Lover Reborn

The following evening, Qhuinn stood in the far corner of Wrath's study, wedged into the juncture of two pale blue walls. The room was huge, a good forty feet long and forty feet across, and it had a ceiling lofty enough to give you a nosebleed. But space was getting tight.



Then again, there were a dozen or so big people packed in around the prissy French furniture.



Qhuinn knew from the French shit. His dead-and-gone mother had liked the style, and back before he'd been disavowed from his family, he'd been yammered at ad nauseam about not sitting on her Louis-the-somethingth crap.



At least that was one area where he hadn't been discriminated against in his own house - she'd wanted only her and his sister to park it in those delicate seats. He and his brother had not been permitted. Ever. And his father had been tolerated with a grimace, likely only because he'd paid for the stuff a couple hundred years before.



Whatever.



At least Wrath's command central made sense. The king's chair was as big as a car and probably weighed as much as one, its rugged yet elegant carvings marking it as the throne of the race. And the huge desk in front of him wasn't exactly fit for a girl, either.



Tonight, and as usual, Wrath looked like the killer he was: silent, intense, deadly. Your basic anti - Avon lady. Beside him, Beth, his queen and shellan, was composed and serious. And on the other side, George, his Seeing Eye dog, was looking... well, kinda postcard-y. But then golden retrievers were like that: picturesque, pretty, and pettable.



More Donny Osmond than dark overlord.



Then again, Wrath more than made up for that one.



Abruptly, Qhuinn dropped his mismatched eyes to the Aubusson rug. He did not need to see who was standing on the far side of the queen.



Ah, hell.



His peripheral vision was working far too well tonight.



His slut of a cousin, his cocksucking, suit-wearing, Montblanc-up-the-ass cousin Saxton the Magnificent, was standing next to the queen, looking like a combination of Cary Grant and some model in a goddamn cologne ad.



Not that Qhuinn was bitter.



Because the guy was sharing Blay's bed.



Nah.



Nope. Not at all.



The cocksucker -



With a wince, he thought maybe he should switch that insult to something a little farther away from what the two of them...



God, he couldn't even go there. Not if he wanted to breathe.



Blay was also in the room, but the guy was staying away from his lover. He always did. Whether it was in these meetings, or outside of them, they were never closer than three feet apart.



Which was the only saving grace to living in the same house as the pair of them. Nobody ever saw them lip-locked or even holding hands.



Although... it wasn't as if Qhuinn didn't lie awake during the day anyway, torturing himself with all kinds of Kama Sutra shit -



The door of the study opened and Tohrment came dragging in. Man, he looked as if he'd been rolled out of a moving car on the highway, his eyes like piss holes in the snow, his body moving stiffly as he went over to stand next to John and Xhex.



At the arrival, Wrath's voice cut through the convo, shutting everyone up. "Now that we're all here, I'm going to can the bullshit and turn this over to Rehvenge. I got nothing good to say about any of this, so he'll be more efficient at briefing you."



As the Brothers got to muttering, the massive, Mohawked motherfucker plugged his cane into the floor and got to his feet. As usual, the half-breed was dressed in a black pin-striped suit - God, Qhuinn was starting to despise anything that had lapels - and a mink duster to keep him warm. With his symphath tendencies kept in control, thanks to regular hits of dopamine, his eyes were violet, and mostly un-evil.



Mostly. He really wasn't someone you wanted as an enemy, and not just because, like Wrath, he was the leader of his people: His day job was being king of the symphath colony up north. Nights he spent here with his shellan, Ehlena, living la vida vampire. And never the twain shall meet.



It went without saying that he was a highly valuable asset to the Brotherhood.



"A number of days ago, a letter was sent out to every head of the remaining bloodlines." He reached into the mink and took out a folded sheet of what looked to be old-fashioned parchment. "Snail mail. Handwritten. In the Old Language. Mine took a while to reach me because it went to the Great Camp up north first. No, I have no idea how they got the address, and yes, I have confirmed that everybody got one."



Balancing his cane against the delicate sofa he'd been sitting on, he opened the parchment with his fingertips, like he didn't enjoy the feel of the thing. Then in a low, deep voice, he read each sentence in the ancient language it had been composed in.



My old, dear friend,



I am writing to advise you of my arrival in the city of Caldwell with my soldiers. Although we have long tallied in the Old Country, the dire events of the previous few years in this jurisdiction have made it impossible for us to remain, in all good conscience, where we have previously established our domicile.



As you perhaps have heard from relations overseas, our strong efforts have eradicated the Lessening Society in the motherlands, making it safe for our fair race to flourish in peace and security there. Clearly, it is time I bring this stout arm of protection to bear on this side of the ocean - the race here in these parts has sustained untenable losses, ones that mayhap could have been avoided if we had been here sooner.



