The Savior

by J. R. Ward

  “Are you over it?” he asked roughly. “What they did to us?”

  It was a while before the female answered. “No. I don’t think about it much, but I don’t believe it’s because I’m over it.”

  “Am I going to be okay?”

  “Yes, you are. I promise you that.”

  Nate shivered and braced himself . . . and then looked over at the simple pine coffin that had been put on a platform in the clearing. He had hammered himself the latter from trees that he had cut down with an axe and honed as best he could. His palms were torn up. His work was shoddy. And the scent of pine sap was still thick in the air.

  But he had made the pyre himself. As was proper.

  The coffin had just appeared, about twenty minutes ago. Murhder and John had driven it into the clearing on the back of a beautiful truck, and they had just taken the vehicle back to wherever it had come from—

  One by one, two figures materialized in the clearing. Murhder and John reappearing.

  “Hey, son,” Murhder said as he came over.

  They embraced, and the older male said, “You did fine work with this. Very fine.”

  Nate took his hands out of his pockets. He meant to say something, but he choked. His torn up palms spoke for themselves, though.

  Murhder squeezed his shoulder and then John was giving him a hug, too. As the males stepped back, he wished Sarah were here. Even though that made no sense, he supposed.

  Yeah, except for the fact that she had found him. Helped get him free. Taken care of him.

  He missed her presence from this like a family member’s.

  Nate took a deep breath and stared at the coffin. While he’d been staying in the training center, he’d asked everyone who came by to visit him how they honored their dead. The humans had one way. The symphaths another. The vampires a third. After a couple of nights, people had started to seek him out to share their stories. Doggen had come to him. Two Shadows.

  And then a blond-and-black-haired male who had seemed like a vampire, but who, he later learned, was actually a fallen angel.

  A real, live fallen angel. Which was pretty magical.

  He’d never met an angel before. Other than his mahmen, of course.

  Actually, he hadn’t met many people.

  The fallen angel had given him the best advice. He’d said that there was no right or wrong way to honor the dead. The living could pay their respects in any way they chose. The important thing was that the deceased was sent unto the afterlife on a wave of love.

  Because it helped the departed souls find peace in their new place.

  At least that was what the fallen angel maintained. And if anyone was likely to know about these things . . .

  In the end, Nate chose the way of the Shadows. He didn’t like the idea of his mahmen’s remains rotting and disintegrating in the ground. And the heat would carry everything to the heavens, to where he’d been told the Fade was.

  Off to the side, he had a torch that he’d stuck, handle first, into the snow. The top of it was kerosene-soaked cloth wound tightly around a steel-and-wood shank. He lit it with something called a Bic that one of the Brothers—the one with the tattoo on his temple—had given him.

  Flames burst to life, orange and yellow, bright in the darkness of the woods.

  As he approached his mahmen’s remains, he decided the clearing he’d chosen was almost made for this kind of thing, a near-perfect circle barren of growth.

  As he touched the flame to the supports of the pyre, the gasoline he’d splashed onto the fresh-cut lengths of pine caught fire in a blaze that spread all around the construction in a matter of moments.

  The resulting heat multiplied and multiplied until he had to step back.

  A hand was laid on his shoulder. Murhder. And then Xhex held his hand. And John put his palm on Nate’s back.

  The three of them stood together and watched the coffin and the body burn, the white smoke rising up into the black night in curls that carried countless sparks ever higher.

  Unto the Fade.

  He desperately wanted to know if she thought he’d been a good son. But he was never going to have the answer for that. What he could do, however: Live his life in honor of her. Even though he wanted to lock himself in that patient room in the training center for the rest of his nights because it felt safe and familiar, he would not do that.

  In service to his mahmen, he would try to live the freedom she had been so cruelly cheated of. He would force himself to acclimate to this too-big world. He would conquer the fear that dogged him.

  Everything he did would be for her.

  “Goodbye, Mahmen . . .” he whispered into the cold wind.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  Up in Sarah’s attic, all she could do was stare at the envelope as it lay facedown on the floorboards. When she was finally able to think, she looked stupidly at the jacket. The thing must have fallen out of one of the pockets.

  Her hand shook as she bent down to pick it up. Bracing herself, she turned the envelope over, expecting to see Gerry’s name on the front and a receipt inside. A business card to contact the tailor. Or—

  Sarah.

  In Gerry’s handwriting.

  Her name, written by him.

  As her legs got wobbly, she sat where she stood, dangling her feet out the folding steps’ hole in the ceiling. She trembled so badly that she almost dropped the thing as she opened the flap. Inside, there was a single piece of paper, folded in three, and she needed to breathe for a bit before she could flatten things and try to read.

  He’d handwritten the entire note. Something she had never known him to do.

  Her eyes could not focus. Part of it was tears at the sight of his scribbles. Part of it was fear at what he was about to tell her. Most of it was the idea that he was communicating with her. After all this time, after her recent searching . . . he was answering her from the grave.

