s night fell, Phury pulled on the white silks for the Primale ceremony. He didn't feel them on his skin, and not because they were made of such delicate cloth. He'd been smoking blunts for the last two hours straight, so he was pretty well numbed-out.

Though not so faced that when the knock came on his door, he didn't know exactly who it was.

"Come in," he said, without turning away from the mirror over his dresser. "And what are you doing out of bed?"

Bella let out a laugh. Or maybe it was a sob. "One hour a day, remember. I have fifty-two minutes left."

He picked up the gold Primale medallion and put it around his neck. The weight of it settled onto his chest like someone had a palm between his pecs and was leaning into him. Hard.

"Are you sure about this?" she said softly.

"Yes."

"I guess Z's going with you?"

"He's my witness." Phury stabbed out his hand-rolled. Picked up another. Lit it.

"When will you be back?"

He shook his head as he exhaled. "The Primale lives on the Other Side."

"Vishous wasn't going to."

"Special arrangement. I'll still fight, but I want to stay over there."

As she gasped, he stared at his reflection in the mirror's antique glass. His hair was damp and tangled at the ends, so he grabbed a brush and started yanking it through.

"Phury, what are you... You can't go to the ceremony bald¡ªStop. God, you're ripping your hair out." She came up behind him, took the brush from his hand, and pointed to the chaise next to the window. "Sit. Let me do it."

"No, thanks. I can¡ª"

"You're too hard on yourself. Go on now." She gave him a little shove to the left. "Let me do it."

For no good reason, and a lot of bad ones, he went over and sat down, crossing his arms over his chest and bracing himself. Bella started at the bottom of his mane, the brush clipping the ends first, then working its way up until he felt it come down on the crown of his head and slowly, get drawn all the way out. Her free palm followed the strokes, smoothing, soothing. The sound of the bristles going through his hair and the tug on his forehead and her scent in his nose were bittersweet pleasures that left him defenseless.

Tears matted his lashes. It seemed so cruel to have met her, to see what he wanted but never be able to have it. Although that was fitting, wasn't it. He'd always lived his life with things out of his reach. First he'd spent decades searching for his twin, sensing that Zsadist was alive in the world but being unable to rescue him. Then he'd freed his brother, only to find that the male was still far from in hand. The century that had followed their escape from Z's Mistress had been a different kind of hell, with him always waiting for Z to lose it, interceding when the brother did, and worrying when the next round of drama would get started.

Then Bella had come and they'd both fallen in love with her.

Bella was the old torture in a new guise, wasn't she. Because his was a destiny of yearning, of being outside looking in, of seeing the fire but not being able to get close enough to it to be warmed by it.

"Will you ever be back?" she asked.

"I don't know."

The brush paused. "Maybe you'll like her."

"Maybe. Don't stop yet. Please... not yet."

Phury rubbed his eyes as the brush resumed its strokes. This quiet time was their good-bye, and she knew it. She was crying too. He could smell the fresh, rainy tang in the air.

Except she didn't cry for the same reason he did. She cried because she pitied him and his future, not because she loved him and her heart was breaking at the thought that she would never, ever see him again. She would miss him, yes. Worry about him, sure. But she wouldn't yearn for him. She never had.

And all this should have snapped his chain and gotten him to cut out the pansy-ass routine, but he couldn't. He was submerged by his sadness.

He would, of course, see Zsadist on the Other Side. But her... he couldn't imagine her coming over to see him. And it wouldn't really be appropriate, as he'd be the Primale, and it wouldn't look right if he took private audiences with a female from the outside¡ªeven if she was his twin's shellan. Monogamy to his Chosen in deed, thought, and appearance was the Primale's pledge.

Then it dawned on him. The baby. He would never get to see her and Z's young. Except maybe in pictures.

The brush tucked under his hair and ran up his nape. Closing his eyes, he gave himself over to the rhythmic pull and release on his head.

"I want you to fall in love," she said.

I am in love. "It's all right."

She stopped and stepped in front of him. "I want you to love someone for real. Not like you think you love me."

