"We have to get you out of here," she said urgently. "You can take my vein, and after we're safe, we'll...I don't know, we'll have you talk to them or..."
Abruptly, she remembered Vishous telling her that Xcor had left the key to the gates behind when he'd escaped the Tomb. Surely that meant something? If he intended harm or retaliation, he would have taken it with him, right? And the Brotherhood had to know that, had to interpret that as a sign of peace...right?
"We need to--"
"Layla." Xcor's thin voice was urgent. "Layla, look at me--"
She shook her head as she sat back from him. "There isn't time! You're freezing to death--"
"Shh." His navy blue eyes softened. "I am warm in my soul with you before me. That is all I need."
"Please take my vein? Please--"
" 'Tis a fine way to die, in your arms. A better death than I deserve for certain." Against everything that was rational, his gray lips smiled. "And I have something I need to tell you--"
"You're not going to die, I won't let you--"
"I love you."
Layla's breath caught. "What...?"
His dying smile became something close to wistful. Or mayhap worshipful was the better word. "With all of my black and withered heart, I love you, my female. I deserve not the earth beneath your feet, nor the scent of you in my nose, and never the gift of your blood, but I...I am e'er grateful for the change that you wrought upon me. You have saved me, and the only thing greater than my love for you is my gratitude."
He spoke quickly in the Old Language, as if he were aware that he was running out of time.
"I am at peace and I love you, Layla." Xcor reached up, bringing an immobile claw toward her face. When he brushed her cheek, she gasped at how icy his skin was. "And I can go now--"
"No, please, no--"
"I can go."
That smile of his was going to haunt her for the rest of her life: He must have been in excruciating pain, and yet there was peace all over him, emanating from him. On her side? It was the opposite. There was no peace for her. If he lived, they had a terrible fight before them. If he died? He was taking a part of her to the Other Side as well.
"Xcor, please--"
"It's better this way."
"No, no, it's not, don't leave me--"
"You will let me go." His tone became stern. "You will walk forth from this moment with your head held high, knowing you have been honored and adored, even if just by the likes of me. You will let me go and live your life with your young and find someone worthy of you."
"Don't say that!" Layla wiped the tears from her cheeks with impatience. "And we can fix this."
"No, we cannot. You must let me go and then go forth out of this forest, clean of the sin I brought unto your life. The fault was, and is, all mine, Layla. You have never done anything wrong, and you must know that you are safer and better off without me."
She leaned forward once more and brushed his matted hair from his forehead. Thinking back to Qhuinn's anger and the issues with their young, it was hard to argue with those words. As much as it was killing her to lose him, it was impossible to contradict the chaos Xcor had wrought in her life.
"Swear to me you will move forward," he demanded. "I cannot be at peace unless you swear it."
She put her hands to her face. "I feel as if I am breaking in half."
"No, no, this is a joyous night. I have wanted to speak my truth for so long, but it was never right. First because I denied it, then because I fought it and sent you away from me. Now that I am departing this mortal coil, though, I am free--but more importantly, so are you. There was no good ending to us, Layla, my love. There will be a good ending for you, however. You shall be forgiven by the Brotherhood, for they are right and just, and they know I am the evil, and you are not. You shall go on and be the mahmen you are meant to be, and you shall find a male worthy of you, I promise. I am but an obstacle in your destiny, something to be surmounted and left behind. You will go on, my love, and I will watch over you."
Layla opened her mouth to speak, but then he coughed a little, groaned, and shuddered.
"Xcor?"
He took a deep breath and his lids lowered. "I love you..."
As his voice drifted into silence, it was as if all his life force went out of him at once, his corporeal form deflating, his energy spent.
As his head settled back into the snow, she hadn't even realized he'd lifted it. And then there was another of those shuddering breaths, and the light in his eyes dulled even further.
He remained at peace, though. He seemed--
The snap of a twig right in front of her brought her head up and she gasped.
Standing before them, with his boots planted wide and a gun in his hand...was the Brother Vishous.
And his face was so emotionless and composed, it was as if he were an executioner wearing a mask.
--
Xcor felt like he was underwater. His already frail physical state had so degraded from exposure to the cold and the elements that it was as though he had to swim to an unreliable surface against a powerful undertow to hold onto consciousness--and he was not going to last much longer. His message to Layla had been of sufficient import to provide him with extra strength, but once his words had been imparted, he was fading fast.
Her lovely face, though. Oh, her beautiful face.
He was so very glad he had never made love to her. That would have been selfish on his part, a session of passion that would have left her truly sullied for the rest of her life. Better that she should continue on as pristine for the male who would truly claim her as his own.
Although, dearest Virgin Scribe, it killed him to think about that.
But alas, he loved her enough to let her go and wish her all of the best that life had to offer--and his clarity around that was, he supposed, the very highest and kindest thing he had ever done.
Mayhap the only high and kind thing.
"I love you," he whispered.
He'd meant for that to come out more loudly, but he was losing the battle to drag oxygen into his lungs--and thus, to conserve strength and give them a little more time, he stopped trying to speak and contented himself with staring at her. Funny, the way he had merged her arrival here in the forest with that memory of his past, his addled brain inserting her as a rescuer into a terrible recollection.
