The Chosen

“I have none.”

“Do you now. How ’bout your boys?”

“My Band of Bastards served me in all ways. They went where I did, both literally and figuratively. Always.”

“Past tense. They kick you out?”

“They think I am dead.”

“Can you find them for me?”

Xcor frowned. “And now I shall ask you, what are your intentions?”

Wrath smiled again, revealing descended fangs. “They don’t get a pass just because the murder plot they were a part of was your bright idea. Treason is like a head cold. You sneeze on your friends and give the shit to ’em.”

“I don’t know where they are. And that is the truth.”

The King’s nostrils flared once again. “But you can find them for me.”

“They will not be staying where we once did. They will have moved, perhaps even gone back to the Old Country.”

“You’re evading my rhetorical. Can you find them for me.”

Xcor glanced back at Layla. She was staring at him intently, her green eyes wide. He hated to let her down, he truly did, but he would not give up his fighters. Not even for her.

“No, I will not hunt for them. I will not double-cross my brethren. You can kill me, here and now, if you wish. You can torture me for information that will never come because I do not know of their location. You can put me out for the sun. But I will not lead you unto them so that you may lead them unto their deaths. They are not innocent, ’tis true. They have not attacked you or your fighters, however. Have they.”

“Maybe they’re not very good at their jobs. They tried to kill me, remember?” The King pounded his heart. “Still kickin’.”

“They present you no harm. They are powerful, but the ambition was all mine. They have been content for centuries in the Old Country to fight and to fuck, and I have no reason to believe that status will not be resumed in my absence.”

As he realized his candor, he flicked his eyes to Layla—and he wished he hadn’t been so crude. She did not seem bothered, however.

After a moment, Wrath mused, “What do you think is going to happen after tonight?”

“I beg your pardon?”

The King shrugged. “Say I decide to let you live and release you—” As Layla gasped, the mighty male shot her a glare. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, female. We got miles to go here.”

The Chosen lowered her head in submission. But her eyes remained rapt, burning with an optimism that Xcor did not share.

“So say I set you free,” Wrath continued. “What are you going to do with yourself?”

Now, Xcor refused to look at his female. “Indeed, I am well aware that the Old Country is favorable this time of year. Far more so than Caldwell. I have property there, and a source of income that is peaceable. I should like to return from whence I came.”

Wrath stared at him for the longest time, and Xcor met those wraparounds even though the eyes behind those lenses could not see him.

In the silence, no one moved. He wasn’t sure anybody was even breathing.

And the sorrow that rose up from Layla was tangible. Yet she did not argue.

She knew, Xcor thought, exactly how intractable the situation was.

“I’ve heard that, too,” Wrath said finally. “About the Old Country. Nice spot. Especially if you have a defensible position to crash in and the humans leave you alone.”

Xcor inclined his head. “Aye. Very much so.”

“I am not forgiving or forgetting one goddamn thing here.” Wrath shook his head. “That shit’s not in my nature. But this female right here”—he pointed to Layla—“has been through more than enough thanks to the likes of you. I don’t need to prove my power to anybody, and I’m not going to fuck her head up for the rest of her nights simply to be a vindictive hard-ass. Everything you’ve said just now has been the truth as you know it, and as long as you get the fuck out of Caldwell, I think both sides can live with that arrangement.”

Xcor nodded. “Aye, both sides indeed.” He cleared his throat. “And if it helps bring further peace, I would tell you that I do regret my actions against you. I am sorry for them. There was much anger in me, and the effect was corrosive. Things are … different … the now.”

He glanced at the Chosen and then quickly looked away from her.

“I am …” Xcor took a deep breath. “I am not as I was.”

Wrath nodded. “Love of a good female and all that. Not unfamiliar with it myself.”

“So are we done here?” Vishous snapped like he disapproved of pretty much everything.

“No,” Wrath said without looking away from Xcor. “Before we kumbaya this shit, you’re going to do something for me, right here and now.”

The King pointed to the carpet at his feet. “On your knees, bastard.”

Of course Xcor was going to have to leave, Layla thought as she tried to keep herself together. He couldn’t stay in Caldwell. The other Brothers might accept Wrath’s pardoning on the surface, but things happened out in the field in war. There was no way of assuring that in the heat of conflict, one of the King’s fighters wouldn’t find himself in a frame of mind and a position that was incompatible with this détente.

Especially Qhuinn.

And Tohr.

Except she wasn’t going to waste time thinking about all that. As the King pointed to the floor in front of him, her heart jumped into her throat and she nervously looked at Vishous.

Wrath was giving off every indication that this was a meeting of the minds, an agreement to live and let live, by virtue of him proclaiming it as such. But Vishous had well-fooled her before, pulling a double-cross that he’d ultimately relented upon, yet which quite readily could have been adhered to.

Was there a dagger or a saber about to be unleashed upon Xcor’s throat? Killing him where he was?

“To what end?” Xcor inquired of the King.

“Get down there and find out.”

Xcor glanced at Vishous. Refocused on Wrath. And stayed yet where he was.

Wrath smiled in a gruesome way, like a killer about to strike. “Well? And bear in mind, I’m holding all your cards.”

“I bowed my head once and only once to another. It nearly killed me.”

“Well, if you don’t do it right now, it will be the death of you.”

At that, there was a sound of metal on metal, and with a shock of alarm, she found that Vishous had unsheathed one of the black daggers that was strapped, handles down, to his chest.

“Put that thing away,” Wrath bit out. “This will be voluntarily or not at all—”

“He doesn’t deserve—”

Wrath bared his fangs at the Brother and hissed. “Go upstairs. Get the fuck upstairs, right now. That is an order.”

The fury in Vishous’s face was such that it seemed as though the tattoos at his temple were moving across his skin. But then he did as he was told—which made Layla rethink exactly how much power Wrath had over the Brotherhood. At the end of the day, even the Scribe Virgin’s begotten son clearly took orders from the King.

Although Vishous was obviously not pleased: The sound of his boots going up the stairwell was loud as thunder, and when he got to the first floor, he slammed the door so hard she felt the clap in her teeth.

“Did you have fun with morale when you were in charge?” Wrath muttered to Xcor.

“All the time. The stronger the warrior—”

“The harder the head.”

“—the harder the head.”

As they finished the sentence with the same words, and in an identically exhausted tone, she was surprised. And yet they had faced the same issues, hadn’t they, both leaders of groups of males that were highly charged in the best of situations … and downright dangerous in bad ones.

While Vishous paced around right above their heads, his footfalls a nonverbal protest that was clearly intended to be logged by those down in the cellar, Xcor closed his eyes for the longest time.

And then … he slowly sank onto both knees.

For some reason, seeing him thus brought her to tears. But then witnessing a proud male submit, even under these circumstances, was emotional.