by J. R. Ward
She smiled. “My pleasure.”
As she took off for the bar like she was on roller skates, V’s eyes sifted through the VIP area, his brows down low. Shit, he wasn’t checking out the crowd. He was trolling for a fight. And was it possible that the brother was…glowing a little?
Phury looked to the left and tapped his ear twice, sending a request to one of the Moors that guarded a private door. The security guard nodded and spoke into a wristwatch.
Moments later a huge male with a cropped mohawk came out. Rehvenge was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and had a black cane in his right hand. As he came slowly over to the Brotherhood’s table, his patrons parted before him, partly out of respect for his size, partly out of fear from his reputation. Everyone knew who he was and what he was capable of: Rehv was the kind of drug lord who took a personal interest in his livelihood. You crossed him and you turned up diced like something off the Food Channel.
Zsadist’s half-breed brother-in-law was proving to be a surprising ally for the Brotherhood, although Rehv’s true nature complicated everything. It wasn’t smart to get in bed with a symphath. Literally or figuratively. So he was an uneasy friend and relative.
His tight smile barely showed any fangs. “Evening, gentlemen.”
“Mind if we use your office for a little private biz?” Phury asked.
“I’m not talking,” V ground out as his drink arrived. With a flip of the wrist he tossed the thing back like he had a fire in his gut and the shit was water. “Not. Talking.”
Phury and Butch locked eyes, and a perfect accord was met: Vishous was so going to convo.
“Your office?” Phury said to Rehvenge.
Rehv lifted an elegant eyebrow, his amethyst eyes shrewd. “Not sure you’d want to use it. The place is wired for sound, and every syllable goes on record. Unless…of course…I’m in there.”
Not ideal, but anything that hurt the Brotherhood hurt Rehv’s sister, as Z’s mate. So even though the guy was part symphath, he had the motivation to be tight about whatever went down.
Phury slid out of the booth and stared at V. “Bring your drink.”
“No.”
Butch got up. “Then you’re leaving it. Because if you won’t go home, we talk here.”
V’s eyes gleamed. And they weren’t the only thing. “Fuck—”
Butch leaned down onto the table. “Right now you’re throwing off an aura like your ass is plugged into the wall. So I strongly encourage you to drop the I-am-an-island bullshit and get your sorry excuse for a personality into Rehv’s office before we have a situation. Dig?”
There was a long stretch of nothing but V and Butch looking at each other. Then V got to his feet and headed for Rehv’s office. On the way, his anger carried a toxic chemical smell, the kind that stung your nose raw.
Man, the cop was the only one who had a chance with V when the male was like this.
So thank God for the Irishman.
The group of them went through the door guarded by the pair of Moors and took up res in Rehvenge’s cave of an office. As the door shut, Rehv went behind his desk, reached under it, and a beeping sound went off.
“We’re clear,” he said, lowering himself into a black leather chair.
They all stared at V…who promptly went zoo animal, all pacing around and looking like he wanted to eat someone. The brother finally stopped across the room from Butch. The recessed light above him wasn’t as bright as what was shining under his skin.
“Talk to me,” Butch murmured.
Without saying a word, V took something out of his back pocket. As his arm came forward, a heavy gold pendant swung on the end of a silken cord.
“Seems I got a new job.”
“Oh…shit,” Phury whispered.
The setup in Blay’s bedroom was SOP for John and his buddies: John was on the foot of the bed. Blay was cross-legged on the floor. Qhuinn was in full lounge, his new body hanging half on, half off a beanbag chair. Coronas were open, and bags of Doritos and Ruffles were being passed around.
“Okay, so spill,” Blay said. “What was your transition like?”
“Screw the change, I got laid.” As Blay and John both bug-eyed, Qhuinn chuckled. “Yeah. I did. Got my cherry popped, so to speak.”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out,” Blay breathed.
“For real.” Qhuinn tossed his head back and swallowed half his beer. “I will say, though, that transition…man…” He looked at John, his mismatched eyes narrowing. “Get ready, J-man. It’s hard-core. You wish you would die. You pray for it. And then shit gets critical.”
