by J. R. Ward
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Xcor had sensed the Chosen female from blocks away. Drawn to her, he had changed direction and headed toward her - until Throe had gotten in the way and argued with him.
Which had been, in a manner of speaking, a good thing. It meant that the male was staying true to his vow to never see her again.
Xcor, on the other hand, had made no such promise - so he had pressed onward, leaving his soldier in the dust. Fates, but he had spent so many days staring up at the cobwebbed beams above his bunk, wondering where she was, what she was doing. How she was doing.
If the Brotherhood ever found out who she had been of aid to in that field, they would be furious - and Wrath, the Blind King, had long been known to live up to his name. Lo, how Xcor still regretted that his second lieutenant had brought her into this mess. She was guileless, an innocent seeking only to help, and they had made a traitor out of her.
She deserved better.
Indeed, it felt insane to pray for his target's mercy in her case. But he did. He prayed that Wrath would spare her if the truth ever came out. . .
Closing in on her, he'd dared not get too close. . . and he found her in the lee of a little cafe, draped in shadows that, no matter how hard his eyes strained, he could not penetrate.
She was not alone; she was guarded by soldiers - two of them male, one of them female.
Would she sense him? he wondered, his heart beating sure as if he were being chased. Would she tell them he was nearby -
A black vehicle came tearing up to the group, and what got out was something he'd only heard whispers about: Was that a Shadow? An actual living, breathing Shadow?
The Brotherhood had worthy allies, that was for sure -
With speed, his Chosen was carried to the car in the arms of the soldier he had fought with that night at Assail's.
Xcor bared his fangs, but kept the growl to himself. That another male was touching her made him violent to his core. That she might be injured in some way? Made him terrified to the point of tremors.
In the last moment, just before she disappeared into the backseat, she looked his way.
The moment of connection slowed time down until everything from the snowflakes that were falling to the blink of the neon sign beside her to the speed with which she was dispatched out of sight went into single frames, the photographs taken by his mind one by one.
She was not in a white robe, but rather human clothes that he did not favor. Her hair was still pulled up high above her neck, however, accentuating the spectacular features of her face. And as he breathed in, his sinuses hummed from both the cold and her delicate scent.
It was everything he remembered about her. Except now she was clearly in distress, her skin too pale, her eyes too wide, her hand shaking as she raised it to her throat as if to protect herself.
His fighting palm actually reached forward for her, as if there was something he could do to relieve her suffering, as if he could help her in some way.
It was a gesture that would have to remain forever in the shadows. She knew he was here, and that was probably why they were taking her away.
And she was scared of him now. Likely because she knew he was her enemy.
The two males packed in with her, the taller one getting behind the wheel, the one he'd fought slipping in beside her in the back.
Without his being aware of it, his palm sneaked inside his jacket, and found his gun. The temptation to flash into the path of that vehicle, kill the two males, and take what he wanted was so great, he actually shifted his position down the street.
But he could not do that to her. He was not his fath - he was not the Bloodletter. He would not torture her conscience for the rest of her days with such violence - because surely she would extrapolate and blame herself for the deaths.
No, if he ever had her, it would be because she came unto him of her free will. Which was an impossibility, of course.
And so. . . he let her go. He stepped not into the path of the motorcar to put a bullet through the forehead of the driver. He did not then rush forth, shoot the one in the backseat, and turn about to kill the female soldier who was, as of this moment, directly behind him by about half a block. He did not infiltrate the vehicle, lock the Chosen in and drive her off to somewhere warm and safe.
Whereupon he would take those dreadful human dressings from her skin. . . and replace them with his naked body.
Dropping his head, he closed his eyes and recalibrated his thoughts, reining them in, steering them away from the fantasy. Indeed, he would not even use her as a way to find the Brothers: that would be signing her death warrant sure as if he could actually write his own name.
No, he would not use her as a tool in this war. He had already compromised her too much.
Pivoting in the snow, he faced the direction of the one who was behind him. That the soldiers had left with the Chosen instead of fighting with him was logical. A female such as she was a highly valuable commodity, and they'd likely called in many reinforcements for the trip to wherever they were going.
Interesting that the one they had picked to stay behind was of the fairer sex. They must have assumed he'd give chase.
"I sense you clear as day, female," he called out.
To her credit, she stepped into the light of a doorway down the alley. With short hair and a tight, powerful build that was encased in leather, she was definitely a female fighter.
