The Chosen

  So he had hunkered down in a walk-up that had offered visibility and plenty of plain glass to dematerialize out of if he heard even a whistle of the wind that he didn't like. And as the time had passed, his thoughts had strayed frequently to Layla, which had been of benefit as the images in his mind of her naked had warmed his body and kept him alert through unaccustomed fatigue. With the dawn coming closer and closer, he had had no solid plan of what to do upon its arrival, his only conclusion that he would not be returning to that ranch house.

  At least with the rise of the sun, he wouldn't have to be worried about the Brothers still searching for him.

  The issues with noontime light affected them equally.

  Except then his males had arrived, materializing out of the storm like wraiths coming in for a landing in a cemetery, their great bodies appearing in the midst of the falling snow one by one. So happy he had been to see them that he had opened his mouth to call out from his perch at the window. Years of training in war, however, had silenced him before he had emitted a syllable of greeting.

  It had taken everything he had in him to wait for a time, just to make sure they had not been followed.

  And as he had entered their lair, he had been unsure of his welcome, worried that the power structure that he had once created and enforced so brutally had caused an irreversible mutiny.

  Instead, he had been welcomed as a brother. One whose assumed demise had been sorely mourned.

  Oh, how he wished they could stay a little longer in this mood of camaraderie, this emotional reunion. But he had little time, and the longer he was with them, the less safe they were.

  "So you escaped from the Brotherhood," someone chuffed with pride. "How many of them did you kill?"

  He thought of Qhuinn trying to claw his way through those gates in that cave. "I killed none of them. And I am not free."

  "Whate'er does that mean?" Zypher asked.

  In the steady glow of the male's electric torch, Xcor crossed his arms over his chest and looked each one of his bastards in the eye. "I have given my vow unto the Blind King. I have sworn my allegiance to the throne."

  The silence that came after his pronouncement was expected.

  "You were coerced, then?" Zypher said. "For the price of your freedom, you granted Wrath your pledge?"

  "No, I granted it to him after I got free."

  Balthazar shook his head. "The Chosen, then."

  "No, the King, then." Xcor spoke slowly and clearly, relying on their long years of surviving in the field of battle together to give his words the weight of his full conviction. "I have come unto Wrath, son of Wrath, of my own free will, irrespective of the Chosen Layla, and not in the manner of making amends for my previous actions."

  "You have subjugated yourself?" Zypher asked.

  "Aye. And I say unto you all, the King seeks your oaths as well."

  "Is that an order from you?" Zypher inquired.

  "No." Xcor once again met the eyes of his fighters. "He seeks it in return for your freedom from a death sentence. He shall release each and every one of you of your treason, and entertain a safe return for you to the Old Country, if you come unto him and swear your loyalty."

  "But you are not commanding us to do so?"

  "I shall fight side by side with any of you until the night I die. But I will never force you to bow your heads before a leader. I respect you too much for the likes of that, and besides, I suspect that Wrath would know it. For all of his blindness...he sees things with a great clarity."

  There were murmurs among the group. And then a deep voice said, "What did they do to you."

  It was Syn, and it was not a question.

  "They kept me alive."

  "A traitor unto them," the bastard said as he stepped forward. "A traitor unto their King and they kept you alive?"

  "I was injured in the field. They took me in and kept me alive."

  Zypher shook his head. "Wrath is not known for his weakness any more than you are. That does not make sense."

  "It is the truth." Xcor offered both his hands unto the heavens, raising them up. "I offer you naught but what happened. I was injured in the field, they took me in, and they ensured that I survived." So that they could torture him, true. But if he wanted peace between the Brotherhood and the Bastards, he was going to redact that. "I escaped and now I have come unto you."

  "This makes no sense," Syn echoed in his low, evil voice. "You escaped, but then how did you make an oath to Wrath? Were you held by a faction of the Brotherhood, unknown to the King?"

  "The details are unimportant."

  "The hell they are. And I do not understand this oath. It is not your nature to be under another."

