by J. R. Ward
And Rehv was correct: That was where this was going. Hell, even Qhuinn could see the path: Step one, create doubt in the minds of the glymera about the Brotherhood’s ability to protect the race. Step two, fill the “void” in the field with those soldiers of Xcor’s. Step three, create allies on the Council and stir up anger and lack of confidence against the king. Step four, dethrone Wrath and weather the storm. Step five, emerge as the new leader.
When order in the study was finally reestablished, Wrath looked downright nasty. “Next one of you mouthy assholes makes me pound my desk again, I’m throwing you the fuck out.” On that note, he reached down, picked up the cowering ninety-pound retriever, and settled George in his lap. “You’re freaking out my dog and it’s pissing me off.”
As the animal put his big boxy head in the crook of the king’s arm, Wrath stroked all that silky, blond fur. It was absolutely incongruous, the tremendous, cruel-looking vampire calming that handsome, gentle dog, but the two had a symbiotic relationship, trust and love thick as blood on both sides.
“Now, if you’re ready to be reasonable,” the king said, “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. Rehv is going to stall the guy for as long as he can.”
“I still think we should put a knife in his left eye,” Rehv muttered, “but in the alternative, we’ve got to hold him in place. He wants to see and be seen, and as leahdyre of the Council, I can stonewall him up to a point. His voice in the ears of the glymera is not what we need.”
“In the meantime,” Wrath announced, “I’m going to go out and meet personally with the heads of the families, on their turf.”
At this, there was an explosion in the room, irrespective of his warning: People jumped out of their seats, throwing up their dagger hands.
Bad idea, Qhuinn thought, agreeing with the others.
Wrath let them go for a minute, like he’d expected this. Then he resumed control of the meeting. “I can’t expect support if I don’t earn it—and I haven’t personally seen some of these people in decades, if not centuries. My father met with folks every month, if not every week, to resolve disputes.”
“You’re the king!” someone bit out. “You don’t need to do shit—”
“You see that letter? It’s the new world order—if I don’t respond proactively, I’m undermining myself. Look, my brothers, if you were out in the field, about to face the enemy, would you fool yourself about the landscape? Would you lie to yourself about the layout of the streets, the buildings, the cars, or whether it was hot or cold, raining or dry? No. So why should I bullshit myself that tradition is something I can take cover behind in a shoot-out? Back in my father’s time… that shit was a bulletproof vest. Now? It’s a sheet of paper, people. You gotta know that.”
There was a long period of silence, and then everyone looked at Tohr. Like they were used to turning to him when shit got sticky.
“He’s right,” the Brother said gruffly. Then he focused on Wrath. “But you gotta know you’re not doing this alone. You need to have two or three of us with you. And the meet-and-greets have to be staggered over a period of months—cram them in too tight and you look desperate, but more to the point, I don’t want anyone getting organized to do a hit on you. Sites must be prescreened by us, and…” At this, he paused to glance around. “You need to be aware that we’re going to be trigger-happy. We will shoot to kill when your life’s on the line—whether it’s a female or a male or a doggen or the head of a family. We will not ask permission, or merely wound. If you can live with those terms, we will let you do this.”
Nobody else could have laid down the rules like that and walked without a limp afterward: The king gave out orders to the Brotherhood, not the other way around. But this was the new world, as Wrath had said.
The male in question ground his molars for a while. Then grunted. “Agreed.”
As a collective exhale hit the airwaves, Qhuinn found himself looking over at Blay. Aw, hell, talk about a suck zone—this was why he avoided the guy like the plague. Just one glance and he was locked on, all kinds of reactions rolling through him, until the room spun a little—
For no good reason, Blay’s eyes flipped up and met his.
It was like getting goosed in the ass with a live wire, his body spasming to the point where he had to hide the reaction by coughing while he glanced away.
About as smooth as a crater. Yup. Fantastic.
“… and in the meantime,” Wrath was saying, “I want to find out where these soldiers are staying.”
“I can take care of that,” Xhex spoke up. “Especially if I hit them in the daytime.”
All heads turned in her direction. Beside her, John stiffened from head to foot, and Qhuinn cursed under his breath.
Talk about your showdowns… except hadn’t the pair of them just had one?
Man, sometimes he was really glad he didn’t do relationships.
Not again, John thought to himself. For fuck’s sake, they’d just gotten back on speaking terms, and now this?
If he’d thought fighting side by side with Xhex was trouble, the idea of her trying to infiltrate the Band of Bastards on their home turf put him on the edge of a seizure.
As he let his head fall back against the wall, he realized that everyone and their dog was staring at him. Literally—even George’s brown eyes were trained in his direction.
“Are you kidding me,” Xhex said. “Are you frickin’ kidding me.”
Even after she spoke, nobody looked at her. It was all about John: Clearly, as he was her hellren, they were seeking his approval—or not—about what she’d put out there.
And John couldn’t seem to move, stuck in the cold quagmire between what she wanted and where he didn’t want them to end up.
