The Chosen

by J. R. Ward

  "Bullshit. And now you got to go. I have some properties that are secure and I'll arrange for transport. Start packing."

  "But who will stay with them?" She wheeled around to the bassinets. "My young...oh, dearest Virgin Scribe--"

  "Qhuinn will. And then we'll make arrangements for you to see them." The King cleared his throat. "This is...how it must be. I have to think of the other young here--hell, right now, I'm wondering if I don't need to evac every single person in this house. Jesus, why they haven't attacked already, I don't fucking know."

  As she imagined not sleeping beside Lyric and Rhamp, not feeding them through the day, not being the one to change them and soothe them and bathe them, she couldn't breathe. "But only I know what they need, and I--"

  "Say your goodbyes, and then Fritz will--"

  "What the hell happened here?"

  As Wrath pivoted back around, Layla sniffled and looked up. The Primale was standing in the broken doorway, Phury's brows down low over his yellow eyes, his body strapped with weapons and smelling of the outdoors.

  "Are you all right, Layla?" he asked with concern as he entered and stepped around Wrath. "Dearest Virgin Scribe, what--are those bullet holes? Who the hell discharged a weapon here! Are the kids okay?"

  "Qhuinn was the one with the happy finger." Wrath crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. "The young are fine, but she needs to leave. Maybe you can help take her out of here?"

  Phury jerked toward his leader, his multi-colored hair swinging on his broad shoulders. "What are you talking about?"

  The King was efficient with the story about her and Xcor--and he didn't use the words betrayal, treason, or punishable by death, but he didn't have to. All of that and so much more was implied readily--although Wrath didn't get through the whole story.

  Phury cut him off before the end. "So that's why he came!"

  "Xcor was using her, yes--"

  "No! Qhuinn! Fuck!" Phury put his fingers to his mouth and whistled so loudly that Layla had to cover her ears. Then he started talking fast. "Qhuinn just came to the sanctum sanctorum! He told me he was taking Lassiter's place for the day and--shit, he said he was waiting for backup. He didn't look right, so I figured on my way to the Great Camp, I'd stop by here and make sure that whoever Blay got to cover him was going to go there immediately--"

  "No!" Layla shouted. "He can't be alone with--"

  "He's going to kill Xcor," Wrath snapped. "Goddamn it--"

  Zsadist, Phury's identical twin brother, slid into the doorway in the process of pulling a chest holster on. "What?"

  Wrath cursed. "He's going to fucking kill him. You two, go now! I'll get Vishous!"

  As the Brothers and the King rushed out, Layla hurried into the hall in their wake. Even though there was nothing she could do--nothing she should do--she was enveloped in the nightmare.

  Just as they all were.

  --

  At the great gate of the cave, Xcor turned his back on Qhuinn's limping, bleeding approach and yanked at the bars, putting all his instinct for survival into the pull. To naught effect.

  "I'm going to fucking kill you," Qhuinn said roughly. "With my bare fucking hands. And then I'm going to eat your heart while it's still warm--"

  Xcor went to turn around and prepare a defense against his attacker--when something flashed in the firelight and froze him where he stood. At first, he couldn't believe what caught his attention. It was so unexpected that even the prospect of certain death wasn't enough to distract him.

  Closing his eyes, he shook his head and then popped his lids wide as if perhaps that would give him a more accurate view.

  On the opposite side of where the gate's hinges were...there was a lock. And sure as the sun set in the west, there appeared to be a key sticking out of the mechanism.

  As the shuffling sound of Qhuinn's uneven gait grew louder, Xcor reached out a shaking hand and wrenched the heavy piece of old metal one way--and then the other--

  The tumbler cranked over and suddenly what had been solid as a rock had a remarkable give to it. Xcor pulled the gate open and stumbled out.

  Qhuinn tweaked immediately to the colossal security breach, the Brother cursing and sprinting forward whilst holding his side. But Xcor snatched the key, slammed the weight shut, and discovered, yes--yes!--the mechanism was a double-sided lock.

  As the Brother came into range and pitched his heavy body against the iron bars, Xcor shoved the key home, wrenched it in the correct direction and--

  Locked Qhuinn inside the cave.

