BDB 13 The Shadows (5 page)

“Any night. I’ll know any night—the Queen’s due to give birth literally any moment.”

“I keep nothing from my King.”

Trez felt his phone go off again and he silenced it a second time. “Just tell him the dice are still rolling. We don’t know what we got. Maybe the star chart will not match mine—and then I’ll be free.”

“Will pass that on.”

There was a period of silence, and then Trez started to squirm. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

When there was no answer, he got to his feet, and brushed off his ass. And still those diamond eyes stared at him. “Hello? V—what the fuck.”

“You’re running out of time,” the Brother said in a low voice. “On two fronts.”

Trez’s phone went off again, but he wouldn’t have answered the damn thing even if he’d wanted to. “What are you talking about.”

“There are two females. And in both cases, you’re running out of time.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re—”

“Yeah, you do. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

No, because there was only one ticking time bomb in his life, thank God. “Is Rhage going to wake up, or does he need a crash cart?”

“This is not about him.”

“Well, it ain’t about me either. Seriously, does he require medical help?”

“No. And that is not what we’re talking about.”

“Wrong pronoun, buddy. I’m not in this conversation.”

Besides, who knew, maybe if the s’Hisbe shit went his way, he could work on the situation with Selena. After all, if he wasn’t the Anointed One, he was free to be …

Shit, unless he gave up his work here, he’d still be a pimp. In recovery from his sex addiction. Who was going to need therapy to get over bad-destiny PTSD.

Yeah, wow. Bachelor of the year over here.

And hell, it wasn’t like Selena seemed to miss him—and he didn’t blame her. His past with all those human women, even though he’d stopped with the whoring as soon as he’d kissed her, was nothing romantic. It was downright disgusting.

The months of celibacy hardly made up for his efforts to deliberately stain his physical body—

“I’m having a vision of you.” V rubbed his eyes.

“Look, unless you need me, I’ma—”

“For you, the statue will waltz.”

As Trez’s phone went off again, he found that the heebs had overtaken every square inch of his body. “With all due respect, I have no clue what you’re talking about. Take care of that Brother for however long you need to, no one’s going to disturb you here.”

“Be present. Even when you think it will kill you.”

“No offense, V, but I’m not hearing this. Later.”

I
n the training center’s medical suite, Luchas, son of Lohstrong, lay on his back in a hospital bed with his torso and head propped up on pillows. His broken body was stretched out before him, rather like a landscape raked by bombs, scars and missing pieces transforming that which had previously functioned normally and well into a hodgepodge of painful, debilitating dysfunction.

His left leg was the biggest problem.

Ever since he had been rescued from that oil drum the
lessers
had imprisoned him in, he had been in a period of “rehabilitation.”

Odd word for what was really going on for him. The official definition, as he had looked it up on a tablet, was to restore someone or something to its former state of normal functioning.

After so many months of physical and occupational therapy, however, he was confident in concluding that the nightly mental and bodily grind of movements both small and large was getting him no closer to his former self than it was successfully turning back time. The only things he knew for sure were: he was in pain; he still couldn’t walk; and the four walls of this hospital room, that were all he had known since he had been locked in that cramped stasis, were driving him insane.

Not for the first time, he wondered how his life had come to this.

And that was stupid. He knew the facts oh, so well. The night of the raids, the slayers had infiltrated his family’s regal home, as they had so many others. They had slaughtered his father and his
mahmen
, and done the same to his sister. When they had come to him, they had decided to spare his life so that he could be used as a guinea pig, a test for whether a vampire could be turned into a
lesser
. Incapacitating him, they had packed him away in an oil drum at some location and had stored him in the Omega’s blood.

There had been no experimentation, however. They had lost interest in him, or forgotten about him, or some other outcome had transpired.

Unable to get free, he had suffered in the black viscous void, living but barely alive, waiting for his doom to come, for what had felt like an eternity.

Unsure whether he had been in some way turned.