Then again, whether it be in real life or in the relative fiction of recall, she was his goddess and his miracle--indeed, even his savior, in spite of the fact that he was not going to live through this. And he was so lucky to have--
The instant her eyes shifted from him to something that startled and then frightened her, he was energized with purpose, his body responding as any bonded male's would, his flesh prepared to defend and protect even if whatever it was turned out to be naught but a gentle, scampering deer.
That was the extent of his reaction, however, his instincts seeking to mobilize that which could no longer be moved. He did, however, manage to turn his head ever so slightly and shift his eyes.
Such that he could behold his killer--assuming nature didn't move more swiftly than the Brother Vishous. And given that gun, what were the chances of that.
In Xcor's peripheral vision, he took note as Layla put her palms forth and slowly rose to her feet. "Vishous, please don't--"
Xcor found his voice once more. "Not in front of her. Do not do it in front of her if you have any decency. Send her away and then dispatch me."
Layla crumpled back down beside him, spreading her arms wide to shield him. "He's a good male. Please, I beg of you--"
With supreme effort and pain that nearly made him pass out, Xcor twisted to meet the diamond eyes of the Brother, and as the two stared at each other, Layla continued to plead for a life that was not worth saving.
"Stop, my love," Xcor said to her. "And go now to leave us. I am at peace, and he will do what brings peace to the Brotherhood. I am guilty of treason and this will wipe the stain of me clean from y
our life and theirs. My death frees you, my love. Embrace the gift that destiny has brought us both."
Layla brushed her cheeks again. "Please, Vishous. You told me you understood. You said--"
"Just not in front of her," Xcor demanded. "A criminal's last request. An opportunity for you to prove yourself as a better male than I."
Vishous's voice was loud as thunder compared to the weakness of Xcor's own. "I already know I'm better than you, asshole." The Brother looked at Layla. "Get out of here. Now."
"Vishous, I beg of you--"
"Layla. I'm not going to ask you again. You know exactly what you stand to lose and I suggest you think of those young of yours. You got enough fucking problems of your own right now."
Xcor closed his eyes in sorrow. "I am so sorry, my love. That I e'er drew you into this."
There had been only two females of significance in his life: his mahmen, who had forsaken him at every turn...and his Chosen, whom he had hurt on too many levels to count.
He had been a curse to them both, as it turned out.
"Vishous, please," Layla begged. "You told me he wasn't evil. You said--"
"I lied," the Brother muttered. "I fucking lied. So leave. Now."
NINETEEN
Trez came back to consciousness to find himself staring up at a flat ceiling that was painted white. Wait...weren't all ceilings flat by definition? Not really, he supposed. Not the textured kind people had favored in the seventies, those ones that looked like old-fashioned white boiled icing. And then there were the ceilings of caves, he supposed...rather bumpy. Theaters often had descending steps in elevation that helped with acoustics--
Hold up, what was the question?
Blinking, he became aware of a pounding headache in the rear of his skull--
His brother's face, as familiar as his own, came into his line of vision and cut off the ceiling debate.
"How you doin'?" iAm asked.
"What happened? Why did I--" Trez went to sit up--but then stopped that nonsense when the back of his head pounded. "Fuck me this hurts."
Yeah, and then there was the place where his gun had bitten into the lower part of his spine. He should really start holstering that damn thing under his arm. Then again, when was the last time he'd pulled a case of the Victorian vapours?
"Are you okay?" iAm prompted.
"No, I'm not fucking okay." Right, at least he knew the part of his cerebral cortex that supplied f-bombs was still functioning properly. "I don't know what hit me. I came around the corner and--"
Just as he remembered the female in the doorway to iAm's office, he jerked upright and ripped his head around...and there she was, standing against the wall of this squat corridor, her arms around her middle, her face all tense.
Selena's face all tense.
"Leave us," Trez said hoarsely.
She bowed a little. "Yes, of course, I--"
"Not you. Him."
iAm put his face in the way so Trez couldn't see her. "Listen, we need to--"
"Get out of here!" As Trez snapped, the female recoiled, and that was probably the only thing that could have chilled him even a little. "Just...let me talk to her."
The female...his Selena...put her palms out. "I really should go, I feel bad enough already."
Trez closed his eyes and swayed. Her voice. That voice. It was the one that had been haunting him, night and day, the exact pitch and intonation, the slight huskiness, the--
"Is he going to pass out again?" she asked.
"No," iAm muttered. "Unless, of course, I hit him with a pan. Which is really appealing at the moment."
Trez popped his lids open again because he was suddenly paranoid. "Is this a dream? Am I dreaming?"
The female looked back and forth between him and his brother as if she were praying iAm manned up to answer that one.
"I just want to talk to you," Trez said to her.
"Wait for us in the kitchen for a sec," iAm told the female. And before Trez could get on his high horse again, the guy cut in, "She'll talk to you, but only if she wants to. I'm not going to make her, and whatever the outcome on that, you're going to listen to me first."