  Xcor shoved himself back as the Brother railed against the iron bars and steel mesh, a snarling, cursing horror that was the Grim Reaper bitterly denied and then some.

  Landing on his naked ass, Xcor trembled so hard his teeth clapped together.

  "--going to kill you!" Qhuinn screamed as his hands clawed at the mesh until they began to bleed. "I'm going to fucking kill you!"

  Xcor looked over his shoulder. Fresh air was coming from that direction, and he knew he had no time. Qhuinn most certainly would call for backup as soon as he stopped wrestling with his iron opponent.

  Hobbling to his feet, he listed so badly he had to catch himself on the cave wall. "I shall leave the key here."

  His weak and shaky voice cut through the tirade, briefly quieting his opponent.

  "I want no part of you or the Brotherhood." He bent down and put the key on the dirt. "I wish you no harm, no ill will. I covet no longer the throne, nor do I desire for war. I leave this key as a testament to my intentions--and I swear on the female I love with all my soul that I shall never enter upon your premises here or any other place again."

  He started off, dragging a foot behind himself. But then he paused and looked back.

  Meeting Qhuinn's wild, mismatched stare, Xcor spoke with clarity. "I love Layla. And I never once claimed her body--nor shall I. I will never seek her out nor set mine eyes upon her again. You want me to die? Well, I have. For every night she lives with you and your young, I am being murdered for I am not in her presence. So your goal is well-served and accomplished."

  With that, he set upon his departure, praying that somehow he might be able to dematerialize. As his vision began to flicker, however, he had little faith that that would be the case.

  His strength was failing him now that the bonded male in him was no longer triggered by a rival. Indeed, there seemed little cause to try to run as he was just going to fall back into the very hands he had been in, but there was naught to be done about that. If he was lucky, they would catch him in the wilderness and shoot him like a wild boar.

  But luck had rarely been on his side.

  ELEVEN

  Back at the Brotherhood mansion, down a good four doors from where the drama with the gun had rolled out, Tohr lay back on top of his bed, fully clothed. As he stared up at the canopy overhead, he tried to convince himself that he was relaxing--and it was an argument he lost. From his rock-hard thighs to his twitching fingers to the way his eyeballs bounced around, he was about as chill as an electrical current.

  Closing his lids, all he could see was that forty swinging around and bullets flying inside the mansion.

  The whole world seemed out of control--

  "I've brought you some tea."

  Before he could stop himself, Tohr went for the gun strapped under his arm. But instantly, as he caught the scent of his female and recognized her voice, he lowered his hand and focused on Autumn. His beloved shellan was standing in front of him, his YETI mug in her hand, her eyes sad and serious.

  "Come here," he said, reaching out to take her hand. "You are what I need."

  Tugging her to a sit beside him, he thanked her for the tea and put the Earl Grey aside. Then with a shudder of relief, he eased her onto his chest, wrapped his arms around her, and held her to his heart.

  "Bad night," he said into her fragrant hair. "Very bad night."

  "Yes. I am so glad no one was hurt--and it is also Wellsie's birthday. It's a very, very bad
night."

  Tohr set Autumn back a little so he could stare into her face. Following the murder of his pregnant mate by the enemy, he had been convinced he would never love again. How could he, after that tragedy? But this kind, patient, steady female before him had opened his heart and soul, giving him life where he was dead, light in his perpetual darkness, sustenance in his starvation.

  "How are you like this?" he wondered, tracing her cheek with his fingertips.

  "Like what?" She reached up and smoothed back the white stripe that had formed in the front of his hair right after Wellsie had died.

  "You've never resented her or..." It was hard for him to acknowledge his continued attachment to his dead aloud to her. He never wanted to make her feel lesser. "Or my feelings for her."

  "Why would I? Cormia has never been frustrated by her male's lack of a limb. Nor Beth by Wrath's blindness. I love you as you are, not how you would have been if you had never loved another, never lost another, never been cheated out of a chance to be a father."

  "It could only be you," he whispered, leaning in to press his lips to hers. "You are the only one I could ever be with."

  Her smile was as her heart, open, guileless, accepting. "How convenient, as I feel the same for you."

