by J. R. Ward
"Jesus Christ… V."
The brother wheeled around, then stretched his radiant arms wide. With a crazed smile, he slowly turned in a circle. "Nice, huh? It's all over me." He lifted a bottle of Goose to his lips and swallowed good and hard. "Hey, do you think they'll want to tie me down and tattoo every inch of my skin now?"
Butch slowly crossed the terrace. "V, man… how 'bout we get you down from there?"
"Why? I bet I'm smart enough to fly." V glanced behind himself at the thirty-story drop. As he weaved back and forth in the wind, his illuminated body was startlingly beautiful. "Yeah, I'm so fucking smart I bet I can beat gravity. Wanna watch?"
"V…" Shit. "V, buddy, come down from there."
Vishous looked over and abruptly seemed to sober up, his brows meeting in the middle. "You smell like a lesser, roommate."
"I know."
"Why's that?"
"I'll tell you if you come down."
"Bribes, bribes…" V took another pull on the Goose. "I don't want to come down, Butch. I want to fly… fly away." He tilted his head back to the sky and lurched… then caught himself by swinging the bottle. "Oops. Almost fell."
"Vishous… Jesus Christ—"
"So, cop… the Omega's in you again. And your blood's black inside your veins." V pushed his hair out of his eyes, and the tats on his temple showed, all backlit by the glow under his skin. "And yet you're not intrinsically evil. How did she put it? Ah… yes… the seat of evil is in the soul. And you… you Butch O'Neal, have a good soul. Better than what's in me."
"Vishous, come down. Right now—"
"I liked you, cop. From the moment I met you. No… not the first moment. I wanted to kill you when I first met you. But then I liked you. A lot." God, V's expression was nothing Butch had ever seen before. Sad… affectionate… but most of all… yearning. "I watched you with her, Butch. I watched you… making love to her."
"What?"
"Marissa. I saw you, on top of her, in the clinic." V whipped his incandescent hand back and forth through the air. "It was wrong, I know, and I'm very sorry… but I couldn't look away. You two were so beautiful together and I wanted that… shit, whatever it was. I wanted to feel that. Yeah, just once… I wanted to know what it was like to have sex normally, to care about the person you were coming with." He laughed in a horrible burst. "Well, what I want isn't exactly normal, is it? Will you forgive me my perversion? Forgive me my embarrassing and shameful deprivation? Fuck… how I degrade us both…"
Butch was prepared to say absolutely anything to get his friend off that ledge, but he truly had the sense that V was horrified with himself. Which was so unnecessary. You couldn't help the way you felt, and Butch wasn't threatened by the revelation. He somehow wasn't surprised, either.
"V, buddy, we're cool. You and me… we're cool."
V lost that longing expression, his face turning into a cold mask that was utterly frightening given the situation. "You were the only friend I had." More with that god-awful laugh. "Even though I had my brothers, you were the only one I was close to. I don't do relationships well, you know. You were different, though."
"V, it's the same for me. But can we get you—"
"And you weren't like those others, you never cared I was different. The others… they hated me because I was different. Not that it matters. They're all dead now. Dead, dead…"
Butch had no idea what the hell V was talking about, but the content didn't matter. The past tense being used was the problem.
"I am still your friend. Always your friend."
"Always… funny word, always." V started to bend at the knees, just barely keeping his balance as he sank into a crouch.
Butch moved forward.
"No, you don't, cop. You stop right there." V put the bottle of vodka down and traced his fingertips lightly over the neck of the thing. "This shit's taken good care of me."
"Why don't we share some?"
"Nah. But you can have what's left." Vishous's diamond eyes lifted up and the left one started to expand until it ate up all the white part. There was a long pause, then V laughed. "You know, I can't see anything… even when I open myself up, even when I volunteer for it, I'm blind. I'm future-impaired." He glanced at his body. "But I'm still a fucking nightlight. I'm like one of those goose lamps, you know, the kind you plug into the wall that glow?"