His mind, once a thing he had held with great pride for its scholarly achievement and capacity, had become as crippled as his body, twisting in on itself, once clear pathways of thought tangling into a dark nightmare of paranoia and terror.

And then his brother, the one he had never had time for, the one he’d looked down upon, the one he’d always felt so superior to … had arrived and become his savior. Qhuinn, the deviant with the blue eye and the green eye, the family embarrassment with the critical defect, the one who had been kicked out of the house and therefore not at home when the attack occurred, had turned out to be the only reason he had gotten free.

That male had also turned out to be the strongest member of the bloodline, living and working with the Black Dagger Brotherhood, fighting with honor, defending the Race against the enemy with distinction.

Whilst Luchas, the former golden boy, the heir to the mantle that no longer existed … was now the one with the defects.

Karma?

He lifted his now-mangled hand, staring at the stubs that were all that were left of four out of his five fingers.

Probably.

The knock upon the door was soft, and as he inhaled, he caught the scents on the other side. Bracing himself, he pulled the sheets up higher on his thin chest.

The Chosen Selena wasn’t alone, as she had been last evening.

And he knew what this was about.

“Come in,” he said in a voice he still didn’t recognize. Ever since his ordeal, his speech had been huskier, deeper.

Qhuinn came in first, and for a moment, Luchas recoiled. Whenever he had seen his brother previously, the male had been in civilian garb. Not tonight. He’d clearly come fresh from the theater of conflict, black leather covering his powerful body, weapons strapped on his hips, his thighs … his chest.

Luchas frowned as he noticed two particular fighting implements: His brother had a pair of black daggers upon his sternum, the handles facing down.

Strange, he thought. It was his understanding that such blades were reserved only for members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood.

Mayhap they allowed their soldiers to wear them as well now?

“Hey,” Qhuinn said.

Behind him, the Chosen Selena was silent as a ghost, her white robes floating around her slender body, her dark hair woven up high on her head in the traditional style of her sacred order.

“Greetings, sire,” she said with an elegant bow.

Glancing down at his leg, Luchas wanted desperately to get out of bed and pay her the respect she was due. Not an option. The limb was, as always, wrapped up tight in white gauze from toe to knee, and underneath that sterile dressing? Flesh that would not heal, the heat of the infection simmering like a pot of water on the verge of breaking into a boil.

“So they tell me you’ve stopped feeding,” Qhuinn said.

Luchas looked away, wishing there was a window so that he could feign distraction.

“Well?” Qhuinn demanded. “Is that true?”

“Chosen,” Luchas murmured. “Will you kindly permit us a moment alone?”

“But of course. I shall await your summoning.”

The door shut silently. And Luchas found that all of the oxygen in the room appeared to have departed with the female.

Qhuinn pulled a chair over to the bedside and sat down, propping his elbows on his knees. His shoulders were so wide, the leather jacket he had on creaked in protest.

“What’s going on, Luchas?” he asked.

“This could have waited. You shouldn’t have come in from fighting.”

“Not according to your vital signs.”

“So the doctor called you in, did she?”

“She talked to me, yes.”

Luchas closed his eyes. “I had a…” He cleared his throat. “Before all of this, I’d had a vision of what I would be doing, what my future was going to be. I was…”

“You were going to be like Father.”

“Yes. I wanted … all the things I had been taught defined a life as worth living.” He lifted his lids and glared at his body. “This was not it. This … I am as a young is. People tending to my needs, bringing me food, washing me, wiping me. I am a brain trapped in a broken vessel. I do nothing for myself—”

“Luchas—”

“No!” He slashed his mutilated hand through the air. “Do not placate me with promises of some future health. It’s been nine months, brother mine. Preceded by a captivity in Hell that lasted a century. I’m done with being a prisoner.
Done
with it.”

“You can’t kill yourself.”