Wrath cleared his throat. “Well, that’s a kind offer—”
“Kind offer?” she spat. “Like I’m inviting you to dinner?”
Say something, he told himself. Put your flapping hands up and tell her… What? That he was on board with her going to find six males with no consciences? After what Lash had done to her? What if she was captured and…
Oh, Jesus, he was cracking up over here. Yes, she was tough and strong and capable. But she was as mortal as anybody else. And without Xhex, he wouldn’t want to be on the planet at all.
Rehvenge snagged his cane and pushed himself up. “Let’s you and I talk—”
“Excuse me?” Xhex bit out. “ ‘Talk’? Like I’m the one who needs a mental readjustment? No offense, but bite me, Rehv. The bunch of you need me to do what I can to help.”
As all the other males in the room started looking at their shitkickers and loafers, the symphath king shook his head. “Things are different now.”
“How.”
“Come on, Xhex—”
“Are you people insane? Just because my name’s in his back, I’m suddenly a prisoner or some shit?”
“Xhex—”
“Oh, no, nope, you can fuck off with that be-reasonable tone.” She glared at the males, and then focused on Beth and Payne. “I don’t know how you two stand it—I really don’t.”
John was trying to think of what he could say to derail the collision, but what a waste of time. Two trains had already made head-on contact and there was twisted metal and steaming engine parts everywhere.
Especially as Xhex marched for the door like she was prepared to claw it apart just to prove a point.
When he went to follow her, she pegged him with a hard eye. “If you’re coming after me for any other reason than to let me go after Xcor, you need to stop right where you are. Because you belong with this anachronistic group of misogynists. Not at my side.”
Lifting his hands, he signed, It is not wrong to want to keep you safe.
“This is not about safety—it’s about control.”
Bullshit! You were hurt less than twenty-four hours ago—
“Fine. I have an idea. I want to keep you safe—so how about you stop fighting.” She glared over her shoulder a
t Wrath. “You gonna back me up, my lord? How about the rest of you fools? Let’s put the skirt and the panty hose on John, shall we? Come on, back my ass up. No? You don’t think that would be ‘fair’?”
John’s temper flared, and he just… He didn’t mean to do what he did. It just happened.
He stomped his boot, creating a thunderous noise, and pointed… directly at Tohr.
Awkward. Horrid. Silence.
Kind of like he and Xhex had not only dragged their dirty laundry out in front of everyone, but he’d managed to drape their sweat socks and stained shirts all over Tohr’s head.
In response? The Brother just crossed his arms over his chest and nodded, once.
Xhex shook her head. “I gotta get out of here. I gotta clear my head. John, if you know what’s good for you, you will not follow me.”
And just like that, she was gone.
In the aftermath, John rubbed his face, pushing his palms in so hard he felt like he was rearranging his features.
“How ’bout everybody head off for the night,” Wrath said softly. “I want to talk to John. Tohr, you hang.”
No need to ask twice. The Brotherhood and the others left like someone was out in the courtyard stealing their cars.
Beth stayed behind. So did George.
As the doors shut, John looked at Tohr. I’m so sorry—
“Nah, son.” The male stepped forward. “I don’t want where I’m at for you, either.”
The Brother put his arms around John, and John went with it, collapsing into the once massive body… that nonetheless managed to hold him up.
Tohr’s voice was steady in his ear: “It’s okay. I got you. It’s all right.…”
John put his head to the side and stared at the door his shellan had walked out of. He wanted to go after her with every fiber of his being—but those fibers were also what were ripping them apart. In his mind, he understood everything she was saying, but his heart and his body were ruled by something separate from all that, something bigger and more primordial. And it was overriding everything.
It was wrong. Disrespectful. Old-fashioned in a way that he never thought he could be. He didn’t think females should be sequestered, and he believed in his mate, and he wanted her…
To be safe.
Period.
“Give her some time,” Tohr murmured, “and we’ll go after her, okay? You and I will go together.”
“Good plan,” Wrath said, “because neither of you is going out in the field tonight.” The king held up his palms to cut off the arguing. “Really?”
That shut them both up.
“So are you okay?” the king asked Tohr.
The Brother’s smile wasn’t warm in the slightest. “I’m already in hell—shit’s not going to get any hotter just because he’s using me as an example of where he doesn’t want to be.”
“You sure about that.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Easier said than done.” Wrath motioned his hand, like he didn’t want to go any further on all that. “We done?”
As Tohr nodded and turned for the door, John gave the First Family a bow and then went after the male.
He didn’t have to rush. Tohr was waiting for him out in the corridor. “Listen to me—it’s cool. I’m serious-”
I’m just… so sorry, John signed. About everything. And… shit, I miss Wellsie—I really miss her.
Tohr blinked for a moment. Then in a quiet voice, he said, “I know, son. I know you lost her, too.”
Do you think she would have liked Xhex?
