The Chosen

by J. R. Ward

Dropping his head, he closed his eyes. Not a great idea. His side was killing him, and with no distractions, the pain took on Jolly Green Giant proportions. He must have broken something in there. Maybe ruptured a liver or a kidney or a...

  As a wave of nausea inflated his stomach, he popped his lids and looked in the opposite direction from the zoo of condemnation. Talk about trashing the place. The mangled gurney, the broken medical equipment, all the shattered jars and greasy black hearts on the stone floor...it was like a hurricane had come through the cave.

  Second place he'd trashed. If you counted shooting up Layla's bedroom.

  Although this mess, he regretted.

  The other one? Yeah, he was sorry about that, too--but he wasn't stepping off from his hard line on her and his kids.

  With a groan, he stretched one leg out and then the other. There was blood on his leathers. On his shitkickers. On the knuckles of both of his hands. He was probably going to need medical attention, but he didn't want it--

  An abrupt silence got his attention and he glanced back at the gates. Oh great. Fan-fucking-tastic.

  The King was right in front of those iron bars, looking like hell's fury standing upright in shitkickers. And apparently, he wanted a one-on-one on the close-up: Vishous had stepped up and was putting the key into the lock on the far side, the tumbler making a clanking noise as it gave up the goods and allowed the gates to be opened.

  Wrath was the only one who entered, and then the pair of them were locked in together. Was it to keep the other brothers from attacking Qhuinn? Or to prevent him from running away from whatever the King had planned?

  Choices, choices.

  As Wrath came forward and then stopped, Qhuinn ducked his stare even though the male was blind. "Is this where you fire me from the Brotherhood?"

  Damn those were some big-ass shitkickers, he thought dimly. From his nearly eye-to-boot vantage point, they seemed the size of a pair of Subarus.

  "I'm getting really fucking tired of meeting you like this," Wrath snapped.

  "Makes two of us."

  "You want to tell me what happened?"

  "Not particularly."

  "Let me rephrase that, motherfucker. You're going to tell me what happened or I'ma keep you locked in here until you starve down to your bones."

  "You know, fad diets never work long term."

  "They do if you take a lead supplement with 'em."

  Qhuinn eyed the gun holstered under Wrath's immense left arm. Even though the King had no usable peepers, it was a good goddamn bet that he could put a bullet wherever he wanted to just by hearing alone.

  "Tell you what," Wrath said. "I'll help you out. You can skip explaining why you thought it was a good idea to come down here and attack a prisoner of mine without permission. I can do that math just fucking fine. Why don't you tell me how he managed to lock you inside here."

  Qhuinn rubbed his face, but not for long. The motion made his stomach roll even more--hey, he had a headache, too. Maybe it was a concussion?

  #BOGO

  He cleared his throat. "When Phury left, he gave me the key to lock myself in with Xcor. And I did."

  Which was the new protocol. Back when Xcor had first been taken into custody, whoever was on guard duty had been locked in from the outside. Over time, however, they had changed that procedure out of practical considerations, what with all the different coverage shifts and medical checkups and drug dispensing. And yeah, maybe they'd gotten lax after a month of the bastard just lying there on the gurney like a bad piece of modern art.

  "And?" Wrath growled.

  "I was distracted. So I forgot to take the fucking key out of the lock."

  "You were...distracted. By what? Plans to trash all of this?" As the King motioned around at the ruined jars like he could see them, it was clear that the stench of lesser had reached his nose. Plus, hello, the peanut gallery was bitching about the mess. "What the fuck, Qhuinn. Seriously, have you lost your fucking mind?"

  "Yeah, I think I have." Short trip. Hah-hah. "Or was that so rhetorical you don't need an answer? Hey, why don't we stop talking about Xcor so you can tell me what you're going to do with that female of his, Layla."

  Talk about wanting to throw up.

  In the silence that followed, Wrath crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps swelling up so thick he made The Rock look like The Pencil Neck. "Right now, it's not her parental rights I'm thinking about cutting off."

