Wetness. There was . . . an abrupt wetness between her thighs.

Her hands went to the front of her nightgown as she looked down.

And screamed.

TWENTY-THREE

Upstairs in his glass house, Assail took a shower that lasted nearly a lifetime.

The black out panels had come down over the windows, so it was dark, nothing but the glowing light switches with their little peach-colored toggle heads orienting him. The water was blistering hot, and as he dropped his head back, he swept his hair flat to his skull. His body was in a post-feeding, post-fucking float, even his addiction quieting down.

Although the latter was probably due to the three lines he’d done as soon as he’d come up here.

Strike the probably.

He had fucked Naasha a number of times, and roughly, too, so his lower back was tight. His cock was exhausted. His balls, empty and then some.

There was no joy in his heart. None. That was not unusual, however. And the shampoo and soap did naught to make him feel cleaner, likely because the dirt he was coated with was not on his exterior. But he could not say that he was unfamiliar with that, either.

Still, all was not lost. There was work to be done.

When Assail had endeavored to come unto the New World, he had not made the trip alone. His cousins, Ehric and Evale, had traveled with him, and they had proven to be steadfast and loyal aides throughout his business endeavors. Staying with him here, they had never failed him—and he was going to need them once again.

For something they were rather likely to enjoy.

Naasha, as want would have it, had several friends of hers in a similar situation—females of the glymera who were unable to be attended to properly by their older hellren and were looking for certain . . . releases . . . that were unavailable to them. And although his cousins had retired to their basement suites by the time Assail had returned home, he was confident that he had volunteered the pair for work they would be quite happy to perform.

Because Wrath had been right.

Things were indeed afoot in the aristocracy.

Assail could sense it sure as a scent upon the night air. He just knew not what yet. Time, and sex, was going to fix that, however.

Stepping out of the shower, he appreciated the thick, warm pile of the bath mat beneath his feet and dried off with a towel heated upon a bar next to the shower enclosure. Indeed, he had purchased the mansion fully furnished from its builder, and all had been considered and attended to in the construction and kitting out of the house. Every luxury provided. Not a penny spared.

The place seemed utterly empty, however, in spite of its three occupants. Rather like the inside of his skin, wasn’t it. A thing of refinement and beauty on the exterior, yet soulless inside.

For a brief interlude, things had not been as such. In both cases.

But that time had passed.

Out in his bedroom, he got in between his silk sheets naked and made a mental note to switch them out at nightfall. Although it was not traditional for a male of his station, he had grown used to attending to his own baths and dressings, changing his sheets, washing his clothes. There was a strange comfort to taking care of such simple things, a start and finish to each endeavor from which he derived a certain satisfaction.

And that was how he usually passed the days whilst his cousins slept down below. Tidying up. Scrubbing floors and sinks, toilets and counters. Vacuuming. Polishing. It was a productive way to burn off the cocaine jitters.

Not these particular daylight hours, however. After the feeding, he required rest, not just of the mind, but of the body—

Beside him, his cell chimed softly with the old-fashioned bell ring of phones that were nowhere to be found anymore.

He didn’t bother to see who it was. He knew. “I would have called you,” he said, “but I didn’t want to be rude. It is rather early in the morning for business.”

The Brother Vishous didn’t miss a beat. Which was rather one of his most predominant characteristics. “What happened? Did you get anything?”

“Indeed, yes. In rather a number of different positions. Naasha was most accommodating.”

A dark laugh came over the connection. “With a male like you, I’m sure she was. And we expect you to hit that on the regular until she starts talking.”

“She already has.” Assail smiled cruelly in the dark. “Tell me, is your Dom reputation just talk or are you truly that perverted?”

“Waste my time with gossip and I’ll answer that firsthand.”

“Kinky.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Your name came up in conversation.”

“How.”

The fact that that wasn’t a question, but a demand was not a surprise. “She was speaking of sexual conquests she had enjoyed. You apparently were one of them, back when she was younger—and she made it clear you had done the conquesting, as it were.”

“I’ve fucked a lot of people,” V said in a bored tone, “and forgotten ninety-five percent of them. So tell me what you know—and not about sex. Mine or others’.”

Assail was not surprised about the conversation’s redirection. “The aristocracy is going to be approaching the King soon. They’re going to request his appearance at a private reception for her hellren’s nine hundredth birthday—an event that even in good bloodlines is a thing of rarity.”

“Are they planning on shooting my Lord again?”

“Possibly. My instincts tell me there is a path being forged.” Assail shook his head even though the Brother could not see him. “I’m just not sure by whom. Naasha is more renowned for her horizontal accomplishments rather than her mental ones. She is not capable of developing a strategy, whether one of treasonous nature or even for a Last Meal encounter. That is why I believe there is someone guiding her. But again, I know not whom—yet.”