The female took a last look at Trez and then nodded and walked off.
"Who is she?" Trez asked in a broken voice. "Where did she come from?"
"It's not Selena." iAm got to his feet and paced around. Which amounted to little more than three short steps one way, a tight turn, and two back toward Trez. "She's not your female."
"She's Selena--"
"No, according to her resume..." iAm ducked into his office, leaned over his desk, and picked up a single sheet of paper. "Her name is Therese, and she's just moved to Caldwell. She's looking for a waitress job as she puts down roots here."
As his brother held the thing out to him, Trez stared at the eight-and-a-half-by-eleven and wondered if he could remember how to read.
"I don't understand," he mumbled. "She looks exactly like Selena. And her voice..."
He took the resume and his eyes bounced around, playing paintball with the words, only hitting some. Detroit, Michigan. Thirty-four years old. Had had a number of jobs through the decades, some in IT, some in food service. No mention of her bloodline, but she wouldn't have put that on the thing if she were using it to apply for human jobs as well. Clearly, though, she had to be a civilian as opposed to a member of the glymera, because aristocrats didn't let their unmated daughters apply for waitressing jobs.
Oh, God...what if she were mated?
"She is not Selena." iAm's face was grim. "I don't care who she looks like, this is not your dead mate coming back to you."
--
Therese stood just inside the bustling kitchen and wondered whether or not she should leave.
She had found the job opening on a closed Facebook group for vampires only and had emailed in her resume. She had also applied for two other positions, one at a human call center on the night shift, and the other for a company that needed data processing, which she could do from home. Out of the three, this waitressing gig had been her first choice, because the call center had no guaranteed income and the data processing was going to be tough because the rooming house she was staying in, which was all she'd been able to afford, didn't have Wi-Fi.
It barely had running water, for godsakes.
Staring down at the floor, she thought about that giant male fainting right in front of her, landing where she'd been standing. Unbelievable. And whereas the drama would ensure she was remembered by the restaurant's owner, it wasn't for any reason that would help her get the job.
Not unless he was looking for people who inspired others to lose consciousness.
With a frown, she pictured the male who'd hit the ground, his face, his eyes...his body. He'd been really extraordinary. But a crazy attraction to a guy who couldn't stay upright was not what she had come here for. A job. She needed a job so that her savings, slim as they were, would not get burned out before the end of the month.
There was no going back to where she'd come from. No returning to Michigan--
The owner came around the corner and took a deep breath. "So, listen."
"I don't want to be a problem or anything." Even though she didn't know what she had done exactly. "I can, you know, just go."
The owner looked away, seeming to focus on the lineup of chefs making ambrosia at the stoves. "It's not your fault. My brother...he's been through a lot."
"I'm so sorry."
The owner rubbed the top of his head, his nearly shaved hair not realigning itself in the slightest. He was a Shadow, just like his brother--well, duh--with those beautiful Shadow features and that dark skin. But it was the other one she wanted.
Wait. Not that she wanted him.
"Is he going to be all right?" she blurted. "It looks like he might need a doctor."
"We have a private one he can go to."
Therese lifted her brows. "Oh."
"It's just, you look like--"
The male i
n question entered the kitchen. God, he was so big, with shoulders that were heavy with muscle, and a chest that was padded with strength, and legs that were long and powerful. Handsome? Yup. Like, really good looking, with those lips, particularly the lower one, and that face with that deep-colored skin. He was dressed in white slacks, a gray silk shirt, and a black suit coat, and he looked...expensive and sexy--jeez, those loafers were so fine they had to have cost more than her room rent.
For, like, half the year.
His eyes, though, his eyes were what truly got her attention. They were dark as night, but hot as fire--and he was staring at her like she was the only thing that existed in the world...which didn't make a lot of sense. She wasn't bad looking, but she was no beauty queen, and she wasn't dressed up or anything.
"Can I just...speak with you for a sec?" he said.
Not a demand. Not at all. In fact, there was an ache to his voice that suggested he was at her mercy in some way.
"Ah...one of your pupils is a different size." Therese pointed to the left one. "I think you need a doctor more than you have to talk to anybody out of a set of scrubs."
"Fine. Will you take me to Havers's?"
"Who is he?"
"Our healer here in Caldwell."
Therese blinked. "I don't have a car."
"We can take his." The male nodded at his brother and put his palm out to the guy. "Gimme the keys."
The restaurant owner rolled his eyes. "No, I'll drive you--"
"That's okay," Therese found herself saying. "I don't have any plans for tonight, and in a weird way, I feel kind of responsible."
Later, she would wonder exactly why she stepped up. After all, the guy could have been a stalker ID-ing his next target, some kind of mentally unstable whack job in a city where she knew no one and had nobody to turn to if she got herself in over her head.
But her instincts told her she was not in danger.
Of course, it turned out that that assumption was wrong, although not because he presented any physical threat to her. No, it was damage of another sort that he eventually brought.
Sometimes, though, for destiny to work, it had to make sure you were blind going into things. Otherwise, you would turn your wheel and hit your brakes...and avoid your fate like the plague.