hapter SIXTY-FIVE

Okay, here's the deal, George. You see these fuckers? They're trouble, straight-up trouble. I know we've done this a couple of times, but let's not get cocky."

As Wrath tapped the bottom step of the mansion's staircase with his shitkicker, he pictured the stretch of red-carpeted on-your-ass going all the way up from the foyer to the second floor. "Good news is? You can see what you're doing. Bad news is? I go down and there's a risk I might take you with me. Not what we're looking for."

He absently stroked the dog's head. "Shall we?"

He gave the forward signal and started stepping up. George stuck right with him, the dog's slight roll of the shoulder transmitted through the handle as they ascended. At the top, George paused.

"Study," Wrath said.

Together, they walked straight ahead. When the dog stopped again, Wrath oriented himself by the sound of the crackling in the fireplace and was able to walk with the dog over to the desk. As soon as he sat down in the new chair, George took a seat as well, right next to him.

"I can't believe you're doing this," Vishous said from the doorway.

"Tough shit."

"Tell me you want us in with you."

Wrath ran his hand down George's flank. God, the dog's fur was soft. "Not at first."

"You sure?" Wrath let his raised eyebrow speak for itself. "Yeah, okay. Fine. But I'm going to be right outside the door the whole time."

And V wasn't going to be alone, no doubt. When the call to Bella's phone had come through in the middle of Last Meal, it had been a surprise: Everyone who could have been hitting her up was in the room. She'd answered the ring, and after a long silence, Wrath had heard a chair get pushed back and soft footsteps approach him.

"It's for you," she had said in a tremulous voice. "It's...Xhex."

Five minutes later, he'd agreed to see Rehvenge's second in command, and though nothing specific had been discussed, it didn't take a genius to figure out why the female had called and what she was going to want. After all, Wrath wasn't just king, he was gatekeeper to the Brotherhood.

Who all thought Wrath was nuts to see her, but that was the great thing about being the ruler of the race: You could do what you wanted.

Down below, the vestibule's door opened and Fritz's voice echoed up as he escorted the two guests into the mansion. The old butler was not alone as he came in with the females, having himself been escorted by Rhage and Butch when he took the Mercedes out for the pickup.

Voices and many feet came up the stairs.

George tensed, his haunches pulling up, his breathing changing subtly.

"It's okay, my man," Wrath murmured to him. "We're cool."

The dog eased immediately, which made Wrath look over at the animal even though he couldn't see anything. Something about that unconditional trust was...very nice.

The knock on the door brought his head back around. "Enter."

His first sense of Xhex and Ehlena was that they emitted grim purpose. His second was that Ehlena, who was on the right, was particularly nervous.

Going by the slight shifting of clothes, he imagined they were bowing to him, and the pair of "Your Highness" es that came his way confirmed the intuition.

"Take a seat," he said. "And I want everyone else out of this room."

None of his brothers dared to throw out a grumble, because the protocol button had been punched: If they were around outsiders, they treated him as their sovereign lord and king. Which meant no fucking around and no insubordination.

Maybe they needed visitors more often in the fucking house.

When the doors were shut, Wrath said, "Tell me why you're here."

In the pause that followed, he imagined the females were probably looking back and forth at each other to decide who went first.

"Let me guess," he cut in. "Rehvenge is alive, and you want to get him out of the shithole."

As Wrath, son of Wrath, spoke, Ehlena wasn't at all surprised the king knew what they'd come for. Sitting on the other side of a delicate and lovely desk, he was exactly what she remembered from when he'd nearly plowed her down back at the clinic: both cruel and smart, a leader in his physical and mental prime.

This was a male who knew how the real world worked. And was used to having the kind of muscle you needed to get hard things done.

"Yes, my lord," she said. "That's what we want."

His black wraparounds shifted over to her. "So you're the nurse from Havers's clinic. Who turned out to be Montrag's kin."

"I am, yes."

"Mind if I ask how you got involved in this sitch?"

"It's personal."

"Ah." The king nodded. "Got it."

Xhex spoke up, her voice grave and respectful. "He did a good thing for you. Rehvenge did a very good thing for you."

"You don't have to remind me. It's the reason you two are sitting here in my home."

Ehlena glanced over at Xhex, trying to read in the female's face what they were referring to. She got nothing. Not a surprise.