“Yeah.” A shadow of a smile hit that harsh face. “She only met her once, and it was a while ago, but they were cool, and if there had been time… they’d have gotten along great. And man, on a night like tonight, we could have used the female backup.”
Too right, John signed, as he tried to imagine approaching Xhex.
At least he could guess where she would go: back to her own place on the Hudson River. That was her refuge, her private space. And when he showed up on her doorstep, he could only pray she didn’t throw him out on his ass.
But they had to resolve this somehow.
I think I’d better go alone, John signed. This is probably going to get ugly.
Make that uglier, he thought.
“Fair enough. Just know that I’m here if you need me.”
Wasn’t that always the way, John thought as they parted. Almost as if it had been centuries of their knowing each other, instead of merely a matter of years. Then again he guessed that was what happened when you crossed paths with someone you were really compatible with.
Felt like you’d been with them forever.
TEN
“I shall do it.”
As No’One spoke up, the group of doggen she had sneaked in behind turned like a flock of birds, all at once. In their modest staff room, there were males and females both among the assembled, each dressed properly for his or her role whether it was cook or cleaner, baker or butler. She had found them when she had gone for an idle stroll, and who was she not to take advantage of an opportunity.
The one who was in charge, Fritz Perlmutter, looked like he was about to faint. Then again, he had been her father’s doggen all those years ago, and had had particular struggles with her defining herself in a servile role. “My fine lady—”
“No’One. My name is No’One now. Please address me as that and that alone. And as I said, I shall take care of the washing down in the training center.”
Wherever that was.
Indeed, last night with that dress had been a benediction of sorts, the task busying her hands and giving her a focus that passed the hours with alacrity. It had once been the same on the Other Side, her manual labor the only thing that calmed her and imparted structure to her existence.
How she had missed having a purpose.
For truth, she had come here to serve Payne, but the female wanted none of that. She had come here to try to connect with her daughter, but the female was newly mated, with vital distractions. And she had come here in search of some kind of peace, only to be driven mad with inactivity since her arrival.
And that was prior to her near run-in with Tohrment early this morning.
At least he had taken the dress, though. It was gone from where she had hung it when he had answered her knock with such gruff—
Abruptly, she noted that the butler was looking at her expectantly, as if he had just said something that required a response.
“Please take me down there,” she said, “and show me the duties.”
Given the way his old, wrinkled face fell even further, she gathered that was not the reply he had been hoping for.
“Mistress—”
“No’One. And you, or one of your staff, can show me now.”
The assembled masses all looked worried, as if mayhap rumors of the sky falling had suddenly become reality.
“Thank you,” she said to the butler. “For your facilitation.”
Clearly recognizing that he was not going to win, the head doggen bowed low. “But of course I shall, mist— Ah, No— Er…”
When he couldn’t get out her proper name, as if the appropriate title of “mistress” was required to blaze the trail up his windpipe, she took pity on him.
“You are most helpful,” she murmured. “Now, lead on.”
After dismissing the others, he took her out of the staff room, through the kitchen, and into the foyer by virtue of yet another door that was new to her. As they proceeded, she recalled her previous, younger self, the haughty daughter of a bloodline of means who had refused to cut up her own meat, or brush her own hair, or dress herself. What a waste. At least now that she was no one and had nothing, she was clear on how to pass the hours meaningfully: work. Work was the key.
“We go through herein,” the butler pronounced as he held wide a hidden door beneath the grand staircase. “Allow me to provide you the codes.”
“Thank you,” she replied, memorizi
ng them.
As she followed the doggen into the long, thin tube of an underground tunnel, she thought, yes, if she was going to stay on this side, she needed to busy herself with chores, even if it offended the doggen, the Brotherhood, the shellans.… Better that than the prison of her own thoughts.
They exited the tunnel by stepping through the back of a closet and passing into a squat room that had a desk and metal cabinets and a glass door.
The doggen cleared his throat. “This is the training center and medical facility. We have classrooms, a gym, locker room, weight room, physical therapy area, and a pool, as well as many other amenities. There are staff who take care of the deep cleaning of each section”—this was said sternly, as if he did not care that she was the guest of the king; she was not mucking about with his schedule—“but the doggen who took care of the laundry has gone upon bed rest, as she is mitte doggen and it is no longer safe for her to be on her feet. Please, we are this way.”
As he held open the glass portal, they went out into the corridor and headed to a double-doored room that was kitted up identically to the laundry she had used the night before in the main house. Over the next twenty minutes, she received a refresher on how to operate the machines, and then the butler reviewed with her a map of the facilities so she knew where to collect the bins and where to return what she had tended to.
And then, after a stiff silence, and stiffer adieu, she was blissfully alone.
Standing in the middle of the utility room, surrounded by washing machines and dryers and tables to fold upon, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Oh, the lovely solitude, and the fortunate weight of duty settling upon her shoulders. For the next six hours, she had nothing to think of but white towels and sheets: finding them, putting them in machines, folding them, returning them to their proper places.
There was no room for the past or her regrets here. Just the work.