I ask for nothing in return for our service to the race, although I would appreciate the opportunity to meet with you and the Council - if only to express my sincerest condolences at all you have borne since the raids. It is a shame that things have come to this - the commentary is sad upon certain segments of our society.



With kindest regard,



Xcor



When Rehv was done, he folded the paper up and disappeared it. No one said a thing.



"That was my reaction, too," he muttered dryly.



This opened the floodgates, everybody talking at once, the curses flowing rich and heavy.



Wrath made a fist and banged on his desk until the lamp jumped, and George went into hiding under his master's throne. When order was finally restored, it was like a stallion brought under control with a bit; a tenuous respite, more like a pause in the bucking and rearing than a true settle-down.



"I understand the bastard was out last night," Wrath said.



Tohrment spoke up. "We engaged with Xcor, yes."



"So this is not a fake."



"No, but it was written by someone else. He's illiterate - "



"I'll teach the fucker to read," V muttered. "By cramming the Library of Congress up his ass."



As grunts of approval threatened to turn into more outbursts, Wrath pounded on his desk again. "What do we know about his crew?"



Tohr shrugged. "Assuming he's kept the same ones on, they're a total of five. Three cousins. That porn star Zypher - "



Rhage harrumphed at that. Clearly, even though he was now very happily mated, he felt like the race had one, and only one, sex legend - and it was him.



"And Throe was with him in that alley," Tohr smoothed over. "Look, I'm not going to lie - it's clear that Xcor's making a play against..."



When he didn't finish the statement, Wrath nodded. "Me."



"Which would mean us - "



"Us - "



"Us - "



More voices than you could count uttered that one word, the single syllable coming from every corner of the room, every seat cushion, every flat plane of wall someone was up against. And that was the thing. Unlike Wrath's father, this king had been a fighter and a Brother first - so the bonds that had been formed were not out of some artifact of prescribed duty, but the fact that Wrath had stood beside them all in the field and saved their asses personally at one time or another.



The king smiled a little. "I appreciate the support."



"He needs to die." When everybody looked at Rehvenge, the guy shrugged. "Plain and simple. Let's not bullshit around with protocol and meetings. Let's just take him out."



"Don't you think that's a little bloodthirsty, sin-eater?" Wrath drawled.



"From one king to another, know that I'm giving you the middle finger right now." And he was, with a smile. "Symphaths are known for efficiency."



"Yeah, and I can feel where you're coming from. Unfortunately, the law provides that you have to make an attempt on my life before I can bury you."



"That's where this is headed."



"Agreed, but our hands are tied. My ordering the assassination of what is otherwise an innocent male is not going to help us in the eyes of the glymera."



"Why do you need to be associated with the death?"



"And if that bastard's innocent," Rhage spoke up, "I'm the fucking Easter bunny."



"Oh, good," someone quipped. "I'm calling you Hop-along Hollywood from now on."



"Beasty Bo Peep," somebody else threw out.



"We could put you in a Cadbury ad and finally make some money - "



"People," Rhage barked, "the point is that he is not innocent and I'm not the Easter bunny - "



"Where's your basket?"



"Can I play with your eggs?"



"Hop it out, big guy - "



"Will you guys fuck off? Seriously!"



As various cottontail comments were lobbed like Jell-O at a food fight, Wrath had to pound the desk another time or two. It was obvious where the humor was coming from: The stress was so high, if they didn't blow off a little steam, shit was going to get grim fast. It didn't mean the Brotherhood wasn't focused; if anything, they all felt like Qhuinn did - socked in the gut.



Wrath was the fabric of life, the basis for everything, the living, breathing structure of the race. After the brutal raids by the Lessening Society, what was left of the aristocracy had fled Caldwell to their safe homes out of town. The last thing the vampires needed was further fragmentation, especially in the form of a violent overthrow of the rightful ruler.



And Rehv was correct: That was where this was going. Hell, even Qhuinn could see the path: Step one, create doubt in the minds of the glymera about the Brotherhood's ability to protect the race. Step two, fill the "void" in the field with those soldiers of Xcor's. Step three, create allies on the Council and stir up anger and lack of confidence against the king. Step four, dethrone Wrath and weather the storm. Step five, emerge as the new leader.



When order in the study was finally reestablished, Wrath looked downright nasty. "Next one of you mouthy assholes makes me pound my desk again, I'm throwing you the fuck out." On that note, he reached down, picked up the cowering ninety-pound retriever, and settled George in his lap. "You're freaking out my dog and it's pissing me off."



As the animal put his big boxy head in the crook of the king's arm, Wrath stroked all that silky, blond fur. It was absolutely incongruous, the tremendous, cruel-looking vampire calming that handsome, gentle dog, but the two had a symbiotic relationship, trust and love thick as blood on both sides.



