“But I choose this. It is my choice.”
Xcor shook his head. “Only through the prompting of something else.”
He took a step back. “You should get back to…” He looked around at the mist, still totally lost. “Where’er ’tis you go.”
“You want me.” Now her voice was steady and sure. “I can sense it.”
“Of course I do. But not as a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. My fantasy … is not that.”
“Does the reasoning matter?”
“Some gifts are more painful than insults.” He went to turn away from her, and found himself immobile. “Especially when there is naught to be done about your Wrath. He has been replaced.”
“If you removed one rightful King, you can remove another. You can put Wrath back.”
“You give me too much credit.”
“Please.”
Her steadfastness angered him, even though it was a virtue, he supposed. “Why does it matter so much to you. Your life shall not change. You shall be safe here—or where’er. The Brotherhood is not dismantled—”
“They will come for you.”
“Then we will kill them. I am hoping they shall see the benefits of bowing out gracefully.”
Indeed, he couldn’t believe he was saying that. But to not disturb her, he would let them and Wrath live—provided they did not get in his way.
Layla shook her head. “Their loyalty will not allow that.” Her hands lifted to her cheeks and pressed in as if she were imagining the horror. “There will be war anew. Because of you.”
“Then hate me. ’Twill be better for the both of us if you do.”
She stared at him for the longest time. “I fear I cannot do that.”
Xcor did his best to ignore the way his heart skipped. “I shall take my leave.”
“How did you find this place?”
“I followed you home not long ago. You were in the car, returning from the clinic. I was worried over you.”
“And why … did you come tonight?”
“I must go.”
“Don’t.”
For a moment, he played out a dream whereby she said that and meant it for him personally. And not just in the hopes of persuading him over to her position.
That folly did not last. Especially as he pictured himself terrorizing that wounded human man in the deserted restaurant, for no other reason than that he could—and then remembered removing the spines of all those lessers and delivering them unto which member of the aristocracy? As if the recipient was even significant. After which he recalled decapitating slayers. Stabbing them in the gut. Breaking off their limbs …
There were so many acts of violence in his background.
As well as the depravity of what he’d been through in the Bloodletter’s war camp.
On top of which was his face.
He meant to just start walking down the incline. Unlike her, he could not dematerialize—he had tried repeatedly to expedite the ascent thusly and failed in this fog.
Yes, he meant to leave her behind. For all the reasons he’d spelled out to her and also those he kept to himself.
Instead, he heard himself say, “Meet me under the maple tree. Midnight tomorrow.”
“For what”—she pulled her parka closer as if she were to be eaten alive—“purpose?”
“Not what you are worried about.”
Now he did pivot and start walking—until his thought processes cleared enough to stop him. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “Chosen. Do you know the way home?”
“Oh, yes … of course…” Except as she glanced around, she seemed to grow confused. “Yes, it’s right over…”
She did not pause to hide her words. She honestly did not appear to know where she was.
Closing his eyes, he cursed. He should never have come herein—ever.
For what if he left her here alone, and she did not find shelter afore the sun rose? What if they were halfway to where she needed to be?
Putting his hands on his hips, he tilted his head back and searched the heavens, thinking maybe they could offer him some common sense—because he’d clearly lost his.
Of all the ways for me to die, he thought …
He’d never once considered it would be over a female.
As Trez surveyed the Goth crowd in the Iron Mask, he couldn’t say he was thrilled to be back in the saddle again. His business had always been important to him—well, first it had been Rehv’s gig; then when the Reverend had bowed out—or more like blown his way out—Trez had taken over the whole club enterprise. And yet, whether the place had been his or Rehv’s, he’d loved running the operations, dealing with the people, planning for new sites, watching his money grow. Yeah, sure, the humans were a pain in the ass, but that was true whether you were driving in your car, shopping in a supermarket, or trying to make a living.
Granted, the drugs and drinking really didn’t help that last one, but whatever …
Tonight, though, as he watched the dozen or so working girls make the rounds, sitting on laps, flirting, taking men by the hand and disappearing into the private bathrooms … he was sickened by it all.
Especially as he thought about what he’d agreed to do for s’Ex.
Man, it was so tempting to assume that he’d solved the problem … that keeping the executioner happy was going to make it all go away.
Wrong.
The thing was, he just kept thinking that if he only had more time, he’d find a way out.
“Any chance you’re looking for me?”
The human female standing in front of him had long black hair—natch, so many of them did up in here—and a body that was curvy as a racetrack. Likely just as fast. And with skin artificially paled to the point of flour and lips painted the color of blood, she was a wannabe vampire in a world of posers, all juiced up on a persona likely birthed from a bipolar emotional landscape.
Not that he was generalizing or anything.
“No,” he said. “I’m not looking for you.”
“You sure?” She did a little turn in front of him, flashing her bubble ass. “’Cause I’m worth the search.”
In his mind’s eye, all he could see was his Chosen, laid out before him, so beautiful and clean.
“Sorry,” he muttered as he turned and walked away.
After Selena had left him and iAm in the kitchen together, she hadn’t come back: When everyone had been called down to the dining room to hear the horrible news about the King, he’d expected to see her there. No-go.
And he wanted to head up to Rehv’s great camp to see her. Things between them were too open-ended for his liking, but he had the sense that getting down to the nitty-gritty was going to make him feel worse.
Her as well.
He really just needed to let the whole sitch with her go—
From across the way, one of the professional whores, a brunette in skin-tight red leather, met his eye, and he did a quick head-to-toe on her.
Yeah, he thought. She’d do.
When he motioned for her to come over, she was more than happy to weed through the crowd and close the distance. “Hey, boss.”
Shit, he really, totally hated doing this. “I got a private client I need some special services for. You interested?”
“Always.” She glanced around. “Is he here tonight?”
“Remote location. Tomorrow at noon. I’m going to ask two others.”
“Fun. Don’t bother with Willow, though, okay? She’s been a pain in the ass lately.”
“Roger that.”
“Thanks for thinking of me, boss.” She smiled and gave him a hip check. “I’ll be sure your buddy has a great time.”
As she sauntered away, Trez thought about maybe, possibly … yeah, pretty much definitely … ralphing his dinner all over the polished black floor.
In search of fresh air, he made his way to the entrance, and fronted like he was merely checking in with Ivan and the new guy at the head of the wait line. And then he just started walking, hoofing it in no particular direction even though he didn’t have a coat on and his Ferragamos were not good on the slick sidewalks.