by J. R. Ward
John felt the pain receptors in his chest light up like a power grid—which told him how much he’d expected out of this olive branch.
He’d hoped it would bring them together.
A Ctrl-Alt-Delete that reset their system.
He whistled to get her eyes back on him. What’s wrong? I thought this would change things.
“Oh, it’s clear they already have. If you don’t mind, I’m just going to go out—” As her voice caught, she cleared her throat with a cough. “Yeah, go talk to Wrath. Tell him yes, I’m in.”
As she went for the door, she appeared to be totally discombobulated, her movements stilted and stiff.
Xhex? he signed—which did no good, because she’d turned away.
He whistled again, then popped up off the mattress and followed her into the hall. Reaching out, he tapped her on the shoulder, because he didn’t want to offend her by grabbing at her.
“John, just let me go—”
He stepped in front of her and lost his breath. Her eyes were glowing with unshed red tears.
What’s the matter? he signed desperately.
She blinked fast, refusing to let anything fall to her cheeks. “You think I’m going to be jumping for joy because you aren’t bonded to me anymore?”
He recoiled so badly, he nearly fell over. Excuse me?
“I didn’t know it could end, but in your case, clearly it has—”
Fuck that! He stamped his feet because he had to make some noise. I’m completely fucking bonded with you! And this is both totally about us—because I want to be with you again—and totally not, because whether or not I am, this is still the right thing to do! You are the right person for the job!
She seemed momentarily stunned, nothing but those quick lids of hers moving. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him. “Are you serious?”
Yes! He forced himself not to jump up and down again. God, yes… fuck, yes… everything I’ve got—yes.
She glanced away. Looked back. After a moment, she said roughly, “I have… hated not being with you.”
Me, too. And I’m sorry. As he took a deep breath, his heart eased enough so that it didn’t feel like it was going break through his sternum. I don’t think I can ever fight side by side with you. That’s like expecting a surgeon to operate on his wife. But I’m not going to stand in your way—and no one else is either. You were right in the first place—you’ve been fighting for longer than you’ve been with me, and you should be able to do what you want. I can’t actually be there, though—I mean, look, if it happens, it happens, but I’d like to avoid that if we can.
As her lids dropped a little, he had the sense that she was scanning him in the ways of her other side, and he squared his shoulders under the scrutiny: He knew what was in his mind, his heart, and his soul.
He had nothing but love for her.
He wanted her back.
He had nothing to hide.
And those terms he’d just spilled out were ones that not only he had thought long and hard about, but knew he could live with. This was not the off-the-cuff of a newly mated guy thinking life was going to be a breeze just because he had the girl of his dreams in his arms and a future so bright he had to wear shades.
Now, as he spoke, it was as a male who had lived for months without his mate; who had suffered through the strange death valley that came with knowing the one you loved was on the planet but not in your life; who had emerged out the other side of hell with a new understanding of himself… and her.
He was ready to meet real life head-to-head… and compromise.
He just prayed he wasn’t the only one.
As Xhex stared up at John, she found herself blinking like an idiot. Shit on a shingle, she hadn’t expected any of this: the personal call from Wrath, the opportunity presented to her… and definitely not what John was saying to her now.
He was utterly sincere, though. This was not a calculated ploy to get her back into his life—although she knew that without reading his grid. Not his way.
He meant every word.
And he was still bonded to her, thank God.
The problem was… she had been to this corner with him before. She had been ready for a good stretch of happy normal. Instead? The most important relationship she had had crashed and burned.
“You sure you’re going to be okay with me heading into wherever they live and maybe fighting directly with them. Without backup.”
If anything happens to you, I’m going to be Tohr. Straight up. One hundred. But fear of that is not going to get me to try to keep you at home.
“You were pretty adamant that where Tohr is is not a place where you want to be.”
He shrugged. But see, I’m already in it if we’re not together. After you were injured, I think… I think I had this idea that if I could just get you not to fight, then I’d be safe from what he’s going through—that I wouldn’t be exposed to that shit because you wouldn’t get stabbed or… yeah, worse. But come on, downtown Caldwell is not the safest place on the planet, and it’s not like you’re working around children with that job at Trez’s. More to the point, I’m all in with you—whether it’s old age, the number nineteen bus or a bullet from the enemy… anything happens to you and I’m fucked.
Xhex narrowed her eyes. She could read his grid, but not every part of his brain, and before she opened up to him again and got her hopes up, it was critical to know that he’d thought this shit through. “What about afterward? Say I get the rifle and bring it back here and it turns out to be the weapon that was used—what if I want to go after them. Wrath is not my king, but I like the guy, and the idea that someone tried to snuff him makes me cranky.”
John’s stare didn’t waver, leading her to believe he had in fact considered that outcome. As long as I’m not on rotation with you, I’ll be okay. If I have to come in as backup—well, that’s just what it is, and we’ll deal with it—I’ll deal with it, he corrected. I just don’t want to be in the same territory as you if we can avoid it.