  Tohr deepened the kiss, but then broke the contact--and she understood why he stopped, just as she always understood him: He could not lie with her on this evening or this day. Not until midnight. Not until Wellsie's birthday was over.

  "I don't know where I would be without you." Tohr shook his head, thinking about the mood he'd been in as he'd gone to the cave to kill Xcor. "I mean..."

  As Autumn smoothed the frown between his brows, he went further back in time, to when Lassiter had shown up in the middle of a forest with a bag full of McDonald's and an insistence that Tohr return to his brothers. The fallen angel hadn't listened to reason--the beginning of a trend, natch--and the pair of them had halt-and-lamed it back here to the mansion.

  Tohr had been on the verge of death, having survived on deer blood and not much else for however long he had been out in the woods on his own. He'd had a plan back then: Over the course of those months, he'd tried to kill himself by attrition because he'd been unwilling to test the urban legend that people who committed suicide didn't go to the Fade.

  Starving himself had seemed, to his addled mind, a different death from putting a bullet in his head.

  But that hadn't been his destiny. Just as returning to this house with that fallen angel hadn't been his salvation.

  No, he owed that to this female here. She and she alone had turned him around, their love bringing him back from hell. With Autumn, his perspective on staying on the planet had done a total one eighty, and although he still had bad nights, like tonight...he also had good ones.

  He refocused on his female. "Your love has transformed me."

  God, it was almost like Lassiter had known how it was all going to turn out, had been sure that then was the time for Tohr's return and resurrection--

  Tohr frowned, sensing a shift in his female. "Autumn? What's wrong?"

  "Sorry. I'm just wondering...what's going to happen to Layla?"

  Before he could answer, someone started pounding on their door--and that kind of urgency meant one and only one thing: a mobilization of arms. Had the Band of Bastards decided to attack?

  Tohr set Autumn aside gently, and then leapt off the bed for his dagger holster.

  "What's going on!" he barked out. "Where are we going?"

  The door flew open and Phury looked like hell. "Qhuinn's down at the Tomb alone with Xcor."

  Tohr froze for a heartbeat, doing the math and coming to a conclusion that meant he was getting cheated out of killing that fucking asshole. "Goddamn it, he's mine, not Qhuinn's--"

  "You're staying here. We need someone on Wrath. Everyone else is going there."

  Tohr ground his molars at getting benched, but he wasn't surprised. And guarding the King himself was hardly a demotion. "Keep me posted?"

  "Always."

  With a curse, the brother wheeled away and took off along with the others, joining what became a stampede of shitkickers pounding down the hall of statues.

  "Go," Autumn told him. "Seek out Wrath. It will make you feel purposeful."

  He looked over his shoulder. "You always know me, don't you."

  His beautiful mate shook her blond head. "You have mysteries that still captivate me."

  As a sudden lust thickened his blood, Tohr released a pumping purr. "Midnight. You are mine, female."

  Her smile was as old as the species and just as enduring. "I cannot wait."

  Tohr was out in the corridor a moment later--and feeling totally cooped up even though the mansion had how many rooms? But then, as he came up to the open doorway of Wrath's study, the King nearly mowed him over.

  "--fucking bullshit, I'm outta here." Wrath shut the double doors behind him and headed for the top of the grand staircase. "Goddamn it, I'm a brother, I'm allowed in there--"

  "My Lord, you can't go to the Tomb."

  As George, the King's service dog, whimpered on the far side of the closed-up study, the last purebred vampire on earth hit the stairs on a pounding descent.

  "Wrath." Tohr fell into a jog right on the male's heels, but didn't bother much with the whole volume thing. "Stop. No, really. Stop."

  Yup, he was about as persuasive as an asshole with semaphore flags and two broken arms: He wasn't jumping in front of his ruler. He wasn't reaching out, grabbing onto the guy, and forcing the King to stay inside. And he wasn't, ultimately, going to prevent his ruler from leaving for the Tomb. Where Qhuinn was.

  Where Xcor was.

