Golden's Rule (28 page)

She loved to hear him say such things.

“So, run that by me again, because I really think I have fuzz in my ear. Did you just say I saved you?” Beauty asked.

Torque shot her a no-nonsense frown, lasting for as long as it took her to grin, before he complained about her being too happy even while a smile tipped his lips.

“Come on, tell me that again, because I might like that, compliments, but let me hear it again so I know for sure.”

He rubbed his goatee with two long fingers and blew a heavy breath out of his nose, and darted a glance behind her to the door as if he hoped it would open. No one had come in yet, but they both knew the room would be full all too soon.

“You know you saved my life, sweet. But don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, I won’t, believe me.”

She wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily, though. There were things she wanted to talk to him about, things he might not like, but that she had thought of when she finally fell asleep last evening. Or this morning? Either way, she knew he’d not like her thoughts, but she was going to speak her mind whether or not Torque liked it. Who knows? Maybe he would be fine with it. But her talking to the Death Stalker he’d had no luck with might not go over too well. She was almost betting it wouldn’t. Maybe easing into it would be best, she thought and looked around the big room.

“So this is the council chamber’s main conference room, huh?”

“Yeah, this is one of them.”

The room was nice. A full floor-to-ceiling flat-screen television she had no idea they even made, let alone how the council would use it, hung at one end of the long, elegantly appointed room, while the other wall held a full-size bar equipped with an espresso machine Torque had nodded towards and winked at her when they’d walked in.

He looked proud to show her where he spent so much time. She liked it, heck, she was ordering one of those big-screen televisions, but as far as a conference room went, she’d expected something a bit less, well, normal looking. Oh, there were high-backed, comfortable leather office chairs and glass water pitchers and glasses on silver platters on the highly buffed and polished table, but that was as far as it went for looking like a meeting room. The other two walls had several comfortable-looking couches, the big brown leather kind one could fall asleep in and wake up two days later. Computers sat against the other wall and she was betting there were more flat-screen monitors embedded in the council table itself, but she wasn’t a hundred per cent sure. Overall, the place looked like it belonged to the powerful. Or powerful boys who needed lots of room to play.

So Torque fit right in—especially with the not-so-nice scowl he had going on.

“You’re so cute when you do that.” He really did do the sexy wounded male act to a T. Sexy, hot wounded male.

“Beauty,” he grumbled.

She traced the shell of his ear with a finger, dodged his grab, and said, “Mmm, you were saying?” She couldn’t help it, after healing him, she hummed with happiness.

“Focus. The council will be here soon. They’re going to be a handful. I want to make sure you are ready—”

“And you don’t think I’ll be ready?”

“You’ll be ready, I’m not sure I will be through,” he muttered.

She settled down and brushed his hair off his brow. He was worried, so much was at stake here, the immortals, the humans, her, the Death Stalker cells, all of it was coming to a head and he kept acting like he was alone in the struggle. “I’m here, remember that, okay? I won’t go anywhere.”

He frowned harder. “I know that, sweetheart, that’s not it. You’re the only thing that’s keeping me going. Other than you, everything has gone to shit.”

“Okay, so, the wolf beasts. What did we learn?”

“Not a damn thing. Not one word. Everyone we interrogated knew nothing. The Lord, he’s so far gone, we can’t break a thing out of him.”

The irritation in his tone mirrored his pissed-off expression. He’d been questioning the older Death Stalker they’d captured. If he’d been down there for hours, and hadn’t got anything from the disgusting guy, no one would. She knew Torque had used force. Not that she blamed him. The Death Stalker was pure evil. The things she sensed he’d done were horrible. Beyond horrible. He was more of a monster than the monsters she’d seen in the television monitors. Those beasts seemed enraged with pain, lost in a form they couldn’t break free from, while the Death Stalker relished all things evil.

But she’d come up with a solution. A solution her man wasn’t going to like in the least. Watching him now, she crossed her arms and plunked a hip against the enormous council table. He looked upset, already guessing what she might say because he’d already figured the same thing out. The smarty.

“Torque, if you let me talk to him, in the room with him, if I could only go near him—”

Dark storm clouds filtered behind the grey in his eyes. His face turned hard, forbidding the way it did anytime he thought she might be in danger. She knew what fed the fierceness though and kept that in mind. Or tried to.