"Yes."
"You're a good Irishman, right?" When Butch nodded, V said, "Irish, Irish… let me think. Yeah…" Vishous's eyes sobered, and in a voice that cracked, he said, "May the road rise to meet you. May the wind always be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rains fall soft upon your fields. And… my dearest friend… until we meet again may the Lord hold you in the palm of His hand."
In one powerful surge, V sprang backward off the ledge into thin air.
Chapter Forty-three
"John, I need to talk to you." John looked up from Tohr's chair as Wrath came into the study and shut the door. Going by how grim the king looked, this was very serious, whatever it was.
Putting aside his lesson on the Old Language, John braced himself. Oh, God, what if it was the news he'd dreaded hearing every day for the last three months?
Wrath came around the desk and moved the throne so it faced John. Then he sat down and took a deep breath.
Yeah, this is it. Tohr's dead and they've found the body.
Wrath frowned. "I can smell your fear and sadness, son. And I can understand both, given the situation. The funeral is going to be in three days."
John swallowed and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, feeling a black whirlwind spin around him and take the world away.
"Your classmate's family has asked that all the trainees be present."
John jerked his head up. What? he mouthed.
"You classmate, Hhurt. He didn't make it through his change. He died last night."
So Tohr wasn't dead?
John scrambled to pull himself back from one brink, only to find himself looking over the edge of another. One of the trainees had died from the change?
"I thought you'd heard already."
John shook his head and pictured Hhurt. He hadn't known the guy well at all, but still.
"Sometimes it happens, John. But I don't want you to worry about it. We're going to take good care of you."
Someone had died during the transition? Shit… There was a long silence. Then Wrath propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. As his glossy black hair slipped over his shoulder, it brushed his leather-clad thighs. "Listen, John, we need to start thinking about who'll be there for you when you go through the change. You know, who will feed you."
John thought of Sarelle, who the lessers had taken along with Wellsie. His heart clenched. She was supposed to have been the one he used.
"We can play this one of two ways, son. We can try to line someone up on the outside. Bella knows some families who have daughters and one of them… hell, one of them might even make a good mate for you." As John's body got tight, Wrath said, "I've got to be honest, though—I'm not really into that solution. It could be hard to get an outsider to you in time. Fritz would have to pick her up, and minutes count when the change comes. But if you want—"
John put his hand on Wrath's tattooed forearm and shook his head. He didn't know what his other option was, but he was damn sure he didn't want to get near an available female. Without thinking, he signed, No mate. What's my other choice?
"We could have you use a member of the Chosen."
John cocked his head to the side.
"They're the Scribe Virgin's inner circle of females and they live on the other side. Rhage uses one, Layla, to feed from because he can't live off Mary's blood. Layla's safe and we can have her here in the blink of an eye."
John tapped Wrath's forearm and nodded his head.
"You want to use her?"
Yeah, whoever she was.
"Okay. Good. Good deal, son. Her blood is very pure and that will help."
Jo
hn eased back into Tohr's chair, dimly hearing the old leather creak. He thought of Blaylock and Butch, who had both survived the change… thought of Butch especially. The cop was so happy now. And big. And strong.
The transition was worth the risk, John told himself. Besides… like he had a choice?
Wrath went on, "I'll go ask the directrix of the Chosen, but that's just a formality. Funny, this is the way it used to be, warriors being brought into their power by those females. Shit, they're going to be thrilled." Wrath drew a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his widow's peak. "You'll want to meet her, of course."
John nodded. Then got nervous.
"Oh, don't worry. Layla will like you. Hell, afterward, she'll even let you take her if you want to. The Chosen can be very good at initiating males like that. Some of them, like Layla, are trained for it."
John felt a stupid expression slap itself onto his face. Wrath wasn't talking about sex, was he?