"Here's my question," Wrath said. "We bring him back, how are we going to get around the e-mail that came in to us? He said it was nothing, but clearly he lied. Someone from up north threatened to ID your boy, and if he gets loose...that trigger's going to be pulled."

Xhex spoke up. "I will personally guarantee that the individual who made that threat will not be able to use a laptop after I'm through with her."

"Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice."

As the king smiled and drawled out the word, he leaned to the side and seemed to be stroking...With a start, Ehlena realized there was a golden retriever seated next to him, the dog's head just barely peeking up over the top of the desk. Wow. Odd choice of breed, in a way, as the king's companion was as kind-looking and approachable as its owner was not-and yet Wrath was gentle with the animal, his big, broad palm moving down its back slowly.

"Is that the only hole that needs to be plugged in his identity?" the king asked. "If that leak is eliminated are there any other parties who could threaten to expose him?"

"Montrag is good and dead," Xhex murmured. "And I can't think of anyone else who would know. Of course, the symphath king could come after him, but you can stop that. Rehv is one of your subjects as well."

"Damn fucking straight, and let's hear it for the whole 'possession is nine-tenths of the law' thing." Wrath's smile returned briefly. "Besides, the leader of the symphaths is not going to want to fuck with me, because if I get testy, I could take away his happy little home up there in freeze-your-nuts-off territory. He's under my privilege, as they used to say in the Old Country, which means he rules only because I let him."

"So are we going to do this?" Xhex asked.

There was a long silence, and as they waited for the king to speak, Ehlena looked around the pretty, French-inspired room to avoid Wrath's eyes. She didn't want him to know how anxious she was, and was afraid her face reflected weakness: She was totally out of her element here, sitting before the race's leader, presenting a plan that involved going into the very heart of an incredibly dark place. But she couldn't risk his doubting her or excluding her, because no matter how nervous she was, she wasn't backing down. Fear didn't mean you turned away from a goal. Hell, if she believed that, her father would be institutionalized right now, and she might well have ended up as her mother had.

Doing the right thing was scary sometimes, but her heart had taken her here to this place and was going to carry her through...whatever came next, and whatever it took to get Rehvenge out.

Ehlena...are you there?

Yes, she sure as hell was.

"Couple of things," Wrath said as he shifted around with a wince, like he had a fighting injury. "The king up there-he's not going to like us coming onto his turf and walking off with one of his own."

"With all due respect," Xhex cut in, "Rehv's uncle can go fuck himself."

Ehlena's brows popped up. Rehvenge was the nephew of the king?

Wrath shrugged. "I happen to agree, but my point is, there's going to be conflict. Armed conflict."

"I'm good with that," Xhex said evenly, like they were talking about nothing more than what movie to go see. "Very good."

Ehlena felt the need to interject herself into the conversation. "And so am I." As the king's shoulders stiffened, she tried not to be too forceful, because the last thing they needed was to get booted out the door for disrespect. "I mean, I would expect nothing more, and I'm prepared for it."

"You're prepared for it? No offense, but a civilian hanger-on is not a good thing if there's going to be fighting."

"With all due respect," she echoed Xhex's words, "I'm going."

"Even if it means I pull my men out?"

"Yes." There was a long inhale, as if the king were thinking of how to shut her down nicely. "You don't understand, my lord. That's my..."

"Your what?"

On impulse, to give her position some added weight, she said, "That is my hellren." In her peripheral vision, she caught Xhex's head whipping around toward her, but she'd jumped into the pool and couldn't get any wetter. "That's my mate and...he fed from me a month ago. If they've hidden him, I can find him. Also, if they've done what they"-oh, Jesus-"probably have to him, he's going to need medical attention. And I'm going to give it to him."

The king played with his dog's ear, rubbing his thumb on the soft, pale brown flap. The animal clearly liked the way it felt, and leaned into his master's leg with a sigh.

"We have a medic," Wrath said. "And a physician."

"You don't have Rehvenge's shellan, though, do you."

"My brothers," Wrath called out abruptly. "Getcha asses in here."

When the study doors opened wide, Ehlena stared over her shoulder, wondering whether she'd pushed it too far and was about to be "escorted" out of the mansion. Sure as hell, any one of the ten tremendous males who came in would be up to the task. She'd seen them all before at the clinic, except for the one with the blond-and-black hair, and she was not at all astonished to find that they were fully armed.