  Xcor smiled coldly. "I do not believe I have heard you speak this much in a very long time, our Syn."

  "If there is ever cause for conversation, this would be it. And so I say unto you again, this makes no sense and I do not comprehend the bowing of your head to another."

  "My thinking has evolved."

  "Or your cock has."

  Before Xcor could think twice, he flashed up in Syn's face even though the other fighter had considerable weight on him.

  Baring his fangs, Xcor said, "Do not o'erstep. I am in an egalitarian mood, but that only goes so far."

  The two of them stayed eye to eye, chest to chest, for quite some time, the others backing away in the event that the conflict exploded.

  "Over a female, then," Syn drawled.

  "Over the love of my life. And well you remember that, bastard."

  As Xcor spoke, his bonding scent flared, and that got the other male's attention, Syn's brows popping high, his recoil subtle but well noticeable to one who knew him to the marrow--which Xcor did.

  After a moment, Syn's incline of the head was slight, but unassailable. "Apologies."

  "Accepted. And she has nothing to do with this." The group took a collective deep breath as the aggression dissipated, but Xcor did not give them time to relax. "As I said, in exchange for your vows, Wrath will release you all from punishment, but you must return to the Old Country. As must I."

  Zypher laughed a little. "Indeed, that is where we had plans to be the now. We were in the process of departing, but then this snowfall? It prevented us surely as if this reunion were preordained by the Scribe Virgin."

  "Fortuitous, indeed."

  The assembled fell quiet, and Xcor permitted them ample time to study him and think upon what he'd said. But he could not tarry among them for much longer.

  He'd already been shot at once tonight. He didn't want to bring the Brothers unto them.

  "So that is what is upon the table," he said. "And I shall leave you to your considerations. If you choose not to comply, there is a reasonable chance that should you return unto the Motherland, you will be safe for some time. But it will be an existence I personally am well tired of. You shall never not look over your shoulder, and make no mistake, Wrath shall come for you. It will take a while, as there are other priorities that capture his attention the now. In the end, however, his vengeance will find you. He is a male of peace, but not of castration."

  "Wait," Balthazar interjected. "If you are with the King, why is it not safe for us to be around you? I presume that is why you are departing."

  Xcor hesitated, and then concluded certain information was their due. "There are some among the Brotherhood who are not accepting of my oath."

  "The father of the Chosen's young, then," one of his fighters said.

  Xcor let that stand, as it was both a logical conclusion and nobody's business. He had never denied the Chosen Layla was with young, but nor had he ever commented upon it--and he was certainly not about to discuss his private life now or ever with anyone.

  Xcor went back over to the exit. "I shall leave you presently. There is much for you to ponder among yourselves. I will find you twenty-four hours from now, at our meeting place. You shall give me your answer then."

  He suspected that they all knew what they were g
oing to do already. But he needed time to ensure that if he brought them to Wrath, his males would be safe.

  "Where will you go?" Zypher asked.

  "I will see you at four a.m. tomorrow night." Xcor turned away. And then before he opened the way out, he looked over his shoulder. "I never thought I would see you again."

  The fact that his voice cracked was nothing he could change. And it was also evidence of how much he had changed.

  And it wasn't that he was a new male, he reflected as he steeled himself and re-entered the cold and the snow.

  No, it was more that he had resumed who he had originally been, the transformation a comeback to the male that ambition and cruelty had eclipsed. And he found the return was as welcome as the sight of those fighters who were the only family he had ever known, the only ones who had accepted him when all others, both of blood and of stranger, had turned him away.

  As snow lashed at his face and wind cut through the outerwear he had borrowed, he prayed that he could broker a true peace with the King he had sought to overthrow such that his soldiers could be safe.

  If he could not be with the female who had his heart and soul? At least he could take care of the fighters who had served him so well for so long.

  He had much to make up for.

  FORTY-FIVE

  The following evening, Layla woke up and immediately reached for her young--but there was no need for concern. Rhamp and Lyric were right beside her on the bedding platform in the Scribe Virgin's private quarters, their precious lashes down, their deep breathing and expressions of concentration evidence of the effort it took to grow big and strong.