“Don’t. I know what you’re going to say. Don’t.”

“Torque, don’t be so unreasonable. You know he can’t touch me. I can find answers you can’t and you know—”

“I know nothing of the kind.” She could feel the tension in his body through the rapid pulse beneath her fingers. Her heart swelled painfully. Torque. He didn’t do her in danger very well, did he? Even coming here, to the headquarters of the Immortal Council, he was on edge. Tense.

Before he could open his mouth to say more, she pressed a finger to his warm lips. “You are my life. Do you think, even one moment, I would chance losing this? You? Us? No, I wouldn’t. Trust me. Trust my abilities, Torque. I need this. I’m telling you, I need this.”

He frowned harder. She reached up and eased the bunched-up skin between his eyebrows. He grasped her hand in his and studied her face. She stayed quiet, allowing him the time he needed. Gradually his expression lost some of its harshness. Eyes on her face, he brought her wrist up to brush a soft kiss against her pulse. The caress was so tender, she felt a sharp pain in her throat. Torque tender did odd things to her ability to breathe. Watching her, he leant back and rested his head on the back of the chair, clearly not pleased, but coming to terms with her becoming more involved.

She’d spent a lot of her time reading. And so far, she was the only witch able to read deeply enough to test how far a person was down the dark path. If their vows were fresh enough, she could sense it. Too far gone? She knew that as well. There were less than a dozen cases of witches being able to see the dark curse. In none of those cases was the witch able to see how deep into the vow the person was. Many immortals could sense a Death Stalker like a human could sense a storm brewing on the horizon. But for others a Death Stalker sent out a kind of signal, some species could sense that signal easier than others. The vampires could smell a Death Stalker. The Lykae claimed the same. She could see the path of their vow, how thick the path was indicated how far gone they were.

“Torque, if you want answers, or even a chance at them, you know I’m the only person able to get them. It’s not like he will be able to touch me, either with his mind or his hands.”

Just saying the words ‘touch’ and ‘hands’ in the same sentence might not have scored her any points. His hand clenched, his jaw bulged. Thank the Gods he was immortal, or as near enough not to matter, because he would be needing dentures in a year with her around.

“Beauty—”

The door opening across the big conference room broke the tension, but not Torque’s hold on her.

“I heard someone was asking about me? Miss me, huh?” Bryson called, walking in as if he owned the place. Well, maybe he did, what did she know?

She narrowed her eyes at the big vampire. What she did know was he owed her some answers about Sydney. Her ability revealed he was slightly askew, as if someone had jerked a perfectly stable rug out from under him, landing him on his ass.

“Damn, man, you are brave,” Torque answered.

She didn’t even give Torque the glare that deserved. Bryson looked like he’d been through well, hell, even if he didn’t show it. The quality of his stance, the tough-guy posturing, all of it, a mask for a real earth-shattering something that had better not be harming the young vampire. Rug, huh? Was Sydney that rug? She knew from her own dealings with her mate that men could sometimes be as dense as ironwood.

Behind Bryson, Hunter caught her eye as she sneaked in and smacked Bryson lightly on the back of the head. Laughing at his painful hiss, Hunter took a seat a few down from them and nodded to them both. Her look fit the information Torque had on her. She was young, so young Torque had grumbled for over an hour on the phone with someone in LA trying to get her home instead of on the team. He’d lost that battle and Beauty was intrigued. Torque had never lost a battle that she knew of, well, other than with her.

The witch was barely fifty, but looked twenty, twenty-two. In human terms, according to Torque’s bellowing on the phone, she was a teenager. She did dress like one. Bright purple bangs, beach-blonde shaggy short haircut and dressed in low-slung dusty tan camo cargos showing off a flat, lean stomach and a white short tank. She looked like a skateboarder chick.

Beauty loved it.

Hunter shot her a cheeky grin, saying, “Yo, Beauty, you tamed that beast yet?”

Torque stiffened and the witch cracked a laugh.

“Mmm, I’m thinking no.” She tipped her chair back and lifted her chunky black leather boots up on the tabletop.

Beauty petted Torque’s head until he sent a warning growl through their bond.

“No, I like him all wild.”

Hunter laughed, clearly pleased with her response.

“What’s the kid doing here anyway?” Bryson asked, shooting a look behind him when another witch, this one followed by a big, dark haired man, entered the room.