To her relief, they did not perform a cash-and-carry on her, but settled around the dainty, light blue room, filling the place up to the rafters. It seemed a little odd that Xhex did not look at any of them, staying focused on Wrath instead-although maybe that made sense. As hard-core as the Brothers were, the king was the only one whose opinion truly mattered.

Wrath looked around at his warriors, his wraparounds shielding his eyes so that there was no way to tell what he was thinking.

The silence was a killer, and Ehlena's heart thundered in her ears.

At last, the king spoke. "Gentlemen, these lovely ladies want to make a trip up north. I'm prepared to let them go up there to bring Rehv home to us, but they're not going in alone."

The response was immediate from the Brothers.

"I'm in."

"Sign me up."

"When do we go."

"About fucking time."

"Oh, man, there's a marathon of Beaches running tomorrow night. Can we go after ten so I can see it once all the way through?"

Everyone in the room turned to the blond-and-black haired guy, who was propped up in the corner, massive arms over his chest.

"What," he said. "Look, it's not Mary Tyler Moore, 'kay? So you can't give me shit."

Vishous, the one with the black glove on his hand, glared across the room. "It's worse than Mary Tyler Moore. And to call you an idiot would be an insult to half-wits around the fucking world."

"Are you kidding me? Bette Midler rocks. And I love the ocean. Sue me."

Vishous glanced at the king. "You told me I could beat him. You promised."

"As soon as you come home," Wrath said as he got to his feet, "we'll hang him up by his armpits in the gym and you can use him as a punching bag."

"Thank you, baby Jesus."

Blond-and-Black shook his head. "I swear, one of these days I'm just going to leave."

As one, the Brothers all pointed at the open door and let silence speak for itself.

"You guys suck."

"Okay, enough." Wrath came around the desk and-

Ehlena sat up sharply. His palm was gripping the handle of a harness that went around the dog's chest, and the king's face was forward, his chin held high, so that he couldn't have been looking at the floor at all.

He was blind. And not in the sense of being unable to see very clearly. Given the way he was now, he couldn't see anything at all. When had this happened, she wondered. He'd appeared to have some vision when she'd last seen him.

Respect rolled through Ehlena's chest as she and everyone else in the room looked up at him.

"This is going to be tricky," Wrath said. "We need to send in enough fighters to provide both cover as well as search and rescue, but we don't want to create more disturbance than absolutely necessary. I want two teams, with the second on standby. We're also going to need car support in the event Rehvenge is incapacitated and we have to transport him back-"

"What are you talking about?" came a female voice from the doorway.

Ehlena glanced over her shoulder and recognized who it was: Bella, mate of the Brother Zsadist, who frequently helped with Safe Place patients. The female was standing between the ornate jambs with her young in her arms, her face drained of color, her eyes hollow.

"What about Rehvenge?" she demanded, voice rising. "What about my brother?"

As Ehlena started to connect the dots, Zsadist went to his shellan.

"I think you two need to talk," Wrath said carefully. "In private."

Z nodded and escorted his mate and young from the room. As the pair went down the hall, Bella's voice could be heard still, her questions peppered with increasing panic.

And then there was a "What?!" that seemed to indicate a bomb had just been dropped on the poor female.

Ehlena stared down at the lovely blue carpet. God...she knew exactly what Bella was going through right at this moment. The ripples of shock, the recasting of what she knew, the feeling of betrayal.

Hard place to be in. Hard to get out of, too.

After a door shut and the voices were dimmed, Wrath looked around the room as if giving everyone a chance to measure his resolve.

"Tomorrow night is showdown, because there isn't enough daylight left now to get a car up there." The king nodded to Ehlena and Xhex. "You both are staying here until then."

So that meant she was going? Thank the Virgin Scribe. As for the overday, she would have to call her father, but given that Lusie was in the house, she wasn't worried about being gone. "No problem for me-"

"I have to go," Xhex said tightly. "But I'll be back at-"

"Not an invitation. You are staying here so that I know where you are and what you are doing. And if you're worried about weapons, we have plenty of them-hell, we got a whole crateful off the lessers just last month. You want to do this? You're under our roof until nightfall."

It totally was obvious that the king didn't trust Xhex, given the mandate and the way he smiled at her so fiercely.

"So what's it going to be, sin-eater?" he said smoothly. "My way or the highway?"

"Fine," Xhex shot back. "Whatever you want."

"Always," Wrath murmured. "Always."

