by J. R. Ward
When the slave came to consciousness, he was hanging by his neck, the weight of his arms and legs and torso choking the life right out of him. His mental reappearance was as if his body knew his last breath was coming and had awoken him on the off chance his brain could help. A sorry attempt at rescue, he thought.
Dear Virgin, shouldn’t he feel pain? And he wondered if he had been splashed with water, for his skin was wet. Then he realized something thick was dripping into his eyes. His blood. He was covered in his own blood.
And what was all that noise around him? Swords? Fighting?
While choking he lifted his eyes, and for a split second all manner of suffocation left him. The sea. He was looking out at the vast sea. Joy soared for a moment…and then his vision swam from lack of air. His lids flickered and he sagged, though he was grateful that he’d seen the ocean once more before he died. He pondered vaguely whether the Fade would be anything like that vast horizon, an infinite expanse that was both unknowable and a home.
Just as he saw a shining white light before him, the pressure at his throat ceased and his body was handled roughly. There were shouts and jerky movements, then a jarring, bouncing ride that ended abruptly. Along the way, agony bloomed all over him, rushing into his bones, beating at him with dull, pounding fists.
Two shots from a gun. Grunts of pain that were not his own. And then a scream and a blast of wind on his back. Falling…he was in the air, falling…
Oh, God, the ocean. Panic spread through him. The salt—
He felt the hard cushion of the water for only a moment before the sensation of the sea hitting his raw skin overloaded his mind. He blacked out.
When he came to once more, his body was nothing more than a loose sack holding in aches. He realized dimly that he was freezing cold on one side, moderately warm on the other, and he moved to see if he could. As soon as he did, he felt the warmth against him shift in response…. He was inan embrace. A male was against the back of him.
The slave shoved the hard body away from his own and dragged himself through the dirt. His blurry vision showed him the way, pulling a boulder out of the blackness, giving him something to hide behind. When he was sheltered he breathed through the discomfort of his vitals, smelling the brine of the sea and the wretched decay of dead fish.
And as well a tinny scent. A sharp, tinny…
He peered around the edge of the rock. Though his eyes were weak, he was able to pick out the form of the male who had come into the cell with the Mistress. The warrior was sitting up against the wall now, his long hair hanging in strings down his thick shoulders. His fancy clothes were torn, and his yellow stare aglow with sorrow.
That was the other smell, the slave thought. That sad emotion the male was feeling had a scent.
As the slave sniffed again he felt an odd pulling in his face, and he lifted his fingertips up to his cheek. There was a groove, a rigid line in his skin…. He followed it up to his forehead. Then down to his lip. And remembered the knife blade coming at him. Remembered screaming as it cut.
The slave started to shiver and wrapped his arms around himself.
“We should warm each other,” the warrior said. “Truly, that is all I was doing. I have no…designs upon you. I would but ease you if I could.”
Except all the Mistress’s males had wanted to be with the slave. That was why she brought them. She liked to watch, too….
Yet then the slave remembered the warrior raising that dagger, looking as if he were going to gut the Mistress like a pig.
The slave opened his mouth and asked hoarsely, “Who are you, sire?”
His mouth didn’t work as it had before, and his words were garbled. He tried again, but the warrior cut him off.
“I heard your inquiry.” The tinny smell of sadness got stronger until it overrode even the fishy stench. “I am Phury. I am…your brother.”
“Nay.” The slave shook his head. “Verily, I have no family. Sire.”
“No, I’m not…” The male cleared his throat. “I am not sire to you. And you have always had a family. You were taken from us. I have searched for you for a century.”
“I fear you wrong.”
The warrior shifted as if he were going to get up, and the slave jerked back, dropping his eyes and covering his head with his arms. He couldn’t bear to be beaten again, even if he deserved it for his insubordination.
Quickly, he said in his now messy way, “I mean not to offend, sire. I offer only my respect to your better station.”
“Sweet Virgin above.” A strangled noise came from across the cave. “I will not strike you. You are safe…. With me, you are safe. You are found, my brother.”
The slave shook his head again, unable to hear any of it, because he suddenly realized what was going to happen at nightfall, what had to happen. He was the property of the Mistress, which meant he would have to be given back.
“I beg of you,” he moaned, “do not return me unto her. Kill me now…. Do not render me returned to her.”
“I shall kill us both before I allow you to tarry there once more.”
The slave looked up. The warrior’s yellow eyes were burning through the darkness.
The slave stared into the glow for a passing time. And then he remembered, long, long ago, when he’d first awoken from his transition in capture. The Mistress had told him she loved his eyes…his canary yellow eyes.
Among his species, there were very few with irises of bright gold.
The words and the actions of the warrior began to penetrate. Why ever would a stranger fight to get him free?
The warrior shifted, winced, and picked up one of his thighs.
The male’s lower leg was gone.
The slave’s eyes grew wide at the lost limb. How had the warrior saved them both in the water with that injury? He must have struggled simply to keep himself afloat. Why had he not just let the slave go?
Only a blood tie could engender that kind of selflessness.