  Dear Sarah,

  If you are reading this, it means things did not go as I hope they will. It means I’m gone. It means I will not have a chance to wear this suit proudly and stand with you at the altar to become your husband. This breaks my heart.

  I know I have been distant these past few months. Maybe even longer. Please forgive me. I am not even sure where to begin. About a year into working at BioMed, my security clearance was increased. You remember this. We felt it was a promotion. Shortly after I had more access in my division, I learned of an inhumane experiment being conducted in secret on the premises. It is not the first time BioMed has done such and I gather that at least one researcher has been killed because of it.

  Without going into specifics, because the less you know, the safer you will be, I have to try to stop them. I am exporting information and will be going to authorities as soon as I can be sure that I can do so without endangering the subject’s safety. Believe me when I say this, I am afraid for my life—and by extension, yours. They will stop at nothing to protect their interests and their research. This is why I have not been talking to you about my work anymore.

  If I am dead, know that Dr. Robert Kraiten either killed me himself or had me killed on his behalf. There is a safety deposit box at our bank under my name. Go there. Take the disk and the security clearance out and go to the FBI with them. This is an interstate crime of incomprehensible scope and implication.

  Please know that I love you. I wish there was a way to open up to you now, but I cannot risk your safety. I miss you. I love you. Every night, while you sleep, I stand in the doorway of our bedroom and cry. How has it come to this?

  Love, Gerry

  Sarah could not stop reading the words, tracing the messy penmanship, looking at the jacket. The release of the tension she had carried for two years was so tremendous, she got dizzy and had to throw out a hand to catch herself from falling backward.

  Gerry was still gone. This much was true.

  But he was back now, too. The letter resurrected the man she had always thought he was, replacing the
version of him she had feared he’d become.

  If only he had known the other half of the story. Had he been aware that the boy he wanted to protect was of a different species? Or maybe he had realized that from the scans . . .

  Bringing the jacket across her lap, she put the letter back in the envelope and returned everything to the inside pocket. For some reason, she wanted to leave it all exactly as Gerry had. It was like their last embrace.

  There was no bringing him back. And no going back to who she’d been when they’d been together. Murhder had changed her. Nate had changed her. Her knowledge of that species had changed her.

  Time had changed her.

  But this . . . brought a measure of peace that she desperately needed.

  Shifting up onto her knees, she hung the jacket over the slacks and set the suit back on the dowel inside the box. There was no re-sticking the tape on the top. It was two years old to begin with, and had lost a lot of its adhesive properties. She tucked the four flaps into each other, however, and she would return with better tape later.

  Sarah stood at the box with her palms on the closed top for a while. It seemed appropriate to take a moment. And she would make sure that wherever she went, the suit came with her. She would not leave him behind, even if Gerry was not a part of her future.

  He had played a substantial role in her past, for sure.

  The loss of Murhder was still going to hurt like hell. But at least it wasn’t compounded by the sense that the man she had almost married hadn’t been who she’d believed him to be.

  Fucking Kraiten. She was glad he’d stabbed himself in the gut and had bled out all over his no doubt fancy kitchen. He deserved worse.

  And in a way, Murhder and his kind had avenged Gerry’s death for her—

  A knocking on her front door, loud and insistent, brought her head up. Then . . . silence.

  More knocking now.

  Why didn’t she have a gun in the house?

  “Because you don’t know how to shoot one,” she muttered as she went down the ladder.

  Heading to the dark guest bathroom in the front of the house, she peeled back the curtain and—

  Now, her heart raced for a different reason. What was . . . was she seeing things?

  Knocking on the glass, she waved and then turned around so fast, she slipped on the throw rug and nearly broke her arm catching her fall on the tub edge.

  She hit the stairs on a full scramble, and almost did a roadrunner through her own door. Fumble . . . fumble . . . fumble with the dead bolt—

  Sarah nearly ripped the door off its hinges.

  There on the other side was her short-haired, beautiful vampire, with a bouquet of evergreen boughs gathered in a satin bow.

  The instant he met her eyes, he dropped down on one knee and held up the fragrant, fluffy branches. “These should be roses. I’m sorry that they’re—”

  “What—what are you doing here—”

  “—not roses. I understand that human males present their females with red roses—”

  “Murhder, how are you here?”

  He stood up slowly, his eyes traveling around her face as if he were re-memorizing her features. “I fought for us. I am a warrior, and I fought for us.”

  “What?” she breathed.

  “Here, let’s go inside, it’s cold for you.”

  “Is it?” she whispered as she backed up.

  Murhder shut them in together, she couldn’t believe he was standing in front of her.

  “Am I dreaming?” she asked.

  “No.” He touched her cheek. “This is real.”

  “Kiss me, then?”

  He closed his eyes in reverence. And then leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Once. Twice. Again.

  Sarah wrapped her arms around as much of his shoulders as she could manage—which was granted not much given his size. “How are you here?” she repeated against his mouth.

  “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a lifetime.” Those incredible peach-colored eyes of his bored into hers. “I ached for you.”

