The Chosen

by J. R. Ward

  "My man," V said as he put his good hand out. "Gimme five."

  Rhamp didn't know from high-fiving anything, but he did grab onto what was right in front of his face, and oh, how he squeezed.

  V laughed deep in his throat. "Yeah, you can fight with me in the field when you're grown. And soon as you're big enough to hold a dagger...I'll make one for you. Forge it myself. You're gonna be just like your dad, one helluva a fighter. Just like him..."

  --

  As Vishous seemed to find a partner in surly crime with Rhamp, Qhuinn found himself staring at the brother. For a lot of reasons.

  One, the fact that V seemed to be falling all kinds of enchanted over Rhamp was...well, a person was more likely to see God up close and in person before a male like V was ever going to ohhh and ahhh over a kid. Second, Rhamp was starting to warm up in return, the little guy's initially hostile response easing, his body relaxing its tension, his expression and those myopic baby-eyes assuming a kind of fondness.

  Sort of like if one tiger met another in the wilderness and the pair decided to hang out instead of try to eat each other in a bid for dominance.

  But the main reason Qhuinn couldn't look away?

  Shifting his head, he glanced up to the far corner. To those bullet holes in the ceiling.

  You're gonna be just like your dad.

  Just like him.

  With a wince, Qhuinn rubbed his temples. "We ready?"

  Wrath and George turned themselves around. "Door."

  As they left, Qhuinn wondered whether V was going to stay behind and hang with the kids. You know, maybe read some Goodnight Moon. Chill with a little Pat the Bunny.

  That kind of shit.

  But Vishous came along, so that the three of them and the King's golden gathered together in the hall.

  Right before anyone said anything, Zsadist came out of his door down at the end of the corridor. The brother took one look at them, shook his head, and went riiiiight back into his suite.

  Yeah, everyone knew what this was about.

  "So here's the way it's going to be," Wrath said without preamble. "Half and half. And she takes 'em to the Sanctuary for her time. Starts tomorrow after sundown when you leave to go out in the field. This is not subject to negotiation, nor is it up for your consideration. This is royal edict and I expect you to behave like a male and not a mental patient about it."

  Qhuinn put his palms back on the sides of his noggin. Like maybe the extra padding would help his brain work. Or something.

  "The Sanctuary?" he asked.

  "She can travel as a Chosen does and so can they." Wrath handed V's cigarette back to the brother. "The Scribe Virgin is not using her quarters anymore, so there's a place there they can sleep when they need to."

  "I just took some more songbirds up there," V mused as he took an inhale. "And I betcha those kids would like them. Those chirpy little fuckers are colorful and they sound nice. You know, sensory processing benefits have been shown as a result of--"

  The brother recoiled and then looked annoyed as both Qhuinn and Wrath stared at him like he'd changed out of his leathers into a pink dress and bedroom slippers.

  "What? I'm just sayin'." V rolled his eyes. "I don't care, you know. Not at all."

  "Back to the visitation," Wrath continued. "I'm assuming your biggest concern about Layla taking them out of here is safety, and there's no better place for her to be with them--because she can't be here."

  Qhuinn crossed his arms and stared at the carpet. Then he paced up and down, passing by the marble statuary that had been carved by humans known as Greeks and Romans. The male forms were powerful and positioned in various poses, their empty hands gripping spears that had been lost over the course of centuries--and the accoutrements of conflict weren't the only things that were missing. A few had limbs that stopped at the elbow or the knee, some accident or another stripping them of that which had been necessary to complete them. One was even headless.

  Naturally, he thought of that essential part of him which he had recently lost.

  His Blay.

  And now...his young?

  As Qhuinn turned around and came back slowly, V put out his hand-rolled on the sole of his shitkicker and tucked the half-smoked end into the ass pocket of his leathers. Then the brother surreptitiously slipped his un-gloved palm onto the butt of a forty holstered under his arm.