“You are my brother?” the slave mumbled through his ruined lip. “Verily, I am blood to you?”
“Aye. I am your twin.”
The slave started to shake. “Untruth.”
“Truth.”
A curious dread set upon the slave, chilling him. He curled up into himself in spite of the raw flesh that covered him from head to foot. It had never occurred to him that he was other than a slave, that he might have had a chance to live differently…live as a male, not as property.
The slave rocked back and forth in the dirt. When he stopped, he looked once again at the warrior. What of his family? Why had this happened? Who was he? And…
“Do you know if I had a name?” the slave whispered. “Was I ever given a name?”
The warrior drew a ragged breath, as if every one of his ribs were broken.
“Your name is Zsadist.” The warrior’s breathing shortened and shortened until he choked out his words. “You are the son…of Ahgony, a great warrior. You are the beloved of our…mother, Naseen.”
The warrior let out a wretched sob and dropped his head into his hands.
While he wept, the slave watched.
Zsadist shook his head, remembering those silent hours that had followed. Phury and he had spent most of the time just staring at each other. They’d both been in rough shape, but Phury was the stronger of them even with his missing limb. He’d gathered driftwood and strands of seaweed and cobbled the stuff together into a rickety, unreliable raft. When the sun had gone down they had dragged themselves into the ocean and had floated down the coastline to freedom.
Freedom.
Yeah, right. He wasn’t free; never had been. Those lost years had stayed with him, the anger over what he’d been cheated of and what had been done to him more alive than he was.
He heard Bella saying that she loved him. And he wanted to scream at something.
Instead, he started for the Pit. He had nothing worthy of her except his vengeance, so he was damn well going to get back to w
ork. He would see all the lessers crushed before him, stacked in the snow like logs, a testament to the only thing he could offer her.
And as for the one who had taken her, the one who had hurt her, there was a special death waiting for him. Z had no love to give anyone. But the hatred he had he would channel for Bella until the last breath left his lungs.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Phury lit a blunt and eyed the sixteen cans of Aqua Net that were lined up on Butch and V’s coffee table. “What’s doing with the hair spray? You boys going drag on us?”
Butch held up the length of PVC pipe he was punching a hole in. “Potato launcher, my man. Big fun.”
“Excuse me?”
“Didn’t you ever go to summer camp?”
“Basket weaving and woodcarving are for humans. No offense, but we have better things to teach our youngs.”
“Ha! You haven’t lived until you’ve gone on a midnight panty raid. Anyway, you put the potato in this end, you fill up the bottom with spray—”
“And then you light it,” V cut in from his bedroom. He came out in a robe, rubbing a towel on his wet hair. “Makes a great noise.”
“Great noise,” Butch echoed.
Phury looked at his brother. “V, you’ve done this before?”
“Yeah, last night. But the launcher jammed up.”
Butch cursed. “Potato was too big. Damn Idaho bakers. We’re leading with red skins tonight. It’s going to be great. Of course, trajectory can be a bitch—”
“But it’s really just like golf,” V said, dropping the towel across a chair. He pulled a glove over his right hand, covering the sacred tattoos that marked the thing from palm to fingertip and all across the back. “I mean, you gotta think of your arc in the air—”
Butch nodded up a storm. “Yeah, it’s just like golf. Wind plays a big role—”
“Huge.”
Phury smoked along as they finished each other’s sentences for another couple minutes. After a while he felt compelled to mention, “The two of you are spending way too much time together, you feel me?”
V shook his head at the cop. “The brother has no appreciation for this kind of thing. Never has.”
“Then we aim for his room.”
“True that. And it faces the garden—”
“So we don’t have to work around the cars in the courtyard. Excellent.”
The door from the tunnel swung open, and all three of them turned around.
Zsadist was in the doorway…and Bella’s scent was all over him. Along with the sultry spice of sex. As well as the faintest hint of the bonding mark.
Phury stiffened and took a deep drag. Oh, God… They’d been together.
Man, the urge to race up to the house and check that she was still breathing was nearly irresistible. So was the desire to rub his chest until the aching hole in it disappeared.
His twin had had the very thing Phury was yearning for.
“Has that SUV moved?” Z said to Vishous.
V went around to the computers and punched a few keys. “Nope.”
“Show me.”
As Zsadist walked over and bent down, V pointed at a screen. “There it is. If it hits the road, I can track the path.”
“Do you know how to break into one of those Explorers without setting off the alarm?”
“Please. It’s just a car. If it’s still there at nightfall, I’ll get you in like Flynn.”
Z straightened. “I need a new phone.”
Vishous opened a desk drawer, took one out, and double-checked it. “You’re good to go. I’ll text-message everyone your new number.”
“Call me if that thing moves.”
As Zsadist turned his back on them, Phury took another drag and held the breath in tight. The door to the tunnel shut solidly.
Without even realizing what he was doing, Phury stabbed out the hand-rolled and went after his twin.
