Lover Mine

by J. R. Ward

Chapter Thirty-two

 

  John Matthew came awake, sensed Xhex beside him, and panicked.

  Dream. . . was this a dream?

  He sat up slowly, and when he felt her arm slip down his chest to his belly, he caught it before it hit his hips. God, what he held with care was warm and weighted and. . .

  "John?" she said into a pillow.

  Without thinking, he curled around her and smoothed her short hair. The instant he did, she seemed to fall right back to sleep.

  A quick look at his watch told him it was four in the afternoon. They'd slept for hours, and if the growl in his stomach was anything to go by, she must be starving as well.

  When he was sure she was out like a light again, he slipped free of her hold, and moved around quietly, writing her a quick note before drawing on his leathers and T-shirt.

  In his bare feet, he padded out into the hall. Everything was quiet because there was no training here anymore, and that was a damn shame. There should have been shouts of sparring from the gym and the drone of lectures in the classroom and the slam of lockers being shut in the showers.

  Instead, silence.

  But he and Xhex weren't alone, as it turned out.

  When he got to the office's glass door, he froze with his hand on the pull.

  Tohr was asleep at the desk. . . well, on it. His head was down on his forearm and his shoulders were slumped.

  John was so used to feeling anger toward the guy, it was a shock to have nothing of the sort light him up. Instead. . . he felt a crushing sadness.

  He'd woken up next to Xhex this morning.

  But Tohr was never, ever getting that again. He was never going to roll over and smooth Wellsie's hair. He was never going to go to the kitchen to bring her something to eat. He was never going to hug her or kiss her.

  And he'd lost a baby along the way.

  John opened the door and expected the Brother to snap up, but Tohr didn't. The male was out cold. Made sense, though. He'd been busy getting back into shape, eating and working out twenty-four/seven, and the effort was showing. His pants no longer hung off him and his shirts weren't sagging. But clearly the process was exhausting.

  Where was Lassiter? John wondered as he went by the desk and into the closet. The angel usually stuck pretty close to the Brother.

  Ducking into the hidden door in the supply shelves, he walked through the tunnel toward the house. As he went, the fluorescent lights in the ceiling stretched out far, far ahead of him, giving the impression of a predestined path--which considering how things were going was a comfort. When he came to a shallow set of stairs, he mounted them, entered a code, and went up another flight. Emerging into the foyer, he heard the TV in the billiard room and figured that was where the angel was.

  No one else in the house would be watching Oprah. Not without a gun to his head.

  The kitchen was empty, the doggen no doubt catching some food in their own quarters before they had to get First Meal made and set for the household. Which was just as well. He really didn't want help.

  Moving fast, he snagged a basket from the pantry and filled the bitch up to the gunwales. Bagels. Thermos full of coffee. Jug of OJ. Cut fruit. Danish. Danish. Danish. Mug. Mug. Glass.

  He was going for high calories and praying she liked sweets.

  On that note, he made a turkey sandwich, just in case.

  And for a different reason he slapped together a ham and cheese.

  Striding out through the dining room, he headed back for the door beneath the grand staircase--

  "Lot of food for two," Lassiter said, his usual smart-ass routine dialed down.

  John wheeled around. The angel was in the doorway to the billiard room, lounging against the ornate archway. He had one boot crossed over the other and his arms linked across his chest. His golden piercings glinted, giving the impression there were eyes all over him, eyes that missed nothing.

  Lassiter smiled a little. "So you're seeing things from a different angle now, are you. "

  As recently as the night before John would have thrown back a fuck off, but now he was inclined to nod. Especially as he thought of the cracks in the hallway concrete that had been caused by the pain Tohr had been through.

  "Good," Lassiter said, "and about damned time. Oh, and I'm not with him at the moment because everyone needs to be alone. Plus I got to have my O fix. "

  The angel turned away, his blond-and-black hair swinging. "And you can shut it. Oprah's awesome. "

  John shook his head and found himself smiling. Lassiter might be a metrosexual pain in the ass, but he'd brought Tohr back to the Brotherhood and that was worth something.

  Through the tunnel. Out the back of the closet. Into the office where Tohr was still asleep.

  As John stepped up to the desk, the Brother woke up on a full-body spasm, his head whipping off the desk. Half of his face was mashed in, as if someone had hit him with a round of spray starch and ironed his shit badly.

  "John. . . " he said roughly. "Hey. You need anything?"

  John reached into the basket and took out the ham and cheese. Placing it on the desk, he slid it toward the male.

  Tohr blinked as if he'd never seen two slices of rye pulling a cinch on some meat before.

  John nodded down at it. Eat, he mouthed.

  Tohr reached out and placed his hand on the sandwich. "Thanks. "

  John nodded, his fingertips lingering on the surface of the desk. His good-bye was a quick knock of his knuckles. There was too much to be said in the little time he had, his big concern being that Xhex not wake up alone.