An hour later, Xhex stood with her arms out straight in front of her and her boots planted eighteen inches apart. In her hands was a SIG Sauer forty that reeked of baby powder, and she was squeezing off rounds at a man-shaped target twenty yards down the Brotherhood's shooting range. In spite of the stench, the weapon was superlative, with a sweet kick and excellent aim.

While she put the gun through its paces, she could feel the males behind her staring hard. To their credit, it wasn't at her ass.

Nah, the Brothers weren't interested in her tail. None of them particularly liked her, although, given their expressions of grudging respect as she'd reloaded the gun, they were viewing her spot-on aim as an asset.

In the shooting stall next door, Ehlena was proving she hadn't lied about being good with a gun. She'd chosen an autoloader with a little less firepower, which made sense, given that she didn't have the upper-body strength that Xhex did. Her aim was awesome for an amateur, and what was more, she handled the weapon with the kind of quiet confidence that suggested she wouldn't mistakenly cap someone's knees.

Xhex took off her ear protection and turned around to the Brotherhood, keeping her weapon down by her thigh. "I'll want to try the other one out, but the pair of these should do me just fine. And I want my knife back."

The weapon had been taken from her before she and Ehlena had been driven to the mansion in that black Mercedes.

"You'll have it," someone said, "when you need it."

Against her will, her eyes did a quick check of who was kibitzing. Same cast of muscle. Which meant John Matthew hadn't sneaked in.

Given how big the Brotherhood's compound seemed to be, she figured he could be anywhere, including the next town, for chrissakes: When the meeting in the king's study had finished, he'd just walked out, and she hadn't seen him since.

Which was good. Right now she needed to be focused on what was looming over them all tomorrow night, not her crappy, castrated love life. Fortunately, everything seemed to be falling into place. She'd called iAm and Trez and left voice mails that she was taking a day off, and they'd phoned back saying it wasn't a problem. No doubt they were going to check in with her again, but hopefully with the Brothers' backing, she would be in and out of the colony before their babysitting impulses overwhelmed them.

Twenty minutes later, she finished trying out the other SIG and was not at all surprised when both guns were confiscated. The trip back to the mansion was long and tense, and she looked over at Ehlena to see how the other female was faring. It was hard not to approve of the resolute strength in that nurse's face: Rehv's female was going after her male, and nothing was going to get in her way.

Which was great...but the determination made Xhex twitchy nonetheless. She was willing to bet Muhrder had had the same kind of resolve in his eyes when he'd gone up to that colony to get her.

And look at how well that had gone.

Then again, true to his character he'd gone in rogue, without backup. At least she and Ehlena had been smart enough to get some serious-ass help, and one could only pray that made all the difference.

Back at the mansion, Xhex grabbed some food from the kitchen and was shown to a second-floor guest room that was down a long hall of statues.

Eat. Drink. Shower.

She left the light in the bath on because the room was unfamiliar, got into bed naked, and closed her eyes.

When the door opened some half an hour later, she was both shocked and unsurprised at the big shadow standing in the lee of the hallway light.

"You're drunk," she said.

John Matthew came inside without an invitation, and he locked the door without permission. He was indeed drunk, but that was not a news flash.

The fact that he was sexually aroused was also not front-page material.

As he put the bottle he was carrying down on the bureau, she knew his hands were headed for the fly of his jeans, and there were roughly a hundred thousand reasons why she should tell him to cut the shit and get the hell away from her.

Instead, Xhex tossed the duvet off her body and put her hands behind her head, her breasts tingling from the chill and so much more.

Of all the justifications for not doing what they were going to, there was one overriding reality that crumbled the foundations of healthy choice: By the end of tomorrow night, there was a chance one or both of them might not be coming home.

Even with the Brotherhood as support, going to the colony was a suicide mission-and she was willing to bet there were a lot of people having sex under the mansion's roof right now. Sometimes you had to have a taste of life right before you knocked on the Grim Reaper's front door.

John took off his jeans and his shirt and left his clothes right where they landed. As he came over to her, his body was magnificent in the glowing light, his cock hard and ready, his heavily muscled form everything a female would want in her bed.

But all that oh-yeah wasn't what she focused on as he got up on the mattress and mounted her. She wanted to see his eyes.

No luck, though. His face was in shadow, the light from the bathroom coming from directly behind him. For a moment, she almost turned on the lamp next to them, but then realized she wouldn't want to catch a load of the numb coldness that was no doubt in his stare.