  Good move, Qhuinn thought, 'cuz he was getting angry. In fact, even the hypothetical of that Chosen taking his kids anywhere was making that white rage start to vibrate at the base of his skull.

  Except then he heard V's voice in his head.

  You're gonna be just like your dad.

  As the words rebounded around and around his cranial blank space, he felt like he was caught between being where he was...and behaving as he should.

  In the end, the memory of those bullet holes tipped the scale.

  Looking over at Vishous, he said roughly, "You can keep your weapon where it is."

  "Turning over a new leaf?" V drawled without lowering his hand. "And in such a short time, too. So you're either exhausted or waiting for a better opportunity."

  Qhuinn focused his eyes on the closed door of his young's suite, seeing through the panels to the room beyond. He pictured the sweet moments like that night-light, and the bassinets with their ribbons, and the little cursive R above Rhamp's bed and the L over Lyric's.

  "Neither," he heard himself say after a while. Although he was tired to the point of zombie.

  "So you accept my terms," Wrath prompted.

  "I don't want to have to see Layla." Qhuinn shook his head. "Ever again. We're done, she and I. And I want to speak personally with the Amalya, the Directrix. I want to make absolutely sure they can get up and back okay. Also, if Layla tries to hoard them there--"

  "She won't."

  "How do you know that," Qhuinn said bitterly.

  "She told me how important it is for you to see them."

  "And you believed her?"

  Wrath touched the side of his nose. "You think I wouldn't know if she were lying? And gimme a fucking break. She's not the source of all evil in the world."

  "That would be the Omega," V chimed in dryly. "In case you forgot."

  "So it's done." Qhuinn didn't bother voicing his disagreement on the subject of the Chosen with them. "Do we have to sign anything?"

  The King shook his head. "Not unless you insist. We all know how it's going to be."

  "Yeah. Guess we do."

  After Wrath, George, and V went off, Qhuinn stayed where he was, staring at the statues. He was of half a mind to go down to Z's door and let the brother know that the coast was clear. But in the end, he just went back inside the bedroom.

  A quick check of the clock, and he knew that it was going to be bottle time in about an hour. Fritz and the doggen took great pride in delivering the milk promptly on schedule and at the perfect temperature. Feeding two at a time was going to be a thing, but he'd figure it out.

  God...Blay loved doing the bottle thing. Loved diapers, even the ones that made your eyes water.

  Qhuinn went back over to the bassinets and thought about Layla taking the two infants anywhere. He literally couldn't imagine it--and every bone in his body, every fatherly instinct he had, screamed for him to stop the madness. He didn't care that she had birthed them. Didn't give a shit what the King said. And completely disagreed with the general consensus that that traitor in a white robe had any right to be even in the same zip code as his young.

  Much less take them away from him.

  Looking down at Lyric, he frowned. There was so much of Layla in the little girl, from the shape of the face, to the hands...

  The hands were really freaky. A miniature carbon copy.

  As his emotions churned, he turned away from her. And focused on Rhamp.

  THIRTY-ONE

  As dawn arrived, at least according to the digital clock on the bedside table, Xcor felt a shimmy of residual pain go through his whole body.


  To think where he had been a mere twenty-four hours ago.

  If some angel had come unto him and told him that, in the mere shift of a single day and night cycle, he would go from being on death's door to lying beside his love in a safe house owned by the Brotherhood? He would have called impossibility on any such destiny.

  Even if it had been uttered by the Scribe Virgin herself.

  He glanced at Layla. His female was collapsed on his chest, sprawled upon him like the very best throw blanket anyone had ever had. And part of what he loved so much about this moment? Aside from the fact that he was utterly satiated sexually and so was she?

  She slept soundly. The Chosen Layla was complete in her repose, her body loose and languid, her breathing even, her eyelids down hard as if it had been a very, very long time since she had had a proper rest.

  Indeed, the quality of her sleep mattered to him for a lot of reasons, most important of which was that she could not possibly have been so at peace if she didn't have faith that he would take care of her. Keep her safe. Protect her against any and all threats.

