Proof positive that it wasn’t helpful to have a lot of bright ideas about your future.
THIRTY-THREE
Traditionally, in and among the glymera, when one entered the house of another, a calling card was to be placed upon a silver tray that was held out by the butler doggen of the host. The card was to have one’s unique name and lineage listed, and the purpose was to announce the visitor, whilst at the same time pay homage to the social mores that shaped and defined the upper classes.
However, when one could not write or read . . . or more to the point, when one preferred methods of communication that were more visceral and less viceroy?
Well, then one left the bodies of the dead he’d rendered in an alley for his “host” to find.
Xcor got up from the table he had been sitting afore and took his mug of coffee with him. The others were asleep below, and he knew he should join them, but there would be no rest. Not this day. Mayhap not the next.
Leaving those split yet writhing lessers behind had been a calculated risk. If humans found them? Trouble. And yet it was worth it. Wrath and the Brotherhood had too long ruled this continent, and to what end? The Lessening Society persisted. The vampire population had scattered. And those arrogant, flabby, feckless humans were everywhere.
Xcor paused in the downstairs hallway and looked around his permanent accommodations. The house that Throe had secured was indeed appropriate. Made of stone, it was old and on the outskirts, two measures of value that were highly appropriate for their purposes. At some point in its life, it had
been quite a showplace, but that time had faded and so had its gentility. Now, it was a shell of what it had been, and all of what he required: stout of wall, sturdy of roof, and more than big enough to house his males.
Not that anyone would be up in these aboveground rooms or the seven bedrooms on the second floor very often. Even though heavy drapery was pulled o’er every window, the countless panes of glass needed to be bricked in before things were really safe enough during the daylight hours.
Indeed, all stayed underground, in the cellar.
It was the good old days returned, he thought, for only in modern times had the conception of separate accommodations taken root. Afore they had eaten together, fucked together, and taken their repose as a group.
As soldiers should.
Mayhap he would require them to remain beneath the earth. Together.
And yet he was not down there with them and had not been. Antsy and unsettled, ready to pursue but lacking prey at the moment, he’d been going from empty room to empty room, stirring dust along with his desire to conquer this new world.
“I have them. All of them.”
Xcor stopped. Took a grab off the lip of his mug. Turned around. “How clever of you.”
Throe entered what had once been a rather grand parlor room, but was now naught but cold and empty. The fighter was still dressed in leather, except somehow he gave off an elegant appearance. Not a surprise. Unlike the others, his pedigree was as perfect as his golden hair and his sky blue eyes. So too were his body and visage: No defects dwelled upon him or within him.
He was, however, very much one of the bastards.
As the male cleared his throat, Xcor smiled. Even after all these years together, Throe was uncomfortable in his presence. How quaint.
“And . . .” Xcor prompted.
“There are remnants of two families in Caldwell at present. What is left of the other four main bloodlines is scattered around what is classed as New England. So some are mayhap up to five hundred to seven hundred miles away.”
“How many are you related to?”
More with the throat clearing. “Five.”
“Five? That would fill your social calendar rather quickly—planning on dropping by for any visits?”
“You know that I cannot.”
“Oh . . . indeed.” Xcor finished off his coffee. “I had forgotten you’d been denounced. Guess you shall have to tarry with us heathens herein.”
“Yes. I shall.”
“Mmm.” Xcor took a moment to enjoy the awkward silence.
Except then the other male had to ruin it: “You have no grounds to proceed,” Throe said. “We are not of the glymera.”