Lover Enshrined (63 page)

In a rough voice, she said, “Have you the strength for this, Primale? Can you lead the Chosen even after all you have been through? Your life has not been easy, and the road you are contemplating is neither level nor well of surface.”

As Phury stood on his one leg and his prosthesis, and thought about the days of his existence, and weighed the mettle of his marrow, he came up with only one reply.

“I’m here, aren’t I,” he pronounced. “I’m still standing, aren’t I. You tell me whether I have the fucking strength or not.”

She smiled a little then—though he couldn’t see her face, he knew she smiled.

The Scribe Virgin nodded once. “So be it, then, Primale. So it shall be as you wish.”

She turned and disappeared into her private quarters.

Phury exhaled as though someone had pulled a stopper out of his ass.

Holy. Shit.

He’d just blown apart the whole spiritual fabric of the race. As well as its biological one.

Man, if he’d known where the night was going to lead, he’d have had a bowl of Wheaties before getting off that bedding platform.

He turned and headed back to the Sanctuary. First stop would be Cormia; then the two of them would go to the Directrix and—

He froze as he threw open the door.

The grass was green.

The grass was green and the sky was blue . . .and the daffodils were yellow and the roses were a Crayola rainbow of colors . . . and the buildings were red and cream and dark blue. . . .

Down below, the Chosen were spilling out of their living quarters, holding their now colorful robes and looking around in excitement and wonder.

Cormia emerged from the Primale temple, her lovely face stunned as she looked around. When she saw him, her hands clamped to her mouth and her eyes started to blink fast.

With a cry, she gathered her gorgeous pale lavender robe and ran toward him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

He caught her as she leaped up to him and held her warm body to his.

“I love you,” she choked out. “I love you, I love you . . . I love you.”

In that moment, with the world that was his in transformation, and his
shellan
safely in his arms, he felt something he never would have imagined.

He finally felt like the hero he had always wanted to be.

Chapter Fifty-one

Back on the far side, in the Brotherhood’s mansion, John Matthew sat in a stuffed chair across from the bed where Tohr lay sleeping. The Brother hadn’t moved since they’d gotten home hours and hours ago.

Which seemed to be the SOP for tonight. It was like everyone in the house was asleep, a collective, pervasive exhaustion overwhelming them all.

Well, everyone except John. And the angel who was pacing in the guest room next door.

Tohr was on both their minds.

God, John had never expected to feel bigger than the Brother. He’d never expected to be physically stronger. He’d certainly never thought about taking care of the male. Or being responsible for him.

He had all of that going on and more, now, because Tohr had lost sixty pounds, easy. And had the face and body of a male who’d gone to war and been mortally injured.

It was weird, John thought. At first, he’d wanted the Brother to wake up right away, but now he was scared to see those eyes open. He didn’t know if he could handle being shut out. Sure, it would be understandable, given all that Tohr had lost, but . . . it would kill him.

Besides, as long as Tohr was still asleep, John wasn’t going to break down and sob.

See, there was a ghost in the room. A beautiful, red-haired ghost with a rounded pregnant belly: Wellsie was with them. In spite of her death, she was with them, and so was her unborn child. And Tohr’s
shellan
was never going to be far. There was no looking at Tohr without seeing her. The two had been inseparable in life, and they were in death as well. Sure as shit, Tohr might have been breathing, but he wasn’t alive anymore.

“Is that you?”

John’s eyes shot to the bed.

Tohr was awake and looking across the dim stretch that separated them.

John slowly stood up and straightened his T-shirt and jeans.
It’s John. John Matthew.

Tohr didn’t say anything, just kept looking him up and down.

I went through the transition,
John signed like a fool.

“You’re D’s size. Big.”

God, that voice was exactly like he remembered it. Deep as the bass note of a church organ and just as commanding. There was a difference, though. There was a new hollowness in the words.

Or maybe that was coming from the blank space behind those blue eyes.

I had to get new clothes.
Jesus Christ, he was an idiot.
Are you . . . are you hungry? I got roast beef sandwiches. And Pepperidge Farm Milanos. You used to like—

“I’m good.”