“What if I want to keep my job with Trez? Permanently.”
That’s your business.
“What if I wanted to keep staying at my cabin.”
I don’t really have a right to demand anything at this point.
It was, of course, everything that she had wanted to hear: no limits on her, free to choose, free to be equal.
And, God, she wanted to fall into it all. Being apart from him had been the shittiest stretch of darkness she’d ever been through. But the thing was, she was used to the chronic suffering. The only thing worse than it would be having to acclimate to this kind of hell all over again. She didn’t think she could go through that—
I’m not doing this to “make up” with you, Xhex. I want that—fuck, yeah, I really want that. But this is how I expect things to be from now on. And like I said, words don’t mean shit. So how about you get to work and see what happens. Let me prove to you by actions what I’ve spoken to you now.
“You realize that I can’t go through another freak-out from you. I can’t—it’s too hard.”
I’m so fucking sorry. As he signed, he also mouthed the words, the shame on his face biting into her chest. So sorry—I wasn’t prepared for how I’d react because I’d never considered the ramifications until I was knee-deep in them. I handled it badly—and I’d like you to give me the chance to handle it better. But on your time, at your choosing.
She thought back a million years ago to Lash and that alley—when John had given her her revenge, had allowed her to be the one to kill her own personal enemy. And that had been in spite of the bonded-male thing that had no doubt made him want to rip that evil fucker apart.
He was right, she thought. Good intentions didn’t always work out, but he could prove how things were going to be over time.
“Okay,” she said hoarsely. “Let’s give it a go. Come with me to Wrath’s?”
When John nodded once, she stepped in beside him.
/>
Together they walked down to the king’s study.
Each step they took seemed wobbly, even though the mansion was solid as a rock. Then again, she felt as though the earthquake that had been tossing her life around in a blender had suddenly stopped, and she didn’t trust her balance or the steadiness of what was below her feet.
Before they knocked on the closed doors, she turned toward the male who had had her name carved in his back. The assignment she was about to accept was a dangerous one, something vital to Wrath and the Brotherhood. But its implications to her own life, and John’s, seemed even more significant.
Stepping into him, she put her arms around his body and held on. As he returned the embrace, they fit just the same as they always did, hand in glove.
Goddamn, she hoped this worked out.
Oh, and yeah, nailing Xcor and his band of freaks?
Nice bonus.
FIFTY-ONE
The reality that the female in the white robe had not been a dream came gradually upon Xcor, rather like fog clearing over a vista to reveal contours and conceptions previously obscured from the buffering.
He was back in the van, lying on the seat that had carried him forth from their lair, his head pillowed on the meaty inner bend of his elbow, his knees bent and stacked one atop the other. Zypher was not behind the wheel this time. Throe was driving.
The male had been silent since they had left the meadow. Uncharacteristically so.
As Xcor stared straight ahead, he traced the subtle pattern in the fake leather cover of the seat Throe was in. It was a hard job, given that the only light he had was from the instrument panel up front.
“She was real, then,” he said after a while.
“Aye,” came the quiet response.
Xcor closed his eyes and wondered how it was possible a female like that actually existed. “She was a Chosen.”
“Aye.”
“How did you manage that.”
There was a long pause. “She fed me when the Brotherhood had me in their custody. They told her I was a soldier, not identifying me as their enemy to spare her worry.”
“You should not have used her,” he growled. “She is an innocent in all this.”
“What other option did I have? You were dying.”
He pushed that fact out of his mind, focusing instead upon the revelation that that which was legend in fact lived and breathed. And serviced the Brotherhood. And Throe.
For some reason, the thought of his soldier taking the vein of that female made Xcor want to reach around the headrest and snap the male’s neck. Except jealousy, however unfounded it was, was just one of his problems.
“You have compromised us.”
“They will never use her as a locator,” Throe said grimly. “A Chosen female? Entering the war in any fashion? The Brothers are too old-fashioned, and she is far too valuable. They will never take her out into the field.”
Thinking things through further, he decided Throe was likely correct—that female was priceless in too many ways to count. Besides, he and his Band of Bastards set out at the crack of night every evening—they were far from sitting ducks. And if they encountered the Brothers? They would reengage. He was no pussy to run from his enemy—better to plan an attack, but that was not always possible.
“What is her name?” he demanded.
More silence.
As he waited for the reply, the reticence told him that he was right to be jealous, at least in one respect: Clearly his second in command felt the same way he did.
“Her name.”
“I do not know.”
“How long have you been seeing her?”
“I have not. I reached out to her solely on your behalf. I prayed for her to come and she did.”
Xcor inhaled long and slow, feeling his ribs expand without pain for the first time since he’d gone up against that fighter with the mismatched eyes. It was her blood in him. Indeed, what a miracle she was: That sense of drowning in his own body had alleviated, the thumping in his head dulling, his heartbeat settling to a steady rate.