  As a bonded male, his female's safety was his ultimate source of purpose, her trust in him his biggest point of pride, her well-being that which was put before anything and everything else.

  Serving her was the highest and best use of his life, and it was with great sorrow that he recognized this was a job that he would not enjoy for long.

  Wrath was right to get the Band of Bastards to swear upon that black diamond of his before they all were banished by royal decree to the Old Country. Xcor's fighters were a principled lot of thieves and renegades--and if he, Xcor, commanded them to shift their allegiance unto the Blind King? They would do so, and they would keep to their word, although not because of what they had sworn to Wrath. But because of their loyalty to Xcor.

  For him alone would they give their lives.

  The Brotherhood, however, would not buy into all of that. No, they would only be persuaded by an oath to their liege--and even then, the brokered peace would be tenuous.

  Again, the Band of Bastards had to leave the New World.

  But how was he going to find them? Caldwell was a big city if you wanted to cross paths with someone who had no objection to being located. Trying to discover the whereabouts of a group of males who defined their nights and days by being hidden and staying that way?

  Next to impossible. And that was assuming they hadn't already decided to return across the ocean.

  With a soft sigh, Layla stirred against him, repositioning her head on his arm. Seeking to soothe her further, he rubbed her back slowly with his palm.

  He knew he should close his eyes and follow her example, but there was no chance of the latter. Fortunately, he was used to operating on no sleep.

  Lying there in the dark with his love, Xcor marveled anew at how she had transformed him. And then he went back into his past.

  It was hard not to wonder what would have happened if he had decided not to rob that group of fighters in that particular wood on that specific night. Harder still not to regret that single decision that had led to so much else.

  Because an evil had found him...

  --

  The Bloodletter.

  Dearest Virgin Scribe, Xcor had thought as he had stared up at the tremendous male vampire who had appeared in the wood from out of nowhere and thrown him onto the ground. Indeed, it seemed as though Xcor had sought to rob, but then had to kill...a squadron of the Bloodletter's males.

  He was going to die for this.

  "Have you nothing to say," the great warrior demanded as he stood over Xcor. "No apology, for what you have taken from me?"

  In the now-brisk wind, the Bloodletter stepped from Xcor and went over to pick up the severed head by the hair, dangling it such that blood dripped from the open neck.

  "Do you have any idea how long it takes to train one of these?" The tone was more annoyed than anything else. "Years. You have, in one night--in but one fight--robbed me of a vast investment of my fucking time and energies."

  With that, he cast the cranium aside and Xcor shuddered as the head bounced through the undergrowth.

  "You," the Bloodletter pointed at him, "shall make amends unto me."

  "No."

  For a moment, the Bloodletter seemed taken aback. But then he smiled with all his teeth. "What say you?"

  "There will be no amends." Xcor got to his feet. "None."

  The Bloodletter threw his head back and laughed, the sound traveling through the night and flushing out an owl overhead and a deer elsewhere.

  "Are you mad, then? Is it insanity that gave you such strength?"

  Xcor slowly eased to the side and retrieved the scythe once again. His palms were sweating and the grip was slippery, but he held onto the weapon with all the strength he could.

  "I know who you are," Xcor said softly.

  "Aye. Do tell." More with that hideous, bloodthirsty grin, as the gusts picked up long, braided hair. "I rather like to hear my accomplishments come out of the mouths of others--before I kill them and fuck their corpse. Tell me, is that what you've heard of me?" The Bloodletter took a step forth. "Is it? Is that what horrifies you so? I can promise you, you won't feel a thing. Unless I decide I want you whilst you still breathe. Then...then you will know the pain of possession, I promise you that."

  It was as if Xcor were being confronted by pure evil, a demon given unto flesh and placed upon the earth to torment and torture souls who were otherwise more pure.

  "You and your males are thieves yourselves." Xcor tracked every twitch in that body, from the curl of the hands to the shift of weight from one foot to another. "You are defilers of females and law unto yourselves, serving not the one, true King."

