by J. R. Ward
“Your classmate’s family has asked that all the trainees be present.”
John jerked his head up. What? he mouthed.
“Your 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.”
John 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 t
hing 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 horn-rimmed 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 do 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—
Marissa stiffened as something occurred to her. Then she quickly covered the shock that surely showed on her face. “All right. I’ll go to the meeting.”
Havers’s shoulders eased and he told her the when and where. “Thank you. Thank you for this.”
She smiled coolly. “You are so very welcome.”
There was a long silence during which he eyed her pants and sweater and her desk of papers. “You seem very different.”
“I am.”
And she knew by the tight, awkward expression on his face that he had remained the same. He would have so preferred her in the mold of the glymera: a female of grace presiding over a home of distinction. Well, tough luck. She was all about rule number one now: Right or wrong, she made the choices in her life. No one else did.
She picked up her phone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“I would offer my services to you. The clinic’s, I mean. Free of charge.” He pushed his glasses up higher on his straight nose. “The females and their young who stay here will need medical care.”
“Thank you. Thank you…for that.”
“I will also tell the nursing staff to be on the lookout for signs of abuse. We will refer to you any cases we find.”
“That would be most appreciated.”
He inclined his head. “We are pleased to be of service.”
As her cell phone went off, she said, “Good-bye, Havers.”
His eyes widened and she realized it was the first time she’d ever dismissed him.
But then change was good…and he’d better get used to the new world order.
The phone rang again. “Shut the door behind you, if you don’t mind.”
After he left, she glance at her cell’s caller ID and sighed in relief: Butch, and thank God for it. She so needed to hear his voice.
“Hi,” she said. “You’ll never believe who just—”
“Can you come home? Right now?”
Her hand closed tight on the phone. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt—”
“I’m fine.” His voice was way too level. Nothing but false calm. “Except I need you to come home. Now.”
“I’m leaving this moment.”
She grabbed her coat, shoved her phone into her pocket, and went looking for her one and only staff member.
When she found the older female doggen, she said, “I have to go.”
“Mistress, you seem upset. Is there anything I can do?”
“No, thank you. And I’ll be back.”
“I shall take care of everything in your stead.”
She squeezed the female’s hand and then hurried outside. Standing on the front lawn in the raw spring night, she struggled to calm herself enough to dematerialize. When it didn’t work immediately, she thought she was going to have to call Fritz for a pickup: She was not only worried, she needed to feed, so it was possible she wasn’t going to be able to do it.
But then she felt herself go. As soon as she materialized in front of the Pit, she barged into the vestibule. Its inner lock sprang free before she even
put her face in front of the camera, and Wrath was on the other side of the heavy panels of wood and steel.
“Where’s Butch?” she demanded.
“I’m right here.” Butch stepped into her line of sight, but didn’t come near her.
In the stark silence that followed, Marissa walked in slowly, feeling as though the air had turned into a slush she had to fight her way through. Numbly, she heard Wrath shut the door, and from the corner of her eye she saw Vishous rise to his feet from behind his computers. As V walked around the desk, the three males traded looks.
Butch held out his hand. “Come here, Marissa.”
When she took his palm, he led her to the computers and pointed to one of the monitors. Up on the screen was…text. A whole lot of dense text. Actually, there were two sections of documents, the field split down the middle.
“What is this?” she asked.
Butch gently sat her in the chair and stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Read the passage in italics.”
“Which side?”
“Either. They’re identical.”
She frowned and ran her eyes over something that seemed almost a poem:
There shall be one to bring the end before the master,
a fighter of modern time found in the seventh of the twenty-first,
and he shall be known in the numbers he bears:
One more than the compass he apperceives,
Though mere four points to make at his right,
Three lives has he,
Two scores on his fore,
and with a single black eye, in one well will he be birthed and die.
Confused, she scanned what was around it, only to have horrible phrases jump out at her: “Lessening Society,” “Induction,” “Master.” She looked up to the title on the page and shuddered.
“Dear God…this is about…lessers.”
As Butch heard the icy panic in her voice, he sank down on his knees beside her. “Marissa—”
“What the hell am I reading about here?”
Yeah, how to answer that one. He was still having a hard time coming to terms with it all himself. “It seems as though…I am this.” He tapped the smooth screen and then looked at his deformed pinkie, the one that was shriveled up tight to his palm…the one he couldn’t straighten…or point with.