Blay nodded. “It is awful.”
Qhuinn finished his beer and tossed the empty into a wastepaper basket. “Mine was witnessed. Yours, too, right?” When Blay nodded, Qhuinn cracked open the minifridge and took out another Corona. “Yeah, I mean…that was weird. My father in the room. Her father, too. All while my body was whacking out. I would have been embarrassed, but I was too busy feeling like ass.”
“Who did you use?” Blay asked.
“Marna.”
“Niiiiiiice.”
Qhuinn’s eyelids got heavy. “Yeah, she was very nice.”
Blay’s mouth fell open. “Her? She was the one you—”
“Yup.” Qhuinn laughed as Blay collapsed back on the floor like he’d been shot in the chest. “Marna. I know. I can barely believe it myself.”
Blay lifted his head. “How did it happen? And so help me God, I will whup your ass if you leave anything out.”
“Ha! Like you were so forthcoming with your shit.”
“Don’t dodge the question. Start barking like the dog you are, buddy.”
Qhuinn sat forward, and John took the cue, moving to the very edge of the bed.
“Okay, so it was all over, right? I mean…the drinking was done, change was finished, I was lying on the bed just…yeah, train-wrecked. She was hanging out in case I needed more from her vein, like in a chair in the corner or something. Anyway, her father and mine were talking and I kind of passed out. Next thing I know, I’m alone in the room. Door opens and it’s Marna. Says she forgot her sweater or some shit. I took one look at her and…well, Blay, you know what she looks like, right? Instant hard-on. Can you blame me?”
“Not in the slightest.”
John blinked and leaned in even closer.
“Anyway, there was a sheet over me, but somehow she knew. Man, she was totally looking me over and smiling, and I was like, ‘Oh, my God…’ But then her father calls her name from down the hall. The two of them had to stay over because it was daylight by the time I was through, but he clearly didn’t want her bunking in with me. So as she leaves, she tells me she’ll sneak back in later. I didn’t really believe her, but I had my hopes. Hour goes by, I’m waiting…I’m jonesing. Another hour. Then it’s like, fine, she ain’t showing. I call my dad on the house phone and tell him I’m crashing. Then I get up, drag my ass into the shower, come back out…and she’s in the room. Naked. On the bed. Christ, all I could do was stare. But I got over that fast.” Qhuinn’s eyes fixated on the floor and he shook his head back and forth. “I took her three times. One right after the other.”
“Oh…shit,” Blay whispered. “Did you like it?”
“What do you think? Duh.” As Blay nodded and lifted his Corona to his lips, Qhuinn said, “When I was done, I put her in the shower, cleaned her off, and went down on her for half an hour.”
Blay choked on his beer, spraying it all over himself. “Oh, God…”
“She tasted like a ripe plum. Sweet and syrupy.” As John’s eyeballs popped clear out of his head, Qhuinn smiled. “I had her all over my face. It was fantastic.”
The guy took a long swallow, like he was so the man, and made no effort to hide his body’s reaction to what he was no doubt reliving in his head. As his jeans got tight at the zipper, Blay covered up his hips with a fleece.
Having nothing to conceal, John looked down at his bottle.
“Are you going
to mate her?” Blay asked.
“For God’s sake, no!” Qhuinn’s hand lifted and he gently prodded his black eye. “It was just…a thing that happened. I mean, no. She and I? Never.”
“But wasn’t she a—”
“No, she wasn’t a virgin. Of course she wasn’t. So no mating. She would never have me like that anyway.”
Blay looked over at John. “Females of the aristocracy are supposed to be virgins before they’re mated.”
“Times have changed, though.” Qhuinn frowned. “Still, don’t say anything to anyone, okay? We had a good time, and it was no big deal. She’s good peeps.”
“Lips sealed.” Blay took a deep breath, then cleared his throat. “Ah…it’s better with someone else, isn’t it?”
