by J. R. Ward
"Let me touch you--"
"Make the right choice, Trez. You have to make the right choice. You have a debt to repay to the one you have loved all your life."
"But I love you," he choked out, beginning to cry.
"And I love you, too--for eternity." Her smile resonated through him. "Infinity and back, remember? I'll be here waiting for you and for whoever else you love. That's what the other side is. It's just love."
"Don't leave. Oh, God, don't leave me again--"
"I'm not. We're separated, but not lost or truly apart. Do not mourn me, my love. I have not died. . . ."
*
"Selena!"
As iAm heard the shout, he jerked up from the base of the slab. Shit, some savior he was. He'd fallen a-fucking-sleep holding his brother's--
"Trez?" he said, as he realized the guy had, by some miracle, almost twenty-four hours after the cleanse, come back to consciousness.
His brother was crying, tears spilling from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.
"Trez? Are you back?" iAm jumped to his feet and leaned over the guy. "Trez?"
Those sunken black eyes shifted to his, and there was a long moment in which Trez seemed to struggle with what was or was not real.
"Trez?" iAm whispered, suddenly worried that the poison had eaten that brain up. "Are you--"
All at once those long, strong arms wrapped around him and jerked him off his feet.
And his brother was holding him.
And speaking.
"I'm here, I'm here, I'm here . . . for you, I am here. . . ."
At first the words didn't register, but then . . .
"I'm not leaving you," Trez said in a rough, scratchy voice. "I'm here and I'm not leaving you."
Oh . . . shit.
They were the words iAm had said to the male in so many different variations throughout their lives together . . . words that had been represented by the deeds he had done, and days he had stayed up worrying, and years he had spent just praying they were going to make it through another night.
iAm collapsed on his brother's now-scarred chest, his knees suddenly going out from under him.
In his fantasies, he had wondered what it would be like to be free of the curse of worrying about his brother.
He'd had a variety of iterations.
None came close to the real thing.
EIGHTY-FIVE
It was around noontime when Mary left the Brotherhood mansion . . . and the Shadow brothers returned.
Rhage had just sent his shellan off to Havers, after telling her that no, really, he was totally fine, when the security checkpoint at the main entrance went off.
Excusing himself from the restless cohort of his brothers in the billiard's room, he beat Fritz to the monitor, and the instant he saw those two dark faces, he shouted.
"Who is it?" Butch asked.
"Who we've been waiting for!"
Releasing the locks, he positioned himself right at the inner doors--and there they were, looking like shit, both haggard and worn shadows of their former selves.
Har-har, hardy-har-har.
But they were alive. They were together. And the sight of them upright, walking and talking, relieved a little bit of the pressure that had been riding his chest for nights now.
"Hey, my man," he said, embracing the nearest one, and then going to the other.
Trez's voice was thin, but strong enough. "Hey, thanks for everything."
"Thank you so much for--"
"Trez, buddy, good to see you--"
"Jesus Christ--what a story--"
"iAm, welcome back--"
And so it went, the Brotherhood filing out of the billiards room along with the females of the house, the greetings and exchanges like those of war survivors.
Or almost-war survivors . . .
"Oh, my God, you two made it back in time for Steve Wilkos!"
Everyone halted and looked at Lassiter, who was standing in the archway, naked to the waist in nothing but black leathers, that I'M HORNY baseball cap with its silver lame protrusion sticking out the front of his head--and a pair of giant fuzzy slippers on his feet which, if you put them together, formed a complete Dalmatian.
The angel had returned twelve hours ago, saying that the pair of them were safe, but there was no telling whether Trez was going to make it. And for once, the asshat had seemed utterly and completely devastated by something. To the point where he'd been inconsolable.
In the silence following that happy TV announcement, Trez stared across the foyer . . . and then burst out laughing.
The poor bastard laughed so hard, he had to wrap his arms around his middle and wipe tears from his eyes.
As everybody joined in, the Shadow tilted his head up to the ceiling and said, "Thank you, my queen. I needed this."
Then he walked over to the fallen angel and embraced the guy. Words were said, serious ones that made Lassiter duck his eyes.
Because he seemed to be tearing up.
But then the jackass broke rank and said, "Now take your hands off my ass. I'm not that kind of girl."
And that struck the tone for the rest of the day. Rather like rolling a bandage over a wound, the community wrapped itself around the two Shadows, drawing them into the billiards room, offering them food and drink.
It was clear that, in spite of that moment of levity, Trez was hurting badly. He was wearing some kind of gray robe, and his skin was nearly the same color as the cloth. But he seemed determined to be present and participate.
iAm, on the other hand, appeared to have a serious case of vertigo. Like a guy who'd just stepped off a boat that had sustained heavy waves, he steadied himself on various things . . . the pool table, the sofa, the bar.
He declined the offer of booze. Took Coke instead.
Rhage was so damned happy they were home in one piece, but even so, he couldn't man up for too much interaction. He told himself it was because of the raid on the Lessening Society they were going to do at that prep school with Assail and those two cousins.
It could well be a historic slaughter.