  Qhuinn glanced up sharply and then had to cough his gag reflex back in place as his head thundered. "Wait, what? She commits treason by aiding and abetting an enemy of ours--"

  "And you just let an asset of the Brotherhood's go free because you lost your damn mind. So let's drop the treason shit, shall we. It's only going to get your balls squeezed tighter, trust me."

  It was kind of hard to argue with the facts, Qhuinn thought. Good thing his emotions didn't give a shit about logic.

  "Just tell me you're getting her out of the house," he demanded. "And that my young are staying with me. That's all I care about."

  For a split second, Qhuinn thought about Xcor talking nonsense just before the bastard had limped off. Spouting shit about Layla. Love. Not wanting a piece of Wrath anymore.

  Yeah, like he was going to believe any of that.

  The King glared from behind his wraparounds. "What I do or do not do is none of your goddamn business."

  Hold up. Was there even a possibility that--

  "Are you serious!" Qhuinn made a move to get up, but that was a no-go. Yet even as he grunted and retched off to one side, he kept talking through the nausea. "She's forfeited her rights! She fed the enemy!"

  "If he's such an enemy, why did Xcor leave the key behind?"

  "What?"

  Wrath jabbed his forefinger in the direction of the gate. "Xcor locked you in, but put the key down. Why did he do that?"

  "I don't fucking know!"

  "Yeah, and we can't ask him that now, can we," Wrath snapped.

  Qhuinn shook his head. "He's still our enemy. He's always going to be our fucking enemy. I don't give a shit what he says."

  Wrath's jet-black brows dropped below the rims of his wraparounds again. "So what did he tell you?"

  "Nothing. He didn't say shit." Qhuinn bared his fangs. "And don't worry, I'll get him back. I'll hunt that fucker down and--"

  "The hell you will. I'm suspending you from active duty effective immediately."

  "What!" Now Qhuinn got up, even though he felt like he was going to pea-soup-Exorcist all over the King. "That's bullshit!"

  "You're off the fucking rails, and I'm not having it. Now be a good little sociopath and shut the fuck up while you get taken in for medical treatment."

  In a rush of nuclear anger, that white-hot rage resurfaced, shorting out Qhuinn's brain again--and as his consciousness took a backseat to all his hellfire, he was dimly aware of his mouth moving like he was yelling at the King. But he didn't have a clue what he was saying.

  "You know what?" Wrath cut in with a bored tone. "We're done here, you and I."

  That was the last thing Qhuinn heard.

  The last thing he saw? The King's massive fist flying in the direction of his jaw.

  Talk about fireworks, and then it was lights out, no one left at the inn for him, his legs falling from under him, his weight bowling-pin'ing it to the cave floor.

  His final thought before he passed out mid-drop?

  Two concussions back-to-back were going to do wonders for his mental health. Yup, just the kind of shit he needed at this point.

  --

  Up in her bedroom at the Brotherhood mansion, Layla stood over the bassinets, her eyes going back and forth between her two sleeping young. Lyric's and Rhamp's faces were those of angels, all fat cheeks and rosy, smooth skin, their lashes dark and closed, their arching brows like wings. Both were breathing hard as if they were working with great industry in their repose to grow bigger, stronger, smarter.

  It was procreation at work, the
Scribe Virgin's race keeping itself going. A miracle. Immortality for the mortal.

  As she sensed a presence behind her, she said in a rough, low voice, "You better take out your gun."

  "Why?"

  She looked over her shoulder at Vishous. The Brother was standing just inside her room, looking like a harbinger of doom. Which he was, in fact.

  "If you want me to leave them, you're going to have to put me in the Fade."

  It was no surprise that Wrath had sent Vishous to take her away. V was like dealing with an iceberg, the warrior cold, intractable, immovable from whatever goal he was set upon. Other males in the household? Particularly those with young, or Phury as the Primale, or Tohr who had lost a mate and a young of his own? Any of those Brothers might have been persuaded to change course and thus allow her to stay or permit her to take her son and daughter with her.

  Not Vishous.

  And in her case, perhaps not Tohr. He wanted to kill the male she had betrayed the Brotherhood with.

  She eyed the handgun that was strapped under V's arm. "Well?"

