by J. R. Ward
“Well, this is a new one. But hey, I’m game. Ah—Vishous?” Then on a mutter, “Helluva name you got there.” More normally now, “This is from your good friend, Lassiter. He wanted you to know that he’s really sorry for what he had to do. It was for your own good, and you know this, but he probably could have handled things better.” Another mutter, “Hope this doesn’t involve a woman.” Normal again, “Anyway, he wants you to know that he respects the hell out of you, and he said to tell you congratulations on your historic win. You and your roommate have saved everyone who matters and he promises that he’ll stand by both of you, forever.” Mutter. “Seems like a nice guy.” Normal. “Oh, and he tells me that not only are you and your roommate, Butch, watching this together, the two of you are diehard Red Sox fans. Go Sox!”
Schilling turned around and fiddled with something behind him. “One more thing. He paid extra to Cameo for this. He said it would mean the world to you both.”
From out of a stereo speaker, the unmistakable strumming and horns started.
Then, Neil Diamond’s famous voice: “Where it began, I can’t begin to know…”
The anthem of the Sox. The song that every Sox fan knew by heart. The lyrics that took you back to your first game at Fenway, and the hot dogs, and the sunshine on your face as you cheered for your team, and prayed that maybe this year, after so many years, after so many struggles, after whole generations of fans had been denied the victory, now this year it would happen and the faith and the hope and the loyalty would be rewarded.
With the win everyone wanted.
“Fuck,” Butch choked out.
“Goddamn it,” V muttered.
“—was in the spring,” Diamond continued, “Then spring became the summer…”
As tears started to fall, messy, nasty, thank God-they-were-alone-in-the-dark tears, V grabbed for Butch’s hand—or maybe it was the other way around.
And then, all three of them, TheCurtSchilling included, sang at the top of their lungs: “Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet Caroliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine…”
In the aftermath of unexpected, hard-fought, and hard-won victory, Butch held on to his very best friend, and sang the one song that could have broken through his manly shell to expose the child’s heart that still beat within his fully grown chest.
That fucking angel was so hard to hate, he really was.
“…reaaaaaching ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuut, touuuuuuuuuuuching meeeeeeeeee, touuuuuuuuuuching yoooooouuuuuu…”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
The night after the end of the war, Jo woke up in a bed with her male. They were both naked between soft sheets, and the silence in the luxurious room, in her body, was a relief.
“You okay?” Syn asked in a groggy way.
“I think so.” As his eyes popped open and it looked like he was about to run for a crash cart, she smiled. “I mean, yes, I am. It’s just a new me, you know?”
Stretching everything she had to stretch, she was relieved to find that the aches and pains that had racked her for the last twelve hours were abating. Her stomach was hungry, the chills were gone, and other than a pair of sharp-and-pointies where her canines had been—the pair she’d been born with had fallen out like baby teeth sometime during the day—not much was different.
She’d made it safely to the other side.
And she was with exactly who she wanted to be with.
On that note, they spent some time smiling at each other. She knew that there were big adjustments ahead. A new way of life, a new way of being, and she was nervous about it—but excited, too. In the intervening days since she’d learned of the transition, she’d had some time to preemptively consider the repercussions of being another species entirely, but that was nothing compared to the yup-it-actually-happened.
Two things calmed her, however. One, she had come through the change healthy. Thanks to Syn’s blood, she was alive and well.
And secondly? She had him. With Syn by her side, she knew she could handle anything life threw at her.
As if he knew she was thinking about the future, he said, “We can take it slow, if you want.”
“You mean… like, us?”
“Yes. I don’t want you to feel like you have to come live here with me—”
“Where are we?”
“The First Family’s mansion. With the Brotherhood and your brothers and my cousins and the other fighters… their families… and a lot of doggen, including Fritz, who you’ve met.”
Jo glanced around the beautifully appointed bedroom. Antiques. Silk wallpaper. Drapery that was like a ball gown.
“How big is this place?” she asked, because it was a simple question she’d be wondering about for a while now.
“I don’t know. Fifty rooms? Maybe more?”
Lifting her head, she blinked. “Wow. That makes the Early house seem like a cabin.”
“Your parents?”
As she nodded, she found herself frowning. “What do I do about them? Do I keep in touch? Can I?” She thought of Bill and Lydia. “And what about my friends out in the human world, not that I have many?”
“You can see them as much or as a little as you want. We’ll manage it. No one is going to isolate you.”
“Good. I don’t how much I’m going to want to… my parents are complicated. And I still don’t know who my birth mother is.”
“I’ll be there to help you look for her. Whatever you need, it’s yours.”
“So… about this bonded male thing.”
Syn stretched like a panther and then kissed her. “Nailed it.”
“You sure did.” Jo couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “And I would like to live with you here. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. But there has to be something I can do for work, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Are you just going to say yes to me about everything?”
“Yes.” Syn winked. “I am.”
