by J. R. Ward
"New hand wash at work."
Trez followed through on the hug. "Get rid of it. Makes you smell like a little old lady--what is it? Lavender?"
"What happened to the Merc? The thing's banged to shit."
Trez pointed to the screen. "That happened."
iAm focused on Selena instead, tracing her profile and dress with surprise that he covered quickly.
"We went on a date," Trez blurted.
Selena glanced over, and when she saw who it was, she reached out her arms. "Hello," she said as she embraced his brother. "I think we broke downtown Caldwell."
Funny, iAm was the only male he didn't feel like killing if there was contact with his female. Guess his bonded male recognized that iAm would never, ever cross any lines in thought, much less deed.
iAm smiled a little. "Least I know why the Benz needs fifty grand worth of body work. You want a drink while I help myself?"
Trez shook his head. "No, I'm good."
Except as his brother went over to the bar, Trez excused himself and followed the guy. "Hey, listen, I just want to apologize for going radio silent--whoa!"
As the bottle iAm had picked up slid out of the male's grasp, Trez caught the thing before it hit the floor--and that was when he saw how badly his brother's hands were shaking.
"Jesus, iAm, are you all right?"
"Oh, yeah. Abso."
"Here," he said, giving the vodka back. "You sure you need to make your own drink?"
"Positive."
"Wait, lemme get you a glass." He came around the bar and got a short-and-squat off the shelf as iAm popped the cap off the square bottle. "Cranberry juice, right?"
"No."
"Neat? You don't usually drink vodka like that."
"Efficiency, my brother. It's all about efficiency tonight."
Trez held the glass out and watched as iAm poured a healthy measure of the see-through, relax-o-matic in there. He kept expecting the level to stop rising, and when it didn't, he found himself studiously ignoring the shock he felt.
iAm was the moderate of the two of them.
He drank all this and his blood alcohol level was going to be in coma territory. Then again, it had been a very fucking long twenty-four hours.
"How's things at the restaurant?" Trez asked as he transferred ownership of the glass.
"Ah, good. Yeah. Fine."
"The clubs?"
"Same."
iAm drank the shit like it was water, downing the entire load in one long, open-throated sesh.
Trez cursed. "I'm so fucking sorry."
"Why?" iAm muttered.
"You know why."
The grunt that came in reply could have meant any number of things. "Listen, I have to go lie down. I'm done for."
"Yeah, I think we're going to do the same."
"How is she?"
Trez glanced over and intended to look right back at his brother, but his eyes refused to move. Tracing the graceful curve of Selena's back, he saw her naked in that loo, her legs spread, her heavy breasts bare to his mouth, his hands. Then he pictured her laughing wildly in the back of the Benz. Remembered her staring out at the night as they'd had dinner.
"She's amazing," he said hoarsely. "Absolutely amazing."
"That's good, brother. That's good." iAm recapped the CLIX and tucked it under his arm. "Listen, I gotta go lie down--but I'll be right next door if you need anything, 'kay?"
"Thanks."
As iAm turned away and didn't look back, it was hard not to feel every ounce of the burden Trez was to that male.
Someday, he vowed, he was going to find a way to make up for all of it.
FORTY
There was no getting away.
As Layla stood in the midst of the group in the billiards room, she was acutely aware that if she tried to sneak out and take her car for a little joyride, she was going to get hit with questions she couldn't easily answer. But more to the point, Luchas remained in stable, though serious, condition down in the clinic. Qhuinn was still with him, with Blay by his side, and she had come up here only to get something to eat.
Leaving the property was all wrong.
Especially to see the likes of Xcor.
And maybe this was for the best. She had been on the verge of crossing lines the night before, lines that would have taken her into territory that, after a lot of reflection, she knew she couldn't handle. Dearest Virgin Scribe, she couldn't imagine what she had been thinking, and this forced separation was a good thing--even though she didn't want Luchas to suffer.
On the huge TV screen over the fireplace, images of gunfire and screeching cars flickered like something out of a movie.
Unbelievable what had happened downtown. Thank God no one had been hurt.
"So where's your fancy RV now?" someone asked Manny.
"Still down by the river. We had to leave it in V's warehouse." The doctor rubbed his eyes like he had a screamer of a headache. "Bullet holes everywhere--and I hit something big with it."
"Lesser?" one of the Brothers said.
"No. When I got out and checked, there was red blood on the front headlights and grille. So it was either a human or one of you guys--and given the head count around here, and the communal lack of limps, it must have been the former."
"Or a Bastard."
"Maybe. Yeah. Whoever it was, I'm damn sure they were hurting afterward."
Layla frowned. "Someone was hit?"
"Not one of us, don't worry," somebody replied.
A strange premonition rattled through her.
Without saying anything further, she backed out of the room. After checking that no one had noticed her exit, she took her phone from the pocket of the fleece she'd borrowed from Doc Jane and sent a quick text. As soon as it went through, she erased the words and then made sure the cell was on vibrate before disappearing the device again.
Pacing by the front door, she kept her hand in her pocket on the slim body of the phone and waited for an answer. When nothing came through ten minutes later, she double-checked that she hadn't turned the thing off by mistake--
"Hey, there."