She wasn't going to get what she was looking for from this, Xhex thought. This was not going to be about living.

And she was right.

No prelude. No foreplay. She opened her legs and he pushed in and her body loosened and accepted him because of biology. As he fucked her, his head was by hers on the pillow, but it was turned away.

She didn't come. He did. Four times.

When he rolled off her body and lay on his back, breathing heavily, her heart was thoroughly and completely broken: There had been a crack in the damn thing after she'd left him in her basement apartment, but with each pounding stroke he'd taken just now, more and more of it splintered and fell from the core of her.

A few minutes later, John got up, put his clothes back on, palmed his liquor bottle, and left.

As the door clicked shut, Xhex pulled the duvet over herself.

She did nothing to try to control the shakes that rattled her body, and didn't attempt to stop herself from crying. Tears left both of her eyes at the far corners, slipping out and flowing over her temples. Some landed in her ears. Some eased down her neck and were absorbed by the pillow. Others clouded her vision, as if they didn't want to leave home.

Feeling ridiculous, she put her hands to her face and captured them as best she could, wiping them on the duvet.

She cried for hours.

Alone.

Chapter SIXTY-SIX

The following evening, Lash was about fifteen miles south of Caldwell when he eased the Mercedes onto a dirt lane and turned off the sedan's headlights. Driving slowly along a bumpy dirt lane, he used the rising moon to navigate, cutting through a scruffy, debrided cornfield.

"Get your weapons out," he said.

In the passenger seat, Mr. D palmed his forty, and in the back, the pair of slayers cocked the shotguns they'd been given before Lash had taken them all out of town.

A hundred yards later, Lash hit the brakes and ran his gloved hand around the leather-wrapped steering wheel. The good thing about a big-ass black Mercedes was that when you got out of it you looked like a businessman, not a flashy drug thug. Plus you could fit your guard in the backseat.

"Let's do this."

In a synchronized punch, they popped the latches on their doors and got out, facing off across the snowy earth at another big-ass Mercedes.

Maroon AMG. Nice.

And Lash wasn't the only one to bring guns-and-ammo accessories to the meeting. As all the AMG's doors opened, three guys with forties and one who appeared to be unarmed got out.

Whereas the sedans suggested civility, or at least the appearance of it, all the men in them represented the violent side of the drug trade-which had fuck-all to do with calculators and offshore accounts and money laundering.

Lash approached the man who didn't have a weapon with both his hands out of the pockets of his Joseph Abboud coat. As he came forward, he searched the mind of the South American importer, who, at least according to the drug dealer they had tortured for fun and profit, had sold bulk product to Rehvenge.

"You wanted to meet with me?" the guy said with an accent.

Lash put his hand into the breast pocket of his coat and smiled. "You are not Ricardo Benloise." He glanced to the other Mercedes. "And I do not appreciate you and your boss fucking around with me. You tell that motherfucker to get out of the car now, or I'm walking-which means that he will not be doing business with the guy who cleared the decks in Caldwell and who will be servicing the market the Reverend used to handle."

The human seemed nonplussed for a moment; then he glanced back at the three comrades who were standing behind him. After a moment, his eyes finally shifted to the maroon Mercedes and he subtly shook his head.

There was a pause and then the passenger-side door opened and a smaller, older man got out. He was impeccably dressed, his black coat fitting his slight shoulders perfectly, his glossy loafers leaving a shuffling path in the snow.

He came forward with total calmness, as if he were a thousand percent sure that his men could handle whatever happened.

"You will understand my caution," Benloise said with an accent that seemed part French and part Latin American. "It is a good time to be of care."

Lash removed his hand from his jacket, leaving his gun where it was. "You got nothing to worry about."

"You sound very sure."

"As I'm the one who's been knocking off the competition, I am very sure."

The old man's eyes traveled up and down Lash, taking stock, and Lash knew he was going to see nothing but strength.

Figuring there was no time to waste, Lash laid it all out. "I want to move what the Reverend did in terms of volume, and I want to do it now. I have plenty of men and the territory is mine. What I need is a good, steady professional supplier of powder, and that's why I wanted to meet with you. It's simple, really. I'm stepping into the Reverend's shoes, and as you were the one he worked with, I want to do business with you."

The old man smiled. "Nothing is simple. But then, you are young and will discover that for yourself if you live long enough."