"Now, if you're ready to be reasonable," the king said, "I'll tell you what we're going to do. Rehv is going to stall the guy for as long as he can."



"I still think we should put a knife in his left eye," Rehv muttered, "but in the alternative, we've got to hold him in place. He wants to see and be seen, and as leahdyre of the Council, I can stonewall him up to a point. His voice in the ears of the glymera is not what we need."



"In the meantime," Wrath announced, "I'm going to go out and meet personally with the heads of the families, on their turf."



At this, there was an explosion in the room, irrespective of his warning: People jumped out of their seats, throwing up their dagger hands.



Bad idea, Qhuinn thought, agreeing with the others.



Wrath let them go for a minute, like he'd expected this. Then he resumed control of the meeting. "I can't expect support if I don't earn it - and I haven't personally seen some of these people in decades, if not centuries. My father met with folks every month, if not every week, to resolve disputes."



"You're the king!" someone bit out. "You don't need to do shit - "



"You see that letter? It's the new world order - if I don't respond proactively, I'm undermining myself. Look, my brothers, if you were out in the field, about to face the enemy, would you fool yourself about the landscape? Would you lie to yourself about the layout of the streets, the buildings, the cars, or whether it was hot or cold, raining or dry? No. So why should I bullshit myself that tradition is something I can take cover behind in a shoot-out? Back in my father's time... that shit was a bulletproof vest. Now? It's a sheet of paper, people. You gotta know that."



There was a long period of silence, and then everyone looked at Tohr. Like they were used to turning to him when shit got sticky.



"He's right," the Brother said gruffly. Then he focused on Wrath. "But you gotta know you're not doing this alone. You need to have two or three of us with you. And the meet-and-greets have to be staggered over a period of months - cram them in too tight and you look desperate, but more to the point, I don't want anyone getting organized to do a hit on you. Sites must be prescreened by us, and..." At this, he paused to glance around. "You need to be aware that we're going to be trigger-happy. We will shoot to kill when your life's on the line - whether it's a female or a male or a doggen or the head of a family. We will not ask permission, or merely wound. If you can live with those terms, we will let you do this."



Nobody else could have laid down the rules like that and walked without a limp afterward: The king gave out orders to the Brotherhood, not the other way around. But this was the new world, as Wrath had said.



The male in question ground his molars for a while. Then grunted. "Agreed."



As a collective exhale hit the airwaves, Qhuinn found himself looking over at Blay. Aw, hell, talk about a suck zone - this was why he avoided the guy like the plague. Just one glance and he was locked on, all kinds of reactions rolling through him, until the room spun a little -



For no good reason, Blay's eyes flipped up and met his.



It was like getting goosed in the ass with a live wire, his body spasming to the point where he had to hide the reaction by coughing while he glanced away.



About as smooth as a crater. Yup. Fantastic.



"... and in the meantime," Wrath was saying, "I want to find out where these soldiers are staying."



"I can take care of that," Xhex spoke up. "Especially if I hit them in the daytime."



All heads turned in her direction. Beside her, John stiffened from head to foot, and Qhuinn cursed under his breath.



Talk about your showdowns... except hadn't the pair of them just had one?



Man, sometimes he was really glad he didn't do relationships.



Not again, John thought to himself. For fuck's sake, they'd just gotten back on speaking terms, and now this?



If he'd thought fighting side by side with Xhex was trouble, the idea of her trying to infiltrate the Band of Bastards on their home turf put him on the edge of a seizure.



As he let his head fall back against the wall, he realized that everyone and their dog was staring at him. Literally - even George's brown eyes were trained in his direction.



"Are you kidding me," Xhex said. "Are you frickin' kidding me."



Even after she spoke, nobody looked at her. It was all about John: Clearly, as he was her hellren, they were seeking his approval - or not - about what she'd put out there.



And John couldn't seem to move, stuck in the cold quagmire between what she wanted and where he didn't want them to end up.



Wrath cleared his throat. "Well, that's a kind offer - "



"Kind offer?" she spat. "Like I'm inviting you to dinner?"



Say something, he told himself. Put your flapping hands up and tell her... What? That he was on board with her going to find six males with no consciences? After what Lash had done to her? What if she was captured and...



Oh, Jesus, he was cracking up over here. Yes, she was tough and strong and capable. But she was as mortal as anybody else. And without Xhex, he wouldn't want to be on the planet at all.



Rehvenge snagged his cane and pushed himself up. "Let's you and I talk - "



"Excuse me?" Xhex bit out. " 'Talk'? Like I'm the one who needs a mental readjustment? No offense, but bite me, Rehv. The bunch of you need me to do what I can to help."



As all the other males in the room started looking at their shitkickers and loafers, the symphath king shook his head. "Things are different now."