Jo kissed him and got serious. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what? I’ve not really done anything.”
Reaching up, she traced the features she loved so much with her fingertips. “For giving me a home. A proper home.”
“Well, this mansion isn’t mine—”
“I’m not talking about the building we’re in.” She thought of her lonely childhood, her sense of being lost in the world even as she lived around other people. “More than the answers to who I am, I’ve been searching for a home. You are my home. You, and only you, are my shelter and my comfort.”
“I don’t deserve that.” His expression darkened. “Jo, there are still things you have to know about me. About things I’ve done. I mean, I’m not that person anymore, but—”
“I will listen to everything and anything you have to say. But you need to know that the male you are now, and the male you’ve always been with me, is the one I will love forever.”
“You make me want to be a hero, not a sinner.”
“Well, from my point of view, you’re very good at the former. And after everything that’s happened, I believe I am in the best position to judge that, don’t you think.”
They started kissing again, and that led to… all kinds of things. And as he climaxed inside of her once again, Jo held her male tightly. He was right. There were things to learn about him, and things he had to learn about her, stories to share and feelings to express—not all of them happy-go-lucky. But they had plenty of time for those sorts of things.
When you had a happily-ever-after, you had time.
When you had true love, you had everything you needed.
As Syn collapsed on top of her, breathing hard and sated once more, she stroked his back and smiled up at the ceiling. Except then he pulled back sharply.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I know the first thing we need to do together as a couple.”
Jo breathed in as part of replying to him, and that was when she caught the scent of bacon. As her stomach
let out a howl, she held up her forefinger.
“Eat breakfast.”
Syn laughed. “Well, yes. And we call it First Meal in this house.”
“Tomato, tomahto, as long as there’s bacon involved and some eggs, and chocolate somehow, I’m good to go.”
“You can have everything you want—but if you’re moving in with me?” He kissed her as if he couldn’t resist doing so. “We’re going to go out and buy some furniture for my room.”
“You don’t like this antique look?”
“This isn’t where I normally sleep—I have nothing in my room.” Syn kissed her some more, his sex stirring yet again. In a low purr, he murmured, “And you and I are going to fill it up, together.”
Jo chuckled as they began moving as one again, so happy—and kind of honored—that she was the only female his body had ever released into.
“Filling up is something you’re quite good at.”
“But I better keep practicing,” he said against her mouth.
* * *
It was another hour before Syn could quit it with the sex. And even then, when they got in the shower, he couldn’t resist pressing his female up against the warm marble wall and finding his way inside of her again.
But finally they were heading out of the guest room they’d been given. He had a limp, and at least four bullets still inside his body, but it was nothing that couldn’t wait for Manny’s attention—
As they came out the far end of the Hall of Statues, Jo lost her stride and widened her eyes as she focused on the painted ceiling high above the grand staircase. And the gold-leafed balustrade. And the many doors that went off in both directions.
“Dear Lord… this place is incredible,” she whispered with awe. “It’s a palace.”
“Actually, it truly is a home first and foremost, no matter how fancy it is.” Syn took her hand and led her down the grand staircase, heading for the laughter and chatter which were bubbling out of the formal dining room. “And the people in it are a family.”
When they bottomed out on the mosaic depiction of that apple tree in full bloom, he gave her a moment to look around, and then brace herself. As he’d explained in the shower, the whole crew was in there, Wrath having given everyone the night off—so First Meal was in full swing and then some.
“They’re going to love you,” he said as he urged her forward.
“Well, some nice female’s already lent me their clothes,” she said as she nodded down at her clean jeans and sweatshirt.
“That was Beth. The Queen.”
“Oh. Wow.”
As soon as they entered the archway into the dining room, all the people around that huge table stopped talking. And then came the screech of chairs being pushed back, and high-pitched, excited “hi”s from the females, and too many people coming over all at once, everyone eager to welcome the new member of the family.
Literally.
At the head of the table, Wrath got to his feet, and as soon as he spoke, everyone shut the hell up. “My cousin has arrived.”
Jo’s eyes popped wide as she got a gander at the last purebred vampire on the planet in all his glory: The sunglasses, the ass-length hair, the black leather, and the tattoos on the insides of his massive forearms.
Plus the golden retriever.
And the baby in his arms.
Syn took Jo’s hand and led her down the formal room, whispering in her ear about how to handle the meet-and-greet of the male who was her blooded relation.
“Do I call you Your Majesty?” she asked with respect.
“Nah.” Wrath put out his hand. “Just my name. I don’t stand on all that bullshit cult of position stuff.”
Jo took his palm in her own and, just as Syn had coached her, bent down to kiss the massive black diamond that every King had always worn, from Wrath’s sire, all the way back to the first ruler.
“I know you’ve already met my shellan when she gave you the clothes, but this is my son, L.W.,” the King explained. “And this is George.”
“He’s beautiful.”
“And the kid’s not bad, either, right?”
