That wasn't Wellsie.
Holy shit, that was not his shellan. . . .
With a shout, Tohr jacked upright, ripping free of the dream. Slapping his hands on his thighs, he expected to find wet leather. But no, none of it had been real.
His arousal was back, however. And a thought he refused to give credence to surfaced and stank in the back of his mind.
As he stared down at his sex and cursed, the strong length of it made him think of the countless times he'd used it for pleasure and fun. . . and procreation.
Now he just wanted it to go limp and stay that way.
Settling back against the pillows, sorrow settled on him like a physical weight as he recognized the truth that the angel had spoken. He had not, in fact, let his Wellsie go on any level.
He. . . was the problem.
Chapter Twenty
From the vantage point behind binoculars, the mansion on the far side of the Hudson River looked enormous, a massive stack-on-stack of floors that sat boldly upon a rocky bluff. On every of its levels, lights glowed through glass panels, as if the thing had no solid walls.
"Quite a palace," Zypher remarked in the thick, balmy breeze.
"Aye," came a reply over on the left.
Xcor dropped the binocs from his eyes. "Too much exposure to daylight. 'Tis a roasting waiting to happen. "
"Mayhap he kitted out the basement," Zypher said. "With more of those marble tubs. . . "
Given the tone of his voice, the soldier was imagining females of different sorts in water with suds, and Xcor shot him a glare before resuming the watch.
Such a waste this was. Assail - son of one of the greatest Brothers there had ever been - could have been a fighter, a warrior, mayhap even a Brother, but his fallen Chosen mother had forced another path upon him.
Although one could argue if the bastard had had any cock at all, he would have forged his own destiny in pursuits other than those of marble tubing. As it stood, however, he was simply another useless drain upon the species, a dandy with naught worthwhile to do with his nights.
Although that could all change this evening.
Under these clouded skies, against the backdrop of flashes of lightning, this male was significant, at least for a short time. Granted, the circumstances of his relevancy might cost him his life, but if the history books served their purposes, he could well be remembered for playing a small role in the great turning point of the race.
Not that he knew any of this, of course.
Then again, one didn't expect chum to be aware it was attracting sharks.
Scanning the rolling grounds once again, Xcor decided the lack of trees and shrubs was the result of the clearing process prior to construction. No doubt an aristocrat would want manicured gardens; the fact that it made the house more difficult to get up close to was not the kind of thing Assail would consider.
The good news was that although it was likely there was steel in the structure of the house - as part of support beams, floor pinnings, roof joists - at least one could get in and out through all that glass.
"Ah, yes, here is the proud homeowner now," Xcor growled at the figure of a male striding out into the grand living room.
Not even drapes to hide his presence. It was as if he were a hamster in a cage.
The male deserved to die for being this stupid, and indeed, on Xcor's back, his scythe began to hum a little dirge.
Xcor increased the binoculars' magnification. Assail was taking something out of his breast pocket - a cigar. And naturally, the lighter was a gold one. He probably thought fire, like packaged meat, came only from stores.
It was going to be a pleasure to kill him.
Along with the others who would soon show up here.
Indeed, the glymera's Council had effectively stonewalled Xcor and his Band of Bastards. No invitation to a meeting. No greeting by its leahdyre, Rehvenge. Not even an official response to the letter that had been sent in the spring.