As he waited for the reply, the reticence told him that he was right to be jealous, at least in one respect: Clearly his second in command felt the same way he did.
"Her name. "
"I do not know. "
"How long have you been seeing her?"
"I have not. I reached out to her solely on your behalf. I prayed for her to come and she did. "
Xcor inhaled long and slow, feeling his ribs expand without pain for the first time since he'd gone up against that fighter with the mismatched eyes. It was her blood in him. Indeed, what a miracle she was: That sense of drowning in his own body had alleviated, the thumping in his head dulling, his heartbeat settling to a steady rate.
And yet the power coursing through him, drawing him back from the brink, did not bode well for him and his soldiers. If this was what the Brotherhood enjoyed on a regular basis? Then they were stronger not just by virtue of bloodline, but sustenance.
At least it did not make them unbeatable. Syphon's shot had proven that even the purebred king had his vulnerable points.
But they were even more dangerous than he'd thought.
And as for the female. . .
"Are you going to call upon her again?" he asked his soldier.
"No. Never. "
No hesitation in that - which suggested it was either a lie or a vow. For both their sakes, he rather hoped it was the latter -
Oh, but what was he going on about. He'd fed from her only once, and she was not his - and never would be, for too many reasons to count. Indeed, thinking back to the way even the human whore in the spring had recoiled from him, he knew someone as pure and perfect as the Chosen wouldn't have anything to do with his likes. Throe, on the other hand, might have a chance - except, of course, he was not a Brother.
He was, however, enamored of her.
No doubt she was used to that.
Xcor closed his eyes and concentrated on his body, feeling it reknit, realign, rekindle.
He found himself wishing the same rejuvenation could occur on his face, his past, his soul. Naturally, he kept that impotent prayer to himself. For one, it was an impossibility. For another, such was a passing whimsy imparted by the vision of a beautiful female - who had no doubt been repulsed by him. In truth, there was no redemption for him or his future: He had struck a mighty blow against the Brotherhood and they would be coming after him and the Band of Bastards with all the force they could muster.
They would also be taking other actions: If Wrath was dead without issue, they would be scrambling to fill the throne with the closest male blood relation they could find. Unless the king was hanging at the edge of death by his fingertips? Or mayhap he had pulled through thanks to all that medical technology they had cultivated at their compound. . . ?
Ordinarily, thoughts such as these would have consumed him, the lack of answers twisting up hard in his gut and causing him to pace endlessly if he wasn't fighting.
Now, though, in the logy aftermath of the feeding, the ruminations were naught but distant screams of urgency that did not carry far and failed to energize him.
The female under the colored maple tree was what he dwelled upon.
As he retraced her features from memory, he told himself he was permitted this one night of distraction. He was in no condition to fight, even with her gift, and his soldiers were out carrying forth the mission against the lessers, so there was still some progress being made.
One night. And then upon the sunset of the morrow, he was going to cast her aside as one did with both fantasies and nightmares, thus returning to the real world to battle once again.
One night only.
That was all he would grant this futureless diversion of fancy. . .
Assuming, a small voice pointed out, that Throe kept his word and never again sought her out.
Chapter Fifty-Two
"One more?"
As Tohr returned his attentions to the silver tray of food, No'One wanted to decline the offer. Indeed, lying back against the pillows of his bed, she was stuffed.