Pivoting around, she saw Qhuinn and Blay emerging from the tunnel's hidden door under the stairs.
Flushing, she said, "I was just coming back down."
"He's resting comfortably. Doc Jane says his vitals are improving. He's out of immediate danger."
Blay cut in, "So we're going to bed. Before we fall over."
Qhuinn yawned so hard his jaw popped. "Doc Jane is crashing herself down there. Guess she's been up for two days straight. She's going to call us immediately if anything changes."
"Let me know if you need me?" she said.
"I think we're okay for now. Thanks for everything. Really."
Hugs were exchanged along with good-days, and she must have done a pretty good job of playing normal, because moments later, they headed for the second floor together.
Unaware of her worry.
Layla glanced back toward the billiards room. Took her phone out and checked the time.
Three a.m.
Still no text in return.
Before she was clear on what she was doing, she slipped out through the dining room and the kitchen. The doggen were hard at work preparing Last Meal, and Fritz barely looked up with a deferential nod as she hightailed it past him.
Nobody noticed as she stepped through into the garage. Or rushed to the locked door on the far side. Once she entered the code on the keypad, there was a brief beeping sound as the dead bolt was released.
Moments later, she was behind the wheel of her car and speeding off.
As she proceeded down the mountain, the mhis slowed her, and the delay made her heart pound even harder. But she made it to the foot of the mountain, and as she turned onto the rural highway, she really hit the gas.
There was not a lot of time.
God, this had to be what an addiction felt like, she thought numbly as she gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make h
er knuckles burn.
The pull to the drug or drink . . . or in her case, Xcor . . . was irresistible. And there was no pleasure in giving in, just an aching guilt and a resonant self-loathing over the fact that you had once again overridden your better impulses and succumbed to what might very well kill you.
Or at the least, ruin your life.
But the Scribe Virgin save her soul, she was incapable of not going to make sure Xcor was okay.
*
At the King's audience house, Paradise smiled at the elderly male in front of her desk. "Oh, you're welcome. I'm glad that we got you in tonight."
"You have been most helpful." He bowed to her, his cap in hand. "Be of well hour unto the dawn."
"Yourself also."
As he walked out of the parlor, she sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. Last appointment of the night. Wrath had seen between two and four people an hour for eight hours, so that was at least sixteen, maybe up to thirty people. And for each of them, she had followed the protocol her father had set up: the checkin, the registration if they had never been to see the King before, the offer of food and drink before they were summoned. Then afterward, she had bid them good-day and entered into the database the notes her father gave her about the discussion and any decisions that had been made or permissions granted.
She wasn't just exhausted. She was wrung-out. So much to learn, so many names and issues, family trees and bloodlines, and there was no room for error.
Plus, she had had to be welcoming to everyone and engage them in conversation while they waited, especially if they came alone.
Not that that had been a requirement of the job set out by her father. But she had felt like it was important.
Maybe because of her stewardess outfit.
More likely because of her glymera training.
"Lot of empty chairs here."
Her lids popped open and she jumped. "Peyton! Jesus, can't you knock?"
"I did. And one of the Brothers let me in--which nearly made me lose bladder control." He glanced back at the open archway. "And you don't have a door in front of your desk or I woulda done the knuckle thing. Sorry I scared you."
Jogging her mouse to the side, she cleared the computer screen of multicolored, transparent bubbles. "What do you want."
"You haven't answered any of my texts. Or calls."
"I'm pissed off at you."
"Parry, come on. Don't be like this."
"I've got a question for you." She shifted her glare from the Excel spreadsheet she'd been working on to his blue eyes. "How'd you like it if you were denied making a choice because you have blond hair."
He threw up his hands. "Whatever, we're not talking about hair color--"
"I'm serious. Stop arguing with me and answer the question."
"I would go to CVS and buy some black hair dye."
Shaking her head, Paradise picked up the notebook with her punch list on it and checked off a couple of things she'd already done.
"I don't understand why it's such a big deal," Peyton muttered. "Why do you want to be in the war anyway? Aristocrats are going to get killed out there, too, you know. Why don't you want to be safe--"
"Behind a desk, right? Or more likely in a dress in a big house. Right?"
"It's not wrong to look out for the fairer sex."
"Don't you have to get back to your bong."
She could feel him glaring at her from his greater height. "Don't you remember the raids, Parry? Don't you remember what that was like? People were slaughtered in their own homes. They had pieces of their bodies hacked off of them while they were alive. They found Lash's parents sitting around their dining room table, the dead bodies arranged so they were upright in those chairs like they were having dinner. Why do you want to be a part of that?"
Paradise met that hard stare again. "I don't!"
"So why are we having this fight!"
"Because I want to choose. I want to be able to assume the risk if I want--and don't hit me with the recap on those deaths like I don't recall every single thing that happened. Members of my bloodline were murdered, too. Am I not allowed to want revenge? Or is that a dick-only thing as well?"
He planted his hands on the desk and leaned into her. "Males can't give birth."
She stood up out of her chair and met him jaw-to-jaw. "You got that right. I'd like to see even one of you try to go through that experience. You'd be crying like a little bitch in ten minutes."