"I'm going to be around for plenty of time. Trust me."

"I do not trust anyone, even my family. And I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about. I am an importer of fine Colombian art, and I have no idea how you got my name or why you connected it to anything of an illegal nature." The old man bowed slightly. "I bid you good evening and suggest that you find legitimate pursuits for your no doubt many talents."

Lash frowned as Benloise returned to the AMG, leaving his men behind.

What the fuck? Unless this was going to turn into a lead shower...

As Lash went for his gun, he braced for a shoot-out...but no. The man who'd tried to pass himself off as Benloise just stepped forward and extended his hand.

"Nice to have met you."

As Lash looked down, he saw there was something in the guy's palm. A card.

Lash did the shake thing, took what he'd been given, and went back to his own Mercedes. As he got behind the wheel, he watched the AMG amble off down the lane, its tailpipe smoking in the cold.

He looked down at the card. It was a number.

"Whatchu got there, suh?" Mr. D asked.

"I think we might be in business." He got out his cell phone and dialed, then put the car in gear and went in the opposite direction from Benloise's crew.

Benloise picked up the call. "So much more comfortable to speak in a warm car, is it not?"

Lash laughed. "Yeah."

"Here is what I shall offer you. A quarter of the product that I shipped monthly to the Reverend. If you are able to safely move it on the streets, then we shall look at increasing the trade. Are we in accord?"

It was such a pleasure dealing with a professional, Lash thought. "We are."

After they discussed the money and the delivery side of things, they hung up.

"We're good," he said with satisfaction.

As all kinds of backslapping went on in the car, he allowed himself to grin like a motherfucker. The prospect of setting up labs was proving more difficult than he'd expected-although he was still moving forward on that, he needed a big-league, reliable supplier and this relationship with Benloise was the key to that. With the cash it was going to generate, he could recruit, acquire state-of-the-art weapons, buy more real estate, target the Brothers. As it stood now, he felt like the Lessening Society had been in neutral since he took over, but that was over, thanks to the old man with the accent.

Back in Caldwell proper, Lash dumped Mr. D and the other lessers off at that nasty-ass ranch and then proceeded across to the brownstone. As he parked in the garage, he was flushed from possibilities of the future, the buzz making him aware of how fucking bummed out he'd been. Money mattered. It was freedom to do what you wanted, buy what you needed.

It was power stacked in orderly piles and rubber-banded with authority.

It was what he required to be who he was.

As he came in through the kitchen, he took a moment to savor the improvements he'd already been able to make. No more empty counters and cabinets. There were espresso machines and Cuisinarts and dishes and glasses, none of which had been purchased from Target. There was also gourmet food in the refrigerator and fine wines in the cellar below and top-shelf booze at the bar.

He walked out into the dining room, which was still bare, and hit the stairs two at a time, loosening his clothes as he went, his cock getting stiffer with every step. Upstairs his princess was waiting for him. Waiting for him and ready. Bathed and oiled and perfumed by two of his slayers, prepared for his use like the sex slave she was.

Man, he was glad all lessers were impotent; otherwise there would have been a rash of castrations in the Society.

As he hit the first of the landings, he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the scores of scratches that ran across his chest. They had each been made by his lover's nails, and he smiled, ready to add to the collection. After about two weeks of having her tied down completely, he'd started releasing one of her hands and one of her feet. The more they fought the better.

God, she was a hell of female-

He froze as he got to the top of the stairs, the scent coming down the hall stopping him dead. Oh...God, the sweet saturation was so heavy, it was as if a hundred perfume bottles had been smashed open.

Lash raced for the door to the bedroom. If anything had happened to-

The carnage was stunning, black blood staining the new rug and the fresh wallpaper: The two lessers he'd left to guard his female were propped up on the floor across from the canopy bed, each with a knife in his right hand. Both had multiple, glistening gashes to their necks, having stabbed themselves over and over again until they lost so much blood, they went lax.

His eyes shot to the bed. The satin sheets were rumpled, and the four chains the symphath king had given him to subdue her were lying slack from their corners.

Lash wheeled on his men. Slayers didn't die unless you got them in the chest with some stainless steel, so both were incapacitated, but still alive.

"What the fuck happened?"

Two mouths worked, but he couldn't understand a thing-the bastards had no air supply to their voice boxes, thanks to the shit escaping out of all the holes they'd made in themselves.