In the tunnel, Z halted when he heard another set of footsteps. As the male pivoted around, the light overhead picked out the hollows under his cheekbones and the blunt cut of his jaw and the line of the scar.
“What?” he asked, his deep voice echoing. Then he frowned. “Let me guess. This is about Bella.”
Phury stopped. “Maybe.”
“Definitely.” Z’s eyes flicked downward and stayed on the tunnel’s floor. “You can smell her on me, can’t you.”
In the long silence between them, Phury wished desperately that he had a blunt between his lips.
“I just need to know…is she all right after you…laid with her?”
Z crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah. And don’t worry, she’s not going to want to do that again.”
Oh, God. “Why?”
“I made her…” Z’s distorted lip thinned. “Whatever.”
“What? What did you do?”
“I made her hurt me.” As Phury recoiled, Z laughed with a low, sad sound. “Yeah, you don’t need to get all protective. She’s not coming near me again.”
“How…What happened?”
“Uh-huh, right. Let me count all the ways you and I aren’t going there.”
Suddenly, without any warning, Z focused on Phury’s face. The force of the stare was a surprise, because the male rarely looked anyone in the eye. “Straight up, my brother, I know how you’re feeling her and I…ah, I hope that when things cool out a little, maybe you can…be with her or something.”
Was he insane? Phury thought. Was he fucking insane?
“How the hell would that work, Z? You’ve bonded with her.”
Zsadist rubbed his skull trim. “Not really.”
“Bullshit.”
“It doesn’t matter, how about that? Pretty damn soon she’s going to snap out of this post-traumatic whatever she’s got going on and she’s going to want someone real.”
Phury shook his head, knowing damn well that a bonded male didn’t give up his feelings for his female. Not unless he died.
“Z, you’re crazy. How can you say you want me to be with her? It’ll kill you.”
Zsadist’s face changed and the expression was a shocker. Such sorrow, Phury thought. Of a depth that seemed impossible.
And then the male came forward. Phury braced himself for…God, he had no idea what was coming at him.
When Z’s hand lifted, it was not in anger or with violence. And as Phury felt his twin’s palm land lightly on his face, he couldn’t remember the last time Z had touched him with any gentleness. Or touched him at all.
Zsadist’s voice was low and quiet as his thumb went back and forth on an unmarred cheek.
“You are the male I might have been. You are the potential I had and lost. You are the honor and the strength and the kindness she needs. You’ll take care of her. I want you to take care of her.” Zsadist dropped his hand. “It will be a good mating for her. With you as her hellren, she can hold her head up high. She can be proud to be seen with you at her side. She’ll be socially invincible. The glymera won’t be able to touch her.”
Temptation swirled and condensed and became instinct in Phury. But what about his twin?
“Oh, God…Z. How could you stomach the idea that I was with her?”
Instantly all the softness was gone. “Whether it’s you or someone else, the pain is the same. Besides, you think I’m not used to hurting?” Z’s lips curled into a nasty little smile. “For me, it’s home sweet home, my brother.”
Phury thought of Bella and how she’d refused his vein. “But don’t you think she gets a vote in all this?”
“She’ll see the light. She’s not stupid. Not by a long shot.” Z turned away and started walking. Then he stopped. Without looking back he said, “There’s another reason I want you to have her.”
“Is this one going to make sense?”
“You should be happy.” Phury stopped breathing while Zsadist murmured, “You live less than half a life. You always have. She would care for you, and that…that would be good. I would like that for you.”
Before Phury could say something, Z cut him off. “Do you remember back in that cave…after you got me out? You know, that day we sat together waiting for the sun to go down?”
“Yes,” he whispered, measuring his twin’s back.
“That place smelled like hell, didn’t it? Do you remember that? The fish?”
“I remember everything.”
“You know, I can still picture you against the cave wall, your hair all matted, your clothes wet and stained with blood. You looked like shit.” Z laughed in a short burst. “I looked worse, I’m sure. Anyway…you said you would ease me, if you could.”
“I did.”
There was a long silence. Then a cold blast came out of Z’s body, and he looked over his shoulder. His black eyes were glacial, his face dark as hell’s groundless shadows.
“I’m past being eased. Ever. But sure as shit there’s hope for you. So you take that female you want so badly. Take her and talk some sense into her. I’d throw her out of my room if I could, but she just won’t leave.”
Z strode away, his shitkickers pounding into the ground.
Hours later Bella was walking around the mansion. She’d passed some of the night with Beth and Mary, and their friendship had been appreciated. But now all was quiet, because the Brothers and everyone else had gone to bed. It was only her and Boo roaming the halls as the day passed, the cat at her side as if he knew she needed company.
God, she was exhausted, so tired she could barely stand up, and she was achy, too. Trouble was, there was a restlessness that animated her body; her internal engine refused to go into idle.
As a flush went through her, like someone had put a hair dryer to every inch of her skin, she figured she must be getting sick, although she didn’t know how. She’d been with the lessers for six weeks, and it wasn’t as if she could pick up a virus from them. And none of the Brothers or their shellans were ill. Maybe it was just emotional.