"Yeah, sex. Depending on how hard the change is for you, you may end up wanting it right away." Wrath let out a wry chuckle. "Just ask Butch."
In response, John could only stare at the king and blink like a lighthouse.
"So there we have it." Wrath stood up and moved the massive throne back to the desk with no effort at all. Then he frowned. "What did you think I was coming to talk to you about?"
John dropped his head and absently stroked the arm of Tohr's chair.
"Did you think it was about Tohrment?"
The sound of the name made John's eyes burn and he refused to look up as Wrath sighed.
"You thought I was coming to tell you he was dead?"
John shrugged.
"Well… I don't believe he's gone unto the Fade."
John's stare shot up to those wraparounds.
"I can still feel this echo in my blood and it's him. When we lost Darius I couldn't feel him anymore in my veins. So, yeah, I believe Tohr lives."
John felt a shot of relief, but then went back to smoothing the chair's arm.
"You think he doesn't care about you because he hasn't called or come back?"
John nodded.
"Look, son, when a bonded male loses his mate… he loses himself. It's the hardest separation you can imagine—harder, I've heard, than losing a young for a male. Your mate is your life. Beth's mine. If anything happened to her… yeah, as I said to Tohr once, I can't even go there in the hypothetical." Wrath reached out and put his hand on John's shoulder. "I'll tell you something. If Tohr comes back, it will be because of you. He felt as though you were his kid. Maybe he could walk away from the Brotherhood, but he won't be able to leave you behind. You have my word."
John's eyes welled, but he was not going to cry in front of the king. As he set his spine along with his teeth, the tears dried in place, and Wrath nodded as if he approved of the effort.
"You are a male of worth, John, and you will make him proud. Now, I'm going to go see about Layla."
The king went to the door, then looked back over his shoulder. "Z tells me the two of you go out every night. Good. I want you to keep that up."
When Wrath left, John leaned back in the chair. God, those walks with Z were so strange. Nothing being said, just the two of them dressed in parkas, traipsing through the woods right before dawn came. He was still waiting for the Brother to ask questions, to poke and prod, to try and dig around the inside of his head. But there had been nothing like that yet. All it had been was the two of them, walking in silence beneath tall pines.
Funny, though… he'd come to rely on those little forays. And after this talk of Tohr, he was really going to need one tonight.
Butch was screaming his lungs raw as he raced across the terrace for the ledge. He threw himself at the lip and looked down, but couldn't see anything because he was so far up and there were no lights on this side of the building. As for the sound of a body drop? God knew he was hollering loud enough to drown out that kind of distant thunch.
"Vishous!"
Oh, God… maybe if he got down there fast enough, he could… shit, get V to Havers—or something… anything. He wheeled around, ready to run to the elevator—
Vishous appeared before him as a glowing ghost, a perfect reflection of what the brother had been, an ethereal vision of Butch's one true friend.
Butch stumbled, a pathetic wail coming out of his mouth. "V…"
"I couldn't do it," the ghost said.
Butch frowned. "V?"
"As much as I hate myself… I don't want to die."
Butch went cold. Then ran as white-hot as his roommate's body.
"You fucking bastard!" Butch shot forward without thinking and grabbed Vishous by the throat. "You fucking… bastard! You scared the shit out of me!"
He hauled his arm back and cold-cocked V right in the face, his fist cracking against jawbone. As he braced himself for a return shot, he was absolutely livid. Instead of fighting back, though, V locked his arms around Butch, put his head down, and just… crumpled. Shook all over. Trembled to the point of frailty.
Cursing the brother to hell and back, Butch absorbed Vishous's weight, holding the guy's naked, glowing body tight while the cold wind whirled around them both.
When he ran out of swear words, he said into V's ear, "You ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll kill you myself. We clear?"
