Opening his big palm, he held forward a heavy gold Rolex, the one that Mary wore, the one that the brother had given her when they'd been mated. It was a symbol of their love. . . and their support.
Tohr took the thing, feeling the warmth that lingered in the metal. "My brother. . . "
"Look, we just want you to know we're with you - I added back the links so it'll fit your wrist. "
Tohr slipped the thing on, and yeah, it clipped just fine. "Thank you. I'll return it - "
Rhage snapped out his arms and gave the kind of bear hug that he was known for - the sort that put a strain on your spinal cord and made you have to reinflate your rib cage afterward just to make sure you hadn't punctured a lung.
"I got no words, my brother," Hollywood said.
As Tohr clapped him on the back, he felt the dragon tattoo seethe, as if it, too, were offering condolences. "It's okay. I know this is hard. "
After Rhage left, he was just shutting his door when there was another knock.
Peering around the jamb, he found Phury and Z lined up side by side. The twins were wearing the same robing and tie that Rhage had on, and their eyes were just the same as Hollywood's Bahama blues: sad, so damned sad.
"My brother," Phury said, stepping up and embracing him. When the Primale eased back, he held out something long and intricate. "For you. "
In his hand was a five-foot-long grosgrain white ribbon on which a prayer for strength had been carefully and beautifully embroidered in gold thread.
"The Chosen, and Cormia, and I are all with you. "
Tohr took a moment to fan out the strip, and trace the Old Language characters, reciting the ancient words in his head. This must have taken hours, he thought. And many, many hands. "My God, it's beautiful. . . . "
As he forced back tears, he thought, Fan-fucking-tastic. If just the warm-up to the ceremony was getting to him like this? He was going be a goddamn mess when it actually happened.
Zsadist cleared his throat. And then the brother who hated touching others leaned in and put his arms around Tohr. The embrace was so gentle that Tohr had to wonder if it was from lack of practice. Either that or Tohr looked as fragile as he felt.
"This is from my family to yours," came the soft words.
The brother offered forward a small piece of parchment paper, and Tohr's fingers shook as he opened it. "Oh. . . shit. . . "
In the center was a tiny handprint in red paint. A young's. Nalla's. . .
There was no greater or more precious thing to a male than his offspring - especially if it was a female. So the palm print was the symbol that everything Z had and all that he was, now and in the future, was pledged in support of his brother.
"Fuck," Tohr said simply as he took a shuddering breath.
"We'll see you down there," Phury stated.
They had to close the door.
Tohr backed up and sat down on his mattress, laying the ribbon across his thighs and staring at the child's print.
When another knock sounded, he didn't look up. "Yeah?"
It was V.
The brother seemed stiff and awkward, but then, he was probably the worst out of all of them when it came to mushy shit.
He didn't say anything. Didn't try any of the hugging bullshit, either, which was just as well.
Instead, he placed a wooden case next to Tohr on the bed, exhaled some Turkish smoke, and went back for the exit like he couldn't wait to get out of the room.
Except he stopped before he left. "I gotchu, my brother," he said to the door.
"I know, V. You always have. "