Can I get you something to drink? I got a thermos of coffee.

“Nah.” Tohr glanced over at the bathroom. “Shit, indoor plumbing. Been a while. And no, I don’t need help.”

It was painful to watch—something out of a future John didn’t think would come for hundreds and hundreds of years: Tohrment as an old male.

The Brother put a shaking hand on the edge of the sheets and dragged them off his naked body inch by inch. He paused. Then slid his legs out so they dangled to the floor. There was another pause before he heaved himself up, his once-wide shoulders straining to bear weight that was little more than that of a skeleton.

He didn’t walk. He shuffled like the advanced elderly did, head down, spine curving toward the floor, hands up as if he expected to fall at any moment.

The doors shut. The toilet flushed with a gurgle. The shower came on.

John went back to the chair he’d been in, his gut empty, and not just because he hadn’t eaten since the night before. Worry was all he knew. Concern the breath he drew into his chest. Anxiety the very beat of his heart.

This was the flip side of the parent/child relationship. Where the son worried about the father.

Assuming he and Tohr still had that whole connection going on.

He wasn’t sure. The Brother had stared at him like he was a stranger.

John’s foot ticked off the seconds, and he rubbed his palms on his thighs. Strange, everything else that had happened, even the stuff with Lash, seemed unreal and unimportant. There was only the now with Tohr.

When the door opened nearly an hour later, he went still.

Tohr was wearing a robe, and his hair was mostly detangled, though the beard was still ragged.

In that loose, unreliable shuffle, the Brother went back to the bed and stretched out with a groan, settling awkwardly into the pillows.

Is there anything I can—

“This is not where I wanted to end up, John. I’m not going to front. This is not . . . where I want to be.”

Okay
, John signed.
Okay.

As silence stretched, in his mind, he had the conversation he wanted to have with Tohr:
Qhuinn and Blay ended up here, and Qhuinn’s parents are dead, and Lash is . . . I don’t know what to say about him. . . . There’s a female I like, but she’s out of my league, and I’m in the war and I missed you and I want you to be proud of me and I’m scared and I miss Wellsie and are you all right?

And most important
. . . Please say you’re not leaving again. Ever. I need you.

Instead, he rose to his feet and signed,
I guess I’ll leave you to rest. If you need anything—

“I’m tight.”

Okay. Yeah. Okay . . .

John pulled at the hem of his T-shirt and turned away. As he walked to the door, he couldn’t breathe.

Oh, please let him not run into anyone on the way to his room—

“John.”

He stopped. Pivoted back around.

As he met Tohr’s weary navy blue stare, John felt like his knees were having an out-of-socket experience.

Tohr closed his eyes and opened his arms.

John ran to the bed and grabbed on to his father for everything he was worth. He buried his face in what was once a broad chest and listened to the heart that still beat inside of it. Of the two of them he held on harder, not because Tohr didn’t care, but because he hadn’t the strength.

They both cried until there was no more breath with which to wail.

Chapter Fifty-two

Triggers didn’t have to be on guns to be trouble, Phury thought as he stared at ZeroSum’s glass-and-steel facade.

Shit, detox was about the body banging through a shift in chemistry. It didn’t do jack dick for the cravings that were in your head. And, sure the wizard was smaller than him, but the bastard still hadn’t left. And Phury had the sense it was going to be a long while before the voice did.

With a kick to his own ass, he walked up to the bouncer, who gave him an odd look, but let him in. Inside, he didn’t pay any attention to the crowd, which as usual parted to make way for him. He didn’t nod at the bouncer standing at the velvet rope in front of the VIP section. He didn’t say anything to iAm, who let him into Rehv’s office.

“To what do I owe this pleasure,” Rehvenge said from behind his desk.

Phury stared at his dealer.

Rehv was wearing a standard-issue black suit about which there was nothing standard. The fit was gorgeous, even though the male was sitting down, and the fabric gleamed under the low lights, a clear indication that there was a bit of silk in the weave. The lapels lay perfectly flat on a powerful chest, and the sleeves showed precisely the right amount of shirt cuff.