He frowned. "No offense. But you can't know what I¡ª"

"Phury, you don't really love¡ª"

He stood up and met her in the eye. "Please pay me the respect of not assuming to know my emotions better than I do."

"You've never been with a female."

"I was last night."

That shut her up for a moment. Then she said, "Not at the club. Please, not at¡ª"

"In a bathroom in the back. It was good, too. Then again, she was a professional." Okay, now he was being an asshole.

"Phury... no."

"May I have my brush back? I think my hair's good now."

"Phury¡ª"

"The brush. Please."

After a moment that was long as a century, she extended the thing toward him. When he reached out and took it, they were linked by the wooden handle for a mere breath, then she dropped her hand.

"You deserve better than that," she whispered. "You're better than that."

"No, I'm not." Oh, man, he had to get away from her heartbroken expression. "Don't let your pity turn me into a prince, Bella."

"This is self-destructive. All of it."

"Hardly." He went over to the bureau, picked up his blunt, and took a drag on it. "I want this."

"Do you? Is that why you've been lighting up red smokes all afternoon? The whole mansion smells of it."

"I smoke because I'm an addict. I'm a loose-willed drug addict, Bella, who was with a whore last night in a public place. You should condemn me, not pity me."

She shook her head. "Don't try to make yourself look ugly in front of me. It won't work. You are a male of worth¡ª"

"For fuck's sake¡ª"

"¡ªwho has sacrificed much for his brothers. Probably too much."

"Bella, stop it."

"A male who gave up his leg to save his twin. Who has fought bravely for his race. Who is giving up his future for his brother's happiness. You can't get much more noble than that." Her eyes were rock-solid as she stared up at him. "Don't tell me who you are. I see you more clearly than you see yourself."

He paced around the room until he found himself back in front of the dresser. He hoped there were no mirrors on the Other Side. He hated his reflection. Always had.

"Phury¡ª"

"Go," he said hoarsely. "Please just go." When she didn't, he turned around. "For God's sake, don't make me break down in front of you. I need my pride right now. It's the only thing keeping me standing."

She put a hand over her mouth and blinked quickly. Then she shored herself up and spoke in the Old Language. "Be of good fortune, Phury, son of Ahgony. May your feet follow a level path and the nightfall gently upon your shoulders."

He bowed. "As for you, Bella, beloved nalla of mine blooded brother, Zsadist."

When the door shut behind her, Phury sank down on the bed and brought the blunt to his lips. As he looked around the room he'd stayed in since the Brotherhood had moved into the compound, he realized it wasn't home to him. It was just a guest room... a luxurious, anonymous guest room... four walls of nice oil paintings with good carpeting and drapes lush as a female's ball gown.

It would be nice to have a home.

He'd never had one. After Zsadist had been abducted as an infant, their mahmen had closed herself in underground, and their father had gone on the hunt for the nursemaid who'd taken Z. Growing up, Phury had lived among the moving, breathing shadows of the household. Everyone, even the doggen, had just gone through the motions of life. There had been no laughter. No happiness. No calendar of ceremonies.

No hugs.

Phury had learned to keep quiet and stay out of the way. It was, after all, the kindest thing he could do. He'd been the replica of what had been lost, the reminder of the heartbreak that was on everyone's mind. He took to wearing hats to hide his face, and he'd walked with a shuffle, curling into himself so as to be smaller, less noticeable.

As soon as he'd gone through his transition, he'd left to find his twin. No one had waved him off. There had been no good-byes. Z's disappearance had used up all of the household's capacity for missing someone, so there was none left over for Phury.

Which had been good, actually. It made everything easier.

About ten years later he'd learned from a distant cousin that his mother had died in her sleep. He'd gone back home immediately, but they'd had the funeral without him. His father had died fighting about eight years later. Phury had made it to that funeral and had spent his last night in the family house. Afterward the property had been sold, the doggen had dispersed, and it was as if his parents had never been.

His rootlessness now was not new. He'd felt it since his first moment of consciousness as a child. He was ever the wanderer, and the Other Side was not going to give him a base. He couldn't make a home there because he couldn't have one without his twin. Or his brothers. Or¡ª

He stopped. Refused to let himself think of Bella.