  “And I ached for you.”

  There was babbling at that point. Both of them were speaking, but no one was making sense, and none of it mattered anyway. She had been trying to get used to the emptiness of his absence, swimming in the cold murky waters of loneliness—and yet now he was here. They were together, they—

  She pushed him back. “What happened?”

  “I realized that I needed to fight for you. The Brotherhood, they wanted me back with them, they asked me to fight for the race with them again as one of them. But there was no way I was doing that without fighting for us first. And Wrath had a change of heart.”

  “So I’m allowed back?”

  He stepped away and held up his hands. “I looked you up on the Internet.”

  “Well, at least I don’t have to worry about any naked pictures surfacing.”

  “You are not just any scientist. You’re a very important—”

  “No more important than anyone else. I don’t believe in the ego stuff.”

  Murhder’s slow smile made her blush. Then again, that expression on his face was telling her without words how much he respected her.

  “Be that as it may,” he said, “I’m not going to force you to come with me. I can come to you, if you don’t want to leave your work—”

  Sarah tucked his bouquet under her arm, grabbed his face, and kissed him. “Oh, my God! So I can continue my research at the training center? Because I need to work with Doc Jane on the storage of blood. I’m not sure you’re aware of this, but you have a critical issue as a species when it comes to blood storage . . .”

  God, he loved this female. He loved her so damned much.

  Only his Sarah could embrace him and kiss him, and look like he had delivered the entire world to her just by showing up on her doorstep—and then promptly get excited about the science she was going to do.

  Murhder’s smile was so great, his cheeks stretched wide. And he was oh, so content to let her go on for however long she wanted to.

  “—looking at me like that?” she said with a grin.

  “Because I love you, Dr. Sarah Watkins. I love you so much, and I just . . . want to be with you.”

  On that note, he took his “bouquet” from her, set it aside, and got serious with the kissing. The next thing he knew, they were on her couch again, this time with her on top, her thighs split over his hips. She lifted her shirt up and over her head, and then . . . the bra. Her bra disappeared on a oner. Naked, so beautifully naked. And as he cupped her breasts, and then sat up to worship them with his mouth, he knew he was home.

  And that would have been true no matter what house he was in with her. The key was her. For tonight and the rest of his life, the key to everything was going to be her.

  “So Wrath is okay with all this?” she asked breathlessly.

  “We can live with the Brotherhood or get a house.”

  “I’m selling this one, so I’m free.”

  “You are?”

  “I was going to let you know where I went.” She kissed him some more. “I was always going to let you know where to find me.”

  He pictured her in his attic down at the Rathboone House and decided that might be a good retreat for them. He was going to have to move a nice big bed in, though.

  And she must never know how close he came to killing himself. He didn’t want to think of that ever again, either.

  “I’d like a house of our own,” she said as she dismounted and tore off her jeans like they’d burned her. “That would be great.”

  He meant to say something coherent. He truly did.

  But then she was up on him and working his fly. The second his erection was sprung, she was on him. Literally.

  “Oh, God . . . Sarah . . .”

  They made love for a good hour. Maybe more. And then they wrapped up in her blanket and held each other close.

  “Sarah,” he said.

  “What’s wr
ong.” She sat up. “I can hear it in your voice.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Oh, right, before the sun shows up. This house really isn’t safe for you, is it. Can I come with you?”

  Murhder smiled. “Yes. Please. Fritz is getting a bedroom ready for us at the big house. And there’s going to be a party at dawn.”

  “Really?” She smiled. “What perfect timing. I feel like I have all kinds of things to celebrate.”

  “Me, too, my love.” He kissed her again. “Me, too.”

  Murhder intended on things stopping there. But it was Sarah. So naturally, the kissing led to all kinds of other stuff. And he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  Back at the Brotherhood mansion, John Matthew stepped out of the shower and toweled off. As he tucked the terry cloth around his hips, he looked over at the double sinks and smiled. Xhex’s wet towel had been ditched on the counter and he took care to hang it up on the peg by the alcove. She’d seemed to be in a hurry to leave after they’d had sex under all that hot water: Kissing him goodbye while he’d been shaving. Dressing fast.

  All but running out of their suite.

  She’d lost a lot of time at work lately, though. There was probably stuff she had to take care of at shAdoWs—

  The pounding on his door brought his head around and stopped his heart.

  There was only one kind of fist that made that kind of sound, and he hustled to answer things. Opening the—

  John Matthew froze.

  Standing outside of his room, in the Hall of Statues, which had been plunged into darkness, the Brotherhood had gathered in a semi-circle. He could not see their faces because they were covered from head to foot in black robes, their features hidden by hoods that had been pulled up. But their scents. He knew their scents.

  He blinked. Tried to take a breath.

  Either someone had died or—

  “John Matthew, blooded son of the Black Dagger warrior Darius, adopted son of the Black Dagger warrior Tohrment, you are going to be asked a question. You may give one and only one answer and it must stand for the rest of your life. Are you prepared to answer?”