The Chosen

They would not be forgotten, however.

Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the last time she had gone up to the Sanctuary. Oh, indeed.

It had been a month ago … when she had found out who Xcor’s father was.

Annnnnd she had his scent on her, too.

As Qhuinn marched through the dining room, he was furious, but at the same time, not at all surprised: Wrath had given Xcor a free pass, and Layla had been in the outside world for twenty minutes, so yes, of course, the pair of them had met up. Probably banged all day.

Meanwhile, her kids were here without their mother.

“Hope you had a great frickin’ time, sweetheart,” he muttered as he stormed along.

The door to the garage was in the way back of the house, on the far side of even the mudroom, and he had to go doggen dodging through the kitchen to get there. He was halfway to goal when, hey, hey, what do you know, Tohr came in from the staff stairs.

Neither of them made eye contact. They both just continued onward, falling into line and entering the shallow room that was full of spare coats, snow boots, hats, and gloves. On the far side, Tohr opened the way into the unheated, barn-y garage beyond and then shut them in together.

The air was cold and dry and smelled vaguely of fertilizer and gasoline. And as the motion-activated lights came on, there was a whole lot of perfectly tidy and concrete going on, drums of birdseed and rock salt all lined up, the riding mowers parked in a row, Weed Eaters, hoes, and shovels hanging on racks. High above, the rafters were made of old wood, and sturdy as the mountain the house had been built on, and across the way, sixteen coffins were stacked one upon the next, as if they were nothing but moving boxes from U-Haul.

The fact that Tohr strode over and stood right by them seemed apt.

When the brother spoke, his voice was quiet, but deep as the lowest point in Hell. “I have no intention of letting this go.”

No reason to define this, was there.

Qhuinn shook his head slowly. “Me, either.”

“I don’t know when Wrath turned into a fucking Millennial.” Tohr started pacing around. “But maybe he should get off the throne and start sharing Snapchats about how everyone needs to forgive and get along. Throw a fucking bunny face on himself and do a guided meditation on unity. This is insane.”

The brother stopped and put his hand on one of the coffins, his jaw grinding hard and hollowing out his cheek.

Tohr shook his head. “Sometimes you have to take care of the King even if he doesn’t want you to.”

“I agree.”

“Sometimes matters have to be taken into different hands.”

“I totally fucking agree.”

Tohr’s navy blue eyes looked over. “The field is a very dangerous place.”

Qhuinn flexed his hands into fists. “People get hurt out there all the time.”

“Lessers. Humans. They can do a lot of damage even to trained fighters.”

As Qhuinn nodded, he recognized that while they were coming at it from two completely different perspectives, they’d certainly arrived at the same damn place. Xcor was going to die out there while he was supposedly looking for his boys. Whether it was Qhuinn’s bullet or Tohr’s, the fucker was going down.

“Is this a race, though,” Qhuinn interjected. “Like, the first to catch the bastard wins the prize of slaughtering him?”

“No. We work together and keep this between us. Whoever gets him presents him like a meal to be communally consumed.”

As Tohr put his palm out, Qhuinn grasped it without hesitation. “Deal.”

The other brother nodded as they released their palms and dropped their arms. “Let’s go, then,” Tohr said. “He’ll be searching for his fighters even though it’s snowing badly because he’s going to want to gather his troops ASAP. We’ll find him somewhere in the field tonight.”

With the plan in place, the pair of them headed back for the mudroom and geared up with white-on-white parkas. Then they exited the mansion through a side door that led out into the rear garden. Or tried to. The second they opened the panels, they were both slammed in the face with the kind of sleet and snow that made lesser mortals seek fireplaces and hot toddies. But fuck comfort.

They were going to take care of this situation, and keep the solution to themselves.

No one had to know one goddamn thing about this.

THIRTY-SIX

Xcor waited until he sensed Layla had fully dematerialized away from the ranch, and then he went on a search mission of the little house, quickly moving through all the closets and drawers and possible hiding places in the bedrooms. His assumption was that if the Brothers ever stayed here, they would keep weapons where they slept—but ultimately, he found nothing.

Frustrating.

He did locate adequate outerwear for himself, however. There was a coat closet on the way to the door out into the garage, and therein he found a parka and snow pants that were big enough to fit him, as well as a pair of ski gloves and a skullcap. Unfortunately, they were all black, and in the snow, they were going to make him stand out like a sparkler in the pitch dark—but beggars, choosers, and all that.

There was, however, something else in there that made up for the potentially dangerous eye-catch of it all.

After gearing up, he headed out into the garage, to the Range Rover in which they had evac’d from the forest the night before. The SUV looked as if it had been through a salt bath, great white streaks all down its sides and up its front grille and hood. No keys, and he wasn’t surprised. Vishous would have taken them with him.

The vehicle was unlocked, however, and what he was hoping to find turned out to be in its back compartment: From an emergency box, he took three red flares, and tucked them into the parka, securing them by zipping up the front of the puffy jacket.

And then he went back inside, engaged the security system, and quickly departed through the slider in the kitchen. He didn’t expect Layla to come back during the night, but in the event that she did return, he wanted her in a house that had been at least nominally secured. Further, he had no way to lock up the place behind himself, assuming he wanted to reenter and spend the day here.

Which he wasn’t sure would be the case.

Out on the porch, the weather conspired a great assault against him, the snow falling in heavy bands that came with blustery winds, as if there were storms within the storm. Visibility was poor, and he was willing to bet there would be few humans out. This would work in his favor.

Closing his eyes, he dematerialized …

… and re-formed in a neighborhood about fifteen miles to the southwest.

As he came into his corporeal body once more, he was in a cul-de-sac of two-story colonials, the houses at a more expensive price point than the ranch, but very far from mansion status. All around, there were lots of lights on, whether it was in living rooms or bedrooms, on garage corners or in trees, but with the thickly descending flakes, the illuminations were isolated, carrying not far at all.

Leaning into the wind, he walked the rest of the way, his heavy boots shuffling powdery snow out of his path, his hearing going in and out of acuity depending on the direction of the gusts. The specific property he was after was in the back, and like the others, it too had lights on inside. Stopping out in front, he watched through the windows as a lanky human male, of some fifteen or sixteen years, strode into the sitting room and said something to a middle-aged human female who was sitting before a lit hearth and talking on a cell phone.

Xcor went up the pathway that was no pathway at all, the snow falling with such density that no one was attempting to plow or shovel prior to the storm’s cessation. When he got to the front door, on which an evergreen wreath had been affixed, he reached out and tried the brass handle.

It was unlocked, so he opened things up and walked right in.

Everything went in slow motion in the sitting room. The young male looked over his shoulder, and then leapt back in alarm. The older female jumped to her feet, whatever hot beverage she had been consuming from a mug going flying.

Xcor shut the door as the son took cover behind the mother.

Coward.

And yet he felt a stab of some emotion he did not wish to entertain as the mother shoved the boy further to the rear of her, even though he was taller than her and probably a little stronger.