Well, wasn't this a night for surprises: If she was associated with the Brotherhood, he had to assume she was dangerous so this could be fun.
And yet, as she confronted him, she took out no weapons. She was prepared, though - indeed, her stance told him she was ready to do what she must. But she was not on the offensive.
Xcor narrowed his eyes. "Too ladylike to fight?"
"You are not mine to take. "
"So whose am I. " When she didn't reply, he knew there was a game afoot. The question was, what kind. "Nothing to say, female?"
He took a step toward her. And another. Just to test where the boundaries were. Sure enough, she didn't retreat, but instead slowly unzipped the front of her jacket as if she were ready to get at her guns.
Standing in that pool of light, with the snow falling around her and her boots planted on the white, fluffy ground, her black figure cut quite a picture. He wasn't attracted to her, however - mayhap it would be easier if he was. Someone with her intrinsic harshness might fare better in the face of his. . . face, as it were.
"You appear rather aggressive, female. "
"If you force me to kill you, I will. "
"Ah. Well, I shall keep that mind. Tell me, do you tarry here for the pleasure of my company?"
"I doubt there'd be much pleasure in it. "
"Right you are. I am not known for my social graces. "
She was tracking him, he thought. That was the reason she was here. In fact, he had had the sense since the earlier part of the night that there had been a shadow on him.
"I'm afraid I shall have to be going," he drawled. "I have a feeling our paths shall cross again, however. "
"You can bet your life on it. "
He inclined his head toward her. . . and promptly disappeared himself far away. Whatever her tracking skills were, she couldn't follow molecules. No one was that good.
Not even his Chosen could do that - and thank the Fates for it. For truth, the thought had long lingered in his mind that she might find him if she wished, her blood in him a beacon she could follow for quite some time.
But she hadn't done so, and she wouldn't. She was not of the war -
His phone went off just as he came back into his physical form on the shores of the Hudson far from downtown. Taking the black device out, he looked at the screen. The picture of an old-fashioned dandy was showing beside writing and numerals he could not decipher - which indicated his contact within the glymera was reaching out to him.
&nbs
p; He hit the button with green lettering on it. "How lovely to hear from you, Elan," he murmured. "How ever are you doing this fine eve. They are? Indeed. Yes. I shall get back to you on a location - but tell them aye. We shall meet with them posthaste. "
Perfect, he thought as he hit the red button. The splintering faction of the glymera wanted to meet in person. Things were finally starting to move.
About time.
Staring out over the river, he let his aggression flow, but the surge didn't last. Inevitably, his thoughts returned to his Chosen and that horrid expression on her face.
She knew who he was now.
And as all females did, she viewed him as a monster.
Riding in the back of iAm's SUV, Qhuinn kept a lookout on all sides of the vehicle in case they were being trailed. He'd also called in V and Rhage to flank the BMW on a just-in-case.
Not that he'd told them it was the Bastards he was worried about. They had assumed it was lessers, and he'd let them go with that one.
And John wasn't driving back to the compound - no reason to get anywhere near home base. Instead, they were going to head out into the 'burbs and go in circles, staying in the human-heavy neighborhoods until Layla had time enough to recover and dematerialize back to the mansion.
On that note, he glanced over at her. She was staring out the window beside her, her chest rising and falling way too fast.
But, yeah, finding out you'd helped the enemy - probably saved his life - was not the kind of thing anyone would handle well.
He leaned over and put his hand on her leg, giving it a squeeze. "It's okay, baby girl. "
She didn't turn her head to him. Just shook it. "How can you say that. "
"You didn't know. "
"He stayed back in town. He didn't follow us. "
Good to know. "You'll let me know if that changes. "
"Absolutely. " Her voice was dead. "In a moment. "
Qhuinn cursed under his breath. "Layla. Look at me. " When she didn't, he put his forefinger on her chin. "Hey, you didn't know who he was. "
Layla closed her eyes, as if she wished she could return to whatever night she had met the guy and do everything over.
"Come here," he said, pulling her into an embrace.
She came stiffly to him, and as he rubbed her back, the tension in her muscles was legion.
"What if the king turns me out?" she said into his pectoral. "What if Phury - "
"They won't. They'll understand. "
As she shuddered against him, he glanced up at John in the rearview mirror and shook his head at his best friend. Mouthing the words, he said silently, Let's just drive her in. Xcor stayed back in town.
John cocked a brow, and then nodded.
