Lover Mine (22 page)

Maybe that was why he never complained about his impairment. Then again, they didn’t talk much, which was fine with her.

Although she did wonder what his life was like on the Other Side.

How she envied him his freedom.

They continued to go at it, working their way around the fountain, then over to the columns and toward the door that led out into the sanctuary. And back again. And around again.

They were both bruised and bleeding by the finish of the session, but it was no bother. As soon as their hands dropped to their sides and no more hits were exchanged, the injuries would begin to heal up.

The last punch that was thrown was hers and it was a stunner of an uppercut, catching the king’s chin like a ball and chain, throwing his head back, that hair once again flying.

They always seemed to agree without speaking when it was time to end.

They cooled down by walking side by side to the fountain, stretching out their muscles, cracking their necks back into place. Together, they washed their faces and fists in the clear, clean water and they dried themselves on soft cloths that Payne had asked to have at the ready.

In spite of the fact that they traded punches and not words, she had come to think of the king as a friend. And to trust him as one.

First time she’d ever had that.

And it was truly just friends. As much as she could admire from afar his considerable physical attributes, there was no spark of attraction between them—and that was part of the reason this worked. She wouldn’t have been comfortable any other way.

No, she wasn’t interested in something sexual from him or anyone else. Male vampires had a tendency to take over, especially highbred ones. They couldn’t help it—it was, once again, a case of what was in the blood determining behavior. She’d had quite enough of someone with an opinion about her life. The last thing she needed was another one of those.

“You okay?” Wrath asked as they sat on the lip of the fountain.

“Yes. You?” She didn’t mind that he always asked if she was all right. The first couple of times it had offended her—as if she couldn’t handle the post-sparring aches? But then she realized it had nothing to do with her sex—he would have asked it of anyone he so exerted himself with.

“I feel great,” he said, his smile revealing tremendous fangs. “That arm bar at the beginning was boss, by the way.”

Payne grinned so broadly her cheeks hurt. Which was another reason she liked to be with him. As he couldn’t see, there was no reason to hide her emotions—and nothing got her beaming more than him telling her she’d impressed him.

“Well, Your Highness, your turtles always kill me.”

Now he was smiling even wider and she was momentarily touched to think her praise meant something to him. “Deadweight has its uses,” he murmured.

Abruptly, he turned to her, the dark spectacles he always wore making her think, once again, that he looked cruel. And yet he’d proved that wasn’t the case over and over again.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks for this. Things are bad back home.”

“How so?”

Now he looked away, as if he were staring at the horizon. Which was likely a holdover from when he hid his emotions from people. “We’ve lost a female. The enemy has her.” He shook his head. “And one of ours is suffering for it.”

“Were they mated?”

“No . . . but he’s behaving as though they were.” The king shrugged. “I missed the connection between them. We all did. But . . . it’s there and it came out tonight in a big way.”

A hunger for the down-below, for the earthbound lives that were traumatic but vivid, had her leaning in. “What happened?”

The king pushed his hair back, his widow’s peak showing starkly against his golden brown skin. “He slaughtered a
lesser
tonight. Just slaughtered the bastard.”

“That’s his duty, no?”

“It wasn’t in the field. It was in the house where the slayers had imprisoned the female. The bastard should have been used for interrogation, but John just lit his ass up. John’s a good kid . . . but that kind of bonded-male shit—stuff . . . can be deadly and not in a good way, feel me?”

Memories of being on the Other Side, of righting wrongs and fighting, of—

The Scribe Virgin appeared through the doorway of Her private quarters, Her black robes floating slightly above the marble floor.

The king rose to his feet and bowed . . . and yet somehow didn’t appear subservient in the slightest. Another reason to like him. “Dearest Virgin Scribe.”

“Wrath, son of Wrath.”

And that was . . . it. As you weren’t supposed to address any questions to the mother of the race, and as Payne’s mother remained silent thereafter, there was a whole lot of nothing but air happening.