  When he hit the door, Tohr said, "I'm really glad you got her back. I'm so damned glad. "

  As the words drifted over to him, John's eyes latched onto those cracks out in the corridor. That would have been him, he realized. If Wrath and the Brothers had rolled up to his door with bad news about his female, instead of the good kind, he'd have reacted the exact same way Tohr had.

  Tore up from the floor up. Followed by a big outtie.

  Over his shoulder, John looked at the pale face of the male who had been his savior, his mentor. . . the closest thing to a father he'd ever known. Tohr had gained weight but his face was still hollow and maybe that would never change, no matter how many meals he ate.

  As their stares locked, John had the sense that the pair of them had been through so much more than just the sum of years they'd known each other.

  John put the basket down at his feet. I'm taking Xhex out tonight.

  "Yeah?"

  I'm going to show her where I grew up.

  Tohr swallowed hard. "You want the keys to my house?"

  John recoiled. He'd meant just to include the guy in what was doing with him, kind of a toe-in-the-pool thing to mending shit between them.

  I didn't expect to take her there--

  "Go. It would be good for you to check it out. The doggen get over there just once a month, maybe twice. " Tohr shifted and pulled open one of the desk drawers. As he took out a key fob, he cleared his throat. "Here. "

  John caught the keys and made a fist around them, shame constricting his chest. He'd been busy shitting on the guy lately and, even still, the Brother manned up and offered what had to be a killer for him?

  "I'm glad you and Xhex have found each other. It makes cosmic sense, it truly does. "

  John shoved the keys in his pocket to free up his hand. We're not together.

  The smile that briefly showed on the guy's face seemed ancient. "Yeah, you are. You two are meant to be together. "

  Jesus, John thought, guess his bonding scent was obvious. Still, there was no reason to go into all the why-nots that were surrounding the pair of them.

  "So, you going to Our Lady?" When John nodded, Tohr reached down to the floor and picked up a Hefty bag. "Take this with you. It's drug money confiscated from that brownstone. Blay brought it back. Figure they could use
it. "

  As Tohr got to his feet, he left the loot on the desk and picked up the sandwich, peeling back the Saran Wrap, and taking a bite.

  "Good work with the mayo," he murmured. "Not too much. Not too little. Thanks. "

  Tohr headed for the closet.

  John whistled softly and the Brother stopped, but didn't turn around. "It's okay, John. You don't have to say anything. Just be safe out there tonight, 'kay?"

  With that Tohr ducked out of the office, leaving John alone in the wake of a kindness and dignity he could only hope to live up to someday.

  As the closet door closed, he thought. . . he wanted to be like Tohr.

  Heading out into the corridor, it was funny to have that running through his brain again, and its return kind of righted the world: Ever since he'd first met the guy, whether it was the Brother's size, or his intelligence, or the way he treated his female, or how he fought, or even the deep sound of his voice. . . John had wanted to be like Tohr.

  This was good.

  This was. . . right.

  As he walked down to the recovery room, he wasn't exactly looking forward to tonight. After all, the past was oftentimes better left buried. . . especially his, because it stank.

  But the thing was, he had a better chance at keeping Xhex from tearing off after Lash this way. She was going to need another night, maybe two, before she was at her full strength. And she should feed again at least one more time.

  This way, he would know where she was and keep her by his side for the evening.

  No matter what Tohr believed, John wasn't fooling himself. Sooner or later, she was going to bolt and he wasn't going to be able to stop her.

  On the Far Side, Payne strolled around the Sanctuary, her bare feet tickled by the springy green grass, her nose filled with the scents of honeysuckle and hyacinth.

  She hadn't slept for even an hour since her mother had reanimated her, and though at first that had seemed odd, she didn't give it much thought anymore. It just was.

  More than likely her body had had enough repose to last a lifetime.

  As she went by the Primale Temple, she didn't go inside. Same with the entrance to her mother's courtyard--it was too early for Wrath to arrive and her sparring with him was the only reason she ever went therein.

  When she came to the sequestering temple, however, she did breach the door, although she couldn't have said what drew her to turn the knob and step o'er the threshold.

  The bowls of water the Chosen had long used to stare into and thereby bear witness to the events that transpired on the Other Side were lined up in perfect order on the many desks, the rolls of parchment and quill pens likewise laid out, ready for use.

  A glint of light caught her eye and she walked over to its source. The water in one of the crystal basins was moving in ever-slowing circles, as if the thing had been used just now.

  She looked around. "Hello?"

  There was no answer, just the sweet smell of lemon, which suggested No'One had been by recently with her cleaning cloth. Which was a bit of a waste of time, really. There was no dust, no grime, no dirt to be dealt with here, but then No'One was a part of the great Chosen tradition, wasn't she.

  Nothing to do but make-work that served no great purpose.

  As Payne turned to leave and passed by all the vacant chairs, the sense of her mother's failure was as prevalent as the silence that abounded.

