Page 62 of Lover Forbidden (The Black Dagger Brotherhood #23)

As soon as Shuli passed out, L.W. left the aristocrat’s mansion.

To avoid the fucking party, he snuck out the back, and to get off the property, he borrowed one of the Range Rovers in the four-car garage.

The fucker had two of them—because of course he did.

He had to make sure his butler could get out in style, and there were the other staff to think of.

Or maybe one was just for backup. Who the hell knew.

It had been a while since L.W. had been behind the wheel, and it sure as shit hadn’t been during the winter. He supposed that was another reason to have Range Rovers. The traction was outstanding, even with all the ice.

His Samsung provided the route. All he had to do was sit back and steer—which wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Part of that was because he’d had to borrow some of Shuli’s duds, so everything was too tight: the track bottoms, the nylon shirt, the Vuitton parka.

Like LV made fucking parkas.

The thing that really irritated him? The guy’s running shoes had fit him. He was taller than Shuli by almost a head. He should have been busting the Sauconys at the seams.

Maybe Shuli was packing more than just big guns in his leathers.

As L.W. drove along, working his way through stop signs, then stoplights, his leg hurt like a bitch, and of course it had to be on his driving side. Then again, he hadn’t expected to be making this trip—or for it to take this long.

Then again, Shuli’s house was in the fancy part of town, and where he was headed was in the older part of the suburbs.

Still, as he arrived at his destination, he almost wished he had more distance to travel.

Hovering in front of the address, he didn’t pull into the plowed driveway. He just stared out the passenger side window at the Colonial, looking at all the lights that glowed inside. Safe Place was like one of those snow globe houses, the kind that got the fall of flakes after you shook things up.

Picture perfect.

Pulling past the front walkway, he put Shuli’s SUV in park, killed the engine, and took a deep breath. Then he popped the door open, got out, and shoved his fists in his pockets.

Shuli’s pockets.

It was a strain on his slow-healing wound to get over the drifts, and stomping through the snow made his thigh ache. Still, he kept going, cutting a path around the front of the house to the side… to that window he’d stood under before.

Bitty was at her desk.

She was right there, sitting in her chair, staring forward at her monitor.

For a moment, he felt bad, interrupting her work. But then he realized… she wasn’t typing or moving a mouse around or talking on a phone. She didn’t seem to be doing anything except focusing on what was in front of her.

She just sat there, her eyes unblinking, her body unmoving—

Her head lowered, as if she were looking at something in her lap. Or maybe she’d just closed her lids to take a breather.

Because she hadn’t been sleeping.

Yeah, and whose fault was that , he thought.

“Leave her,” he muttered. “Just fucking leave it—”

“May I help you—”

As L.W. turned to the female voice, he went for the gun he’d tuck-holstered on the track bottoms’ waistband. But then stopped his hand from drawing. “Hello.”

The social worker leaning out over the porch’s balustrade abruptly straightened and bowed. “Oh, my God, I mean—your Highness.”

He put his hand up. “That’s not necessary—”

“I saw that someone had gone through the snow.” She pointed out to the front lawn and the tracks he’d made. “I’m guessing you’re here to see Bitty? Come around to the porch and she can meet you out here—”

“Listen, you don’t have to bother her.” He glanced up to the window. “She looks busy.”

And he was looking like a stalker here.

“Not at all.” The female put her hand to the base of her throat. “And may I just say… we’re so glad you’re back on your feet.”

Before he could take another shot at dissuading her, the female disappeared out of sight.

Stepping back, he looked up once again.

Moments later, Bitty came to attention and glanced away from her computer. Then there was a long, long pause.

She lowered her head again. Then surged up to her feet, turned her back to the window, and arranged her hair.

I’m definitely a stalker , he thought as he limped over and stood by the side of the porch.

As the big door opened and light spilled out, he crossed his arms on his chest. Then he dropped them—

Bitty was impossibly beautiful as she stepped out and shut things behind her.

Dressed in cream-colored corduroy pants and a red sweater, the new highlights in her hair really gleamed in the exterior lighting.

But her face was strained as she turned to him, and she did not meet his eyes—and none of that was a surprise.

“So, you’re looking better.” She cleared her throat. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Yeah. Good as new.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah.”