As he stood up and felt his prosthesis bear his weight, he thought it was ironic that a nomad like him was missing a limb.

Tamping out his blunt, slipped a number of them into his pocket, and was almost out the door when he stopped and turned around. Four strides brought him to his walk-in closet, three clicks of a lock opened a metal door, two hands reached in. One black dagger came out.

He palmed his weapon, feeling the perfect balance and the precision grip that matched only his specs. Vishous had made it for him... hell, how long ago? Seventy-five years... yeah, it would be seventy-five years this summer since he'd joined the Brotherhood.

He examined the blade in the light. Seventy-five years of offing lessers, and not a scratch on the blade. He took out the other one he used. Same diff. V was a master craftsman, all right.

Looking at the weapons, feeling their weight, he pictured Vishous standing in the bedroom's doorway earlier this evening, explaining that the Scribe Virgin was going to allow the substitution of Primales. The icy brother had had life in his eyes. Life and hope, along with a shining purpose.

Phury tucked one of the daggers into the satin belt that was around his waist and returned the other to the safe. Then he strode to the door with steel in his spine. Love was worth sacrificing for, he thought as he left his room. Even if it wasn't yours.

At that moment Vishous materialized on the far side of the street across from Jane's condo. There were no lights on inside her place, and he was tempted just to go inside, but he stayed in the shadows.

Goddamn, his head was scrambled. He felt guilty as hell over Phury. Scared to death over what Jane was going to say. Worried about how to manage a future with a human. Hell, he was even concerned about that poor Chosen who was stuck having to man up for the rest of her kind.

He checked his watch. Eight o'clock. He had to imagine Jane would be home soon¡ª

The garage door to the condo next to Jane's trundled up with a whining sound, and a real yawn of a minivan backed out. Its brakes made a little squeak when it reached the ass end of its K-turn, then the driver put it in forward gear.

V frowned, his instincts coming to attention for no apparent reason. He sniffed the air, but he was upwind of the vehicle and couldn't catch a scent.

Great, so he was paranoid, too¡ªwhich, along with his ambient anxiety and the narcissistic behavior he'd been popping lately, meant he had most of the DSM-IV covered tonight.

He checked his watch again just for the hell of it. Two minutes later. Great.

When his cell phone rang, he answered it with relief, because he was looking to pass some time. "I'm glad it's you, cop."

Butch's voice was off. "You at her place?"

"Yeah, but she's not. What's doing?"

"There's something going on with your computers."

"As in?"

"One of the tracers you laid down over at the hospital's been triggered. Someone went into the medical file of Michael Klosnick."

"No big deal."

"It was the chief of surgery. Manello."

Man, V hated the sound of the guy's name. "And?"

"He searched his own computer today for the pictures of your heart. Looking for the file Phury corrupted while we were evac'ing you, no doubt."

"Interesting." V wondered what had gotten the guy's attention... some printout of the photographs that had a date/time on it, maybe? Even if there was no notation as to the patient, that Manello guy was probably smart enough to trace it to the OR and figure out who had been on Jane's table. On one level it was no BFD, because the medical record showed that Michael Klosnick had checked out AMA following surgery. But still... "I think I should pay a visit to the good doctor."

"Um, yeah, I'm guessing we might want to outsource that one. Why don't you let me handle it."

"Because you don't know how to erase memories, do you?"

There was a pause. "Fuck you. But good point."

"Is the guy logged on now?"

"Yeah, he's in his office."

Messy to do a confrontation in a public place, even if it was after hours, but God only knew what else the doc would get into.

Shit, V thought. Look what he had to offer Jane: Secrets. Lies. Danger. He was a selfish, selfish bastard, and what was worse, he was ruining Phury's life just so he could ruin hers.

A car turned onto the street, and as it went under a light he saw it was her Audi.

"Fuck," he said.

"She's come home, huh?"

"I'll deal with Manello. Later."

As he hung up, he wasn't sure he could do this to her. If he left now, he'd still have time to get to the Other Side before Phury took the Primale vow.

Shit.