Weak-minded fools-

Oh, hell no. Oh, no, she didn't.

Lash went over to the messy sheets and found the collar of his old dead rottweiler. He'd put the thing on his princess's neck to mark her as his, keeping it on her even when he took her vein during sex.

She'd slit it up the front instead of unbuckling the thing. She'd ruined it.

Lash tossed the collar on the bed, rebuttoned his shirt, and shoved the silk tails into his slacks. Over at the antique Sheraton bureau he'd bought three days ago, he took out another gun and a long knife to add to what he'd worn to meet Benloise.

There was only one place she would go.

And he was going up there and bringing his bitch back.

With George guiding the way, Wrath left his study at ten p.m. and hit the stairs with a confidence that surprised him. The thing was, he was starting to trust the dog and anticipate the signals that George transmitted through the harness handle: Each time they got to the head of the stairs, George would stop and allow Wrath to find the first step. And as they came to the bottom, the dog would pause again so that Wrath was aware they'd reached the foyer. And then there would be a wait until Wrath announced what direction they would go in.

It was...a very good system, actually.

As he and George descended, the Brothers gathered down below, checking their weapons and talking. In the midst of the group, V was smoking his Turkish tobacco and Butch was saying some Hail Marys under his breath and Rhage was unwrapping a Tootsie Pop. The two females were with them, and he recognized them by their scents. The nurse was nervous, but not hysterical, and Xhex was itching for a fight.

When Wrath stepped off onto the mosaic floor, he gripped the handle in his palm hard, the muscles in his forearm cranking tight. Shit, he and George were staying behind. And that just sucked.

Ironic, wasn't it. Not so long ago, he'd been upset about leaving Tohr home like a dog. What a role reversal. The Brother was the one going out into the night...and he was the guy staying behind.

A sharp whistle from Tohr shut everyone up. "V and Butch, I want you with Xhex and Z on team one. Rhage, Phury, and I are on team two and will be backing up you four with the boys. According to the text I just got from Qhuinn, he and Blay and John have arrived up north and are in position about two miles from the entry to the colony. We're ready to go-"

"What about me," Ehlena said.

Tohr's voice was gentle. "You're going to wait with the boys in the Hummer-"

"The hell I am. You're going to need a medic-"

"And Vishous is one. Which is why he's going in first with the others."

"Along with me. I can find him-he fed from-"

Wrath was about to jump in when Bella's voice cut through the argument.

"Let her go in with the others." There was a quick, breathless silence from everyone as Rehvenge's sister spoke sharply. "I want her to go in."

"Thank you," Ehlena said in a small voice, like it had been decided.

"You're his female," Bella murmured. "Aren't you."

"Yes."

"You were on his mind the last time I saw him. It was clear how he felt about you." Bella's voice grew even stronger. "She has to go. Even if you can find him, he'll live only for her."

Wrath, who'd never really been on board with that nurse joining the team, opened his mouth to can the idea...but then he thought back a year or two, remembering when he'd been shot in the stomach and Beth had been beside him. She had been the reason he'd survived. Her voice and her touch and the power of their connection had been the only things that had pulled him through.

God knew what the symphaths had been doing to Rehv up there in the colony. If he was still breathing, chances were good he was hanging by a thread.

"She should go," Wrath said. "It might be all that gets him out alive."

Tohr cleared his throat. "I don't think-"

"That's an order."

There was a long, disapproving pause. Which was broken only when Wrath raised his right hand and flashed the massive black diamond that had been worn by every king of the race.

"Okay. Fine." Tohr cleared his throat. "Z, I want you guarding her."

"Roger that."

"Please..." Bella said roughly. "Bring my brother home. Bring him back where he belongs."

There was a beat of silence.

Then, Ehlena vowed, "We will. One way or the other."

No clarification was needed for that. The female meant alive or dead, and everyone, including Rehvenge's sister, knew it.

Wrath said some things in the Old Language, things that he could remember hearing his father speak to the Brotherhood. Wrath's voice had a different tone to it, though. His father hadn't minded staying home to be on the throne.

It ate Wrath alive.

After some good-byeing, the Brothers and the females left on a chorus of boots hitting the mosaic floor.

The vestibule's door shut.

Beth took his free hand. "How you doing?"

By the tightness of her voice, she knew exactly how he was, but he didn't begrudge her the question. She was concerned and worried, just as he would have been in her position, and sometimes the only thing you could do was ask.

