The Shadows

by J. R. Ward

  Maybe her mahmen would have helped him in moments like this. Maybe not.

  There was a lot rolled into that sigh of his.

  Beside her, the phone rang, and she went for the receiver on the first ring, because whatever was on the line would be easier to deal with than these kinds of family dynamics.

  "Good evening," she said.

  There was a slight pause, and then a male voice with a strange accent said in the Old Language, "This is the audience house of Wrath, son of Wrath."

  She frowned, and answered in the same way. "Yes, it is. How may I help you?"

  "It is located at eight sixteen Wallace Avenue."

  As the male gave her the address, she looked at her father. "How may I help you?"

  "You may carry unto your King a message of import. If he does not surrender custody of the Shadow Anointed One, TrezLath, upon midnight on the morrow at the boundaries of the Territory, Her Most Sacred Soul, Queen Rashth, ruler of the s'Hisbe, shall construe the harboring of said male as a declaration of war against our people. She intends for the sacred mating to occur with the heir to the Shadow throne on the first night following her period of mourning. Compliance will spare all vampires much bloodshed. Failure to comply will ensure a scourge against your already beleaguered populace."

  Click.

  Removing the receiver from her ear, Paradise could only stare at the black plastic grip with its two square heads.

  "Paradise?" her father said. "Whate'er was it?"

  "Assuming that wasn't a hoax . . ." She lifted her eyes to his. "The Shadows are declaring war . . . on us."

  SEVENTY-THREE

  Sometime later, Trez became aware that he was no longer outside.

  In fact, he was sitting on his bed up on the mansion's third floor, his palms on his knees, his body somehow still in motion, even though he was not moving.

  After he'd stayed by the pyre until it had collapsed in on itself and the flames had died out, someone must have brought him up here.

  Was that the sound of a shower?

  iAm appeared in the doorway to the bathroom. "Let me help you."

  "Isn't that what you always do," Trez mumbled.

  "If the roles were reversed . . ."

  As his brother approached, all Trez could do was stare up at the male as if iAm were a giant.

  Emotions bubbled up through his exhaustion.

  "You are," Trez said softly, "the very best male I have ever known."

  iAm stopped short. Cleared his throat. "Ah . . . let's get those pants off you, okay? And before you say it, yes, I know you're not hungry, but I got you some food and yes, some alcohol."

  When iAm reached out a hand, Trez blinked and saw Selena's frozen in space, perpetually waiting for him to grab hold and save her.

  Except he hadn't been able to.

  Bowing his head, he was too tired to tear up, and the sense that he was going to feel this bad for the rest of his natural life was like a suit of steel with spikes on the inside.

  "Come on," iAm said in a voice that broke.

  Trez took what had been offered to him out of reflex, neither caring about his dirty body nor his dirty pants nor the food.

  But the booze . . . now, that might help.

  At the very least, he could pass out from it.

  As they headed into the bath, his cell phone began to ring on the bedside table, and for a moment, he paused and thought, How strange.

  Except that was normal, wasn't it. People called people when they wanted something, when they needed something, when they had news to share or just wanted to check in.

  Remember, he said to himself. That was how it worked . . .

  The next time he had a conscious thought, it was as he was stepping naked under the shower.

  Ow.

  That was all he had.

  Just . . . ow. As all that water got into the wounds on his chest.

  iAm was the one who leaned in and washed his hair and his body, even though the guy's shirt got soaking wet down the front and along the sleeves.

  And then they were getting out and it was towel time.

  At his next check-in, he was sitting up in bed with the covers folded at his waist and a lap tray of food next to him. iAm was on the edge of the mattress, his mouth moving.

  With an odd displacement, Trez watched his brother from a distance, observing his elegant hand motions, his worried expression, his smart eyes.

  "I'm going to be okay," Trez said as a lull presented itself.

  He had no clue what his brother had been talking at, but he was pretty sure his welfare had been the topic.

