King Cave (55 page)

He spoke, his voice void. “She wanted to be cremated.”

I stayed silent, motionless, waiting for what I already knew he was going to say.

“They had her in the morgue already.” He paused. “There were Com police everywhere inside. I could hear them talking.” Another pause. “They had no respect for the dead.”

Warily, I extracted myself from Ezra, careful not to wake him. “Are they all dead?”

“Of course.” Unpretentious words. “They burned right along with my mate’s body.”

I rested back against the wall, crossing my arms, my head dropping as I tried to figure out the implications of his actions. I would need to get a newspaper or find a TV to see if he had been caught on film doing this. It wouldn’t help the war negotiations to have an Elder — Elder-fucking-Zeller — caught murdering, even if he was deranged at the time from the loss of his mate.

“I don’t blame you,” he stated bluntly. “I try not to blame others for my actions, or the actions taken by those I love.”

I froze, feeling light-headed in relief, but still, the guilt was there. Deep inside, it was always harder not to blame oneself. Guilt was a heady burden that took too damn long to overcome.

“I’ve learned, Lily, that in this shithole of a life, each person has to live with the costs of their own actions. Someone may tell you to do something, in fact, order you to do something, but in the end, it’s always your choice how you handle the situation.” He cracked his neck, then blatant words. “She was scared. She didn’t think. She should have been more cautious when she went into the back room. That is neither my fault, nor yours. She shouldn’t have been so careless, and the person who shot her shouldn’t have pulled a gun. Had either of those two things not occurred, she would be alive right now, as would the individual who shot her.”

My hand covered my mouth, hearing his experienced, analytical mind reasoning it all out. This was a fucking man made of a different breed than most. He wasn’t heartless, as his actions last night showed when he killed many over the loss of his mate, but life, his experiences — the war more than likely — had taught him how to push past grief differently. To step back from the pain to find reasoning. And, possibly, the truth.

He was fucking scary as hell.

We stood in silence for many minutes, lost in our own thoughts, the sun rising higher.

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “I want to thank you.” Again, I stilled, but this time in shock. “Thank you for saving my life, my son’s, and Antonio’s. It couldn’t have been easy doing it alone.” Soft words. “Thank you for taking care of Ezra last night when I couldn’t.”

My chin quivered, but I dropped my hand from my mouth and stared him directly in the back of his head. “You’re welcome.”

He nodded once. “You need to find your Prodigy today.”

My gaze instantly went to Ezra’s sleeping form. Even in slumber, his eyebrows were furrowed, his jaw clenched. His respite hadn’t come until many hours after he had initially awoken. And still, pain practically radiated from his resting form.

“I’ll be here for him,” Cahal stated, his voice sounding more direct. My head snapped up and I saw he had turned and was watching his son. He murmured quietly, “You still need to do what you came to, and he will still need to do his duty.”

Straight to the crux of the matter. Duty. What we lived and breathed. I despised it most days…but hating it didn’t change the fact it still needed to be done. By me
and
him.

Our fucking duties as King Vampire and Queen Shifter.

My lips curled cruelly. “Just breathe?”

His gaze slammed to mine. “Precisely.”

After cleaning up, since I still had blood on me, by sneaking into the house down the street after watching the owners leave for work, I called for a taxi service from a nearby gas station while skimming the headlines of the day’s newspaper. The attack on the ice-cream parlor made front page news, an unknown Vampire being named the culprit of the killings, but more suspects were on the loose, driving a Hummer — it gave my license plate number — which had been spotted leaving the scene of the crime driving sporadically. I had at least been smart enough not to take the Hummer out, just in case this had happened, plus there had surely been cameras around the grocery store I had driven through. Also, from what I read in the article, Cahal had been intelligent enough to leave witnesses at the morgue’s explosive fire — the reason why they hadn’t been able to identify Vivian — who believed delinquent teenagers had started it.

Sighing heavily, I tossed the paper and waited for the cab to arrive, Bonnie my companion, while making myself eat, exhausted and completely feeling like shit…but I had my duty to contend with. And as luck normally liked to fuck with me, when my cab arrived I quickly found I was screwed. I jumped into the cab and told the man he would be driving me all over the city, and that I would pay him every half-hour until we arrived at my destination. He only sat there, staring back at me. Then, he started gibbering.

Uh.

In Spanish.

God hated me. That was all I could reason as my brain swam. Lifting a finger, I quickly dialed Pearl on my cell. All the while, the cabbie wouldn’t shut up.

Pearl didn’t answer.

I called Jack. No answer.

Sighing in resignation, I dialed Ezra, not wanting to disturb him, but needing him nonetheless.

“Sweetheart?” he answered on the second ring, sounding groggy. A pause, then a holler, “Wait, where the fuck are you?” That tone was one of worry and irritation and being flat out pissed.

“I’m doing my
duty
,” I explained, my tone letting him know it was the last thing I wanted to be doing. “I’m sorry I’m not there for you right now, but I need to find the brat as Elder Zeller,” and it had definitely been Elder Zeller and not Ezra’s dad speaking, “reminded me this morning.” I paused, sticking one finger in my ear to hear past the cabbie, then said quietly, “I really am sorry I’m not there for you.”

I heard him sniff, and he spoke just as quietly. “I understand, sweetheart, and you were here for me last night when I needed you the most.” There was a long pause, then he cleared his throat, his voice gruff, “Who the hell is the fucker in the background?”

Ah, yes. “Do you speak Spanish?”

There was silence over the line before I heard a broken chuckle — only the barest remnant of his normal self — as he managed to find a smidge of humor in my situation amongst his heartache. “In a bit of a pinch?”

My sigh was heavy. “Yes. I’ve decided God hates me.”

Ezra snorted. “If God hates
you
, then
I’m
definitely number one on his hit list.”