  Vishous just shook his head. "That's not going to be necessary. Come on, let's go."

  She turned back to her young. "Did Qhuinn kill him? Xcor? Is he dead?"

  "Fritz is out front. We've got a ways to drive. We're leaving now."

  "Like I'm a piece of luggage to be transported." There were no tears for her; the horror of what was happening was so great she was numb to her core. "Is Xcor dead?"

  When Vishous spoke next, he was right behind her, his voice at the back of her neck, making the hair at her nape stand up in warning. "Be logical about this--"

  She wheeled around and narrowed her eyes. "Don't you dare make it sound like I'm being unreasonable in not wanting to leave them."

  "Then don't forget the position you're in." He stroked his goatee with his gloved hand. "You could end up with less than no rights to them, irrespective of their birth. But if you come with me now, I will guarantee--guarantee--that they will be back with you soon, perhaps even by nightfall tomorrow."

  Layla wrapped her arms around herself. "You don't have that kind of power."

  His brow, the one with the tattoos beside it, arched. "Maybe not, but they do."

  As he stepped aside and motioned toward the door, she covered her mouth with her palm. One by one, the females of the house filed into the room, and even with Vishous as a comparison, they were a fierce group as they lined up in a semi-circle around her. Even Autumn was with them.

  Beth, the Queen, spoke up, her voice quiet clearly so she didn't disturb the young. "I'll talk to Wrath. As soon as he's back from the training center. We're going to fix this. I don't give a crap what happened between you and Xcor--mother to mother, I care only about you and the babies. And my husband will see my point of view. Trust me."

  Layla all but lunged into the Queen's embrace, and as Beth held her tightly, Bella came forward and stroked Layla's hair.

  "We're going to take care of them while you're gone," Z's female said. "All of us. They won't be alone for a second so try not to worry."

  Cormia also stepped forward, the fellow Chosen's pale green eyes watery. "I'm going to stay in the room here all day." She pointed to the bed. "I'm not going to leave their sides."

  Ehlena, Rehv's shellan, nodded. "As a nurse, I've cared for hundreds of young in my line of work. I know babies back and forth. Nothing will happen to them, I promise."

  The others murmured agreement, and one of them handed Layla a tissue. Which was how she realized she was crying again.

  Pulling back from Beth, she tried to keep her sniffles as soft as she could. She wanted to say something, wanted to express her fear and her gratitude--

  The Queen put her hands on Layla's shoulders. "Your parental rights are not going to be terminated. Not going to happen. And I know exactly where you're going. It's a safe house, totally protected--V wired it for security and I did the decorating myself after the Brotherhood bought it a year ago."

  "It's secure there," Vishous stated. "Like a bank vault. And I'm spending the day with you as your goddamn roommate."

  "So I'm under guard?" Layla frowned. "Am I prisoner?"

  The Brother just shrugged. "You're protected. That's all."

  The hell that was all, she thought. But there was nothing she could do. This was larger than her, and she knew all too well the reasons for that.

  Going back to Lyric and Rhamp, she found that the tears poured down her face faster than she could clear them with the soggy mess the tissue had turned into. Indeed, something about the females of the house showing up and having her back had defrosted the numb lock in the center of her chest, and now her emotions were raw once again.

  She wanted to pick up each of her young and smell their sweet skin, hold them to her heart, cradle their heads as she kissed them. But if she did any of that, she wouldn't be able to leave them.

  Her hand shook as she had to settle for tugging up their plush blankets closer to their chins.

  "My young," she whispered. "Mahmen will be back. I'm not...leaving you..."

  There was no going any further with her goodbye. She choked up so badly speech was impossible.

  Her journey to have these two precious blessings had started what felt like a lifetime ago, back when she had sensed her needing was upon her, and had begged Qhuinn to service her. And then had come those endless months of the pregnancy, and the emergency births.

  There had been so many impossibles along the way, so many challenges she couldn't have foreseen. But this was one that she had never contemplated: Leaving the young in the care of others, no matter how competent and loving those "others" were, was nothing she could have anticipated.

  It was just too horrific.