After all, blood sense didn't lie - although unfortunately, it was a sword that cut both ways. The good news was that the mhis V threw up around the compound would keep anyone on the outside from finding her - which was the reason Throe had been fed in the first place. And at least that connection with Layla was fading with every passing night, even with the Chosen's blood being so pure.
"I've got nothing of my own," Layla said roughly. "Nothing. Even my service can be taken away from me. "
"Shhh. . . ain't going to happen. I won't let it. "
Man, he prayed that wasn't a lie. And they damn well had to tell the king and the Primale right away: Their first stop, after they took her to Doc Jane's, was going to be Wrath's study. Those two just had to understand where she'd been coming from - she'd been manipulated by the enemy, exploited like any other resource into doing something she never would have volunteered for in a million years.
He wished he'd killed Xcor when he'd had the chance. . .
A good thirty minutes later, John turned off onto the rear road to the training center, and it was another ten before they finally pulled into the parking garage.
The first clue something was off came when Qhuinn stepped out onto the curb: His skin tightened up in a rush, his blood heating to a boil in his veins for no good reason. And then he popped a giant, throbbing erection.
Frowning, he glanced around. And John did the same as the guy cracked his door and got out from behind the steering wheel.
There was. . . some kind of mojo working in the parking lot. What the fuck?
"Ah, right, okay, let's get you to Doc Jane," Qhuinn said as he took Layla's elbow, and made sure the front of his hips was covered by the tails of his leather jacket.
"I'm fine. Honestly - "
"Then that's just what the good doctor will tell - "
As John opened the door to the place and they all stepped inside, Qhuinn lost his train of thought as a wall of hormones smacked right into him. Looking down at his pelvis, he couldn't believe he was suddenly about to orgasm.
"Someone's in her needing," Layla announced. "I don't think you two should go in - "
Far down the hall, Doc Jane all but jumped out of one of the examination rooms. "You have to leave - Qhuinn and John, you've got to go - "
"Who's - " Qhuinn had to close his eyes and slow his breathing down: The motion was causing his cock to rub against his button fly, threatening a messy explosion. "Who is - "
As some kind of wave intensified, he lost the ability to speak.
Fuck, it was like he'd just come through his transition and was surrounded by naked females in all-access positions.
"It's Autumn," Jane said, running toward them and ushering them back out into the parking lot. "Are you okay, Layla?"
"I'm fine - "
"She needs a quick physical," Qhuinn mumbled as he turned for the Shadow's car. "Just came close to passing out. Text me when you're done, Layla, 'kay?"
John was walking like a scarecrow as well - stiffly and without any coordination. Then again, when you had a baseball bat in your pants, you were hardly going to Fred Astaire around.
As the heavy steel door shut them out, things got a little better, and by the time they had driven through the series of gates, short of a raging hard-on, he was feeling more rational.
"Jesus," Qhuinn said. "Bottle that shit and the Viagra boys are out of business. "
Behind the wheel, John whistled an agreement.
As the guy drove them around the base of the mountain and approached the main house from the front, Qhuinn squirmed in his leathers.
He hadn't done much sexually since. . . well, shit, almost a year ago, when he'd had some private time with that red-haired guy at the Iron Mask. After that, he hadn't had much interest in anything or anyone, male or female. He didn't even wake up hard anymore.
Hell, given the length of his dry spell, he'd begun to think that he'd just burned through his allotment of orgasms: Considering how much fucking he'd done after his transition, it sure as shit seemed possible.
But here he was, itching in his seat.
Next door, John was doing the same, moving this way and that. Jacking himself up, pushing back.
When the mansion finally made an appearance out of the mhis, Qhuinn dreaded going inside. There didn't seem anything even remotely sexy or appealing about heading up to his room alone, jerking off once or twice, and then resuming his vigil in front of a dark TV screen.
I've got nothing of my own. Nothing. Even my service can be taken away from me.
Layla was so right about that: Although everyone made him welcome here, the bottom line was, he was allowed to hang because he served a purpose for John, as ahstrux nohtrum.
Like Layla, however, he could be fired.
And as for his future? He was certainly never going to be mated, because he wasn't going to condemn some female to a loveless union, and he was never going to have any young - although, considering his mismatched eyes, maybe that was a good thing.
Bottom line, he was staring down the barrel of countless centuries with no real home, no true family, no blood of his own.
As he rubbed a hand through his hair a
nd wondered whether there was any possibility his cock would magically deflate. . . he knew just what that Chosen meant when it came to empty.