Yeah, because—fates preserve us—you wouldn’t want to tax that female with any inquiries. And it was clear why the interruption had occurred: Her mother didn’t want an intersection between Payne and the outside world.

“I’m going to retire now,” Payne said to the king. Because she would not be responsible for what came out of her mouth if her mother dared to dismiss her.

The king put his fist out. “Farewell. Tomorrow?”

“With pleasure.” Payne punched her knuckles against his, as he had taught her was customary, and headed for the door that led into the sanctuary.

On the other side of the white panels, the bright green grass was a shock to her eyes and she blinked as she went past the Primale Temple and down to the Chosen’s quarters. Yellow, pink, and red flowers grew in random bunches now, cheerful tulips mixing with jonquil and iris.

All spring blooms, if she remembered from her brief time on the earth.

It was always spring here. Ever on the verge, never to reach the full magnificence and brash heat of summer. Or least . . . what she had read summer was like.

The columned building wherein the Chosen resided was cut into cubelike rooms that offered a modicum of privacy to their tenants. Most of the spaces were empty now, and not only because the Chosen were a dying breed. Ever since the Primale had “freed” them, the Scribe Virgin’s private collection of ethereal do-nothings were thinning out thanks to trips to the Other Side.

Surprisingly, none of them had chosen to un- Chosen themselves—but unlike before, if they went over to the Primale’s private compound, they were allowed back into the sanctuary.

Payne went directly to the baths and was relieved to find she was alone. She knew her “sisters” didn’t understand what she did with the king and she’d just as soon enjoy the calming aftermath of the exercise without the eyes of others.

The communal washing suite was set up in a lofty marble space, the huge pool marked with a waterfall at the far end. As with all things in the sanctuary, the laws of rationality didn’t apply: The warm, rushing stream pouring over the lip of white stone was ever clean, ever fresh, even though it had no source and no evident drainage.

Taking off her modified robe, which she’d tailored to match Wrath’s
judogi
, as he called it, she waded into the pool with her undergarments still upon her. The temperature was always perfect . . . and made her long for a bath that was either too hot or too cold.

In the center of the great marble bowl, the water was deep enough to swim through, and her body relished the stretching motion of her weightless strokes.

Yes, indeed this was the best part of the sparring. Save for when she caught Wrath a good one.

When she got to the waterfall, she waded up toward it and unplaited her hair. It was longer than Wrath’s was, and she’d learned to not just braid the stuff, but tuck it up at the base of her neck. Otherwise, it was like handing him a tether to yank her around with.

Under the falling spray, bars of sweet-smelling soap awaited her palm, and she used one all over herself. As she turned around to rinse, she found that she was no longer alone.

But at least the dark-robed figure who had limped in was not her mother.

“Greetings,” Payne called out.

No’One bowed, but did not answer, as was her way, and Payne was abruptly sorry that she’d just left her robe on the flooring.

“I can get that,” she said, her voice echoing around the cavern.

No’One just shook her head and gathered up the cloth. The maid was so lovely and quiet, doing her duties without complaint even though she had some kind of disability.

Although she never spoke, it wasn’t hard to guess what her sad story was.

One more reason to despise She who had birthed the race, Payne thought.

The Chosen, like the Black Dagger Brotherhood, had been bred within certain parameters with a desired result intended. Whereas the males were to be thick of blood and stout of back, aggressive and worthy in battle, the females were calculated to be intelligent and resilient, capable of harnessing the males’ baser tendencies and civilizing the race. Yin and yang. Two parts to a whole, with the requirement of blood feedings ensuring the sexes were tied together forever.

But all wasn’t well within the divine scheme. The truth was, inbreeding had led to problems, and though in Wrath’s case the laws provided that, as son of the king, he was to take the throne with or without impairments, the Chosen were not so lucky. Defects were shunned by the breeding laws. Always had been. And so someone like No’One, who was handicapped, was relegated to serving her sisters under a cloak . . . a hidden, unspoken-of embarrassment that was nonetheless regarded with “love.”

