The Shadows

She was healthy. She was strong. She was whole.

“My queen!” he shouted, reaching for her.

But she put her palm out, stopping him. “Trez, you need to stay.”

He recoiled. “No. I need to be with you—this is the way it’s supposed to be—”

“No. You have more to do. You have things you need to do, people you have to meet. Your journey’s not done.”

“It sure as shit is.” Check him out with the cursing. Way to do the whole reunited-in-Heaven fantasy. “You’re dead and I want to be with you.”

“I’m going to be here, waiting for you.” She smiled again, and warmed him anew. “It’s wonderful where I am—I flew because of what you did, the way you freed me. I found flight and I am free and I am going to wait for you until your journey’s done.”

“No,” he moaned. “Don’t send me back.”

“I don’t have that power. But you do. Make the choice to stay down there—you have to take care of iAm. You need to pay him back for all the years he’s been there for you. It’s not fair for you to leave him alone. He will never be at peace, and he’s earned it.”

Well, hell. That was probably the only argument she could have made that had a chance of getting through to him.

Shit.

“What about us,” he moaned. Even though that was selfish. Childish. “What about me … I’m nothing without you.”

“I’ll come to you in the night sky. Look for me there.”

“Let me touch you—”

“Make the right choice, Trez. You have to make the right choice. You have a debt to repay to the one you have loved all your life.”

“But I love you,” he choked out, beginning to cry.

“And I love you, too—for eternity.” Her smile resonated through him. “Infinity and back, remember? I’ll be here waiting for you and for whoever else you love. That’s what the other side is. It’s just love.”

“Don’t leave. Oh, God, don’t leave me again—”

“I’m not. We’re separated, but not lost or truly apart. Do not mourn me, my love. I have not died…”

“Selena!”

As iAm heard the shout, he jerked up from the base of the slab. Shit, some savior he was. He’d fallen a-fucking-sleep holding his brother’s—

“Trez?” he said, as he realized the guy had, by some miracle, almost twenty-four hours after the cleanse, come back to consciousness.

His brother was crying, tears spilling from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.

“Trez? Are you back?” iAm jumped to his feet and leaned over the guy. “Trez?”

Those sunken black eyes shifted to his, and there was a long moment in which Trez seemed to struggle with what was or was not real.

“Trez?” iAm whispered, suddenly worried that the poison had eaten that brain up. “Are you—”

All at once those long, strong arms wrapped around him and jerked him off his feet.

And his brother was holding him.

And speaking.

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here … for you, I am here…”

At first the words didn’t register, but then …

“I’m not leaving you,” Trez said in a rough, scratchy voice. “I’m here and I’m not leaving you.”

Oh … shit.

They were the words iAm had said to the male in so many different variations throughout their lives together … words that had been represented by the deeds he had done, and days he had stayed up worrying, and years he had spent just praying they were going to make it through another night.

iAm collapsed on his brother’s now-scarred chest, his knees suddenly going out from under him.

In his fantasies, he had wondered what it would be like to be free of the curse of worrying about his brother.

He’d had a variety of iterations.

None came close to the real thing.

EIGHTY-FIVE

It was around noontime when Mary left the Brotherhood mansion … and the Shadow brothers returned.

Rhage had just sent his shellan off to Havers, after telling her that no, really, he was totally fine, when the security checkpoint at the main entrance went off.

Excusing himself from the restless cohort of his brothers in the billiard’s room, he beat Fritz to the monitor, and the instant he saw those two dark faces, he shouted.

“Who is it?” Butch asked.

“Who we’ve been waiting for!”

Releasing the locks, he positioned himself right at the inner doors—and there they were, looking like shit, both haggard and worn shadows of their former selves.

Har-har, hardy-har-har.

But they were alive. They were together. And the sight of them upright, walking and talking, relieved a little bit of the pressure that had been riding his chest for nights now.

“Hey, my man,” he said, embracing the nearest one, and then going to the other.

Trez’s voice was thin, but strong enough. “Hey, thanks for everything.”

“Thank you so much for—”

“Trez, buddy, good to see you—”

“Jesus Christ—what a story—”

“iAm, welcome back—”

And so it went, the Brotherhood filing out of the billiards room along with the females of the house, the greetings and exchanges like those of war survivors.

Or almost-war survivors …

“Oh, my God, you two made it back in time for Steve Wilkos!”

Everyone halted and looked at Lassiter, who was standing in the archway, naked to the waist in nothing but black leathers, that I’M HORNY baseball cap with its silver lamé protrusion sticking out the front of his head—and a pair of giant fuzzy slippers on his feet which, if you put them together, formed a complete Dalmatian.

The angel had returned twelve hours ago, saying that the pair of them were safe, but there was no telling whether Trez was going to make it. And for once, the asshat had seemed utterly and completely devastated by something. To the point where he’d been inconsolable.

In the silence following that happy TV announcement, Trez stared across the foyer … and then burst out laughing.

The poor bastard laughed so hard, he had to wrap his arms around his middle and wipe tears from his eyes.

As everybody joined in, the Shadow tilted his head up to the ceiling and said, “Thank you, my queen. I needed this.”

Then he walked over to the fallen angel and embraced the guy. Words were said, serious ones that made Lassiter duck his eyes.

Because he seemed to be tearing up.

But then the jackass broke rank and said, “Now take your hands off my ass. I’m not that kind of girl.”

And that struck the tone for the rest of the day. Rather like rolling a bandage over a wound, the community wrapped itself around the two Shadows, drawing them into the billiards room, offering them food and drink.

It was clear that, in spite of that moment of levity, Trez was hurting badly. He was wearing some kind of gray robe, and his skin was nearly the same color as the cloth. But he seemed determined to be present and participate.

iAm, on the other hand, appeared to have a serious case of vertigo. Like a guy who’d just stepped off a boat that had sustained heavy waves, he steadied himself on various things … the pool table, the sofa, the bar.

He declined the offer of booze. Took Coke instead.

Rhage was so damned happy they were home in one piece, but even so, he couldn’t man up for too much interaction. He told himself it was because of the raid on the Lessening Society they were going to do at that prep school with Assail and those two cousins.

It could well be a historic slaughter.

And then there was always the Band of Bastards on his mind. Even if he and his brothers killed off all the slayers and the Omega needed time to recoup the losses, there were still Xcor and his boys to worry about.

But the reality was, he still didn’t feel right.

And after a time, he became aware that he wasn’t the only one.

Layla was likewise standing on the periphery, one hand on her belly, her eyes straight ahead but not really focused on anything.

“You okay?” he asked as he went over to her. “You need Doc Jane or something?”

When she didn’t reply, he leaned in, “Layla?”

She jumped, and he reached out to calm her, as she mumbled, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Are you all right?”

“Oh. Yes.” She gave him the same sort of smile he’d given his Mary. “I’m fine.”

He was tempted to call her on the bullshit, but he wouldn’t have appreciated anyone doing that to him.

“You want me to call Qhuinn over?”

The male and Blay were talking with iAm, both of them nodding their heads … only to recoil in shock, as if they couldn’t believe the story that had, up until now, been delivered secondhand by Steve Wilko’s PR man over there with the phallic symbol on his forehead.

“Oh, no. No, thank you.”

As Rhage took in her affect, he thought, man, he really was as selfish as he thought he was. She had lost her blooded sister Selena just days ago.