"I'm losing my mind," V said against Butch's neck. "The one thing that's always saved me and I'm losing it… I've lost it… I'm gone. It's the only thing that's saved me and now I have nothing…"
As Butch squeezed harder, he became aware of an easing inside of himself, a sensation of relief and healing. Except he didn't think much about it because something hot and wet seeped into his collar. He had a feeling it was tears, but he didn't want to draw attention to what was doing. V was no doubt totally horrified by the show of weakness, assuming the guy was crying.
Butch put his hand on his roommate's nape and murmured, "I'll do the saving until you get your head back, how about that? I'll keep you safe."
When Vishous finally nodded, something dawned on Butch. Shit… he was up against the glow, a whole lot of the glow… but he wasn't on fire or in pain. In fact… yeah, he could feel the blackness in him seeping out of his skin and bones, leaching into the white light that was Vishous: That was the relief he'd noticed just now.
Except why wasn't he burning up?
From out of nowhere, a female voice said, "Because this is what shall be, the light and the dark together, two halves making a whole."
Butch and V yanked their heads around. The Scribe Virgin was floating above the terrace, her black robes unstirred despite the frigid gusts that blew all around.
"That is why you are not consumed," she said. "And that is why he saw you from the start." She smiled a little, though he didn't know how he knew it. "This is the reason destiny brought you to us, Butch, descended of Wrath son of Wrath. The Destroyer has arrived and you are he."
"Now the new era in the war begins."
Chapter Forty-four
Marissa nodded as she shifted her cell phone to her other ear and reviewed the order list on her desk. "That's right. We need an industrial range, six burners minimum."
Sensing someone in her doorway, she looked up. Only to have her mind go completely blank. "May I… ah, may I call you back?" She didn't wait for a reply, just hit the end button. "Havers. How did you find us?"
Her brother bowed his head. He was dressed as usual, in a Burberry sport coat, gray slacks, and a bow tie. His hornrimmed glasses were different from the ones she was used to seeing on him. And yet the same, too.
"My nursing staff told me where you were."
She rose from her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "And you have come here why?"
Instead of answering, he looked around and she could imagine he wasn't impressed. Her office was nothing more than a desk, a chair, a laptop computer, and a whole lot of hardwood floor. Well… and a thousand pieces of paper, each with something she needed to d
o on it. Havers's study, on the other hand, was an Old World den of learning and distinction, the floors covered by Aubusson rugs, the walls hung with his diplomas from Harvard Medical School as well as a fraction of his Hudson River School landscape collection.
"Havers?"
"You have done great things at this facility."
"We're just getting started, and it's a home, not a facility. Now why are you here?"
He cleared his throat. "I have come at the Princeps Council's request. We are voting on the sehclusion motion at the next meeting, and the leahdyre said he's been trying to reach you for the last week. You haven't returned the calls."
"I am busy, as you can see."
"But they cannot vote unless all of the membership is in the room."
"So they should remove me. In fact, I'm surprised they haven't figured out how to already."
"You are of the six founding bloodlines. You cannot be removed nor excused as things stand now."
"Ah, well, how inconvenient for them. You'll understand, however, if I'm not available that evening."
"I haven't told you a date."
"As I said, I'm unavailable."
"Marissa, if you disagree with the motion, you can make your stance clear during the testimony phase of the meeting. You can be heard."
"So all of you with voting rights are in favor?"
"It's important to keep females safe."
Marissa went cold. "And yet you turned me out of the only home I had thirty minutes before dawn. Does that mean you've changed your commitment to my sex? Or is it that you don't see me as female?"
He had the grace to flush. "I was highly emotional at the time."
"You seemed very calm to me."
"Marissa, I'm sorry—"
She cut him off with a slice of her hand. "Stop. I don't want to hear it."
"So be it. But you shouldn't impede the council just to get back at me."
As he fiddled with his bow tie, she caught a glimpse of the family's signet ring on his pinkie. God… how had they ended up like this? She could remember when Havers was born and she'd looked at him in their mother's arms. Such a sweet baby. Such a—