Xcor was hanging up the house phone and starting to take off his borrowed parka when Layla ascended from the basement.
The instant he saw the tension in her face, he had regrets. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I’m late.”
She seemed surprised, and then simply shook her head as she came up to him. “I’m glad you’re back. I was worried.”
As her eyes lifted to his, he hated the sadness in them, especially because he knew he was the cause—and not for the first time since he left her earlier did he despise himself and the positions he put her in.
“Come here,” he whispered as he drew her against him.
Cradling her into his chest, against his heart, he rested his chin on the top of her head. And he would have been content to stay like that forever, but he had things he had to tell her.
“My love,” he said, “Wrath is—”
At that very moment, the slider opened and cold air rushed into the little kitchen. The Blind King was the first through the door, and Vishous was right on his heels.
“You rang,” Wrath said dryly. “And hello, Chosen.”
“Just Layla, please.” As Layla spoke, they all looked at her.
“What?” the King asked.
“I am just Layla, please, my Lord.”
The King shrugged. “Whatever you like. So Xcor, do you have an answer for me?”
“Aye.” Xcor glanced at Vishous, who watched every move he made with those diamond eyes. “And I fear you are not going to like it.”
“They said no, huh. Pity.” Now the King looked at the Brother. “Guess this means we’re going to war.”
This was uttered casually, as if it were naught of consequence, and Xcor had to respect the attitude. Warriors fought. It was what they were bred and trained for. If the Brotherhood thought that conflict with a band of five soldiers was of any particular note, they needed to retire their daggers.
“No,” Xcor interjected, “they did not say no. But they will not give you the oath.”
Vishous spoke up, his voice low, aggressive. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Xcor addressed Wrath. “They have sworn their oaths to me. I have sworn mine to you. They will follow you, but only because that is where I have placed my fealty. They will be led by no other than myself. That is the way of it.”
“Not good enough,” the Brother Vishous snapped. “Not by half, asshole.”
Xcor ripped off his glove and flashed his palm. “It was a blood oath. And those males will die for you, Wrath. Upon my orders.”
“That’s goddamn right,” Vishous barked. “When we slaughter—”
“Enough,” Wrath cut in.
There was a tense silence, and Xcor could feel Layla stiffen beside him. He would not try to tell her to go, however. She would not depart from him any more than his soldiers would.
Standing a’fore the King, Xcor met Wrath straight in the eye, even though the male was blind. Indeed, he had nothing to hide, no fight to present in this instance, no subterfuge or agenda to bring forth. And no matter the outcome tonight or any other, it was good. He was not afraid of death; the Bloodletter had taught him that. He had also discovered what love was, and she was standing next to him. Thus he was prepared to go forward with calm resolution, according to a fate that was out of his control.
So this was what peace felt like, he thought as he took off his other glove. When he reached for Layla’s hand it seemed apt that it was not with the one he used a dagger with.
“You believe this,” Wrath remarked. “You honestly do.”
“Aye. I have been through the war with these fighters of mine. They have followed me across the ocean—”
“Are they prepared to follow you back there?” Vishous muttered. “In body bags?”
“Aye, they are.” Xcor looked at the Brother. “But they have no war with you if I have none.”
Wrath crossed his arms over his chest, and Xcor had to respect the sheer size and musculature of the male. He was enormous and deadly, and yet his brain civilized him.
He was going to see the logic in this, Xcor thought.
And sure enough, a moment later the King nodded once.
“So be it,” Wrath said with a nod. “That is good enough for me—”
“Are you fucking kidding me—”
The King’s hand shot out so fast the eye could barely track it, and somehow, even without sight, he got the trajectory right, clamping a hold on the throat of his fighter. He didn’t even look in Vishous’s direction, his focus remaining on Xcor.
In response, Vishous didn’t defend himself, even as he was forced to gasp for breath, his goateed jaw dropping open.
“Don’t you love it when people know their places,” Wrath said to Xcor tightly. “When they understand those moments when they need to keep their fucking mouths shut.”
Xcor had to smile. Wrath and he were kin in some ways, weren’t they.
“Aye, my Lord,” he murmured.
Wrath dropped his hold. “Like I said, this is sufficient for me. But as you can tell, my boys are going to require a greater proof of concept.” The King touched the side of his nose. “I can scent you. I know this is what you believe, and our past conflicts aside, I don’t think you’re a fucking moron—nor do I believe for an instant that you would put those males of yours in the path of death.”
“He did once before,” Vishous cut in with a sneer. “That’s how Throe ended up with us.”
“Sounds like he got rid of the right one, though.”
Xcor nodded. “Aye. Which was why I warned you of him.”
Wrath inclined his head. “That was much appreciated. And we’ll deal with him after we settle this with your people.”
“You’re not going to have a problem with that, are you?” Vishous demanded of Xcor.
“No.” He shrugged. “That male goes his own way, and it is incompatible with yours and therefore mine. How you choose to address that is up to you.”
“Then that is settled as well.” Wrath smiled, revealing his tremendous fangs. “But as I was saying, my boys are going to require some proof. So we’re going to have ourselves a good old-fashioned swearing ceremony with witnesses.”
“I thought you were going to do this one on one,” Vishous said in a low voice—while he pointedly stepped out of choke range.
“The Band of Bastards will not attack us.” Wrath shook his head. “Not going to happen. He holds their chains, I can feel the power in him. A male like him isn’t this calm for no good reason, ain’t that true, Xcor.”
“Aye. They will not raise a weapon against any in the Brotherhood. I will gather them at midnight on the morrow and bring them to you wherever you command. It cannot be before then, however, as I have no way of reaching them until that time. We are out of communication for their safety in case”—he glanced at Vishous—“things go awry. You understand.”
Wrath chuckled a little. “Yeah, I feel you. So it is done—”
“What about your safety, Xcor?” Layla said with anger. “How will you be safe?”
The King fielded that one, speaking gently. “He’ll be fine, not to worry—”
Layla wheeled on Xcor. “Why don’t you tell him about how you were shot last night. And by who.”
As his female interrupted her ruler, Xcor deliberately did not change his expression. “I told you, my love, it was a lesser—”
“No, it was not.” Her eyes swung to Wrath. “They shot him last night.”
“No,” Xcor countered as he squeezed her hand, trying to silence her. “It was naught but a slayer.”
Across the tidy kitchen, Wrath’s brows dropped down behind his wraparound sunglasses, a chill hitting the air. And then he said, “I’m going to ask you this once, and you better be fucking honest. Did one of my males raise a gun to you at any time since you gave your vow to me?”
Xcor met the King’s blind stare and projected confidence. “No, they did not.”
By this time, he was gripping Layla’s hand so hard he was positive he must be hurting her, so he relented his hold. But he prayed she stayed quiet.