The Savior
And that would have been true no matter what house he was in with her. The key was her. For tonight and the rest of his life, the key to everything was going to be her.
“So Wrath is okay with all this?” she asked breathlessly.
“We can live with the Brotherhood or get a house.”
“I’m selling this one, so I’m free.”
“You are?”
“I was going to let you know where I went.” She kissed him some more. “I was always going to let you know where to find me.”
He pictured her in his attic down at the Rathboone House and decided that might be a good retreat for them. He was going to have to move a nice big bed in, though.
And she must never know how close he came to killing himself. He didn’t want to think of that ever again, either.
“I’d like a house of our own,” she said as she dismounted and tore off her jeans like they’d burned her. “That would be great.”
He meant to say something coherent. He truly did.
But then she was up on him and working his fly. The second his erection was sprung, she was on him. Literally.
“Oh, God … Sarah …”
They made love for a good hour. Maybe more. And then they wrapped up in her blanket and held each other close.
“Sarah,” he said.
“What’s wrong.” She sat up. “I can hear it in your voice.”
“I have to go.”
“Oh, right, before the sun shows up. This house really isn’t safe for you, is it. Can I come with you?”
Murhder smiled. “Yes. Please. Fritz is getting a bedroom ready for us at the big house. And there’s going to be a party at dawn.”
“Really?” She smiled. “What perfect timing. I feel like I have all kinds of things to celebrate.”
“Me, too, my love.” He kissed her again. “Me, too.”
Murhder intended on things stopping there. But it was Sarah. So naturally, the kissing led to all kinds of other stuff. And he wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Back at the Brotherhood mansion, John Matthew stepped out of the shower and toweled off. As he tucked the terry cloth around his hips, he looked over at the double sinks and smiled. Xhex’s wet towel had been ditched on the counter and he took care to hang it up on the peg by the alcove. She’d seemed to be in a hurry to leave after they’d had sex under all that hot water: Kissing him goodbye while he’d been shaving. Dressing fast.
All but running out of their suite.
She’d lost a lot of time at work lately, though. There was probably stuff she had to take care of at shAdoWs—
The pounding on his door brought his head around and stopped his heart.
There was only one kind of fist that made that kind of sound, and he hustled to answer things. Opening the—
John Matthew froze.
Standing outside of his room, in the Hall of Statues, which had been plunged into darkness, the Brotherhood had gathered in a semicircle. He could not see their faces because they were covered from head to foot in black robes, their features hidden by hoods that had been pulled up. But their scents. He knew their scents.
He blinked. Tried to take a breath.
Either someone had died or—
“John Matthew, blooded son of the Black Dagger warrior Darius, adopted son of the Black Dagger warrior Tohrment, you are going to be asked a question. You may give one and only one answer and it must stand for the rest of your life. Are you prepared to answer?”
It was Murhder. Murhder was speaking.
Even as John Matthew nodded, he could not believe this was happening. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe they were—
Tohr’s voice now, loud and clear. “Mine son, will you join us this night and for all others that Fate provides you?”
John Matthew bowed low. As he straightened, he mouthed the word “yes” at the same time he nodded and signed.
You know, just in case there were any doubts.
“Put this on.”
A black robe was shoved at him and he whipped that thing over his head so fast, he almost tore it. Putting the hood up, he found himself trembling. But not from fear.
No, it wasn’t fear.
“Lower thine eyes and keep them thus. Your hands shall be clasped at the small of your back. You are not to look up until told to do so. You are not to respond unless prompted to do so. Your bravery and the honor of the bloodline you and I share by virtue of adoption shall be measured in every action you take. Do you understand this?”
As John Matthew nodded, he did as instructed, and felt his arms get gripped on both sides. Tohr was on his left. Murhder was on his right.
The two males, one the only father he had ever known, and the other, a new acquaintance that he knew only too well, led him down the grand staircase.
Everything was dark, all the lights in the mansion seemingly extinguished.
And then he was outside, and being put into a van.
The next thing John knew, he was being drawn out of the back of the van, his bare feet hitting frozen ground that was covered in fallen pine needles. The air was bracingly cold, and full of the scents of the forest.
They had taken him somewhere on the mountain, but he would not look around. He would do nothing he was not told to do. His arms were gripped again by Tohr and Murhder and he was led forward, his footfalls mirroring theirs, his trust in them absolute, the frigid ground not even registering.
And then they were out of the gusts, in a space that smelled like damp earth. A cave. They were in a cave.
Pause. And then a procession along a gentle decline. Another pause.
He had the impression that a second gate was being opened. More forward going.
He could sense the other members of the Brotherhood behind him, the large bodies moving in succession, the power in the group magnifying by proximity.
Warmth came after further walking, and now underneath the hem of his robe … candlelight. And no longer a packed dirt floor or one of rough stone, but fine honed marble.
He was jerked to a halt.
All around him, there was a shifting of fabric. The Brothers were disrobing, he thought. And then a heavy hand clamped on the back of his neck and the deep growl of the King’s voice shot into his ear.
“You are unworthy to enter herein as you are the now. Nod your head.”
John nodded his head.
“Unclasp thine hands and say that you are unworthy.”
I am unworthy, John signed.
“He states that he is unworthy,” Tohr translated.
Immediately, there was a shout in the Old Language, a protest uttered by every one of the Brothers.
Wrath continued, “Though you are unworthy, you desire to become as such this night. Nod your head.”
John nodded.
“State that you wish to become worthy.”
I wish to become worthy, John signed.
“He has so declared that he wishes to become worthy,” Tohr said.
Another shout in the Old Language, this time a cheer of support.
Wrath went on to say, “There is only one way to become worthy and it is the right and proper way. Flesh of our flesh. Nod your head.”
John nodded.
“State that you wish to become flesh of our flesh.”
I wish to become flesh of your flesh, he signed.
After Tohr translated again, a low chanting started up, and John heard the Brothers shifting their positions, big feet whispering over the glossy marble, a line of bodies forming in front of, and behind him. And then they were swaying. Back and forth, back and forth, in rhythm with their deep bass voices.