“Ditto.”

Their mouths fused in an even deeper kiss, and they kept that up as clothes were pulled off and stripped down and thrown to the floor. When they were naked, she parted her thighs and welcomed him.

“I’ll go slow,” he said. “In case you’re still sore.”

“Okay.”

She did wince a little, but then he was filling her up, deep inside, thick and hot. Yet he didn’t move.

“Helania . . .” he whispered. “Take my vein.”

Unbidden, her eyes shot to the thick jugular that ran up the side of his throat. It had been so long since she had fed, and the stress she had been under compounded a sudden piercing hunger.

And then there was the possibility she was pregnant.

“Are you sure?” she breathed.

“Do you want me to beg?”

Her fangs dropped down out of her upper jaw in a rush, and he groaned as her lips parted to reveal the twin points. With a quick shift, he repositioned their bodies so that she was on top of his hips, in control . . . dominant.

“Take me,” he said. “Use me.”

The hiss that left her was the kind of sound she had never made before, and as she struck at his throat, Boone shouted her name, his hips punching up, his arousal pushing even farther into her. His taste in her mouth and down the back of her throat was an intoxicating thrill, and as she began to drink, he began to move his pelvis.

Swallowing the nourishment only he could give her, she was filled up in her belly and in her sex as he orgasmed, the sweet pain of her bite clearly sending him over the brink. And that was all she needed. She found her release, too, the rings of pleasure radiating out from her core joining the rush of elation that went along with the strength he was giving her.

As incredible as the sensations were, as tempted as she was to keep going with his vein, she was very careful not to take too much. The fact that he was so pure of bloodline, and had also recently taken from a sacred Chosen—something Helania had never heard of anyone doing before—meant he probably could have given her so much more. But she truly cared about and for him, and she would rather go blood hungry than ever endanger his precious, precious life.

When she had taken enough to sustain herself, she licked the puncture wounds closed and then kissed his mouth. And still their bodies moved together, orgasms compounding orgasms, the sex an expression of all the things neither of them seemed to be able to put into words.

There were so many unanswered questions. So many strings yet to be gathered. So many paths diverging before them.

They had this moment, however. And she could only pray it was not their last.

Back when the Band of Bastards had moved in with the Brotherhood at the mansion, the decision had been made to open up a previously closed-off collection of bedrooms. Accessed by going out through the far wall of the second-story sitting room, the footprint of the additional suites extended over the entire kitchen/pantry/laundry wing as well as the garage.

As Butch proceeded down a very nicely appointed hall, he didn’t spare a glance at any of the oil paintings of English landscapes that hung from the paneling, nor did he check out the fresh-even-in-winter flowers on the side tables, nor did he hi-how’re-ya the occasional bust that sat on the ledges under the windows.

He was focused on Fritz. The butler was about three-quarters of the way down, standing in front of a closed door with a quizzical expression on his face.

“Sire?” he said as Butch approached. “The King indicated that he wished for me to unlock this door for you?”

“Yup.”

“The King indicated you were going to inspect the rooms? At my Lord’s direction?”

“Yup. That’s the plan.”

And thank you, Wrath.

Maybe it was the fact that Butch had been a cop in the human system for all those years. Or maybe it was because he felt like he needed to cover his ass to make sure there weren’t any problems in the household. Or maybe he was simply acknowledging his cousin’s position of authority over all matters under this roof—and within the race. But whatever the reason, he’d felt compelled to ask Wrath if it was okay to go through Syn’s shit.

And what do you know, based on Helania’s ID of the Bastard, said permission had been granted.

Butch came to a stop in front of the butler. “I want you to be my witness as I go through everything.”

“Witness?”

“To attest that I didn’t plant anything or otherwise mishandle Syn’s belongings.”

Fritz bowed low. “It is my pleasure to be of service in any way you require.”

“Good deal. Thanks. Now let’s open things up and see what we got.”

The butler inserted a copper key that was nearly the size of his own hand in the lock, and there was a clunking sound as the old-fashioned tumblers disengaged. No creaking hinges. That would never happen in a household run by Fritz.

As the light from the hall streamed into the darkness, Butch frowned at what he saw—or, to be more accurate, what he did not see.

“What the fuck?” he muttered.

“This is the way he wishes it to be.”