Or “pity” was more like it.

Payne knew precisely how the female must feel. Not about a physical defect, but about being relegated to a slot of expectation that one couldn’t possibly live up to.

And speaking of expectation . . .

Layla, another of the Chosen, entered the bath and removed her robing, handing it over to No’One with the gentle smile that was her trademark.

The expression was lost as she lowered her eyes and entered the water. Indeed, the female seemed to be tangled in thoughts that were not pleasing.

“Greetings, sister,” Payne said.

Layla’s head whipped up and her brows rose. “Oh . . . verily, I knew not you were herein. Greetings, sister.”

After the Chosen bowed deeply, she sat on one of the submerged marble benches, and although Payne wasn’t a conversationalist, something about the dense quiet around the other female drew her.

Finishing her rinse-off, she swam over and settled beside Layla, who was sluicing puncture wounds on her wrist.

“Whom did you feed?” Payne asked.

“John Matthew.”

Ah, yes, the male to whom the king referred, perhaps. “Did it go as it should?”

“Indeed. It did indeed.”

Payne leaned her head back against the edge of the pool and stared at the Chosen’s blond beauty. After a moment, she murmured to the female, “May I inquire something of you?”

“But of course.”

“Wherefore the sadness. Always with you . . . you return in sorrow.” Even though she knew. For a female to be forced into sex and feeding just because it was tradition was an unconscionable violation.

Layla regarded the puncture marks on her vein with a kind of dispassionate absorption, as if she were puzzling over the wounds of another. And then she shook her head. “I shall not bemoan the glory I have been given.”

“Glory? Verily, you appear to have been given something else entirely.” A curse was more apt.

“Oh, no, ’tis a glory to be of service—”

“For truth, do not hide behind such words when your visage belies your heart. And as always, if you carry criticism of the Scribe Virgin upon your lips, come sit around my fire.” As a pair of shocked pale green eyes flipped up, Payne shrugged. “I’ve made no secret of how I feel. Ever.”

“No . . . indeed you have not. It just seems so . . .”

“Unladylike? Inappropriate?” Payne cracked her knuckles. “What a pity.”

Layla exhaled long and slow. “I have been properly trained, you know. As an
ehros
.”

“And that is what you don’t like—”

“Not at all. That is what I don’t know, but wish to.”

Payne frowned hard. “You are not used?”

“Verily, I was denied by John Matthew on the evening of his transition after I saw him safely through the change. And when I go to feed the Brothers, I am ever untouched.”

“I beg your . . .” Was she hearing that right? “You
want
to have sex. With one of them.”

Layla’s tone turned shrewd. “Surely you of all my sisters understand what it is like to be naught but a potential.”

Well . . . hadn’t she gotten the scenario all wrong. “With all due respect, I can’t fathom why you would want . . .
that
. . . with one of those males.”

“Why would I not? The Brothers and those three younger males are beautiful,
phearsome
creatures of strength. And with the Primale leaving us all unserved . . .” Layla shook her head. “To have been well taught and had it described and read about the act . . . I want to experience it for myself. Even if it is but once.”

“For truth, I cannot summon even the slightest inclination. Never have, don’t think I ever will. I’d rather fight.”

“Then I envy you.”

“Oh?”

Layla’s eyes seemed ancient. “Far better to be uninterested than unfulfilled. One is a relief. The other an emptiness with heavy weight.”

As No’One appeared with a tray of cut fruit and fresh juice, Payne said, “No’One, won’t you join us?”

Layla smiled up at the maid. “Indeed. Please do.”

With a shake of her head and a bow, No’One just left them the repast she had so thoughtfully prepared and went about her business, limping through the archway and out of the baths.

Payne’s frown stayed in place as she and the Chosen Layla fell into silence. Mulling over what had been exchanged, it was hard to understand how they could have opinions of such total opposite regard—and both be in the right.