For the first time in her life, she looked at her twin brother as if he were a stranger.
“You take care of yourself,” she said. “I’ve got me.”
On that note, she turned and headed for the door.
“Oh, come on, Lyric. Now isnotthe time—”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she muttered as she let herself out.
In the hall, she paused to collect herself. Then she headed for the guest suite next door so she could ghost away.
To her grandparents’ house.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Lash, son of the Omega, walked out into the city park on a metaphysical float, his footfalls so light over the undisturbed blanket of snow, he not only didn’t break through the surface, he left no prints. In response to his presence, the wind shifted direction, rounding about and coming restlessly from the north to riffle through his long black robes, while overhead, he brought with him a dark cloud cover that shut down the moon and the stars.
Coming to a halt, he looked to the river first. The Hudson’s current was sluggish and constricted by ice that was germinating from the shores. On the far side, the other half of Caldwell sparkled, the homes perched over the water like fallen galaxies. Turning to the south, he regarded the illuminated spears of Caldwell’s Financial District that rose from the tangle of their asphalt root systems, as well as the arching twin bridges that kept the two parts of the metropolis tethered together.
The Northway that flowed in and out of the spaghetti junction of exits that fed downtown was dotted with headlights, taillights.
It had been a very, very long time since he’d stopped and looked around.
With a curse, he rubbed his pounding temples. His head was aching and he felt alarmingly weak within his physical form. Likewise, unease weaved through the evil core of him, the sense that things were moving behind the scenes and being arranged to his disfavor dogging his consciousness.
Something was changing for him. He just didn’t know what.
The impending existential crisis had been coming for some time now, and try as he might, there was no putting his finger on any specifics. No matter how much he reflected, rested, tried to recharge, he couldn’t shake the drain.
So when he’d received a call from one of his inductees, and heard an unfamiliar, haughty-accented voice over the connection, the out-of-the-blue had certainly seemed to be part of the ennui.
Or at the very least, a trail marker—
A figure appeared at the edge of the park, and Lash scented the air, picking up the vampire’s subtle, sophisticated cologne. With keen eyes, he discerned the fine, fitted overcoat in the correct camel shade, and the maroon scarf knotted around the throat. Hair was dark and parted on the side, face was handsome in the way of good breeding, and the carriage of the torso was perfect.
Ah, yes, the aristocracy. Having grown up with them, he did appreciate the surface aspects of theglymera.
Especially given who he consorted with now.
Lash stayed where he was and let the male trudge over to him. All the while, he scanned the periphery. Nothing was lurking, and as he willed a boundary into place, he intended to keep it that way. The Brotherhood had itsmhis; he had a version of the same.
“Whestmorel,” he drawled.
“Lash, son of the Omega.”
The bow he got was a nice touch, an indication of a loyalty split from Wrath, son of Wrath, sire of Wrath—in theory. He trusted no one and nothing, however, in this world and the next.
And on the note of the great Blind King, he still didn’t know how that bomb had missed thirty years ago. But that was a rumination for another time.
“I was surprised to receive a call like yours.” As the wind continued to weave through his long black robes, Lash was glad he’d changed out of his fighting attire. No reason to spook the male. “Most aristocrats prefer to leave the heavy lifting to others.”
He talked to put Whestmorel at ease. The more relaxed a target was, the easier it was to get into their mind and soul. Interestingly, however, his probing was blocked.
Someone had been practicing their own mental control.
“I have something to give you,” the aristocrat said. Without any tone of superiority.
The calm steadiness was a surprise. Lash was used to people quaking before him—then again, if someone was going to betray Wrath, they had better be able to keep a level head in front of an enemy.
