Until the moment he had felt a total and complete isolation.
A breath later, that isolation had been infused with the knowledge and the scent of his mate, though. He’d been so amazed by it, so taken aback by the warrior his woman was and his inability to control the animal’s need to protect her, that he’d forgotten the only breath of time that he’d felt the total darkness, the total aloneness within his memories, his torments.
That aloneness his brother had known since that moment.
The curse that sizzled from him had Rule staring back at him with a distance Lawe no longer resented.
How could he even apologize? To say he was sorry would be more a lie than any he had ever spoken, because it would mean telling his mate he was sorry for the understandings, the love, the complete togetherness they had found together.
“There’s nothing to feel sorry for,” Rule stated absently as he gestured to the bartender again.
Lawe stared at the five shot glasses, five beer bottles that stood empty on the table at Rule’s elbow again and realized he hadn’t spoken those words aloud.
Strengthening the shields around his thoughts, he wondered just how strong that link with his brother really was. And suddenly, he wasn’t so surprised that Rule had learned so well to maneuver others so easily.
“You’ve had enough,” Lawe finally told him, realizing Rule seemed determined to drink himself into a fighting drunk.
Not a good thing.
What the hell was going on here?
“Not yet, I haven’t,” Rule sighed. “I’m still conscious.”
...
It wasn’t the bleak darkness that filled him that had him drinking. It wasn’t anger or resentment; he even understood why Gypsy needed this time with her family first.
Sort of, anyway.
It was that damned Lion driving him insane. He could feel his instincts—fuck instincts—he could feel the Lion snapping at him furiously, demanding that he go to Gypsy now. That he force this whole “do you love me?” issue.
It was sickening. He’d be damned if he would do it. He wasn’t going to beg her for shit.
He frowned thoughtfully. Hell, maybe he was just going crazy.
More than one Lion Breed had gone feral after escaping the Genetics Council’s labs. It wasn’t unheard of for any Breed to slip into the feral rages and never return. Was that what was happening to him now?
Except mated Breeds didn’t go feral.
There wasn’t a single instance of mated Breeds slipping into feral fever. As though the mating itself stabilized the creature’s rage.
“Return to your mate, brother,” Rule sighed wearily as the bartender set the whiskey and beer in front of him.
“It’s not safe here,” Lawe sighed. “If you’re going to drink yourself to a stupor, then I’ll stay with you until you’re ready to return to the hotel.”
Rule shook his head. “Not returning yet. If I don’t get a little bit drunker, then I might embarrass myself.”
He’d be damned if he was going to beg her to love him. He had some pride. He had some self-control.
He lifted the shot, tossed it back, and thought with a measure of comfort that the bite of the alcohol wasn’t nearly as fierce this time.
Staring back at his brother, Rule was amused to see the concern in Lawe’s eyes. No doubt, at the first opportunity—he snickered at the two Breeds that entered the bar. Ah well, perhaps he’d been smart enough to call in reinforcements before entering.
He turned his gaze back to his brother broodingly.
“Babysitters?” he asked.
Lawe shrugged, the gesture dismissive. “I assume they’re here for a drink.”
Were they now?
Loki—that lying fucking Coyote and his master Dog—or was Jonas the master of both? Some days he wondered which Breed knew his own path and which Breed was merely content to allow Jonas to guide him.
He grinned at the two Coyotes. “How you two have managed to escape Jonas’s matchmaking is what I want to know.”
Dog’s brow arched with a measure of polite indulgence before glancing at Lawe. “Drunk already, is he?”
“He’s getting there,” Rule assured the three of them.
Lawe grunted at that, spearing a look in Dog’s direction as they seemed to share some unspoken message.
Placing the glass to his side, Rule lifted the beer to his lips, and once again, when he lowered it, barely half of the brew remained.
“I believe the reason your brother came looking for you”—Loki was the one to speak, the graveled tone of his voice always making Rule wonder what torture the Council scientists had devised to destroy his voice in such a way—“was to drag you back to our esteemed director for debriefing.”
“I turned in my report.” He frowned, but the statement forestalled the next order.
Why wait between each drink? Why the hell was he getting slowly drunk when he could do so in a few hours, rather than one drink per hour?
Efficiency, he reminded himself, beginning to lift his hand to indicate more when Loki’s hand was suddenly securing his wrist.
The animal reacted, existing far too close to the skin at the moment; the affront became an insult of unimagined proportion. Before any knew his intent, he lashed out with his right arm, his fingers curled into a fist of iron that plowed into Loki’s face before the Coyote could avoid it.
He didn’t even have a second to enjoy the surprise that immediately transformed the Coyote’s face before he was thrown back, chair and all—Rule couldn’t help but laugh at the sight—and went flying backward.
Rule slapped his thigh, laughing so hard that he admitted he just might be a bit drunk after all.
Looking at Lawe and Dog, the complete shock on their faces, the widening of their eyes as their heads jerked from the sight of Loki sprawled out on the floor to Rule’s laughter, had him laughing harder.
Until the animalistic snarl sounding through the room suddenly slammed into him.
He didn’t go flying.
Rule shook the sudden scattered lights from his vision before turning his head, very slowly, and loosing the animal snapping at his senses.
“Fuck. Rule. You struck first.” Lawe was suddenly between them, directing a glare at Dog. “Contain your man.”
“Contain my man?” He pulled a slim cigar from the leather vest he wore, his smile tight as he inserted it between his lips and retrieved a set of matches from another pocket.
They all watched as though fascinated as he lit the tobacco. Until Rule looked over Lawe’s shoulder to see Loki, his lips drawn back from the curved fangs, his eyes lit with an inner fire that was frankly freaky.
Rule had to laugh at the sight.
Then Loki grabbed Lawe and tossed him out of the way before his brother could anticipate the move and compensate. Thrown off balance, he landed on his ass, snarling. “Fuck it. Kill his ass, Rule.”
His senses opened. Hell no, he didn’t fight fair. His brother’s mate wasn’t here right now and neither was his own, and he was drunk. He might need a little extra—
It was all he could do not to laugh as his left fist went for Loki’s face, struck and threw the Coyote into his commander. The cigar went one way and Dog went the other with a snarl . . .
“Hell yeah,” he whooped. “Let’s get it on.”
CHAPTER 32
Gypsy stared at the sight of her bruised, banged, freshly showered lover . . . mate, she amended, and had to hold back a smile as she watched him sleep.
Bullying him into the shower hadn’t been as hard as she had anticipated. Of course, she’d had to put up with groping hands trying to pull her in with him. Thankfully, her full-grown Lion Breed male had simply been too damned drunk to really put much strength into it.