And then there was always the Band of Bastards on his mind. Even if he and his brothers killed off all the slayers and the Omega needed time to recoup the losses, there were still Xcor and his boys to worry about.
But the reality was, he still didn't feel right.
And after a time, he became aware that he wasn't the only one.
Layla was likewise standing on the periphery, one hand on her belly, her eyes straight ahead but not really focused on anything.
"You okay?" he asked as he went over to her. "You need Doc Jane or something?"
When she didn't reply, he leaned in, "Layla?"
She jumped, and he reached out to calm her, as she mumbled, "I'm sorry, what?"
"Are you all right?"
"Oh. Yes." She gave him the same sort of smile he'd given his Mary. "I'm fine."
He was tempted to call her on the bullshit, but he wouldn't have appreciated anyone doing that to him.
"You want me to call Qhuinn over?"
The male and Blay were talking with iAm, both of them nodding their heads . . . only to recoil in shock, as if they couldn't believe the story that had, up until now, been delivered secondhand by Steve Wilko's PR man over there with the phallic symbol on his forehead.
"Oh, no. No, thank you."
As Rhage took in her affect, he thought, man, he really was as selfish as he thought he was. She had lost her blooded sister Selena just days ago.
Of course she would look like some version of Trez.
Standing next to her, Rhage wished he could help somehow. But he worried that he was as incapable of doing anything for her . . . as he was defining this seismic shift that had somehow occurred under his skin.
Ostensibly, everything was the same and all was well.
He just felt like a different male for no good reason.
And that . . .
. . . that he found terrifying.
*
<
br /> Across town, at Abalone's Tudor mansion, Paradise was sitting up in her own bed, in her own room, staring at the wall across the way.
She supposed she should have been happy. According to her father, the threat from the s'Hisbe had been neutralized, and everyone was safe . . . but she was completely unsettled.
Of course, she'd moved back home.
In spite of all her independent-streak posturing, the reality of living away from her father in uncertain times was just too dangerous. And this was a step back from her autonomy.
At least she still had her job--
The knock on her door was quiet.
"Yes?" she said.
As the panels swung wide, her father appeared in between the jambs. He was in his navy-blue silk bathrobe, the one that had the family crest stitched into the breast and the tie that was as long as the hem.
"You're still up?" she asked.
"I could not sleep."
"So much going on."
"Yes." He hesitated, looking around her room as if he were renewing himself with its acquaintance. "May I come in?"
"Of course, it is your house."
"Our home," he corrected gently.
When he only got as far as the edge of that needlepoint rug that covered the floor, she frowned. "Are you not feeling well?"
He opened his mouth to speak. Closed it. Tried again.
Failed.
Moving her legs over, she sat up. "Father?"
Her father finally came all the way forward, and that was when she saw that he had something in his hand. A piece of paper.
In lieu of an answer, he offered whatever it was to her.
"What is this?" she said as she took the thing.
Looking down, she frowned.
"Oh . . . my God," she breathed. "My God . . ."
It was the application to the Brotherhood's training program. And he had filled all of it out, in his own hand.
For her.
"Father!" Leaping up, she threw her arms around him. "Thank you! Thank you!"
He held on to her. "It's a safety issue," he said roughly. "I just . . . you're right. You need to learn how to fight. The idea that sometime you might be unprotected in some capacity . . ." He pulled back. "You're right. You need to learn."
He was clearly, in the words of Peyton, shitting Twinkies at the thought--but that was what made the gesture so grand. Even though he was scared . . . he was going to let her go anyway.
"Thank you," she said, grabbing onto him. "I'll be careful! I promise!"
Assuming she got in. Jeez, she'd better start working out if she was going to pass the physical-requirements test.
"I promise," she vowed, "I'll be careful."
"I shall be praying for that," he all but groaned. "Every single night."
"I love you, Father!"
He closed his eyes as if he were on a roller-coaster ride he wasn't sure he could handle. "And you, dearest Paradise, have my heart."
EIGHTY-SIX
Queen Catra vin SuLaneh etl MuLanen deh FonLerahn sat alone in her quarters, the silence around her one that she had created by asking her maids and servants to leave her.
She was not moving into the former Queen's suite of rooms.
No, she was having those turned into a nursery for the young of those who served in the palace. That way those precious little ones would be close to their parents, and for the first time, servants would not have to leave their sons and daughers with relatives or in the cold, dark jail-like facility near the poor housing area.
That had not been her first decree, however.
No, the first thing she had done, after accepting the mantle of leadership over her people, was to abolish the Anointed One curse.
She had set iAm free.
Not that he knew it. Everyone else in the s'Hisbe did, however, so at least he wouldn't ever have to worry about seeing her or the Territory again.
Every breath she drew in hurt.
Stars above, that so much damage had been done by one so greedy.
The good news, she supposed, was that she, in concert with s'Ex, whom she had elevated to a position equivalent to King--even though, obviously, they would not be mated--would see to it that no one else was ever treated so capriciously and carelessly.
And as she would never have young, she didn't need to worry about some kind of latent evil gene popping up.
Indeed, with iAm out of the picture, she was prepared to be celibate. Who else would she want, anyway? She had met her match--it was even decreed in the stars.