  "Will you do me a favor?" Trez asked as he glanced at the door across the way. "Will you thank . . . everybody? For me? For what they did? I was so tired . . . I didn't know how I was going to build it."

  No reason to add a noun there. iAm knew what he was talking about.

  "I will. Sure."

  "And I want you to take a break."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight." He flexed his hands and felt the soreness in his forearms, his shoulders. Wrapping all those bandages had required an exertion he'd been unaware of throwing into the job. "I'm too . . . everything. I'm just too fucking everything."

  iAm hit him with a pair of laser beams. "Are you sure? I was going to sleep in here with you."

  "Thanks, but I could use the time alone. And before you say it, no, I'm not going to do anything stupid. You can take all my weapons."

  "Would you believe I already have?"

  An image of himself with that gun to his head the night Selena had first gotten sick came to mind. "Yes, I would."

  Except there was at least one forty the guy wouldn't have found. Not unless he took apart the Jacuzzi.

  iAm started to talk again and Trez watched him go, nodding at different places just because he didn't want to be rude. His mind had drifted off again, and before he knew it, his eyes were following that lead, rolling back in his head.

  Next thing he knew, he was lying down flat.

  iAm's voice came from up above, like God's or maybe a movie theater announcer's: "I'm leaving the light on."

  As if he were four years old.

  "Thank . . ."

  *

  iAm stood over his brother as Trez passed out cold halfway through a thank-you. As a soft snore percolated out of the guy, he shook his head.

  His brother was going to be like that for a while.

  Glancing to the foot of the bed, he saw the pants that he'd removed on the floor, and he went over and picked them up. It was probably best that they weren't the first thing the male saw when he woke up--and iAm would have preferred to throw them away. The idea that they might be an important symbol of the death stopped him, however, and he settled for folding them up and putting them on a shelf in the closet.

  He checked on Trez one more time. But short of pulling up a chair and watching the guy breathe for the next four or six or ten hours, there wasn't anything for him to do here.

  Backing out of the room, he paused again in the doorway . . . and saw nothing that gave him any concern other than the fact that Trez looked dead already.

  Yup. Nothing amiss.

  Same ol' same-ol'.

  God, he wanted to vomit.

  Heading down to the second floor, he went over to the open doors of Wrath's study. All the Brothers and fighters were in there, some sitting, others pacing, a few leaning against walls.

  They stopped talking and looked over at him.

  He raised a hand in greeting. "Sorry to bother you all. Figured you'd want to know that he's crashed upstairs. He's so grateful for everything you did, and he asked me to let you know that."

  There was some murmuring--but something was off. Way off.

  "What's going on?" he said slowly.

  Wrath spoke up from the ornate throne behind the ornate desk. "You mind coming in here for a minute and shutting the doors?"

  So they'd been waiting for him.

&
nbsp; "Ah, yeah. No problem."

  When he'd closed them all in, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Tell me. And don't bullshit around whatever it is. I haven't the patience or the energy."

  Wrath leveled those black sunglasses at him. "We received a phone call about a half an hour ago at the audience house."

  "Okay."

  "The individual did not identify themselves. They were, however, evidently from the s'Hisbe. Bottom line, either I turn over your brother at midnight tomorrow or the Queen is declaring war on not just myself and the Brothers, but vampires at large."

  iAm closed his eyes.

  He should have seen this coming. He really should have.

  He just really could have used, like, ten minutes before the next drama bomb landed in front of him.

  Letting out his breath, he muttered, "Son of a bitch--"

  "But we're not giving him up."

  iAm's lids popped wide. "What?"

  Wrath braced his powerful arms on the desk and leaned in, baring his fangs. "I don't respond to threats. And we are prepared to go to war if that's what it comes down to--but whatever the outcome, I will not deliver that male anywhere. Period."

  As a low growl vibrated through the air, iAm looked around.

  He hadn't cried since the moment Selena had passed, not even when he'd walked out of the back of the house behind his brother to the pyre. It was as if, when the Chosen died, the electrical fuse to that part of him blew under the load that it was having to carry, the center of his chest going lights-out.