Rehv frowned. “I can feel your emotions from here. You’ve done something.”

Phury had to laugh. “Yeah, you might say that. And I’m on the way to Wrath’s now, because I have some serious ’splainin’ to do. I came here first, though, because my
shellan
and I need a place to stay.”

Rehvenge’s brows shot up over his amethyst eyes. “
Shellan
? Wow. Not Chosen anymore?”

“No.” Phury cleared his throat. “Look, I know you have houses. Like, multiples. I want to know if I can rent one for a couple of months. I need a lot of rooms. A lot.”

“Brotherhood mansion too full?”

“No.”

“Mmm.” Rehv tilted his head to the side, the shaved parts of his mohawk smooth. “Wrath has other places, doesn’t he? And I know your brother V does. I’ve heard he’s got a BDSM pad somewhere. Hafta admit I’m surprised you came to me.”

“Just figured I’d start with you.”

“Mmm.” Rehv stood up and relied on his cane as he went over and opened a sliding panel behind his desk. “Nice out fit, by the way. You get it at Victoria’s Secret? ’Scuse me for one sec.”

As the male went into the bedroom that was revealed, Phury glanced down at himself. No wonder those people had been giving him strange looks. He was wearing his white satin robing from the other side.

Rehv came out a moment later. In his hands, he had a pair of black alligator-skin loafers with telltale bridle bit links.

He dropped the Guccis at Phury’s feet. “You might want to slip your bare soles into these. And I’m sorry, I don’t have anything you can rent.”

Phury took a deep breath. “Okay. Thanks—”

“But you can live in my great camp in the Adirondacks for free. For as long as you want.”

Phury blinked. “I can p—”

“If you’re about to say you can pay me, fuck you. Like I said, I don’t have anything you can rent. Trez can meet you up there, give you the codes. You’ll see me right before dawn after the first Tuesday of every month, but other than that you’ll have the place to yourselves.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Maybe someday you’ll return a favor. And we’ll just leave it at that.”

“My honor is yours.”

“And my shoes are yours. Even after you get your own back.”

Phury arranged the pair, then slid into them. They fit perfectly. “I’ll bring them—”

“Nope. Consider it a mating gift.”

“Well . . . thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I know you like Gucci—”

“Not for the loafers, actually, although they are fabulous. I meant . . . for putting me on the no-buy list. I know Z talked to you.”

Rehv smiled. “So you’re getting clean, huh.”

“I’m going to do my best to stop.”

“Mmm.” That amethyst stare narrowed. “I think you’re going to make it, too. You’ve got that kind of resolve I’ve seen in the eyes of people who come into my office a lot, and then one night, for whatever reason, they decide never to come again. And that is that. It’s good to see.”

“Yeah. You’re not going to catch me around here anymore.”

Rehv’s phone went off, and as he checked the caller, he frowned. “Hold up. You might be interested in this. It’s the de facto head of the Princeps Council.” As he picked up, the male’s voice was part impatience, part boredom. “I’m doing all right. You? Yeah. Yeah. Terrible, yeah. No, I’m still in town, call me a stalwart.”

Rehv leaned back in his chair and played with his envelope opener, the one that was shaped like a dagger. “Yup. Uh-huh. Right. Yeah, I know, the vacuum in leadership is— Excuse me?” Rehv let the opener fall onto the blotter. “What did you say? Oh, really. Well, what about Marissa? Ah. Indeed. And I’m not surprised. . . .”

Phury had to wonder exactly what kind of bomb had just been dropped.

After a while, Rehv cleared his throat. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “Well, then, considering how you feel . . . I’d love to. Thank you.” He hung up and his eyes lifted. “Guess who the new
leahdyre
of the Council is?”

Phury felt his mouth fall open. “You can’t. How the hell can you—”

“Turns out I’m the oldest surviving member of my line, and there is a rule that females may not serve as
leahdyre
. As I’m the only male of the Council, guess who’s coming to dinner.” He eased back in his leather chair. “They need me.”

“Holy . . . crap.”

“Yeah, if you live long enough, you can get to see just about anything. Tell your boss it’s going to be a pleasure doing business with him.”