“We should go to church sometime.” I wasn’t really joking.

“Agreed.” It didn’t sound like he was, either. “A little love from above would be appreciated.”

“Not really what I meant.”

His voice was tired. “I know, although, it doesn’t make what I said any less true.”

I rubbed my ear, the driver damn near to giving me an impossible headache with his constant jabbering. “So, do you speak Spanish or not?”

“Of course,” he rumbled, and then he started speaking Spanish in my ear, sounding a
helluva
lot more yummy than the idiot in front of me.

When he stopped talking, I cleared my throat hard. “One day, I’d really like to know what you just said, but in the meantime, can you explain to this guy I want to drive around town and pay him every half-hour until I get to my destination?”

Now he sounded snippy. “Only if you promise to call regularly to keep me updated.”

My lips thinned. “Really, Ezra? Blackmail, right now?”

“If it makes you call me, then yes.”

My eyes crossed. His demanding logic boggled the mind. Whatever. “Fine.” I needed him right now. “I’ll call you regularly for updates.” I probably would have, anyway. “Now, will you talk to the man?”

“Yes,” he murmured, sounding pleased with himself.

Ugh
. I held my phone out to the driver, saying slowly, “Talk to the arrogant asshole.”

“I heard that!” Ezra shouted over the line as the driver took the phone. “I’m in mourning here, dammit. Cut me a little fucking slack!”

Feeling a smidge guilty for being grumpy, I watched as the driver used my phone and spoke so fast I wasn’t sure at first if Ezra would be able to catch it all. But apparently he had no problem because the driver chuckled, glancing back at me.

His eyes hooded.

He fluttered a hand at my chest. Gibbered.

Then lower. Gibbered.

He listened, then went rigid, and quickly turned his back to me. Gibbered faster than ever. Nodded. Chucked the phone over his shoulder into my lap, and started driving.

Gingerly, I picked up my abused phone and asked into the receiver, “Do I even want to know what you said to the man?”

“Fucking pervert,” Ezra rumbled absently, a definite growl sounding in his tone. “All I did was ask him to verify what you were wearing, not to explain your assets in vivid detail.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I murmured, “I love you, baby, and I know you’re going through a horrible time right now, but you still managed to try my patience to the breaking point.”

A few phone calls and many miles later, I was at 3091 Salamanca Lane, Las Vegas, Nevada. I stood on the sidewalk in the afternoon daylight, staring at the building the die was telling me to enter. The cab driver sat two blocks down, waiting happily after not only driving me to this destination, roaming the city for hours with me pointing directions, but also after receiving a huge tip — bribe — in his grubby hands to wait a half-hour to see if I would need him again, after I literally used my fingers to tell him how long to wait and pointed at his dashboard clock.

I stared at the door, completely exhausted, having gotten maybe three hours sleep last night and wondering if I should get some more before attempting to knock. Hell, I couldn’t even stop to appreciate the beauty of the architecture. All it looked like to me was a thin three-story building — one of many lining the street — that was the color of sand, and lots of wrought-iron railings on tiny balconies. I yawned, scratching my neck and blinking blurrily at the door.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, but I did notice a curtain flutter. Well, the natives had noticed me. Best to get in there before they fled, because if they were still living in this highly populated area, they had to be extremely wary. In other words, a flight risk, and I wasn’t about to go running after anyone right now.

Popping my neck, I moved forward on wooden legs, getting Ezra’s number ready on my phone just in case I needed assistance. Throughout the day, he had sounded as if he was slowly waking from a dream, gradually becoming more like himself as he spent the time he wasn’t talking to me with his dad. He knew I had found my mark since I had called him before I exited the cab, and told me to call him if I needed him…well, he had actually ordered that last bit, but I preferred to think of it as a request. So, my finger was poised over the button, ready to dial.

I knocked.

No one answered.

I knocked again. “Hello? Anybody home?” Please speak English.

I was tired of the gibbering.

The door opened a smidge. Just enough to get the toe of my boot inside, so the door couldn’t be slammed. It was a Com woman who answered. My eyebrows snapped together and my gun was instantly pointed at her head. “Let me in.”

She opened the door.

Thank fuck, English lives.

I stepped inside, and after scenting the air and glancing around, I put my phone into my pocket, keeping my gun aimed on the Com as she closed and locked the door, trembling. The entrance was thin with a wrought-iron spiral staircase rising up to the second floor. The floor under me was tile, and expensive artwork in taupe hung on the wall. Additionally, the smell of lion hung heavily in the air, along with an old, fading scent of…I sniffed again…jackal. Long dried Mystical blood also tainted the air.

When the Com turned to me, I spoke, “Are you the owner of this house?”

“No, miss. I only work for the owner.” Her hand was slowly creeping behind her.

“If you’re smart, you’ll put your hands in the air.” I would shoot her in a heartbeat.

Her jaw hardened, but she nodded and did as told.

“Turn around.” I slowly started forward. “I won’t hurt you, if you do as I say.”

She actually glared. “Then why are you here?”

I scented…her protection. Ah, a Com who was a Mys lover. I didn’t know we still had those. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. I only want to talk with the owner. But finding you, a Com, at the door was a bit of a surprise.” I paused at her clear confusion while her narrowed eyes took in my form. “Believe me, darling, I’m Mys, and you’re not. Therefore, I’ll still want you to turn your ass around so I can disarm you.”

I froze, keeping my gun aimed, while hearing from the second floor the click of a safety being thumbed on a gun. The Com didn’t hear it, couldn’t with her weaker ears, but I quickly — since my fucking back was to the upstairs balcony — and loudly stated, “I mean you no harm.”
I just want to take the boy.
Yeah, that didn’t sound right. “Are you the owner?”