  Now, though, as he met the steady, aggressive stares of the males in the room, the tears started to roll down his cheeks.

  It appeared, after decades of being without a tribe, that he and his brother had found theirs.

  These proud warriors, and their females, had adopted two orphans who had been out in the world on their own . . . and they were prepared to fight to the death to protect what was theirs.

  Taking a shuddering breath, he pulled his shit together and shook his head at Wrath, even though the male couldn't see him. "I'm sorry, I can't let you do that--"

  "Excuse me?" the King bit out. "I know you aren't trying to tell me my business."

  "But Shadows are capable of . . ." He cleared his throat, not wanting to insult them. "You don't understand what my people can do."

  They had tricks that regular vampires did not.

  Wrath smiled with a blood thirst. "Maybe you haven't met my ally?" As the King swept his hand to the side, he pointed at Rehvenge. "Do I need to make introductions?"

  Rehvenge's amethyst eyes were cold. "As the leader of my people, I am not without resources to call upon--and I assure you, we are more than capable of countering any attack that Queen brings."

  The symphaths, iAm thought. Jesus . . .

  Wrath glanced around the room. "She wants a war? I'll give her one--and I guarantee that a scorched-earth policy is going to look like a Sunday fucking dinner compared to what I'm prepared to do to her if she tries to take our boy."

  At that, all iAm could do was stand there and blink like a dummy.

  God. Damn.

  It was enough to almost make him feel sorry for that female.

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  When iAm materialized on the terrace of the condo at the Commodore about twenty minutes later, he found that the note he'd told Fritz to bring over was still Scotch-taped to the glass. He peeled the thing off, saw that it had been opened and read, and put it away inside his leather jacket.

  Then he opened things up, and turned on some lights with his mind.

  As the illumination flared, he blinked until his eyes adjusted properly. The cold gusts coming in fluttered the drapes, and even tipped a throw pillow over on the sofa. He did not shut the slider behind himself as he entered.

  Taking off his jacket, he paced around.

  His conscience was not at peace. Not at all. To have found his tribe, only to have them go to war for him and his brother? That was too much to live with. Yeah, sure, the Brothers were all big boys, and specially trained, and armored up the ass--and they had the symphaths backing them.

  But people were going to die.

  That was the nature of weaponized conflict.

  Whatever the other solution was, he had to find it. Fast--

  "iAm?"

  As maichen's voice registered, he wheeled around. "Oh, God, you're here."

  Without giving the poor female so much as a hi-how're-ya, he went over and dragged her against him, holding her hard. Even through all the robing, he felt her body, her warmth, her soul, and he drank that in, taking from it the energy he needed.

  Pulling back, he removed her hood and clasped her head, bringing her in for a kiss. "Thank God."

  "iAm, what has happened?"

  He took her hands urgently. "I need you to listen to me, and listen to me carefully. I want to take you somewhere safe."

  "iAm, I can't go with you."

  "The Territory is not safe."

  She stilled. Frowned. "Whate'er do you speak of?"

  Fucking hell, the last thing he needed was the reality that if he didn't take care of the no-win situation with the Queen properly, maichen was likely to get injured or killed: Nobody was going to be spared if there was a war with the s'Hisbe--and after talking to Wrath and Rehv, he knew both of those leaders were prepared to attack the Shadows where they lived.

  At midnight tomorrow.

  "Things are happening at very high levels. The palace isn't going to be secure enough--"

  "Are we to be attacked? By whom?"

  "I don't want to go into it."

  She stepped back sharply. "What is wrong."

  At that moment, a figure came in from the hallway, a massive figure robed in black.

  "Well, well, this is a surprise," s'Ex drawled. "Princess."

  After a moment of confusion, iAm glanced over his shoulder at the open slider, wondering if a fourth person had entered the condo. Considering the way the drama had been running lately? Yeah, the Queen's daughter absolutely could have shown up here for no good reason.