That he didn't want her?
Well, one's fate was not another's, no matter the emotions involved--
As the door slid open, and a waft of food smells preceded a servant, she frowned and looked at the time on the ancient windup clock by her dressing table. She had been sitting here for hours.
"I am not hungry," she said without looking over. "But I thank you."
When she sensed the figure had not moved from the doorway, she glanced over at the farshi-dressed male.
"Thank you," she repeated numbly. "But I am not as yet hungry. Please return it to the kitchen--no, wait, offer it to your fellow males and females?"
Instead of bowing and ducking out, the male came in further, the door panel sliding shut behind him.
Then he slowly lowered himself to his knees, put the tray down in front of him, and stretched his torso out flat on the marble floor toward her.
And that was when she felt the echo of herself in his blood.
Unless she was mistaken?
Wait . . .was this truly--
"iAm?" she whispered hoarsely. "iAm, is that you?"
The male figure straightened and removed his hood. And as she clasped her hands to her face, she prayed she hadn't fallen asleep and was only dreaming.
Because his eyes, those almond-shaped, beautiful black eyes, were shining with love.
"So," he said in that wonderful voice of his. "I heard I got demoted."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"s'Ex called me. Told me I've been demoted. Guess I'm not the Anointed One anymore, huh."
iAm got to his feet and walked over to her, his big body causing the robes to shift, his scent that of dark spices.
When he was close to her, he lowered himself back to his knees. "You saying you don't want this anymore?" he drawled, indicating himself. "Really?"
She closed her eyes, and turned away from him, the pain too great to bear. "Please . . . do not torture me."
He clasped her hands. "Look at me. Come on, look at me . . . maichen."
As he used the name she had first given him, she opened her lids and glanced over. Her vision was wavy from tears, and he brushed her cheeks with his knuckles.
"You saved my brother," he said.
"No, I didn't. I was too late."
"He survived."
"It nearly killed him. This whole nightmare . . . nearly killed him."
"You were not the cause, you were the solution I had been begging for."
"I lied to you."
"And I forgive you."
"How?" she choked out.
He leaned up and brushed her mouth with his. "You're easy to forgive. You risked your life to go find out the truth. You were the one who found the lies and turned everything around. You are the savior I've spent my whole life praying for, Your Highness."
She shook her head. "Do not call me that. Please. I picked maichen because I don't believe I'm better than anyone else. With beating hearts and open minds, we are all the same."
"See," he whispered. "You just keep getting more beautiful."
She looked at him for the longest time. Then, with a shaking hand, she reached out and touched his face. In response, he pressed his lips to her fingertips.
"This is real," he told her. "You can trust this. You aren't going to wake up and have this be over. You and I? This is our beginning."
"I love you," she said in a rough voice. "I want no one else but you."
iAm smi
led and pushed in between her legs, bringing his body against hers. "And I feel the same way, my maichen. I love you, I love you . . . I love you. . . ."
As he started to kiss her, she found it hard to believe that it was really happening. That he had come back to her. That once parted asunder, they now were cleaved as a single whole.
Pulling away a little, she asked, "You're sure this is real?"
He shrugged and smiled at her. "Of course it is. You and I were written in the stars. . . ."
With that, he kissed her lips again.
And she kissed him back.
EIGHTY-SEVEN
The meteor shower happened at midnight on the dot.
As Trez stepped free of the mansion's warmth, and walked some distance past the courtyard and onto the descending drive, he got out of the lee of the exterior security lights, and that was when he looked up and saw the sky clearly.
Against a dense, velvety black and among the pinpricks of bright white stars, a sprinkling of flashes was cast across the sky, like gold dust let loose from an open palm.
He smiled sadly. "Thank you, my queen. I needed this."
Watching the display, he felt both very alone and totally connected, especially as he reflected on that vastness above.
If anyone ever wanted to sense the infinity of time and existence, all they had to do was look at the night sky and feel their precious dead staring back at them. It was the great duality of union and separation.
It was just as his Selena had told him at the door to the Fade.
He wanted her beside him so badly that he'd woken up again with a wet face and a soggy pillow. But yet he was here, upright in his boots, prepared to somehow figure out how to breathe while the one who had made his lungs work was on the other side.
"I'm going to go now," he said. "Come with me--"
Trez jumped and spun around.
Sure as he knew there was no one behind him, he could have sworn a gentle hand had rested on his shoulder.
He prayed it was the ghost of his shellan. If it wasn't, he was probably losing his mind.
Short trip.
Wha-hey.
Closing his eyes, he had to wait a moment for the concentration to come . . . and then he was off, scattering his molecules through the cold, clear autumn night.
When he re-formed, it was in front of Sal's Restaurant.
He supposed he could have gone around to the back, but no. This was a big night, a kind of reintroduction for him. He would enter through the front.
Going over to the keypad by the glass doors, he entered the code and then opened his way in. Instantly, the old-school Rat Pack decor sank in for him, the red-and-black flocked wallpaper bleeding into his retinas, the he'd-been-here-a-thousand-times sense seemingly both accurate and a lie.