  As she rolled over onto her back, she had a sense that night was arriving down below on earth. It was always thus, some transmutation of the shift there from light to dark, season to season, reverberating up to the Sanctuary.

  Moving carefully so as not to disturb her young, she got to her feet and took a lingering look at those sweet faces. It had been a lovely time, this private interlude, every moment savored, each touch and smile, every cuddle and stroke, something that she filled her heart with.

  How was she going to leave them?

  It was going to be so hard, a ripping off of what had healed during these quiet, poignant hours.

  To save herself from tears, she pivoted away and padded over the white marble floor. The thought that she had slept in the Scribe Virgin's personal space with her young was nearly too bizarre to comprehend, but then she couldn't have imagined a night when the mother of the race was gone and there was a visitation schedule in place for her and Qhuinn.

  Alas, however, change came unto you when it did, and sometimes all you could do was yield and make the best of it.

  And besides, the quarters had been most accommodating, the bedding so soft, the white marble floors, walls, and cabinetry, soothing, the--

  Layla frowned. Across the way, one of the closet doors was open ever so slightly. Odd. The banks of marble panels with their nearly invisible pulls had been fully flush when she had come in here to rest.

  Going over, she was nervous for no good reason. It wasn't as if the Scribe Virgin was in there hiding or something.

  Hooking a finger into the pull, she opened things up, not knowing what to expect--

  "Oh...my."

  Zebra print leggings. A black leather jacket. Boots as big as your head, a pink feather boa, blue jeans, Hanes T-shirts in white and black--

  "I tried not to wake you."

  Layla wheeled around at the male voice and slapped her hand over her mouth so she didn't rouse the young. When she saw who it was, however, she dropped her arm and frowned in confusion...and then downright shock.

  No, it couldn't be...

  Lassiter, the Fallen Angel, smiled and came across to her, his blond and black hair swinging down to his hips, his gold piercings and chains making him glow.

  Or mayhap he glowed now for another reason.

  Layla cleared her throat as the implications piled one upon another upon another. "Are you...is she...did she...what is..."

  "I know you're stammering because you're just so excited," he said, "that you're rendered speechless."

  Layla shook her head--then quickly nodded so she didn't offend. "It's just...I mean...you?"

  "Yup, me. The Scribe Virgin picked me, me, me." He made a show of skipping around like a six-year-old with a sucker and tap shoes. Except then he cut the act and got dead serious, staring into her eyes with a hard expression. "I haven't told anyone yet, and neither can you. I just figured if you're going to be staying here with the kidlets, you'd find out sooner or later because I'm moving in."

  She looked to the bed in alarm, but he put up his palms. "Oh, I won't be here when you are. I know you want your privacy and I respect that. I also want to help you out. You've been through a thing, haven't you."

  Lassiter's compassion and understanding was so unexpected that she teared up. "Oh, dearest Virgin Scribe, I am so--" She stopped herself as she realized that particular incantation no longer applied. "Um..."

  "Yeah, I'm not a virgin and I hate writing. So you're going to have to use different verbiage. I was thinking of going with Grand Exalted Pooh-Bah, but I believe the humans already have one, damn it."

  "Ah..." As she faltered, she was just so shocked, she couldn't think of anything to say. "Well, I'm sure you'll come up with something."

  Goodness only knew what it would be, though.

  "And as for these quarters," she said, "I don't want to inconvenience you. I'll move us to the dormitory--"

  "Nah, I don't sleep here. I just put some clothes in there to see how it felt, is all. The promotion's been an adjustment for me, too--you know, trying to find out what powers I have." He leaned in conspiratorially. "I.e., how much I can get away with. Hey! Did you know I can make snow?"

  "What?"

  "Snow." He made a show of something falling by wiggling his fingertips. "I can make a shitload of snow. And you know what is going to be even more fun? Watching the human scientists try to figure out why that storm down there happened. They're going to start talking all about climate change and weather patterns, but I had to help your boy out."