  "Let's go," Vishous said with finality. "Before the dawn comes and things get even more complicated."

  With a final look at each of her young, Layla gathered the folds of her robe and walked out of the bedroom. In her wake, she felt as though she had left her heart and soul behind.

  THIRTEEN

  As night fell the following evening, Qhuinn was unaware of the sun's crash and burn on the western horizon. For one, he was deep underground in the training center's clinic--so that giant flaming orb's change of shift in favor of the moon was nothing he could look out a window and see. For another, he was on the kind of drugs that made you forget your own name, much less what time it was. But the main reason he missed the demise of the day?

  Even with all the bad stuff going on in his life, he was having the best fucking hallucination. Like, ever.

  The conscious part of his brain--which had taken a backseat so far from his steering wheel that the shit might as well have been strapped on his trunk--was well aware that what he thought he was seeing across the hospital room was absolutely, positively not actually happening. But here was the thing. He was so high that, like the pain from the operation they'd done on him six hours ago, the events of the previous evening were temporarily amnesia'd--and that meant he was spectacularly horny.

  This was not a surprise. The fact that he was a pig asshole with a tremendous sex drive had been proven over time.

  And hey, considering how he'd behaved the night before, he had so many other things to be disappointed in himself with.

  So, yeah, as he lay here in this hospital bed, with tubes and wires going in and out of him like he was Xcor's fucking stunt double, he was seeing Blay sitting in that chair over there in the corner, the one that was the color of Cream of Wheat and had rounded arms and a low back.

  The male's fly was open, and his cock was out...and Blay's fist was wrapped around that thick length, the veins that ran down his muscled forearm swelling up as he stroked himself.

  "You want this?" Hypothetical Blay asked in a deep voice.

  Qhuinn hissed and bit his lower lip--and what do you know, as he rolled his hips, he could almost not feel the pain from the incision in his side. "Yeah, fuck yeah, I want that shit."

  Not Actually
Blay shifted down lower in the seat so that he could spread his knees even wider. And as he did, the black jeans he had on stretched tight over his heavy thigh muscles and that fly got pulled open to its limit. And...oh, yeah, as the fighter worked himself, his pec on that side flexed and released along with his shoulder while he pumped, nice and slow.

  With a rough swallow, Qhuinn's pierced tongue itched for that head, that shaft. He wanted to make up for what had come out of his no-account mouth when he'd been raging, and sex wasn't a bad Band-Aid, it truly wasn't.

  And Not Really There Blay was going to let him.

  Floating in his little sea of delusion, Qhuinn felt the false relief that came with a forgiveness that didn't exist in RL. Except goddamn it, considering the state of the rest of his life, he was going to go with this. In this little stretch of fantasy, he was going to hop on the Blay train and pray that he could somehow translate the reconnection to the actual male as soon as his drugs wore off.

  "What do you want to do to me?" Almost Blay whispered. "Where are you going to go with your tongue?"

  Yeah, enough with the talking.

  With a sharp surge, Qhuinn went to sit up--because that was what you did when you had big plans: He had every intention of making it across the hospital room, dropping to his knees, and pulling an open-wide until Blay was drained dry. And that was just going to be a prelude to the makeup sex they were going to enjoy for the next twelve to fifteen hours.

  So hell yeah, he jacked up to the vertical--but that was as far as he got. His stomach pulled the pin on a grenade he'd been unaware was in its possession and then his gut chucked that bitch right up into his lungs, the pain explosion throwing him into a lie-down-now tailspin that left him retching.

  And damn him, the sharpshooter was a terrible clarifier, wiping Hypothetical Blay with his magnificently hard cock right out of the room--

  As the sound of someone screaming registered, he put his hand to his mouth to check whether it was him or not. Nope. Lips were closed.

  Qhuinn frowned and looked to the closed door.

  What was...so who was yelling like that? It couldn't be Xcor. If the Brotherhood had somehow managed to recapture him, they would never bring the bastard here.

  Whatever. Not his problem.

  Glancing to the left, Qhuinn measured the distance between him and the house phone that was on the bedside table. 'Bout two hundred yards. Maybe two fifty.