Peyton's stare dropped to her mouth for a split second, and the distraction surprised her.
In all the years of friendship, that was something that had never happened.
It hadn't even been approached, actually.
"Fine," he said grimly. "Put your money where your mouth is."
"Excuse me?"
"Join the program." He swept his hand over the desk. "Come out from behind here, put your application in, and try to pass the physical test."
"Maybe I will--"
At that moment, her father walked in. "Oh, hello, Peyton. How are you, son?"
Immediately, Peyton disengaged. "Sir, I'm well, sir. Thank you."
As the two shook hands, she was pretty sure her father was clueless as to the undercurrents in the parlor--and very sure Peyton was not. His shoulders were still set tightly, as if he were arguing with her in his head.
". . . kind of you to come and support Paradise." Her father smiled at her. "Especially on this first night. I must say, you have exceeded my expectations, my dearest one. This is going to be a wonderful way for you to keep busy before your presentation."
"Thank you, Father," she said, bowing.
"Well, I must needs depart. Peyton, perhaps you will keep her company until the dawn?"
Those sharp blues shot back over to her. "You're not at home anymore?"
"Do not be alarmed," her father interjected smoothly. "She is fully accompanied and properly chaperoned. Now, if you will excuse me, I must depart."
To check on their "visitor," no doubt.
"The Brothers have escorted the King off the property," her father said as he came around the desk and embraced her. "The doggen shall be cleaning for an hour, at least. Call upon me if you need aught?"
"I will."
And then he was gone.
"I can't believe he's letting you stay here," Peyton said.
"It's not necessarily his choice."
"What's that mean?"
"Nothing." She pulled a hand through her hair, shaking out the waves. "You don't have to stay. As a matter of fact, I wish you wouldn't."
She could feel him staring at her, and when he didn't reply, she glared at him. "What."
Those eyes of his were heavy lidded in a way she'd never seen before. "You've never been so . . ."
"Obnoxious?"
"No," he muttered. "Not that."
"Well, what, then." When he didn't answer her, she shook her head. "Go home, Peyton. Just go home and light up and get ready to big-man all over the campus at the training center. It's the role you were born to play."
With that, she walked around him and left the parlor. She didn't care what he did, whether he left . . . or kept standing there at her desk until the doggen Swiffered him out with the dust bunnies.
She was done.
For the night. And with males, in general.
FORTY-ONE
"No. Here. Put him by the fire--"
Xcor broke himself loose of the holds upon his arms. "I am not an invalid."
As he limped across the shallow room of the cottage he had bought for Layla, he kept to himself the fact that he was cold to the bone, and he did, in fact, appreciate the warmth of the flames that boiled around the logs at the hearth.
"Your leg is broken," Zypher said.
Whilst he settled himself upon the sofa, a sharp nausea threatened to empty his stomach, but he buried that response as well, swallowing down the risen bile. "It shall mend."
"There are victuals here."
He didn't know wh
o said that. Did not care. "Where is the liquor?"
"Here."
As a bottle of God only knew what appeared before him, he took what was proffered, shucked the cap, and brought the open mouth to his lips. Vodka it was, the white bite burning the back of his throat and lighting a second set of flames in his gut.
It had been a very, very long trip home, with him dematerializing mile by mile because they had no motorized conveyances at their disposal. And now, all he wanted was to be left alone--and he feared, given that all of them were here and worrying over him, it was going to take more energy than he had to get his soldier to go in peace.
"You were nearly killed," Balthazar said from by the door.
He drank more of the spirit. "Yourself as well--"
"Someone is here," Syphon said by the bay window. "A car."
Immediately, all guns were unholstered and trained upon the glass--except for his. Beneath his thin jacket, his arm was hanging limp, the joint most likely dislocated.
And he was not putting down the vodka.
"Who is it," he demanded, thinking it was likely the doggen he had sought to hire.
"'Tis a female," someone breathed. "And not of the servant class."
Instantly, Xcor wrenched around and bared his fangs. But he didn't need visual confirmation. There was only one female who knew about this place, and who would come in a car.
"Leave us," he commanded. "Now."
When his Band of Bastards just stood in a semi-circle, transfixed by what was out that fucking window, he released a lion's growl. "Leave us!"
Zypher cleared his throat. "She is bonny, indeed, Xcor--"
"And she shall be the last sight e'er you behold if you don't get out of here!"
One by one, the soldiers grudgingly dematerialized . . . such that, when his female knocked upon the door, he was by himself.
Seeking further fortification from the bottle, he drank hard; then rousted himself off the couch, walked over and opened the panels wide.
The second Layla looked at him, she exclaimed, "You're hurt!"
The shock in her face was such that he glanced down at himself and his bloodstained clothes. "Yes, it would appear I am." Funny, now that she was before him, he felt no more pain. "Won't you come and warm yourself by the fire."
As if there were nothing wrong. As if she hadn't blown him off when they were supposed to have met at midnight--so she could give him her decision.
He knew her answer, however. Her previous absence was all the reply required--she had clearly come to her senses.
Layla stepped inside, her eyes going up and down his body. "Xcor, what happened?"