  Because, hey, if he were guarding the King, he had to go with the male wherever he went, right? And if that just so happened to take him to where that Bastard was? Welllllllll, that was hardly his fault. Besides, given Wrath's mood? Any argument about staying put was going to be wasted breath. The King was highly reasonable--except when he wasn't. And when that black-haired SOB with the wraparounds decided he was going to do, or not do, something? Nobody, but nobody, was going to change his mind.

  With the exception of maybe Beth--and even that wasn't a given.

  As he and Wrath hit the foyer and crossed the mosaic depiction of an apple tree in bloom, Tohr said in a bored voice, "Seriously. Let the others handle it. Stop."

  Wrath didn't hesitate and did not falter. Even though he was sightless, he was so familiar with the mansion, he was able to anticipate the number of steps, the direction, even the height of the enormous door handle he was gunning for. Things kept up like this and they were going to be at that cave on the northern side of the mountain in a nanosecond.

  Except...as the entrance to the vestibule got yanked open and cold air rushed in, Tohr took a deep breath.

  And instantly, his insanity cleared.

  Wait a minute, he thought. What the hell was he doing?

  It was one thing to go off the handle himself--another to fail at his job as a private guard and allow the King to put himself into a situation that could endanger his life. And also, P.S., it was bullshit to want to kill Xcor for shooting at Wrath, while at the same time be willing to let the King walk into what could be an ambush. The Band of Bastards was even more of a wild card than ever. What if something went wrong down there with Qhuinn going rogue and Xcor somehow got free? Found his boys? Attacked the Brotherhood?

  As Wrath pile drove through the vestibule and headed out into the night, Tohr got back on the job.

  Now he did leap in front, shove his hands out, punch the pecs of his ruler.

  Glaring into those black wraparounds, he said, "Hold up, I can't let you go to the Tomb. As much as I really want a fucking excuse to get down there and deal with Xcor's fucking ass on my own terms, I won't be able to live with myself if--"

  Buh-bye.

  Without a single word or hesitation, Wrath up and disappeared. Which proved Tohr had been fucking right about the King doing what h
e wanted--and really fucking stupid for not tackling the male on the grand staircase.

  "Damn it!" Tohr muttered as he unholstered both of his forties.

  His own dematerialization cut off the rest of the curses that were running a scrimmage through his no-account brain. And then he was resuming his form in the dense woods, at the place he had been forcibly evicted from no more than an hour before.

  Oh...God.

  Blood. In the midst of the gusting, frigid wind...he could smell Xcor's blood.

  The sonofabitch was out? What the hell? Because that shit was not distilled from a distance, as if it were coming from an injury that was in the cave's interior.

  No, it was right at his feet, in the fallen pine needles and the dirt. A trail.

  An escape.

  Even though his instinct to track the male was nearly overpowering, Wrath was more important. Pivoting on his shitkicker, he jogged over to his ruler.

  "My Lord!" Tohr scanned the environs, looking for movement. "What the fuck is wrong with you! We need to get you out of here!"

  Wrath ignored him and headed into the cave, where the voices of other brothers were echoing around and clearly providing him with an orientation. Tohr thought about stopping the male, but better in there with the Brotherhood than out in the forest as a sitting duck.

  Man, they were going to have words after this, though.

  Great night for the household. For fuck's sake.

  The scent of the blood was thicker here, and yes, he had a stab of jealousy go through his chest. Qhuinn had clearly had at the bastard. But something had gone very, very wrong. There was the trail of barefoot prints and blood leading out of the cave, and Qhuinn was leaking, too. That scent was likewise strong.

  Was the brother still alive? Had Xcor somehow overpowered him and taken the key to the gate? But how would that have been possible? Xcor had been half dead on that gurney.

  As Tohr and the King went deeper into the cave, the light from the torches at the gate offered a glow to follow and then he and Wrath came up to everyone else--and Tohr confronted a situation that was as unexpected as it was inexplicable.

  Qhuinn was on the interior of the great gates of the sanctum sanctorum, sitting on his ass on the rock floor, his elbows on his knees. He was bleeding in a number of places and breathing in a shallow way that suggested he might have some broken ribs. His clothes were all out of order, and stained with blood that was his and had to be Xcor's, too, and his knuckles were busted up.