  Things were that out-of-control.

  "Have you not properly introduced yourself yet?" s'Ex said. "Would you like me to do the honors, Your Serene Highness?"

  As iAm shook his head, he decided maybe there was another explanation: s'Ex had clearly lost his ever-fucking mind. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "You mean she hasn't told you?"

  iAm looked back at maichen. "Told me what? She is a maid who took care of me."

  "She is your brother's betrothed." The Queen's executioner came further into the room, stalking them both. "And under palace law, I am now required to kill you, because you've seen her face." The male leaned in and dropped his voice to a stage whisper. "Although I'm thinking, considering the way you greeted her . . . that you've probably seen a lot more than that. Haven't you. Unless you want me to believe that she's meeting you here solely to pretend to do your laundry?"

  Cold. Cold over his head, on his shoulders, across his chest, down to his feet.

  iAm went instantly cold.

  s'Ex was a lot of things, but one thing he rarely ever was . . . was angry. And the male was rip-shit pissed-off at the female who stood across the way from him, as if she'd put all of them into a situation that none of them were going to be able to handle.

  If she'd actually been a maid? He wouldn't have cared. The servant class was not valued above their ability to perform functions--s'Ex might have ordered her back to the Territory and sent her for some punishment, but he wouldn't be this incensed.

  Turning to maichen, iAm leveled his stare at her. In a perfectly calm voice, he said, "I am going to ask you once, and only once--and you are never going to get another chance to be honest with me. So take your goddamn time to think about what your answer to this question is going to be. Who. Are. You."

  As he waited for her reply, he thought back to one particular thing she'd said. At the time he'd taken the meaning in an opposite w
ay. Now? He feared she'd been hinting at her truth; he just hadn't realized it.

  We're equal, you and I.

  No, she'd said, sadly we are not.

  *

  Princess Catra vin SuLaneh etl MuLanen deh FonLerahn stared into iAm's eyes. Although his voice had been even to the point of relaxed, he was anything but. Fury seethed under his skin as he came to his own conclusion--and was obviously just waiting to see if she had the guts to reveal herself.

  "Give us a moment," she said to the executioner.

  "I don't think so, Princess."

  "You will depart this room and wait out there"--she pointed to the open door--"until I call you back in here."

  s'Ex's eyes narrowed, a flare of hatred glittering out at her. "Don't flex muscles you do not have, female."

  "And I advise you not to test me. You will not enjoy the outcome--or survive it."

  As she pegged him with a hard stare, s'Ex's upper lip curled back, but she did not care. He was a killer and a very potent male, but he was, and always would be, ruled by the traditions of the s'Hisbe. That was what was not understood about him--he had never once killed or maimed without provocation. And she had long suspected that he gave himself unto her mother not out of love, but to provide a stabilizing effect politically.

  Few would guess the true role he played behind the scenes--but she knew it, because she had eavesdropped for all those years.

  And yet in spite of the sway he held and the influence he had at the palace, he had never tried to overthrow or even diminish her mother in any fashion.

  Instead, he had always upheld their ways. Protected them. Nurtured them.

  "Go," she snapped.

  With a curse, s'Ex turned and walked off. When he reached the slider, he muttered, "You have no idea what you're dealing with, iAm. Have fun."

  Stepping out, he closed the door. And stayed exactly where she had ordered him to remain.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to find the right words. She hadn't slept at all during the day, but had wrestled with her conscience for hours. And when she had come here earlier, she had been resolved: She was totally and completely in love with iAm.

  And knew that it had been a terrible mistake to take things as far as she had.

  It was time to tell him . . . before he touched her. After that, she would likely to be too lost once again.

  Clearing her throat, she said, "I am--"

  "Actually," iAm interrupted, "don't bother. That little act you just pulled with him is as much explanation as I need." He broke off and began to pace, dragging his hands over his head. "What the fuck were you thinking--"