L.W. looked out to the Range Rover. “I, ah, I just wanted to thank you for helping me the other night—”

“That is not necessary.” Now she looked at him. “Sabrina is the one you need to save the gratitude for. Do you want me to go get her? It’s no trouble—”

“I’m here to see you.”

“Well, she’d be thrilled to get a visit from the heir to the throne.” She put her hand up to stop him from talking. “And I really think it’s better if you lay your thanks at the foot of someone else.”

“I’m sorry. Bitty. For what I did.”

Her brow arched. “Why are you apologizing exactly.”

“I hurt you. And I’m sorry—”

“You saved me from having a sore wrist. I should be thanking you.” When he shook his head and cursed, she said, “Oh, listen, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Lyric and Rhamp’s granmahmen died about ten minutes ago. Did you get the text?”

No, because he’d only been thinking about getting here.

He cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Standing in that snow, you’re just sorry about all kinds of things, aren’t you. Bummer. Well, I hope your night gets better.”

As she turned away, he said, “You’re right about me being angry. And how dangerous it is. I just don’t want you to get rolled into… all my shit.”

He kept quiet about what he and his boys were up to—and the fact that he had to was a reminder of how he was doing the proper thing with her. Even if it fucking sucked .

Bitty pivoted back around, and it was funny. He hadn’t realized exactly how warmly she’d looked at him until now… when all that was gone.

“You don’t owe me any explanations.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

“We almost kissed—once. I’m very sure you’ve done much more than that with a lot of females, so I’m not confused about where I stand with you—or rather, if I once was, you cleared that up.

For this, I’m grateful. I really think clarity is good in life, don’t you? ”

The hardness in her was something he’d never seen before, and he blamed himself for changing her.

Yet another reason this was the right thing to do.

“Goodbye, Bitty.”

She stared at him for a moment. Then she bowed to him. “Goodbye, Your Highness.”

Out in the city park by the Hudson, Whestmorel dragged himself through the snow in a lurching walk. The lifting of his feet and the shifting of his weight made his heart pound from effort, and the pain in his chest flared and receded with each slow step.

From time to time, he glanced around with trepidation.

He hadn’t thought to bring a weapon. And in any event, he wasn’t trained in them.

He wielded pens, not swords.

Yet no slayers set upon him. It was quite curious, actually. With the evil having repudiated him, one would think Lash would have eliminated that which had been rejected, either there on the spot while they’d met or the now, by sending slayers forth.

Yet he remained alone in the field.

The extent of his isolation seemed rather relative, given that there were cars on the Northway, and people living all around the downtown, but as he considered his circumstances, he felt as though he was in Antarctica. If only he could dematerialize, but his heart was not functioning right—

Up ahead, a car pulled over to the shoulder of the four-lane road that ran past the park’s outer rim. As a figure stood up from behind the wheel—and waved—Whestmorel exhaled with a relief that he was going to need to keep to himself.

Lifting his hand in return, he tried to speed up, but his body just wouldn’t allow it. Thus he continued his trudging.

Certain now of his evacuation, his mind was free to rehash the meeting.

In the flesh, Lash had not disappointed.

He had been fair and quite beauteous, the kind of male who would have turned many a head, and one had to approve of the accent.

He had been taught to speak properly, and with good diction, clearly by members of the glymera .

Did that make the tales true , Whestmorel wondered. Had the evil once been one of them, raised among aristocrats?

Whom he had later gone back and slaughtered, the start of the raids that horrible night so long ago.

When the great Blind King had once again failed the species.

Except Whestmorel was confused. Surely one as powerful as the Omega’s son would have seen not only the logic, but the opportunity, that had been presented to him. Instead, Lash had walked away.

Not the outcome one had wanted or anticipated.

Focusing on his car, Whestmorel continued to battle through the drifts—and the fact that Conrahd stayed with the sedan was irksome. But the male was not a butler, and in any event, what could be done to shorten the distance?

Still, as Whestmorel finally got within range, he gave into his dissatisfaction with everything and snapped, “Do come help me!”

Conrahd strode around the front grille, but hesitated at the nearly waist-high snowbank that curbed the thoroughfare. “You’re almost to it. Nearly here. Allow me to get the door.”

Well, wasn’t he accommodating, Whestmorel thought bitterly.