  "You think Wrath is coming for you the now? Truly?" The Bloodletter made a show of looking around the vacant forest. "You think your benevolent ruler is going to turn up here and intercede upon your behalf and save you from me? Your loyalty is commendable, I suppose--but it is not a shield against this."

  The sound of metal upon metal was like a scream in the night, the blade the Bloodletter outed nearly as long as that of the scythe.

  "Still pledging allegiance, are you?" the Bloodletter drawled. "Are you aware, I wonder, that the King is nowhere to be found? That after the slaughter of his parents, he hath disappeared? So no, I think you shall not be saved by the likes of him." A pumping growl started up. "Or anybody else."

  "I shall save myself."

  At that moment, the clouds lost their battle with the wind elements, the heavy cover breaking apart and providing an oculus through which brilliant moonlight shone down from the night sky, bright as the daylight Xcor hadn't seen since before his transition.

  The Bloodletter recoiled. And then angled his head to one side.

  There was a long moment of silence, during which naught stirred save for the pine boughs and the underbrush.

  And then the Bloodletter...reholstered his dagger.

  Xcor did not put down his weapon. He knew not what was transpiring, but he was very aware one should not trust one's enemy--and he had put himself against this feared warrior through his actions in self-defense.

  "Come with me then."

  At first, Xcor did not comprehend the words. And even when he did, he did not understand.

  He shook his head. "I shall go to my grave a'fore I go anywhere with you. 'Tis one and the same, at any rate."

  "No, you shall come with me. And I shall teach you the ways of war and you shall serve beside me."

  "Why would I e'er do that--"

  "It is your destiny."

  "You do not know me."

  "I know exactly who you are." The Bloodletter nodded at the decapitated body. "And it makes this much more understandable."

  Xcor frowned, a sudden quickening that was not about fear vibrating in his veins. "What lies do you speak."

  "Your face is the giveaway. I thought you were but a rumor, a slice of gossip. But no, not with you
r dagger hand and that lip. You come with me and I shall train you and put you to work against the Lessening Society--"

  "I am...a common thief. Not a warrior."

  "I know of no thief who could do what you just did. And you realize this as well. Deny it all you like, but you have been bred for this outcome, lost into the world, now found."

  Xcor shook his head. "I shall not go with you, no...no, I shall not--"

  "You are my son."

  Now Xcor lowered his scythe. Tears came to his eyes, and he blinked them away, determined to show no weakness.

  "You shall come with me," the Bloodletter repeated. "And I shall teach you proper the ways of war. I shall harden you as steel tempered by fire, and you shall not disappoint me."

  "Do you know my mahmen still?" Xcor asked weakly. "Where is she?"

  "She doesn't want you. She never did."

  This was true, Xcor thought. This was what the nursemaid had told him.

  "So you will come with me now, and I will pave the way for your destiny. You shall succeed me...if the training does not kill you."

  --

  Xcor returned to the present by opening lids he was unaware of having closed. The Bloodletter had been right about some things, wrong about others.

  The training in the war camp had been so much worse than Xcor could ever have imagined, the fighters therein battling each other for scarce food and water and also when they were pitted one against the next for sport and contest. It had been a brutal existence that had, night after night, week after week, month in and out...throughout the course of those five years...done exactly what the Bloodletter had promised.

  Xcor had been hardened into living steel, his compassion and emotions stripped free of him as if they had never existed, the cruelty upon cruelty layered upon him until his nature had been suppressed by all that he had at first seen, and then later done.

  Sadism could be trained into a person. He was living proof of that.

  And it was also viral, such that he had done to Throe what the Bloodletter had done to himself, subjecting the former aristocrat to a barrage of indignities and challenges and insults. The effect had been similar as well: Throe, too, had risen to the tests, but also been soured by them.

  As it was, so it had turned out to be. Although unlike Xcor, Throe seemed not to be mediated by any blessed force, his ambition as yet unchecked.