"How."



"Come on, Xhex - "



"Are you people insane? Just because my name's in his back, I'm suddenly a prisoner or some shit?"



"Xhex - "



"Oh, no, nope, you can fuck off with that be-reasonable tone." She glared at the males, and then focused on Beth and Payne. "I don't know how you two stand it - I really don't."



John was trying to think of what he could say to derail the collision, but what a waste of time. Two trains had already made head-on contact and there was twisted metal and steaming engine parts everywhere.



Especially as Xhex marched for the door like she was prepared to claw it apart just to prove a point.



When he went to follow her, she pegged him with a hard eye. "If you're coming after me for any other reason than to let me go after Xcor, you need to stop right where you are. Because you belong with this anachronistic group of misogynists. Not at my side."



Lifting his hands, he signed, It is not wrong to want to keep you safe.



"This is not about safety - it's about control."



Bullshit! You were hurt less than twenty-four hours ago -



"Fine. I have an idea. I want to keep you safe - so how about you stop fighting." She glared over her shoulder at Wrath. "You gonna back me up, my lord? How about the rest of you fools? Let's put the skirt and the panty hose on John, shall we? Come on, back my ass up. No? You don't think that would be 'fair'?"



John's temper flared, and he just... He didn't mean to do what he did. It just happened.



He stomped his boot, creating a thunderous noise, and pointed... directly at Tohr.



Awkward. Horrid. Silence.



Kind of like he and Xhex had not only dragged their dirty laundry out in front of everyone, but he'd managed to drape their sweat socks and stained shirts all over Tohr's head.



In response? The Brother just crossed his arms over his chest and nodded, once.



Xhex shook her head. "I gotta get out of here. I gotta clear my head. John, if you know what's good for you, you will not follow me."



And just like that, she was gone.



In the aftermath, John rubbed his face, pushing his palms in so hard he felt like he was rearranging his features.



"How 'bout everybody head off for the night," Wrath said softly. "I want to talk to John. Tohr, you hang."



No need to ask twice. The Brotherhood and the others left like someone was out in the courtyard stealing their cars.



Beth stayed behind. So did George.



As the doors shut, John looked at Tohr. I'm so sorry -



"Nah, son." The male stepped forward. "I don't want where I'm at for you, either."



The Brother put his arms around John, and John went with it, collapsing into the once massive body... that nonetheless managed to hold him up.



Tohr's voice was steady in his ear: "It's okay. I got you. It's all right...."



John put his head to the side and stared at the door his shellan had walked out of. He wanted to go after her with every fiber of his being - but those fibers were also what were ripping them apart. In his mind, he understood everything she was saying, but his heart and his body were ruled by something separate from all that, something bigger and more primordial. And it was overriding everything.



It was wrong. Disrespectful. Old-fashioned in a way that he never thought he could be. He didn't think females should be sequestered, and he believed in his mate, and he wanted her...



To be safe.



Period.



"Give her some time," Tohr murmured, "and we'll go after her, okay? You and I will go together."



"Good plan," Wrath said, "because neither of you is going out in the field tonight." The king held up his palms to cut off the arguing. "Really?"



That shut them both up.



"So are you okay?" the king asked Tohr.



The Brother's smile wasn't warm in the slightest. "I'm already in hell - shit's not going to get any hotter just because he's using me as an example of where he doesn't want to be."



"You sure about that."



"Don't worry about me."



"Easier said than done." Wrath motioned his hand, like he didn't want to go any further on all that. "We done?"



As Tohr nodded and turned for the door, John gave the First Family a bow and then went after the male.



He didn't have to rush. Tohr was waiting for him out in the corridor. "Listen to me - it's cool. I'm serious-"



I'm just... so sorry, John signed. About everything. And... shit, I miss Wellsie - I really miss her.



Tohr blinked for a moment. Then in a quiet voice, he said, "I know, son. I know you lost her, too."



Do you think she would have liked Xhex?



"Yeah." A shadow of a smile hit that harsh face. "She only met her once, and it was a while ago, but they were cool, and if there had been time... they'd have gotten along great. And man, on a night like tonight, we could have used the female backup."



Too right, John signed, as he tried to imagine approaching Xhex.



At least he could guess where she would go: back to her own place on the Hudson River. That was her refuge, her private space. And when he showed up on her doorstep, he could only pray she didn't throw him out on his ass.



But they had to resolve this somehow.



I think I'd better go alone, John signed. This is probably going to get ugly.



Make that uglier, he thought.



"Fair enough. Just know that I'm here if you need me."



Wasn't that always the way, John thought as they parted. Almost as if it had been centuries of their knowing each other, instead of merely a matter of years. Then again he guessed that was what happened when you crossed paths with someone you were really compatible with.



Felt like you'd been with them forever.