  "Xcor? I'm sorry...I don't understand."

  "Long story. Anyway, how you doing? How're the kids?"

  You know, like there was nothing else going on. "Forgive me, ah, um..."

  "Let's try Your Excellency."

  Layla blinked. "All right. Forgive me, Your Excellency, but how did you help Xcor?"

  "Needed to keep his fighters on the northern seaboard. So helllllllooo noooooor'easter."

  "So he found them!"

  "You know, it turns out destiny is a lot of work for someone like me." He shrugged. "Who knew it took this much effort to give people a chance to exercise free will. It's like the world is a chessboard for each and every person I'm in charge of. So I'm, like, playing a hundred thousand different games all at once."

  "Wowwww."

  "I know, right? Thank God for ADHD!" He grinned--and then frowned. "Actually, I guess that's more thank me for it."

  Layla had to smile. "You will certainly be a change, Your Excellency."

  Lassiter squirmed his shoulders. "No, that's weird. Let's try Eminence. I've got to get something I'm comfortable with here."

  "All right, Your Eminence."

  He cracked his neck. "Nope. Also not it. We're going to have to work on this title thing--oh!" The Fallen Angel--er, head of everything...um...jumped like he'd been poked in the side. "Okay, so I've got to go. You take care, and you know what you've got to do next."

  "I do?"

  "Yup. You have a card to play, a piece to move, as it were. You know what it is. And remember"--he put his forefinger to his lips--"shhhhhhh. My new job is our little secret until further notice."

  "Oh, but of course--"

  "Toodles!"

  With that, Lassiter up and disappeared, a fall of shimming sparkles hitting the floor--just as, at that very moment, Cormia appeared in the
open doorway to the private quarters.

  "How did everyone get on?" the female asked.

  Ah, he'd left so he wasn't seen, Layla thought.

  With a shake, she pulled herself together. "Oh, ah, very well. Very well indeed, thank you."

  The other Chosen walked over to the young. "Hi, guys. Are you waking up? Well, hello, there."

  Surreptitiously, Layla went over and shut the closet door so the zebra print wouldn't show--and then she tried to smile as if she didn't know what she did, hadn't heard what she had. "They have done so well. I kept them to schedule, of course. Let me just gather our trash and we'll head back down."

  She went over to the duffel she'd stashed the used diapers in and slung the thing up on her shoulder. Then she approached the bed.

  "I'm sure Qhuinn will be excited to see them. I know I was when I...anyway, I'm glad you came to help with the transport again. Thank you."

  Cormia's eyes were sad, but her voice steady and deliberately cheerful. "Of course! Which one would you like to take?"

  "Rhamp, as I had Lyric on the way up." Shuffling the duffel so it hung behind her, she addressed her son. "Have to split my time. Fair is fair, after all."

  She glanced over as Cormia picked up Lyric. She couldn't help it. It wasn't that she didn't think the Chosen knew what she was doing...but it was a mahmen thing.

  A mom thing, as Beth would have termed it.

  "Did anything exciting happen?" Cormia asked as she took Lyric into her arms. "Hmm? Any news flashes of note?"

  "No," Layla murmured. "Not at all."

  --

  "I got the job, I goooot the joooooob..."

  Therese continued to talk to herself in the mirror as she threw on a little eye makeup and hit her hair with the straightener. She was going to pull the stuff back so it was out of her face and looked tidy, but if she didn't calm things down a little first, she always felt like she had a tutu shooting out the back of her head.

  Funny, she'd always assumed she got all those waves from her mom.

  Turned out that was a big, fat nope.

  Unplugging the wand, she double-checked she hadn't overdone it with the foundation and blusher. Then nodded at herself. "You got this."

  Just as she went to turn off the light, a cockroach scurried by in front of the stained tub, and she had to catch herself so she didn't stomp it flat--she didn't have shoes on yet. That woulda been hella nasty.