“Sex? By miles, buddy. Doing yourself takes the edge off, but it’s nothing like the real thing. God, she was so soft…especially between her legs. I loved being on top of her, working my shit in deep, hearing her moan. I wish you guys could have been there. You’d have really dug it.”
Blay rolled his eyes. “You having sex. Yeah, now, there’s something I need to see.”
Qhuinn’s smile was slow and a little evil. “You like watching me fight, right?”
“Well, sure, you’re good at it.”
“Why should sex be any different? It’s just something you do with your body.”
Blay seemed nonplussed. “But…what about privacy?”
“Privacy is a matter of context.” Qhuinn got out a third beer. “And, Blay?”
“What?”
“I’m really good at sex, too.” He cracked the top and took a pull. “So here’s what we need to do. I’m going to take a couple days to get strong, and then we’re going out to the clubs downtown. I want to do it again, but it can’t be with her.” Qhuinn looked over at John. “J-man, you’re coming with us to ZeroSum. I don’t care if you’re a pretrans. We go together.”
Blay nodded. “The three of us are a good vibe. Besides, John, you’re going to be where we are soon.”
As the two started making plans, John got quiet. The whole picking-up-chicks thing was unfathomable, and not just because the transition had yet to hit him. He had a bad history with things of a sexual nature. The worst.
For a split second, he had a vivid memory of the dirty stairwell it had happened in. He felt the gun at his temple. Felt his jeans being yanked down. Felt the unthinkable as it was done to him. He remembered his breath scratching up and down his throat and his eyes watering and how, when he’d pissed himself, it had gotten on the tips of the guy’s cheap sneakers.
“This weekend,” Qhuinn announced, “we are going to get you taken care of, Blay.”
John put his beer down and rubbed his face as Blay’s cheeks got red.
“Yeah, Qhuinn…I don’t know—”
“Trust me. I’m going to make it happen for you. Then, John? You’re next.”
John’s first response was to shake his head no, but he stopped himself so he didn’t look like an idiot. He was already feeling behind the eight ball, all small and unmanly. Turning down an offer to get laid would put him solidly in Loserland.
“So we got a plan?” Qhuinn demanded.
As Blay fiddled with the bottom of his T-shirt, John got the distinct impression the guy was going to say no. Which made John feel so much better—
“Yeah.” Blay cleared his throat. “I…ah, yeah. I’m, like, juiced as shit. It’s almost all I can think about, you know? And it’s, like, painful, for real.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Qhuinn’s mismatched eyes sparkled. “And we are going to have us some good times. Shit, John…will you tell your body to get its groove on?”
John just shrugged, wishing he could leave.
“So, time for some sKillerz?” Blay asked, nodding to the Xbox on the floor. “John’s going to beat us again, but we can still fight for number two.”
It was a royal relief to get focused on something else, and the three of them got wound up by the game, yelling at the TV, throwing candy wrappers and beer caps at one another. God, John loved this. On the video screen they competed as equals. He was not small and left behind; he was better than they were. In sKillerz, he could be the warrior he wanted to be.
As he tanned their hides, he looked over at Blay and knew the guy had picked this game specifically to make John feel better. But then, Blay tended to know where people were in their heads, and how to be kind without embarrassing someone. He was an excellent friend.
Four six-packs, three trips to the kitchen, two full games of sKillerz, and a Godzilla movie later, John checked his watch and got off the bed. Fritz would be coming for him soon, because he had an appointment at four A.M. every night that he had to make or he was kicked out of the training program.
See you tomorrow in class? he signed.
“Good deal,” Blay said.
Qhuinn smiled. “IM later, ’kay?”
Will do. He paused at the door. Oh, hey, meant to ask. He tapped his eye and pointed to Qhuinn. What’s up with the shiner?
Qhuinn’s stare stayed absolutely steady, his smile bright as ever. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just slipped and fell in the shower. Really stupid, huh.”
John frowned and glanced at Blay, whose eyes hit the floor and stayed there. Okay, something was—
“John,” Qhuinn said firmly, “accidents happen.”