“Don’t even try it, Bry-Bry, you know she’s top of the line when it comes to the techno world. And baby? This calls for some techno,” the redhead teased.

Bryson frowned at her, drawing a glower from the warrior with her.

“Watch it, Bryson,” he said.

Beauty nearly giggled at Bryson’s offended look. “What? Do you think the tiny tot should be here, Aeros?”

Ah, so this was the Spartan, Torque had been talking to a few days ago. She remembered something about him talking on the phone with a Spartan, but not much else.

The new witch intrigued her. Green eyes snapping, dressed from head to toe in black with a long, deadly-looking silver knife strapped on her upper thigh, the witch patted Hunter on the head and sat down next to her, slinging one calf-high black boot with wicked cool silver clasps up the side up on the table. Beauty made a mental note to ask the witch where she’d got such awesome footwear. The Spartan took a seat next to the redhead and took her hand.

“Beauty, this is Aeros, captain of the Spartans and his bonded, Tabithia.” Torque sounded formal. She resisted the urge to turn and check him out, instead she nodded quietly to the couple. “Where is Sorcha? Shouldn’t she be here?”

“She’s a bit busy elsewhere,” the witch responded lightly.

Ah. So this was Tabithia. Holy hell. She was gorgeous. She looked like some supermodel, well, maybe runway model gone CIA operative. And tough. And wicked strong. The witch nearly blazed with power, a deep, deep power, like a bottomless pit of power.

Getting comfortable, Tabithia looked her up and down, then Torque. Her sharp gaze didn’t seem to miss a thing, flicking over Torque’s head wound, then over Beauty’s braided hair like she was taking notes.

The witch lifted a red shapely eyebrow, but a mocking smile tugged her pink lips up. “Beauty? Sweet.” She nodded to Torque, as if she’d already met him. By her look, she wasn’t impressed. “Torque.” Settling back in her seat she looked at ease, but again, Beauty tamped down her empathy. “I take it there won’t be an issue with Hunter along?”

Torque bristled at the challenge in her tone. Beauty sent him a ‘calm down’ vibe and he slowly relaxed. Plus Aeros was watching him like a hawk. Tabithia simply stared at him steadily, eerily.

“Uh, thanks for the heavy pause, but I’m simply here to check out the human-computer aspect of this little venture,” Hunter said. “You know, as the tater tot.”

“Computer aspect?” Torque asked, clearly as thrown as she was.

“Tater tot?” Tabithia asked, then laughed when Hunter thumbed a gesture at Bryson who looked duly worried at the witch’s look.

“Uh, yeah. The humans, well, let’s just say there are some aspects to the club that caught our interest. I want to review the tapes, and check the security cams from the club.” Hunter lifted a shoulder as if it meant nothing.

She felt Torque’s immediate attention through their bond. Hunter might as well have waved a red flag in front of a bull.

“Why?” he demanded.

Hunter rolled her eyes at Torque’s question. “Because we think humans were checking the place out. You know? Like a stakeout.”

“A stakeout? Nice phrase, Tot,” Bryson laughed.

Hunter narrowed her eyes over at him speculatively. “Watch it, vamp.”

Bryson chuckled and took a seat, clearly not fazed by her threat.

She’d almost forgotten he was still here. Tabithia, Hunter, and Aeros were a heady brew. Beauty focused on Bryson and tipped her head, examining him. He caught her look and raised his eyebrows.

“Bryson. I trust Sydney is doing well?” she asked.

Bryson grimaced but nodded after rubbing a palm over his buzz cut.

“And?” she prompted.

Blue eyes flashed brighter, but he also seemed embarrassed. “She is well, not that her well-being is any—”

“She’s fine,” Jaxon said. He’d walked in unnoticed by her, but clearly had heard enough to nose into the conversation. He grabbed a chair next to Bryson, turned it around to squat down on it and rested his arms on the back of it. He nodded to Torque, then turned his dark eyes on her. “He didn’t bind her to his blood. That’s what you’re asking, isn’t it, Beauty?”

Spearing Jaxon with a look, she said, “Well, where is she then? Her brother is worried.” And, to be honest, so was Beauty. The books she’d been reading about immortals claimed vampires could bind someone they brought to the vampire house to their bidding, a slave in many respects.