“I know. Then I do not enter the Fade. But if I don’t eat, and I don’t feed, that”—he jabbed a finger at his leg—“will get the best of me and carry me off. Not suicide. Death by sepsis—isn’t that what Doc Jane is so worried about?”

With a sharp motion, Qhuinn took off his jacket and let it land on the floor. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Luchas put his hands over his face. “How can you say that … after all the cruelty in our household…”

“Not your doing. That was the ’rents.”

“I participated.”

“You apologized.”

At least that was one thing he’d done right. “Qhuinn, let me go. Please. Just let me … go.”

The silence lasted so long, Luchas began to breathe easier, thinking that his argument had been accepted.

“I know what it’s like to not have hope,” Qhuinn said roughly. “But destiny can surprise you.”

Luchas dropped his arms and laughed bitterly. “Not in a good way, I’m afraid. Not in a good way—”

“You’re wrong—”

“Stop—”

“Luchas. I’m telling you—”

“I’m a fucking cripple!”

“So was I.” Qhuinn pointed to his eyes. “All my life.”

Luchas turned away, staring at the cream-colored wall. “There’s nothing you can say, Qhuinn. It’s over. I’m tired of fighting for a life I don’t want.”

Another silence stretched out. Eventually, Qhuinn cursed under his breath. “You just need to feed and get your strength back—”

“I will e’er refuse her vein. You might as well accept this now and not waste any further time on arguments I find unpersuasive. I am done.”

As Selena waited in the corridor, exhaustion cloaked her in heavy folds that were no less real for being invisible.

And yet she was antsy. Fidgeting with her robing, her hair, her hands.

She did not like time that was unconsumed by her duties. With nothing to occupy herself, her thoughts and fears became too loud to contain within her skull.

And yet she supposed there was a utility in this solitude. If she could stand to take advantage of it.

What she needed to do as she stood out here was practice her good-bye. She should try to compose the words she wanted to speak before she ran out of time. She should get up the courage that was going to be required to say aloud that which was in her heart.

She was going to follow through on the impulse to tell Trez good-bye.

Of the many people she would leave behind, the Primale and her Chosen sisters, the Brothers and their
shellans
, Trez was the one whom she mourned already. Even though she hadn’t seen him in … many, many nights.

Even though she hadn’t been alone with him in … many, many months.

In fact, after they had ended their … relationship, or whatever it was, he had all but moved out of the mansion. No matter what time she had come or gone, she had not seen him face-to-face, and only on occasion caught a glimpse of his big shoulders as he headed in an opposite direction from her.

That he was avoiding her had been a treacherous relief at first. It was going to be hardest leaving him, and harder still if they had continued their assignations. But lately, as her time grew shorter and shorter, she had come to decide that she needed to tell him …

Dearest Virgin Scribe, what was she going to say?

Selena looked up and down the corridor, as if the perfect little monologue might obligingly march on by, at a pace leisurely enough so that she could memorize it.

For all she knew, he had forgotten their time together. By his own admission, he was well versed in finding female diversions of the human variety.

No doubt he had wiped the slate well clean.

And then there was the reality of him being promised to another.

She dropped her head into her hands. For her entire life, she had taken comfort and purpose from her sacred duty—so it was a shock to discover that as she drew closer and closer to her demise, the one thing she was driven to get right was her departure from a male who was not her own. With whom she had had an affair of the very shortest duration.

There had been many nights that she had spent in her bedroom up at the Great Camp, attempting to convince herself that what had happened with Trez was pure folly, but now, as time was running out? A strange clarity was focusing her. It mattered naught the why. Only that she accomplished the goal of telling him how she felt before she died.

She did not want to approach him too soon, however—rather embarrassing to pour out her soul to a potentially indifferent vessel and then linger for nights, weeks, months.

If only her expiration came with a date, as if she were a carton of milk—

Qhuinn emerged from the hospital room, and the tight expression on his harsh face cleared away her tangle of preoccupation.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “He is refusing again?”

“I can’t get through to him.”