,” he drawled.

“The estate should be ready tomorrow.”

“And am I to think it shall be an improvement?” He glanced back at the row house they’d spent the day holed up in. “Or will you surprise us with even lesser grandeur.”

“You will find it more than suitable. I assure you.”

In truth, considering all the variables of getting them over here, the vampire had done a superb job. They had had to take two overnight flights to ensure that no daylight problems occurred, and once they finally arrived in this Caldwell, Throe had somehow arranged everything: That decrepit house nevertheless had a solid basement, and there had been a doggen to serve them meals. The permanent solution to their residence had yet to make its appearance, but it was likely going to be what they needed.

“It had better be out of this urban filth.”

“Worry not. I know your preferences.”

Xcor did not like being in cities. Humans were stupid cows, but a stampede with no brains was more dangerous than one with intelligence—you could never predict the clueless. Although there was one benefit: He wanted to case the city before announcing his arrival to the Brotherhood and his “king,” and there was no greater proximity than the one they had.

The house was in the thick of the downtown.

“We walk this way,” he said, striding off, his band of bastards falling into formation behind him.

Caldwell, New York, would no doubt offer few revelations. As he had learned from both olden times and this well-lit present, cities at night were all the same, regardless of geography: The people out were not the plodding law abiders, but the truants and misfits and malcontents. And sure enough, as they progressed block by block, he saw humans sitting on the pavement in their own excrement, or packs of scum striding with aggression, or seedy females seeking even seedier males.