Butch shook his head as he entered. The room was totally bare. No carpet. No bed. No bedside table or bureaus. No writing desk or side chairs or any of the antique stuff that filled out every other single square inch of the mansion, like Darius had had a binge-shopping addiction that could only be satisfied by Christie’s.

Butch looked over his shoulder. “Where did Syn put everything? The furniture, I mean.”

“He requested that I get rid of it, and so I reapportioned some of the things to other suites, and the rest went into the basement. I offered to order him something more to his taste, but he informed me that, as a soldier in the Old World, he was used to sleeping in hiding-holes and outposts with nothing more than whatever he could carry on his back. Even the most rudimentary of decor made him feel cramped.”

As Butch walked around the bare floorboards, the footfalls of his loafers echoed around the barren walls. “You’re sure that it’s looked like this since he moved in? There’s no chance that in the last forty-eight or seventy-two hours that he came back and cleaned anything out?”

As Fritz’s face fell and he paled, Butch realized what he’d done. Rushing back to the butler, he put his hands out—but then dropped them because he knew he’d only make things worse if he tried to touch the doggen.

“I’m sorry,” Butch said in a rush. “I was just mumbling, you know, talking to myself. I did not mean to insinuate that you were misremembering or that you were not aware of the makeup, layout, and contents of every single room, closet, hallway, and basement in this house.”

Fritz hesitated, as if he were worried that Butch was attempting to cheer him up rather than telling the truth.

“I swear on my Lord and Savior,” Butch said as he took out his cross. “The only reason why I spoke that out loud is because it is vital that I see everything in these rooms exactly as it was, without anyone trying to hide their tracks by throwing out something.”

“Is Syn a suspect?” Fritz asked. “For something that was stolen?”

Yes, Butch thought. A life. Or two. Maybe three.

“It’s a difficult situation.” Butch glanced around. “Well, I guess this is a dead end—no, wait, the bathroom and the closet. There has to be a closet in here.”

Walking over, he peeked into the bathroom. The marble expanse had been stripped bare as well, all of the luxuries Butch was now used to seeing gone: No bath mats. No fluffy extra towels. No robes. There was a toothbrush and a single tube of toothpaste. Crest Original.

As if the guy didn’t like fussiness anywhere near his fluoride, either. Butch opened the drawers. Cracked the cupboards. Leaned into the toilet room.

Razor and shaving lotion were all he got.

He glanced at Fritz. “Where does he sleep?”

“I believe you will see it the now.”

“The closet?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

Walking over to a set of double doors, Butch opened them and blinked as the light came on overhead.

“Okay, this is a criminal waste,” he said as he looked at the bare hanging rods that ran around the room-sized space at shoulder level. “I could fit at least half my wardrobe in here.”

Or all of Marissa’s, Jane’s, and Vishous’s clothes—and his golf cart.

But there was what Fritz had been talking about: In the far corner, a ring of guns and knives had been set in a semicircle, the circumference of which fit a Syn-sized body.

The clothes, such as they were, were stacked in a pile at the foot of the arrangement.

Getting out his phone, Butch stood in the open doorway and took a video of the closet. Then he entered and went over to the clothes. After taking a number of mid-distance and close-up shots, he snagged a pair of nitrile gloves out of his pocket, snapped them on, and went through the layers.

He found a black knit cap. Black sunglasses.

And two pairs of leathers that smelled like they had been places.

He glanced over at Fritz, who was standing in the doorway, his old hands churning in front of him as if he were desperate to help in some way.

“How many pairs of leathers does Syn own?” Butch asked.

“Two. I have ordered more in his precise size, but they are downstairs in the packaging in which they arrived. He has not accepted them as of yet. He is waiting until something is worn through, he told me. Only then will he replace what he has.”

Butch laid out both pairs on the wall-to-wall carpeting, stretching the long legs flat. After photographing the sets separately and then together, he turned them over and did the same to the back sides. Then he repeated the process with the leather jacket before he went through its pockets.

Bullets. Switchblade. Length of chain.

Trident sugarless gum in cinnamon. Okay, so the Bastard was clearly worried about both clean breath and healthy tooth enamel.

Sitting back on his haunches, Butch cursed.

“Whatever is wrong?” Fritz asked.