Blood Vow (Black Dagger Legacy #2)(71)

“But … I’ll pay you more. I can pay you double.”

“Wow. You people …” Axe glanced in Elise’s direction one last time. “I have to go. Training starts in an hour and I have to eat.”

“I wish you’d reconsider.” Felixe seemed deflated. “I need your help.”

“You really don’t. You need to talk with your daughter, not treat her like she’s the enemy.”

“I only want what’s best for her.”

“If there’s anyone who’s going to know what that is, though, it’s her.”

As Axe let himself out, Elise shut the slide and hopped off the steps. Gathering her robe, she raced for the hidden shelving.

Back at the Brotherhood mansion, in his and Mary’s new bathroom, Rhage checked his pair of forties and made sure the clips were full. Then he put both of his black daggers into his holster, handles down, and verified his backup ammo.

“Merry Christmas,” he said to the reflection in the mirror over the sinks.

Funny, that this human holiday was about the birth of a savior, and yet here he was, going out into the field, on the search for death.

And yeah, he looked like a killer, especially as he pulled on a leather duster and covered up his blond hair with a black skullcap.

Then again, he could have been in a pink bathrobe and fuzzy slippers and his eyes would have given him away.

Turning from himself, he went out into the bedroom beyond. When they had moved up to the third floor only two months ago, it had felt like home immediately because Bitty had been with them. Now the suite seemed like a hotel room, something that was lovely, but transitory.

If the girl left them, they were not staying here.

In fact, he would never again go up to the third floor.

Leaving their room, he went next door, and stopped in between the jambs. Mary and Bitty were sitting on the girl’s bed, the pair of them in sweats, Bitty’s hair still damp from the shower. Mary was brushing the long lengths, starting at the ends and working her way up, as Bitty chatted along about the Christmas party that Beth and Butch were organizing for the end of the evening.

“And so this big fat guy in a red velvet suit comes down the chimney?” the girl said.

“Yes. He leaves presents under the tree, and in the morning, everyone opens their stockings and packages. You eat too much at four in the afternoon. Watch football and fall asleep. Wake up at nine o’clock. Feel peckish. Eat more. Go to bed and pass out.”

“Oh, that is Father’s kind of holiday! But we should have done it at dawn this morning, then.”

“We had to fit the schedule to what worked for the most people.”

Yeah, there had been plans in place for weeks now, but with that male showing up at the Audience House? No one had been in the mood for celebrating. Rhage and Mary had insisted the gathering go forward, though.

Maybe it would be another good distraction along the lines of Lassiter’s little miracle/balloon fight/perfectly timed show of excitement for the little girl.

Bitty went on to ask questions about Mary growing up, and Mary answered everything in the same way she was brushing that hair … slowly, gently … as if she were never going to have a chance to do it again.

“Oh, Father! Hi!”

As Bitty turned to him, her face was so open, her smile so genuine … that he wanted to lose it all over again. But he didn’t. He walked in, as if it were any other night, and murmured something, smiled, patted Bitty’s shoulder, kissed Mary on the mouth, said his goodbyes.

Bitty seemed worried.

Mary was resigned and sad.

He wanted to stay with them. He needed to go.

The beast may have stayed in its cage of flesh last night, but that wasn’t going to last with all the high-flying tension—so he had to find a fight to burn the edge off. It was going to be his only salvation.

“Be careful,” Bitty said as he took his leave.

“Always,” he whispered over his shoulder.

Instead of going to the prearranged meeting spot and joining Z and Butch and the trainees for orientation, Rhage went straight to the alleys west of Caldie’s financial district, proceeding directly into the heart of the field, to the pavement and shadows he had stalked for how long now?

The night was as cold as the previous one, but there was a humidity in the air that spoke of coming snow. The humans would like that. They would find it “seasonal” for their holiday.

There was no one wandering the stretch of deserted buildings he chose to hunt, nothing to mark the street but the burnt-out shell of an old sedan, a rotting couch, and a series of scrawny dead trees in the cracked sidewalk.

No Christmas trees twinkling in the windows. No ho-ho-ho’s from partygoers. No carols, no sleigh bells, no reindeer, no presents.

Breathing in deep, he felt a great burn inside his chest … and it was as if he were back to square one.

Ever since Mary had come into his life for good, he had enjoyed the killing because thanks to the Scribe Virgin’s good old breeding program, he had been designed since conception to protect and defend his race. But there had been none of this old-school desperation, this twitchy unhappiness, this … sad sense … that he was not a master of his destiny but subjugated to it because of his curse— Cranking around, he tilted his nose up. Inhaled again.

Let out a growl.