At least, not that was visible.
There were nascent lessers in the house, however. Sixteen of them. But she couldn't see them and neither could the cops, even though from what she sensed, the men were walking right over them.
Lash's cloaking again?
What the fuck was he up to? Calling the Brothers, announcing this shit. . . and then getting the cops to come? Or had someone else done the dialing to 911?
She needed answers to so much. . .
Mixed in with all the blood was some inky residue and one of the officers was frowning over a patch of it, looking like he'd found something icky. Yup. . . that amount of oily mess wasn't sufficient to explain the strong sweet scent she'd followed--so she had to assume that the inductions had been successful and what was hidden was no longer human.
She glanced around the forest behind and before her. Where was the Omega's golden boy in all of this?
Moving around to the front of the house, she saw a postman who was clearly struggling with some PTSD as he gave a statement to a uniform.
U. S. Postal Service to the rescue.
No doubt he'd been the one to drop a dime. . . .
Staying camo'd, she just observed the scene, watching the cops fight their gag reflexes to do their jobs, and waiting for Lash to make himself known--or for any other lesser to make an appearance. When the television crews showed up about a minute and a half later, she played witness to an almost beautiful blond woman doing a poor man's Barbara Walters on the lawn. The second the taping was finished, she started pestering the cops for information until she annoyed them enough that they let her get a gander of what was doing inside.
Didn't that just slap the serious journalist right out of her.
As she went full chick and passed out into the arms of one of the uniforms, Xhex rolled her eyes and headed around back again.
Shit. She might as well get comfy. She'd come jonesing for a fight, but as so often happened in war, she was in a waiting game until the enemy showed.
"Surprise. "
She wheeled around so fast, she nearly lost her balance: The only thing that saved her from falling over was the counterbalance of her dagger hand, which was raised up high, over her shoulder, ready for use.
"I wish we'd showered together. "
As Blay choked on the coffee he'd made them both, Saxton sipped at his cup just fine. To the point where it was pretty obvious the guy both engineered and enjoyed the reaction he'd gotten.
"I really like surprising you," the male said.
Bingo. And naturally, those damn fool redhead genes made hiding a blush impossible.
Easier to put a sedan in your pocket. It was that obvious.
"And you know, the environment is important. Water conservation and all that. Go green. . . or naked as it were. "
Saxton was lounging against the satin pillows of his bed in a silk robe, whereas Blay was stretched out all along the base of the mattress, weighing down the extra duvet that had been folded so precisely. Candlelight turned the scene into something out of a fantasy, the glow blurring all kinds of lines and boundaries.
And what do you know, Saxton was beautiful amid all the dark chocolate bedding, his pale hair so thickly waved, it seemed sculpted even though it was unmoussed, unsprayed. With his half-mast eyes and his smooth chest partially exposed, he was ready, willing. . . and, given the scent he was throwing off, able to be what Blay needed.
At least on the inside. His exterior wasn't quite up to the job: His face remained swollen, his lips puffy not from an erotic pout, but some asswipe's punch, and he moved carefully, as if there were still a lot of black-and-blues on him.
Which was not cool. His injuries should have been healed up by now, some twelve hours following the attack. He was an aristocrat, after all, and had a good blood line.
"Oh, Blaylock, whatever are you doing here. " Saxton shook his head. "I still don't know why you came. "
"How could I not have. "
"You like being a hero, don't you. "
"It's not heroic just to sit with someone. "