Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Corvus…
“Corvus…” her voice held just a hint of warning to it, and her eyes sparkled with mirth.
“I’m sorry, did you just call him Corvus?” my client asked and I chuckled.
“No, she called me Corbett, you misheard. Interestingly, both mean the same thing,” I said.
It was contentious across the table, but at the same time this deal was done – and while both sides were getting what they wanted, neither were exactly happy about it. The sign of a perfectly performed negotiation. When both sides could live with it, but neither side were exactly over the moon.
Savannah and I were playing our parts, just trying to get the documents signed so we could get out of here. It was Thursday, and dinner was going to be served at the Manse. I found myself more excited than daunted about announcing her officially as my woman.
It was a big deal, and every one of the Wraiths had their own way of doing things. For Synister, it had been fucking Madisyn at the table. He did love an audience. Fear, it had been eating his woman out on the pool table at the club one night when all the brothers were there.
Hangman’s situation with Lorelai was more sedate than that, as she’d had a very recent assault in her past that required a bit more of a delicate approach.
So, he had settled for snapping at any one of us that dared to come too near her at a gathering at the Manse shortly after they’d settled into their life together at the caretaker’s house at old Bonaventure.
It hadn’t helped that her mother had been there the first time all of us had gotten together.
He made up for it later with a particularly artful display of Shabari, suspending her in the clubhouse garage with just us boys present to watch the show in silence.
She’d been blindfolded to make it easier, and it had been a beautiful display.
I had something of my own planned tonight. A game for my little kitten to play; one of cat and mouse that would serve three purposes. One, to show her off as mine, two, to get me off, and three, to prove to the men of the Wraiths that the past was in the past and that I trusted them.
We wrapped things up and when both clients had left the parking lot, and we were satisfied we were alone, I opened the passenger door to the Porche.
“After you,” I murmured, and she slid into the passenger seat, setting her laptop laden Italian leather briefcase at her feet.
She had confessed her ability to thrift shop, and had confessed that it wasn’t a thrift store find but rather had been a gift from her little brother upon her college graduation.
Her purse, on the other hand, had been a particularly good thrift store find that had only required a little bit of saddle soap and some TLC to restore.
I had to compliment her on her fine work; I never would have been able to tell that it’d been thrifted. She’d laughed and had told me that one had been professionally handled, and had cost her more than the purse itself – but she was responsible for refinishing all of her furniture.
I drove us back home so that we could change into something more casual and shed the workday.
We parted ways at the garage, her to go to her apartment, and me to my kitchen door.
I went upstairs, and lingered at my closet for a moment, smiling softly to myself as I pulled down my favorite, well-worn Henley, and a butter soft pair of jeans.
I dressed quickly, changing out my dress socks for something thicker, that would withstand my heavy motorcycle boots and went downstairs to the coat closet for the rest.
I donned my chaps, jacket, and cut, and sighed, shrugging into the road worn leather like a knight would his armor. I felt more like myself in my gear, and as I stepped out the back door to head back to the garage, I paused to take Savannah in.
I realized, I’d never actually seen her in anything this casual.
She wore jeans, rolled up at the cuff over dark blue Keds and low white socks that barely peeked over the line of the shoe.
The jeans were a medium denim in color, and whole – no holes, which I was surprised she found anything without in this day and age.
Over them, she wore a light blue men’s dress shirt, rolled back at the wrist and I swear it suspiciously looked like one of mine…
“Is that my shirt?” I asked her.
She smiled a little shyly and said, “Maybe. A tee shirt just didn’t feel right.” She hitched her purse a little higher on her shoulder and I couldn’t help but grin.
“It’s perfect,” I said and she eyed me just a little suspiciously on her own.
“What, ah… what’s this?” she asked, waving vaguely in my direction.
“This is what I wear when I ride,” I told her.
“Shall I follow you, then?” she asked and I grinned wider and shook my head.
“Oh, no. You’re riding with me.”
“I don’t know…” she said and looked skeptical.
“Never been on the back of a bike?” I asked, curiously.
“Does a four-wheeler count?” she asked.
“No,” I shook my head.
“Then, no,” she said with a laugh.