  She didn't like the female, for truth. But there was a sad reality to all the plans that had been made that had come to naught: Design a breeding program to weed out defects so that the race was strong. Face the enemy on the field on earth and win. Have her many children serve her with love, obedience, and joy.

  Where was the Scribe Virgin now? Alone. Unworshiped. Unliked.

  And the coming generations were even less likely to follow her ways, given the manner in which so many parents had strayed from tradition.

  Leaving the empty room, Payne stepped out into the pervasive milky light and--

  Down by the reflecting pool, a brilliant yellow shape shifted and danced like a tulip in a breeze.

  Payne strode toward the figure and as she got closer, she decided Layla had evidently lost her mind.

  The Chosen was singing a song that had no words, her body moving to a rhythm that had no fiddle, her hair swinging around like a flag.

  It was the first and only time the female had not worn a chignon in the fashion of all Chosen--at least that Payne had seen.

  "My sister!" Layla said, coming to a halt. "Forgive me. "

  Her brilliant smile was brighter than the yellow of her robing and her scent was louder than it had ever been, the fragrance of cinnamon ringing in the air as sure as her lovely voice had.

  Payne shrugged. "There's nothing to forgive. Verily, your song is pleasing to the ear. "

  Layla's arms resumed their elegant swinging. "'Tis a lovely day, is it not?"

  "Indeed. " From out of nowhere, Payne felt a bolt of fear. "Your mood is much improved. "

  "'Tis, 'tis. " The Chosen pirouetted around, pointing her foot in a lovely arch before springing up into the air. "Verily, 'tis a lovely day. "

  "Whatever has pleased you so?" Although Payne knew the answer. Transformations of disposition, after all, were rarely spontaneous--most required a trigger.

  Layla slowed her dance, her arms and hair drifting downward and coming to a rest. As her elegant fingers lifted to her mouth, she seemed at a loss for words.

  She has been of proper service, Payne thought. No longer was her experience as an ehros just theory.

  "I. . . " The blush on those cheeks was vibrant.

  "Say no more, just know I am happy for you," Payne murmured, and that was largely true. But there was a part of her which felt curiously dejected.

  Was it now just her and No'One who were of no use? Seemed so.

  "He kissed me," Layla said, looking toward the reflecting pool. "He. . . laid his mouth upon mine. "

  With grace, the Chosen sat upon the lip of marble and trailed her hand through the still water. After a moment, Payne joined her because sometimes it was better to feel something, anything. Even if it was an ache.

  "You enjoyed it, yes?"

  Layla stared at her own reflection, her blond hair trailing over her shoulder until the blunt ends hit the silvery surface of the pool. "He was. . . a fire within me. A great burning rush that. . . consumed me. "

  "So you are virgin no longer. "

  "He stopped us both after the kissing. He said he wanted me to be sure. " The sensuous smile that touched the female's face was a clear echo of the passion. "I was certain, and still am. So is he. Indeed, his warrior's body was ready for me. Hungry for me. To be desired in such a way was a gift beyond measure. I had thought. . . fulfillment in my education was what I was in search of, but now I know there is so much more waiting for me on the Other Side. "

  "With him?" Payne murmured. "Or through the pursuit of your duty?"

  This caused a deep frown.

  Payne nodded. "I ascertain that it is more of him than your position you seek. "

  There was a long pause. "Such passion betwixt us is surely indicative of a certain destiny, is it not?"

  "On that I have no opinion. " Her experience with fate had led her to one shining, bloody moment of activity. . . followed by a pervasive inaction. Neither of which enabled her to comment on the kind of passion to which Layla was referring.

  Or reveling in.

  "Do you condemn me?" Layla whispered.

  Payne lifted her eyes to the Chosen and thought of that empty seeing room with all the vacant desks and the bowls left unwarmed by well-trained hands. Layla's joy now, rooted as it was in goings-on outside of the Chosen life, seemed another inevitable defection. And that was not a bad thing.

  She reached out and touched the other female's shoulder. "Not at all. Verily, I'm pleased for you. "

  Layl
a's shy pleasure turned her from beautiful to something close to breathtaking. "I am so pleased to share this with you. I am full to bursting and there is no one. . . really. . . with whom to speak. "

  "You may always talk to me. " Layla, after all, had never judged her or her masculine proclivities and she was very inclined to grant the female the same gracious acceptance. "Will you be going back soon?"

  Layla nodded. "He said I could return unto him on his. . . How did he put it? Next night off. And so I shall. "

  "Well, you must keep me informed. Indeed. . . I shall be interested to hear of how you fare. "

  "Thank you, sister. " Layla covered Payne's hand, a sheen of tears forming in the Chosen's eyes. "I have been so long unused and this. . . this is what I have wanted. I feel. . . alive. "

  "Good for you, my sister. That is. . . very good. "

  With a final smile of reassurance, Payne got to her feet and took her leave of the female. As she walked back to the quarters, she found herself rubbing that ache that had formed in the center of her chest.

  Wrath couldn't get here fast enough, as far as she was concerned.