And yet the power coursing through him, drawing him back from the brink, did not bode well for him and his soldiers. If this was what the Brotherhood enjoyed on a regular basis? Then they were stronger not just by virtue of bloodline, but sustenance.
At least it did not make them unbeatable. Syphon’s shot had proven that even the purebred king had his vulnerable points.
But they were even more dangerous than he’d thought.
And as for the female…
“Are you going to call upon her again?” he asked his soldier.
“No. Never.”
No hesitation in that—which suggested it was either a lie or a vow. For both their sakes, he rather hoped it was the latter—
Oh, but what was he going on about. He’d fed from her only once, and she was not his—and never would be, for too many reasons to count. Indeed, thinking back to the way even the human whore in the spring had recoiled from him, he knew someone as pure and perfect as the Chosen wouldn’t have anything to do with his likes. Throe, on the other hand, might have a chance—except, of course, he was not a Brother.
He was, however, enamored of her.
No doubt she was used to that.
Xcor closed his eyes and concentrated on his body, feeling it reknit, realign, rekindle.
He found himself wishing the same rejuvenation could occur on his face, his past, his soul. Naturally, he kept that impotent prayer to himself. For one, it was an impossibility. For another, such was a passing whimsy imparted by the vision of a beautiful female—who had no doubt been repulsed by him. In truth, there was no redemption for him or his future: He had struck a mighty blow against the Brotherhood and they would be coming after him and the Band of Bastards with all the force they could muster.
They would also be taking other actions: If Wrath was dead without issue, they would be scrambling to fill the throne with the closest male blood relation they could find. Unless the king was hanging at the edge of death by his fingertips? Or mayhap he had pulled through thanks to all that medical technology they had cultivated at their compound…?
Ordinarily, thoughts such as these would have consumed him, the lack of answers twisting up hard in his gut and causing him to pace endlessly if he wasn’t fighting.
Now, though, in the logy aftermath of the feeding, the ruminations were naught but distant screams of urgency that did not carry far and failed to energize him.
The female under the colored maple tree was what he dwelled upon.
As he retraced her features from memory, he told himself he was permitted this one night of distraction. He was in no condition to fight, even with her gift, and his soldiers were out carrying forth the mission against the lessers, so there was still some progress being made.
One night. And then upon the sunset of the morrow, he was going to cast her aside as one did with both fantasies and nightmares, thus returning to the real world to battle once again.
One night only.
That was all he would grant this futureless diversion of fancy…
Assuming, a small voice pointed out, that Throe kept his word and never again sought her out.
FIFTY-TWO
“One more?”
As Tohr returned his attentions to the silver tray of food, No’One wanted to decline the offer. Indeed, lying back against the pillows of his bed, she was stuffed.
And yet as he shifted toward her with another ripe strawberry held by its fluffy green crown, she found the fruit was too much to resist. Parting her lips, she waited, as she had learned to wait, for him to bring the food to her.
Several of the bright red berries had failed to meet his rigorous requirements, having been set aside on the edge of the tray. The same had been true for some of the slices of freshly cooked turkey, as well as parts of the green salad. The rice had all passed muster, however, as had the delicious sourdough bread rolls.
“Here,” he murmured.
“This is a good one.”
No’One watched him watch her as she accepted what he provided. He was singularly focused on her consumption—in a way that was both touching and a source of fascination. She had heard of males doing this. Had even caught sight of her parents in such a ritual, her mother seated to the left of her father at the dining table, him inspecting each plate and bowl and glass and cup afore it was sent in her direction by him personally, rather than by the staff—provided the food was of high enough quality. She had assumed the practice was a quaint holdover from some earlier time. Not so. This private space here with Tohrment was the basis of exchanges such as that. In fact, she could imagine aeons ago, in the wild, a male returning with something freshly killed and doing likewise.
It made her feel… protected. Valued. Special.
“One more?” he said again.
“You shall make me fat.”
“Females should have meat on their bones.” He smiled in a distracted way as he picked up a plump berry and frowned at it.
As his words resonated, she did not take them to mean he thought her wanting in any fashion. How could she, when he had done nothing but pick through perfectly good food and weed out what he did not think was worthy enough for her?
“A last one, then,” she said softly, “and then I must decline all other offerings. I am full to bursting.”
He tossed the berry aside with the other rejects and snagged another, and whilst he all but growled at the poor thing, his stomach let out an empty howl.
“You must needs eat as well,” she pointed out.
The grunt she got back was either grudging approval of the second berry or agreement—likely the former.
As she bit down and chewed, he rested his arms in his lap and stared at her mouth as if he were prepared to help her swallow if he had to.
In the quiet moment, she thought, oh, how he had changed since the summer. He was so much bigger—impossibly so, his once large body now absolutely mammoth. And yet he had not swollen up unattractively, his muscles expanding to this outer limit without any coating of fat upon them, his form pleasing to the eye in its proportion. His face had remained lean, but it was no longer drawn, and his skin had lost the gray pallor she had not recognized until color bloomed anew in his cheeks.