“Well, if you’re going to be with a biker, there’s no time like the present to learn,” I held out my hand and she looked dubious, but took it. I took her over to the bike and said, “Wait here.”
She trailed fingertips along the leather seat, as I went into the garage to the set of shelves built over on the side with my Porsche.
I picked up my helmet, and the spare I kept for the odd occasion I needed anonymity.
It was solid black, the facemask a deep dark tint.
It was hers, now if it fit like it was supposed to.
My everyday wear was my usual brain bucket.
I put mine on, holding hers between my knees and then went back out to her, lifting the facemask so I could see what I was doing and helping her put it on.
“It feels tight,” she complained, and I nodded.
“Like it’s smashing your cheeks in?” I asked.
“Yeah, forcing me to have fish lips,” she crossed her eyes. I laughed. I couldn’t see her mouth, but I imagined she was pulling her cheeks in and making the face.
“That means it’s a good fit,” I told her. “You’ll get used to it.”
She laughed and it was more than a little nervous.
“Don’t we need to pull out the cars?” she asked.
“Nah,” I pointed to the double side gate.
“It’s a minor inconvenience because I’ve got to hand-lock them up after us, but the curb is so low it’s nothing to use them to get out when cars are parked in the garage. I’m just going to have to bite the bullet and get them automated.”
I went over to them and unlocked them, swinging them inward. It used to be the original entrance to the place, horse and carriage would ride in, make a loop around the round brick drive, back the carriage under the carriage house on one side, horse stalls on the other. Neat and tidy.
Back at the bike, I instructed her to lean with me, not against me, to hold on tight, and to watch her feet – I didn’t want her shoes melted to the pipes. Above all, I told her, to watch those pipes. They get hot, and I didn’t want her to burn herself on them mounting or dismounting.
She listened with rapt attention, her blue eyes wide through the open visor of her helmet, and when we were ready to go, I closed it for her, told her how to breathe to keep it from fogging up on her, and went over to the bike, starting it up.
She got on and settled behind me, which was a bit of a process for her first time as she carefully minded both the pipes and where she placed her feet.
The ride to the Manse was a woefully short one, and only required we take surface streets, so no freeway.
It had been a good long while since we’d taken a group ride anywhere or had gone to do anything that wasn’t just a short ride through Savannah, and I realized just how much I’d been dying to go for a real ride.
It was certainly something to bring up at dinner.
We arrived on the back side of the Manse and I noticed that Savannah’s attention was on the pool. I smiled and made a mental note that a swim should be in our future. It was one of the surprising things we had in common, after all.
There were a lot of things I wanted to do, just her and I, and I realized how long it had been since I’d really gotten to do any couples’ things and also, that I had missed it more than I realized.
I pulled into line with the bikes already present and it didn’t take much more than a quick count to see everyone was already here.
We left our helmets with the bikes, and I threaded my fingers through Savannah’s, walking with her up to the kitchen doors.
Several of the guys were in the kitchen with Tor who was whipping up his magic in a metal bowl. I saw Requiem, Death, Revenant, and Specter – so all that Savannah had already met.
I didn’t know how much exposure she’d really had with each, but I know she’d met them.
“Hey, hey!” Torment called as we entered through the doors.
“Hey, boys. How’s it hangin’?” I asked.
“Short, shriveled, and a little to the side,” Revenant said and he shook one leg where he was standing at the end of the counter.
Savannah snorted indelicately and covered her mouth.
The guys tittered with laughter at her expense and I shook my head.
“I had to ask,” I said, ruefully.
“Dinner’ll be up in ten,” Torment declared. “Y’all get the fuck out of my kitchen; we’re officially over capacity.”
“Yeah, yeah; you’re such a fuckin’ girl,” Specter said and he was the first to relinquish his seat at the counter to stand and head for the dining room.
The rest of us naturally fell in, and Torment asked Savannah, “What’ll you have to drink? We got wine, beer, that shitty hard seltzer – anything you could want, really.”
“Oh, uh… what’s for dinner?” she asked.
“Beef Bourguignon,” he said.
“Ah, then a red if you’ve got it.”
He narrowed his eyes and asked, “French or Italian?”
“We’re having French, so French, of course.”
“Okay, that was easy.” He looked thoughtful.
“Got a good Malbec?” she asked.