Rubbing his eyes, he wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing. Had he exhausted himself to the point of hallucination -
If he was seeing things, it wasn't exhaustion, some part of him pointed out.
"Don't say another word," he muttered as he brushed past his brother. "Not one goddamn thing. "
As V started talking under his breath, it was obviously a litany of all of Tohr's faults, real and imagined, but whatever. At least that shit was keeping the fucker's mouth busy as they strode out toward Wrath, John Matthew, and Qhuinn.
"Ready," Tohr announced.
None of them needed to about-fucking-time him verbally. Their expressions were loud enough.
Seconds later, the five of them rematerialized on the rolling lawn of a house so big you could keep an army in it. Tragically, only the owner was in residence, because that was all that was left of the bloodline.
They had been to so many houses like this over the last few months. Too many. And the stories were all the same. Families decimated. Hope gone. Those left behind limping, not living.
The Brotherhood did not take for granted that these visits were welcome, even though, naturally, no one turned down the king. And they did not take chances: With their guns in their hands, the formation they assumed as they approached the door was with Tohr in front of Wrath, V to the rear, John at the king's dagger hand, and Qhuinn on the other side.
Two more meetings like this to go and they could take a breather -
What went down next proved that tits up could happen in an instant.
Abruptly, the world started spinning, the sprawling antique house twisting and turning sure as if it had eggbeaters for a foundation.
"Tohr!" someone barked out.
A hand grabbed him. Somebody else cursed.
"Has he been shot?"
"Motherfucker - "
With a curse, Tohr shoved everyone off of him and regained his balance. "For chrissakes, I'm fine - "
V crawled so far up into his grill, the bastard was practically inside his nose. "Go home. "
"Have you lost your mind - "
"You're a liability here. I'm calling in for backup. "
Tohr was ready to argue, but Wrath just shook his head. "You need to feed, my brother. It's time. "
"Layla's prepared for it," Qhuinn tacked on. "I've been keeping her going on this side. "
Tohr looked at the four of them and he knew he'd lost. Christ, V already had his phone to his ear.
He also knew on some level they were right. But, God, he didn't want to face that ordeal again.
"Go home," Wrath commanded.
V put his cell away. "Rhage's ETA is - bingo. "
As Hollywood appeared, Tohr cursed a couple of times. But there was no fighting them. . . or his reality.
With all the enthusiasm of someone facing a limb amputation, he returned to the mansion. . . to go find the Chosen Layla.
Fuck.
Through his binoculars, Xcor watched the venerable Assail stride into a massive kitchen and pause at a window that faced the direction of the bastards.