J. Ward - Lover Enshrined

Well, when you tell them or whoever, he and I will be right beside you. All the way.

The question John didn’t have the balls to ask must have been in his eyes, because Blay reached over and touched his shoulder.

“No. Not at all. I don’t believe there’s anything that could make me think less of you.”

The two of them let out identical sighs and closed their eyes at the same time. Neither said another word for the rest of the trip home.

Lash sat in the passenger seat of the Focus and had the frustrating sense that even with the hits he’d initiated on the aristocracy’s houses, the Society was not getting the picture. The lessers were taking orders from Mr. D, not him.

Hell, they didn’t even know he existed.

He glanced over at Mr. D, whose hands were at ten and two on the steering wheel. Part of him wanted to kill the guy just for spite, but his logical side knew he had to keep the bastard alive to be a mouthpiece-at least until he could prove who he was to the rest of his troops.

Troops . He loved that word.

It was second only to his .

Maybe he could cook himself up a uniform. Like a general ’s or something.

He sure as hell deserved it, given how tight his military strategy was. He was a straight-up genius-and the fact that he was using what the Brotherhood had taught him in training against them was goddamn glorious.

For the past however many centuries, the Lessening Society had been just picking away at the vampire population. With little intelligence to go on, and an uncoordinated soldier force, it was a hunt-and-peck strategy that had yielded minor successes.

He, however, was thinking big, and had the knowledge to rock his plans.

The way to eliminate vampires was to break the collective will of the society, and the first step was destabilization. The heads of four of the six founding families of the glymera had been wiped out. There were another two to go, and once they were hit, the lessers could start in on the rest of the aristocracy. With the glymera attacked and decimated, what was left of the Princeps Council would turn on Wrath as king. Competing factions would form. Power struggles would ensue. And Wrath, as a leader forced to deal with civil unrest, challenges to his authority, and an active war, would make compounding errors in judgment. Which would exacerbate the instability.

The fallout wouldn’t just be political. More looting of homes meant fewer tithes to the Brotherhood due to erosions in the tax base. Fewer aristocrats meant fewer jobs for civilians, which would cause financial distress in the lower classes and an erosion of their support for the king. The whole thing would be a vicious circle that would inevitably lead to Wrath being deposed, killed, or relegated to a castrated figurehead-and to the vampire social structure going even further into the shitter. With everything in total shambles, that was when Lash would go in and broom up what was left.

Only thing better would be a vampire plague.

His plan was working so far, with this first night having been largely successful. He’d been pissed that that fucker Qhuinn hadn’t been home when they’d raided his house, as he would have liked killing his cousin, but he’d learned something interesting. On his uncle’s desk had been renunciation papers kicking Qhuinn out of the family. Which meant that poor wittle mismatched fuckup Qhuinn was out on the loose somewhere-although evidently not at Blay’s as that home had been hit as well.

Yeah, it sucked that Qhuinn hadn’t been home. But at least they’d taken his brother alive. That was going to be fun.

There had been a number of Society losses, mostly at Blay’s house and Lash’s own, but on the whole the tide was strongly in Lash’s favor.

Momentum, however, was critical. The glymera would be running for their safe houses, and though he knew some of the areas those places were in, most of them were upstate, which meant travel time for his men. To expedite the killings, they had to hit as many addresses as possible here in town.

Maps. They needed maps.

As the thought occurred to him, Lash’s stomach let out a whine.

They needed maps and food.

“Pull into that Citgo,” he barked.

Mr. D didn’t catch the left in time, so he swung a louie and backtracked.

“I need chow,” Lash said. “And maps for-”

Across the street, the blue lights of a Caldwell Police Department squad car went off, and Lash cursed.

If the cop had tweaked to their moving violation, they were in deep shit. The Focus had guns and weapons in the trunk. Bloody clothes. Wallets, watches, and rings from dead vampires.

Great. Fucking great. The officer had evidently not been taking an emergency doughnut break, because he was gunning right for them.

“Fuck. Me.” Lash looked at Mr. D as the guy pulled over. “Tell me you have a valid driver’s license on you.”

“Sure do.” Mr. D put the car in park and rolled down the window as one of Caldie’s protect-and-serves came up to them. “Hey, Officer. I gots my driver’s license right chere.”

“I need your registration as well.” The cop leaned into the car and then grimaced as though he didn’t like the smell of them.

God, that’s right. The baby powder.

Lash eased back as Mr. D went for the glove compartment, cool as he could be. As he took out a piece of white paper the size of an index card, Lash quickly checked the registration out. Sure looked like it was official. Damn thing had the New York State crest on it, the name of Richard Delano, and an address of 1583 Tenth Street, apartment 4F.

Mr. D handed everything out the window. “I know I wasn’t supposed to do that turn back there, sir. We just wanted something to eat and I missed the parking lot.”

Lash stared at Mr. D, awed by the remarkable display of acting talent. D was just the right combo of rueful shame, earnest apology, and regular Joe as he stared up at the cop. Shit, he looked like his puss should be on the front of a cereal box as he flapped his gums and threw the word sir around like it was amen at a church. He was everything that was wholesome. Full of vitamins and fiber. Packed with vital, good old American nutrition.

The officer looked at the documentation and handed it back. As he flashed his light inside the car, he said, “Just don’t do it-”

He frowned as he looked at Lash.

The cop’s whatever-this-is-a-waste-of-my-time attitude was gone in a split second. Tilting the radio piece on his lapel toward his mouth, he called for backup, then said, “I’m going to have to ask you to get out of the car, sir.”

“Who, me?” Lash said. Fuck, he had no ID on him. “Why?”

“Please get out of the car, sir.”

“Not unless you tell me why.”

The flashlight dipped to the dog chain around Lash’s neck. “We received a complaint about an hour ago from a female at Screamer’s concerning a white male, six-foot-six, blond crew cut, wearing a dog collar. So I need you to get out of the car.”

“What was the complaint?”

“Sexual assault.” Another cop car pulled up in front, then backed in tight to the Focus’s headlights. “Please get out of the vehicle, sir.”

That bitch back at the bar had gone to the police? She’d begged him for it! “No.”

“If you do not get out of the car, I will take you out of it.”

“Get out of the car,” Mr. D said under his breath.

The second officer walked around the Focus and popped open Lash’s door. “Get out of the car, sir.”

This was so not happening. These fucking idiot humans? He was the Omega’s son, for Christ’s sake. He didn’t follow vampire rules, much less ones that governed Homo sapiens.