"I've been better." He pulled her against him, and as she fit her body to his, George pressed his head in for a stroke.

Even with both of them, Wrath was lonely.

It seemed to him, as he stood in the grand foyer whose depths and colors and wonder he could no longer see, that he had ended up in the very place he hadn't wanted to ever find himself: Going out to fight even though he was king had not been just about the war and the species. It had been for himself, too. He'd wanted to be more than a paper-pushing aristocrat.

Evidently, however, fate was bound and determined to shove him in that peg hole of a throne one way or the other.

He squeezed Beth's hand, then released it and gave the command to move forward to George. When he and the dog got to the vestibule, he opened the way through the various doors until they stepped free of the house.

Facing the courtyard, Wrath stood in the cold wind, his hair getting swept out and away from his head. Breathing in, he smelled snow, but felt nothing on his cheeks. Just the promise of a storm, apparently.

George settled into a sit as Wrath searched the sky he could not behold. If it was going to snow, was it cloudy yet? Or were the stars still out? What phase was the moon in?

The yearning in his chest made him strain his dead eyes in an attempt to pull out shapes or forms from the world. It used to work...gave him a headache, but it used to work.

Now he just got the headache.

From behind him, Beth said, "Do you want me to get you a coat?"

He smiled a little and looked over his shoulder, imagining her standing in the mansion's great portal, the glow of the lights from inside framing her.

"You know," he said, "this is why I love you so much."

Her tone was heartbreakingly warm. "What do you mean?"

"You don't ask me to go inside because it's cold. You just want to make it easier for me to be where I want to stand." He shifted around to face her. "To be honest, I ask myself why the hell you stay with me. After all the shit..." He motioned around at the facade of the mansion. "The constant interruptions of the Brotherhood, the fighting, the kingship. My being an asshole about keeping things from you." He briefly touched his wraparounds. "The blindness...I swear, you're going for sainthood."

As she came over, the night-blooming rose of her scent grew stronger even in the stiff breeze. "That's not it."

She touched both his cheeks, and as he leaned in to kiss her, she stopped him. Holding his head steady, she lifted his sunglasses off his face and caressed his brows with her free hand.

"I stay with you because, whether you have sight or not, I see the future in your eyes." His lids fluttered as she brushed gently across the bridge of his nose. "Mine. The Brotherhood's. The race's...such beautiful eyes you have. And you're even braver to me now than ever before. You don't need to fight with your hands to have courage. Or be the king your people need. Or be my hellren." She put her palm in the center of his broad chest. "You live and lead from here. This heart...here."

Wrath blinked hard.

Funny, transformative events were not always scheduled and not always expected. Yeah, sure, your change turned you into a male. And when you went through the mating ceremony, you were part of a whole, no longer just yourself. And the deaths and births around you made you view the world differently.

But every once in a while, from out of the blue, someone reaches the quiet place where you spend your private time and changes the way you see yourself. If you're lucky it's your mate...and the transformation reminds you once again that you are absolutely, positively with the right person: because what they say doesn't touch you because of who they are to you, but because of the content of their message.

Payne nailing him in the face woke him up.

George brought him back his independence.

But Beth handed him his crown.

The thing was, if she could reach him in the mood he was in, she proved that it could be done. You could tap into what others needed to hear when they needed to hear it. The heart was the answer. She proved her own point.

He had ascended to the throne and done some things since then. But in his soul, he had been a fighter stuck in a desk job. Resentment had made him edgy, and even though he hadn't been aware of it, he had had his eye on the exit every single night.

No sight. No exit.

And what if that was actually...okay. What if those Hallmark motherfuckers were right. Door closes, window opens. What if losing his vision was exactly what he needed in order to be...the true king of the race.

Not just a son bearing the obligations of his father.

If it was true that the loss of sight heightened other senses, maybe his heart was what made up the difference. And if that were true...

"The future," Beth whispered, "is in your eyes."

Wrath snatched his shellan to him hard, holding her so close he absorbed her all the way inside his body. As they stood together, united against the winter wind, the darkness in his body was pierced by a warm glow.

Her love was the light in his blindness. The feel of her was the heaven he didn't need to see to know. And if she had this much faith in him, she was his courage and his purpose, too.

"Thank you for staying with me," he said hoarsely into her long hair.

"There is no place I would rather be." She put her head on his chest. "You're my man."