John didn’t believe the kid, especially given that Blay’s peepers were still down for the count, but as someone who had his own secret he wasn’t into the prying thing.
Yeah, sure, he signed. Then he whistled a quick good-bye and took off.
As he closed the door, he heard their deep voices and put his hand on the wood. He wanted to be where they were so badly, but the sex stuff…No, his transition was about becoming male so he could avenge his dead. It was not about banging chicks. Matter of fact, maybe he should take a page from Phury’s book.
Celibacy had plenty of things to recommend it. Phury had been abstaining for, like, ever, and look at him. He was totally tight in the head, a real together kind of guy.
Not bad footsteps to follow in.
Chapter Five
“You’re going to be the what?” Butch blurted.
As he looked at his roommate, Vishous could barely choke out the fucking word. “The Primale. Of the Chosen.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“Basically, a sperm donor.”
“Wait, wait…so you’re going to do, like, IVF?”
V dragged a hand through his hair and thought how good it would feel to put his fist through the wall. “It’s a little more hands-on than that.”
Speaking of hands-on, it had been a long time since he’d had straight sex with a female. Could he even get off during the formal, ritualistic mating of the Chosen?
“Why you?”
“Has to be a member of the Brotherhood.” V paced around the dark room, figuring he’d keep his mother’s identity under wraps a little longer. “It’s a small pool to choose from. One that’s getting smaller.”
“Will you live over there?” Phury asked.
“Live over where?” Butch cut in. “You mean you won’t be able to fight with us? Or, like…hang?”
“No, I made that a condition of the deal.”
As Butch exhaled in relief, V tried not to get sapped out that his roommate cared about seeing him as much as he cared about being seen.
“When does it happen?”
“Few days.”
Phury spoke up. “Does Wrath know?”
“Yup.”
As V thought about what he’d signed on for, his heart started kicking in his chest, a bird flapping its wings to get out of his rib cage. The fact that he had two of his brothers and Rehvenge giving him the hairy eyeball made the panic worse. “Listen, you mind excusing me for a while? I need to…shit, I need to get out.”
“I’ll go with you,” Butch said.
“No.” V was in a desperate frame of mind. If there wa
s ever a night he might be tempted to do something grossly inappropriate, it was now. Bad enough what he felt for his roommate was an unspoken undercurrent; making it a reality by acting on it would be a catastrophe neither he, Butch, nor Marissa could handle. “I need to be by myself.”
V shoved the godforsaken pendant back in his ass pocket and left the crushing silence of the office. As he fast-tracked it out the side door into an alley, he wanted to find a lesser. Needed to find one. Prayed to the Scribe Vir—
V stopped dead. Well, shit. He sure as hell wasn’t praying to that mother of his anymore. Or using that phrase.
God…damn.
V settled back against the cold brick of ZeroSum’s building, and, much as it pained him, he couldn’t help but think back to his life in the warrior camp.
The camp had been situated in middle Europe, deep in a cave. Some thirty soldiers had used it as a home base, but there had been other residents. A dozen pretrans had been sent there for training, and another dozen or so whores fed and serviced the males.
The Bloodletter had run it for years and had churned out some of the best fighters the species had. Four members of the Brotherhood had gotten their start there under V’s father. Many others, of all levels, hadn’t survived, however.
V’s first memories were of being hungry and cold, of watching others eat while his stomach moaned. Through his early years, hunger had driven him, and like the other pretrans, his sole motivation had been to feed himself, no matter how he had to do it.
Vishous waited in the shadows of the cave, staying out of the flickering light thrown by the camp’s fire pit. Seven fresh deer were being consumed in a bawdy frenzy, the soldiers slicing meat off bones and chewing like animals, blood marking their faces and hands. On the fringes of the meal, all the pretrans trembled with greed.
Like the others, V was sharpened to an edge from starvation. But he didn’t stand with his fellow young. He waited in the faraway darkness, eyes locked on his prey.
