“Very much so. In truth, he is not like the Bloodletter in his heart. He wants to be—and he is capable of much against others that I personally am not. But to you, to us… we are his clan.” Zypher’s stare was filled with candor. “You should come back to us. To him. He shall not act thus again—those ashes are your proof. And we need you—not just because of all you do, but who you have become to us. It has been but twenty-four hours and we are broken without you.”
Throe glanced up at the sky, at the storm, at the violent, churning heavens above. Having once been damned by circumstance, he couldn’t believe he would even consider being damned by consent.
“We will all be incomplete without you. Even him.”
Throe had to smile a little. “Did you e’er think you would say such.”
“No.” The laugh that floated over upon the gusts was deep. “Not about an aristocrat. But you are more than that.”
“Thanks to you.”
“And Xcor.”
“I’m not sure if I’m ready to give him any credit.”
“Come back with me. See him. Rejoin your family. Much as it might pain you this night, you are as lost without us as we are without you.”
In response, Throe could only stare out over the city, its lights like that of the stars that were eclipsed up above.
“I cannot trust him,” he heard himself say.
“He has given you your freedom this night. Surely that means something.”
“We are all facing death sentences if we continue. I saw the Brotherhood—if they were formidable before in the Old Country, that is nothing compared to their resources now.”
“So they live well.”
“They live smart. I couldn’t find them even if I wished. And they have extensive facilities—they are a force to be reckoned with.” He glanced over. “Xcor will be disappointed with what I have learned—which is nothing.”
“He said no.”
Throe frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“He stated he wishes to know none of it. You shall never get an apology from him directly, but he has given you the key to the binds that entangle you, and he will accept no information from you.”
A brief anger shafted through him. Then what had it all been for?
Except… mayhap Xcor hadn’t considered that he’d feel the way he did. And Zypher was right; the idea of not being with those males was… like a death. After all these years, they were all he had.
“If I come back, I could be a security risk. What if I’ve made a secret pact with the Brotherhood. What if they are here.” He motioned around. “Or perhaps waiting elsewhere to follow me?”
Zypher shrugged with complete disregard. “We’ve been trying to meet up with them for months. Such a confluence would be welcome.”
Throe blinked. And then started to laugh. “You people are crazy.”
“Shouldn’t that be ‘we’?” Abruptly, Zypher shook his head. “You would never betray us. Even if you hated Xcor with your whole being, you would never compromise the rest of us.”
That was true, he thought. As for hating Xcor…
He stared down at the box in his arms.
There had been many times over the years when he had wondered at the turns and twists of his fate.
And it appeared tonight he was going to wonder anew at his destiny.
He had been unsure about the course against Wrath, but now that he had seen that Chosen female, he rather liked the idea of o’ertaking the throne and finding her and claiming her for himself.
Bloodthirsty? Yes, indeed—his earlier self would have never thought in such ways. But his newer self had gotten used to taking what he wanted, the cloak of civility having grown threadbare after years without his tending its delicate fibers.
If he could get to Wrath, he could find her again.…
Abruptly, he felt his mouth move and heard his own voice in the wind: “He is going to have to allow me to buy cell phones.”
Xcor stayed home all night long.
The problem was the damage to his forearms. He hated the fact that they had yet to heal, but he was smart enough to know that he could barely use them. Indeed, just gripping the spoon to feed himself soup was proving difficult.
A dagger against an enemy would be an impossibility. And then there was the infection risk.
It was the damn blood thing. Again. Mayhap if he had taken the time to feed from that whore back in the… fates, had it been in the spring?
Frowning, he performed an uneasy addition, one that yielded far too great a sum. No wonder he remained in difficult straits… and good thing he wasn’t completely blood crazed.
Or was he? Thinking back upon what he had wrought with Throe, it was difficult not to judge his actions by that condemning catchall.
With a curse, he hung his head, exhaustion and a strange kind of ennui settling upon his shoulders—
The back door at the kitchen opened, and given that it was too early for his soldiers to return, he knew that it was Zypher with the update on Throe’s departure.
“Was he all right?” Xcor asked without looking up. “Did he get off safely?”
“He is and he did.”
Xcor’s eyes shot up. Throe himself was in the archway, standing tall and proud, his eyes alert, his body strong.
“And he returneth safely,” the male finished in a grim tone.
Xcor immediately refocused on his soup and blinked hard. From a vast distance, he watched as the spoon in his hand shook out its contents.
“Did Zypher not tell you,” he muttered gruffly.
“That I was free? Aye. He did.”
“If you wish to fight, I shall set aside my meal.”
“I don’t know that you’re up to anything but feeding yourself the now.”
Damn sleeveless shirts, Xcor thought as he turned his arms inward so that less of the damage showed. “I could muster if need be. Where are your boots?”
“I don’t know. They took everything I had.”
“Were you treated well.”
“Well enough.” Throe came forward, the boards beneath his feet creaking. “Zypher said you wanted to know none of what I’ve seen.”
Xcor just shook his head.
“He also said that I would never get an apology out of you.” There was a long pause. “I want one. Now.”
Xcor put aside his soup and found himself searching the wounds he had given himself, recalling all that pain, all that blood—which had dried brown on the floorboards beneath him.
“And then what,” he said in a rough voice.
“You’ll have to find out.”
Fair enough, Xcor thought.
Without grace—not that he had any, anyway—he rose to his feet. At his full height, he was unsteady for too many reasons to count, and the off-balance feeling got even worse as he met the eyes of his… friend.
Looking Throe in the face, he stepped up and put out his palm. “I am sorry.”
Three simple words spoken loud and clear. And they didn’t go nearly far enough.
“I was wrong to treat you as I did. I am… not as much of the Bloodletter as I thought—as I have e’er wanted to be.”
“This is not a bad thing,” Throe said quietly.
“When it comes to the likes of you, I would agree.”
“And the others?”
“The others as well.” Xcor shook his head. “That would be as far as it goes, however.”
“So your ambitions have not changed.”
“No. My methods, though… they will ne’er be the same.”
In the silence that followed, he had no clue what he was going to get in return: a curse, a punch, a wretched row. The instability struck him as more than fair.
“Ask me to return to you as a free male,” Throe demanded.
“Please. Come back, and you have my word—though it be worth less than a pence—that you shall be accorded the respect you have long deserved.”
After a moment, his palm was engulfed. “All right then.”
Xcor released a shuddering breath, one born out of relief. “All right, indeed.”