Free The Thorndykes 1: Dispossessed by Lynne Connolly Page A

mind.
    Without the Midwest accent, the mask, and the obfuscation, Jay knew him. His memories spun back, way back to when he was first converted, when he’d torn up London. Boxing the watch, drinking daffy at a gaming hell, testing the whores in Covent Garden, making them perform like ladies—that had been Beaumont’s idea.
    Shock arced through him. He lowered his hands. “Fuck.”
    “Yes, well.” The American accent returned. “I’ve just joined the Thorndykes, but when I saw you, it was like walking into the past. I tried to get you alone, but you took that woman away. I thought you’d come back once you’d fed.”
    Jay gaped. His thoughts whirled, scenes and memories playing in his mind. He’d seen wars since then, attended more wild parties than he could count, traveled the world. This man brought him back to where it all began. “Where have you been?”
    “Here and there. Mostly here.” Blue glanced around. “We’ll do the rest later. I need help. Someone’s hurt this boy bad.”
    Jay forced his considerations into obedience. Nathan was right. Blood pooled beneath the youth who lay on the ground. He was barely breathing. “What happened?” He sensed the Talent inside the unconscious body. Nathan was inside this man’s mind, helping him to survive, moving his chest, willing him to stay alive. Jay withdrew, shuddering. “He’s near death. What happened?”
    “Silver bullet.” Nathan moved to the boy’s other side. The man was tall, early twenties maybe, with a shock of close-cropped red hair. Hair the shade of the long tresses he’d run his fingers through the night before. “You know him? Does he live around here?”
    Realization slammed into him with the force of a rocket. “Oh, fuck. It’s Drew Parker.”
     
    BREAKFAST WAS A little overproduced. While she’d been disappointed to wake alone, Jay’s cook arrived with an array of dishes, enough to feed all her lunch guests and probably some more. She sent away everything except the coffee and cereal. “His other guests need feeding.”
    “There’s a pile of stuff in the public dining room,” the woman said. She was about forty, hair tied strictly back from her face, a few blonde wisps that had slipped out of the clip framing her cheeks. “You can eat there if you like.”
    She didn’t like. The implied intimacy might be too much for her this morning. She smiled. “I’m Lucille Parker. Are you from around here?”
    “Houston,” the woman said shortly. “I work when Mr. Trevino has one of his parties.” She glanced at the plastic-covered garments she’d just draped over the curve at the end of the bed. “I brought spare clothes. He guessed at your size, but jeans and T-shirt, he said, and they’re not critical. If they don’t fit, pick up the phone, dial nine, and ask for a different size.”
    “Does he do this a lot?” She almost snorted. Of course he did. This routine looked well established.
    The woman shrugged. “Yes. He likes lame ducks, but he prefers his women dressed and off the premises by the time he gets back. I’m surprised there’s only one of you.”
    Pain pierced Lucille’s heart. Naturally he was old and experienced. He’d have had lots of women, and he told her he traveled alone. What else had he said? Oh yes, he was exclusive for as long as it lasted, even if it was just one day.
    Twelve hours, more like.
    Still, she couldn’t forget his prompt action when she’d started bleeding. She owed him for that.
    A pack of plain white underwear sat accusingly on the vanity where the woman had dumped it. Obviously not the friendly type . The breakfast, at least, was welcome, and she was so fucking eating before she left. “I’ll eat, shower, and get going.”
    “Go to the main hall. There’ll be a driver waiting for you. Don’t take too long. Jay doesn’t want you here when he returns.”
    He’d been so kind, such a great lover, and now this. The brush-off of brush-offs. Lucille wondered if he’d even