Jo laughed. Then she said, “Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”
Wrath’s nostrils flared. And then he smiled that fierce smile of his.
Putting his huge hand on her shoulder, he said in his commanding voice. “You’re family. Where else would you live?”
Jo ducked her eyes and seemed to have to blink away the tears. As Syn slipped an arm around her waist, so she knew he was there for her, she said, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment.”
“Blood is thicker than water,” the King said gently. “And your blood, your place, is here with us.”
As Wrath nodded, like everything was settled and that was that, Syn folded Jo up against his chest. Over the top of his beloved, he inclined his head once to the King.
It was a vow. Freely given, and forevermore.
He would ever fight to protect the King and the people in this house—not because of what Xcor had sworn to sometime ago, or because fighting served a perverted inner need, but because he would always protect those who were his family.
And all of them were in this room.
Wrath lifted the sacred ring of the ruler, and nodded back, accepting the pledge. After which… it was time to eat.
As Syn took Jo over to the two seats that had been saved for them, he said, “Bacon and chocolate, right?”
“Oh, my God.” Jo took his hand and squeezed it urgently. “Yes. Please. How did you know?”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
As Syn and his female, Jo, made their way to their places at the meal, Wrath stepped to the side and found himself still grappling with his new reality. The war was over. Finally.
Holding his son in his arms, he imagined the faces of the people sitting around his table. He could tell who was seated where by the sounds of the voices, and also the scents. But it wasn’t the same as being able to see.
Still, he would take what he had and be grateful.
Whispering a command to George, he let his dog lead him where he wanted to go, the pair of them making steady progress to the base of the grand staircase. The ascension was an easy one, and at the top, Wrath continued straight ahead, entering his study.
With a deep breath, he pictured from memory what was across the space.
The chair.
The ancient, carved throne, that his father had sat upon.
As Wrath crossed over toward it, he went back into his past and recalled being in that crawl space in the Old Country’s palace, watching as the lessers streamed in and slaughtered his parents. So helpless he had been, a weak pretrans, hidden by his mahmen and his sire, protected by those he should have protected.
When George signaled he’d arrived at his destination, Wrath reached out into thin air, moving his hand around until he found the throne’s high back. It seemed apt that the King’s ring made contact with the old wood with a clonk.
Holding L.W. extra close, he gripped the carvings that had been made so long ago.
“It’s over, Father,” he said in a voice that cracked. “It’s done. We won.”
As a wave of emotion overtook him, he sat down and arranged his blooded son in his lap, holding his precious one close.
That was when he heard the meow.
Angling his head to the sound, he frowned. And then… “Analisse?”
The Scribe Virgin’s presence registered as a weight in the room. He wasn’t sure he could describe it better than that.
“Yes,” she said in that voice of hers. “ ’Tis I.”
To cover his emotion, he chuckled. “I asked you a question, did I. Such a no-no.”
“Those nights are past, my old friend.”
Wrath sensed her moving closer to the desk. “We won. But you know that, don’t you.”
“Yes.”
“I wish my father were here to see this. My mahmen, too.”
“They can. T
hey are always with you.”
Wrath had to clear his throat. And then he tried—and failed—to keep the pride out of his voice. “This is my son. Another thing you already know, right?”
“Yes.” The affection in her voice was a surprise. “I know many things.”
“So you’re not completely gone, then. The cat, though? Really.”
“I have been with your Queen since day one.”
He had to laugh. “That makes me happy.”
“You are a fine King. You have done your father proud.”
Behind his wraparounds, he started blinking hard. “Don’t say shit like that. You’ll melt me.”
“And as for your son, he looks like you.”
“Does he?” He ran a fingertip over L.W.’s soft hair. “You know, his eyes have changed. They were blue. But now they’re green. Beth doesn’t want me to know. She’s kept it a secret—but I overheard her talking to Doc Jane about it. I don’t care. He’s perfect the way he is.”
“Yes, he is.” There was a pause. “Here. See for yourself, my old friend.”
All at once, his vision opened up from a pair of pinpoints, the apertures widening in perfect concert, providing him with a crystal clear vision of Little Wrath…
… that carved him in half.
Gasping, he fumbled his wraparounds off and beheld his blessed born son, from the face that was a carbon copy of Wrath’s own, to the jet-black hair that was growing in thick and healthy, to the limbs and torso that, even in this still nascent stage, promised to be powerful and strong.
And then there were the eyes.
Clear… and icy green just like Wrath’s own. And they stared back at him with a gravity that made no sense. How could the young know how important this moment was?
“He knows,” the Scribe Virgin said. “He is a very old soul, that one.”
Wrath looked up. And there she was, a glow of light in the form of a female, levitating above the Aubusson rug just on the other side of the desk.
“He will be a fine ruler,” she said. “He will live long and succeed your legacy with one of his own. And yes, he will find love. In all this, you may put your faith.”