Darius’s signet ring into Tohr’s palm.
He would have wanted to be here for you, John signed. And his ring is all I’ve got of him. I know he’d want you to wear it during the ceremony.
Tohr stared at the crest that was stamped in the precious metal and thought of his friend, his mentor, the only father he’d really had. “This means… more than you can imagine.”
I’ll be right beside you, John signed. The whole time.
“Right back atchu, son.”
They embraced, and then Tohr shut the door quietly. Going back over to the bed, he looked down at all the symbols of his brothers… and knew that when he faced this crucible, it was with all of them with him—not that that had ever been at issue.
Something was missing, though, in all of this.
Autumn.
He needed his brothers. He needed his son. But he needed her, too.
He hoped what he’d said to her would be enough, but there were some things you couldn’t come back from, some things that there was no healing from.
And maybe she had a point about the cycle thing.
He prayed there was more to it than that, however. He truly did.
As Lassiter stood in the corner of Tohr’s room, he kept himself invisible. Good thing. Watching that in-and-out of males had been rough. How Tohr had managed to get through it in one piece was a flipping miracle.
But this was finally coming together, the angel thought. Finally, after all this time, after all this—well, shit, frankly… things were finally turning in a good direction.
After spending the previous night and day with a very quiet Autumn, he had left her at sunset to stew in her thoughts, putting his faith in the fact that she was replaying that Tohr visit over and over in her head and finding nothing but sincerity in what had been said to her.
If she showed tonight, he was home-fucking-free. He’d done it. Well, okay, fine—they had done it. In truth, he had been a sideline player in all this… except for the fact that he kind of fucking cared about the pair of them. And Wellsie, too.
Across the way, Tohr went to the closet and seemed to brace himself.
Taking out a white robe, the Brother put the thing on and then returned to the bed to gird his waist with the magnificent ribbon Phury had brought. After that, the guy picked up the folded piece of parchment Z had given him, tucked it into the tie, and drew on a white holster—into which he slid V’s two spectacular black daggers. The signet ring went on his left middle finger, the black diamond on the thumb of his fighting hand.
With the unfamiliar sense of a job well-done, Lassiter thought about all the months he’d been back on earth, recalling the way he and Tohr and Autumn had all worked together to save a female who would in turn… well, in different ways, free each of them.
Yeah, the Maker had known what was up when this assignment had been made: Tohr was not the same. Autumn was not the same.
And Lassiter himself was not the same: It was simply impossible for him to disconnect from this, to be all blasé, to act like nothing mattered—and the funny thing was, he really didn’t fucking want to pull out.
Man, there were a lot of purgatories getting expunged tonight, he thought ruefully, both real and figurative: When Wellsie transitioned unto the Fade, he was going to finally get out of his prison. And with her release, that meant Tohr’s burden was lifted so the both of them were free.
And as for Autumn? Well, with any luck, she’d allow herself to love a male of worth—and in turn be loved back—so after all these years of her suffering, she could finally begin to live again; she would be reborn, resurrected, come back from the dead.…
Lassiter frowned, a strange alarm beginning to ring in his head.
Looking around, he half expected some lessers to be rappelling down the side of the mansion or landing out in the gardens from a helicopter. But no…
Reborn, resurrected… back from the dead.
Purgatory. The In Between.
Yeah, he told himself. Where Wellsie was. Hello?
As an odd, disembodied panic gripped him, he wondered what the fuck his problem was—
Tohr froze and looked over into the corner. “Lassiter?”
With a shrug, the angel figured he might as well make himself visi. No reason to hide—although, as he took form, he kept his dread to himself. God… what the hell was wrong with him? They were at the finish line. All Autumn had to do was show up at the Fade ceremony—and, going by the way she’d been laying out clothes as he’d left to come here, it was pretty clear she wasn’t just going to be scrubbing floors at that cabin all night long.
“Hey,” the brother said. “I guess this is it.”
“Yeah.” Lassiter forced a smile onto his face. “Yeah, it sure is. I’m proud of you, by the way. You’ve done well.”
“High praise.” The guy fanned his fingers out and looked at the rings. “But you know what? I really am ready to do this. Never thought I’d say that.”
Lassiter nodded as the Brother turned and headed for the door. Just before Tohr got there, he stopped at the closet, reached into the darkness, and pulled out the skirting of the red gown.
As he rubbed the delicate fabric between his thumb and forefinger, his mouth was moving like he was talking to the satin… or his former mate… or, shit, maybe it was just to himself.
Then he released his hold on the dress, letting it settle back into the quiet void it hung in.
They left together, Lassiter pausing to give a last measure of support before breaking off and paving the way down the hall of statues.
With each step closer to the stairs, that alarm bell got louder, until the sound of it reverberated through the angel’s body, his stomach going sour as his legs grew sloppy.
What the hell was his problem?
This was the good part, the happily-ever-after. So why was his gut telling him that doom was waiting in the wings?
SEVENTY-TWO
As Tohr stepped into the pitch-dark hallway outside of his room, he accepted a quick hug from the angel and then watched the guy walk off toward the glow at the second-floor balcony.
Damn, his breath sounded loud in his ears. And his heart rate was the same.
Ironically, it had been just like this when he and Wellsie had been mated, his nervous system all a-twitter. And funny, the fact that his physiological response was identical in this context proved the body was a one-note machine when it came to stress, the adrenal gland firing in the same way, regardless of whether the trigger was good or bad.
After a moment, he began to walk down the corridor toward the grand staircase, and it was good to feel all the symbols of his brothers on him. When you got mated, you went into it alone: You came up to your female with your heart in your throat and your love in your eyes, and you didn’t need anyone or anything else, because it was all about her.
When you were performing her Fade ceremony, on the other hand, you had to have your brothers with you, not just in the same room, but as close as you could get them: The weights on his hands and around his neck and the tie about his waist were all that were going to keep him standing. Especially when the pain came.
As he got to the head of the stairs, he felt the floor under his feet go into a wave, the great swell beneath him shifting his balance right when he really fucking needed it to stay in place.
Down below, the foyer had been draped in vast bolts of white silk that fell from the ceiling molding, so that everything, from the architectural features to the columns to the fixtures to the floors, was covered up. All the electric lights had been turned off throughout the mansion, and massive white candles on stanchions along with fires in the fireplaces made up for the deficit.