O rolled over onto his stomach and propped his body up on weak arms. The retching was easier like this. Gravity helped.
As he gagged, he remembered the first little deal he'd made with the father of all lessers. On the night of O's induction into the Lessening Society, he'd traded his soul, along with his blood and heart, to become an immortal, sanctioned, supported killer.
And now he'd done another trade. Mr. X was no more. O was now the Fore-lesser.
Unfortunately, O was also now the Omega's bitch.
He tried to lift his head. When he did the room spun, but he was too exhausted to bother getting more nauseated. Or maybe there was nothing left on the downside in that department.
The cabin. He was in Mr. X's cabin. And going by the light, it was past dawn. As he blinked in the weak glow, he looked down at himself. He was naked. Marked with bruises. And he hated the taste in his mouth.
Shower. He needed a shower.
O dragged himself off the floor using a chair and the edge of the table. As he stood, his legs made him think of lava lamps for some insane reason. Probably because both were liquid inside.
His left knee gave out and he collapsed into the seat. While he wrapped his arms around himself, he decided the wash-off could wait.
Man... the world was new again, wasn't it? And he'd learned so many things during the course of his promotion. Before his change in status, he hadn't known the Fore-lesser was much more than just the leader of the slayers. In fact, the Omega was trapped on the other side and needed a conduit to get temporal. The number one lesser was the beacon the Omega used to find his way during the crossover. All the Fore-lesser had to do was open up the channel and make like a lighthouse.
And there were serious benes to being the lesser in charge. Benes that made that body-freeze technique Mr. X had used look like child's play.
Mr. X... good old sensei. O laughed. However shitty he felt this morning, Mr. X felt worse. Guaranteed.
Things had gone so smoothly after that blade-in-the-chest routine. When O had landed at the Omega's feet, he'd made his case for a regime change. He'd pointed out that the Society's ranks were dropping in number, especially among Primes. The Brothers were getting stronger. The Blind King had ascended. Mr. X was not holding a strong front.
And all of that was true. But none of it was what cinched the deal.
No, the closing had happened on account of the Omega's whim for O.
In the Society's history, there had been some instances when the Omega had taken a personal interest, if you could call it that, in a specific lesser. It wasn't the boon you'd think. The Omega's affections were intense and short-lived, and the breakups were gruesome, according to the rumors. But O was willing to beg and pretend and lie to get what he needed, and the Omega had taken what was offered.
What a horrible way to kill a couple of hours. But so worth it.
He wondered idly what was happening to Mr. X right now. When O had been released the Omega had been about to call the other slayer home, and it must have happened already. The former Fore-lesser's weapons were on the table, his cell phone and BlackBerry, too. And there was a scorched star-burst over there by the front door.
O glanced up at the digital clock across the room. Even though he felt like roadkill, it was time to motivate. He picked up Mr. X's phone, dialed, and held the thing to his ear.
"Yeah, sensei?" U answered.
"Been a change in leadership. I want you to be my second in command."
Silence. Then: "Holy shit. What happened to Mr. X?"
"He's eating his pink slip right now. So are you in?"
"Ah, yeah. Sure. I'm your boy."
"You're in charge of the check-ins from now on. No reason to do it in person. E-mail's fine. And I'm keeping the squads as is. Primes in pairs. Betas in groups of four. Get the announcement out about Mr. X. Then get your ass here to the cabin."
O hung up. He didn't give a shit about the Society. Couldn't care less about the stupid war with the vampires. He had two objectives: Get his woman back dead or alive. And kill the scarred Brother who'd taken her.
As he stood up, he happened to look down at his body, at his limp maleness. A horrible thought snaked through his mind.
Vampires, unlike lessers, were not impotent.
He pictured his beautiful, pure wife... saw her naked, her hair all over her pale shoulders, the elegant curves of her slender body catching the light. Gorgeous. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Utterly feminine.
Something to be worshiped and possessed. But never f**ked. A Madonna.
Except anything with a c**k would want that. Vampire, human, lesser. Anything.
Violence threaded through him, and abruptly he hoped she was dead. Because if that ugly bastard had tried to have sex with her... man, O was going to castrate that brother with a spoon before killing him.
And God help her if she enjoyed it.
Chapter Sixteen
When Phury woke up, it was three fifteen in the afternoon. He'd slept like crap, still so pissed off at what had happened the night before that his adrenal glands were working overtime. Which was hardly conducive to shut-eye.
He reached for a blunt and lit it. As he drew the red smoke into his lungs and held on tight, he tried not to imagine going to Zsadist's room and waking the brother up with a jaw shot. But the fantasy was righteous appealing.
Goddamn it, he couldn't believe Z had tried to take Bella like that, and actually hated his twin for the depravity. Hated himself, too, for being stupidly surprised. For so long he'd been sure that something had survived Z's slavery... that some small flicker of a soul was left in the male. After last night? No more doubts about his twin's cruel nature. None.
And, shit, the real ass burner was knowing he'd let Bella down. He should never have left her in Z's bedroom. Couldn't stand that he'd sacrificed her safety for his need to believe.
Bella...
He thought about how she'd allowed him to hold her. In those fleeting moments he'd felt powerful, capable of protecting her against an army of lessers. For that short time, she'd transformed him into a true male, one who was needed and served a purpose.
What a revelation to be something other than a reactive half-wit chasing after a destructive, suicidal madman.
He'd desperately wanted to stay the night with her, and he'd left only because it was the right thing to do. She was exhausted, but more than that - and in spite of his vow of celibacy - he was untrustworthy. He'd wanted to succor her with his body. He'd wanted to worship her and make her whole with his skin and bones.
But he couldn't think like that.
Phury inhaled deeply on the blunt, his breath going in with a hiss. Keeping the smoke inside him, he felt the tension ease out of his shoulders. As the calm came over him, he eyed his stash. It was running low already, and as much as he hated going to see the Reverend, he needed more.
Yeah, considering how he was feeling toward Z, he was going to need a lot more. Red smoke was just a mild muscle relaxant, really, nothing like marijuana or any of the dangerous stuff. But he relied on the blunts to keep him level, like other folks used cocktails. If he didn't have to go to the Reverend to get the stuff, he'd say that it was a perfectly harmless pastime.
Perfectly harmless and the only ease he had in life.
When he was finished with the hand-rolled, he stabbed the little end in an ashtray and got out of bed. After he attached his prosthesis, he went into the bathroom to shower and shave; then he pulled on a pair of slacks and one of his silk shirts. He pushed his real foot and then the one he couldn't feel into a pair of Cole Haan loafers.
He checked himself in the mirror. Smoothed his hair down a little. Took a deep breath.
He went to the bedroom next to his and knocked softly. When there was no answer he tried again, and then opened the door. The bed was mussed, but empty, and she wasn't in the bathroom.
As he walked back out to the hall, alarm rang in his ears. Before he knew it he was in a jog, then a run. He raced past the head of the stairway and pounded down the statuary corridor. He didn't bother knocking on Z's door, just threw it open.
Phury stopped dead.
His first thought was that Zsadist was going to fall off the bed. The brother's body was on top of the comforter and right on the edge of the mattress, as far over as possible. Jesus... The position looked uncomfortable as hell. Z's arms were wrapped around his bare chest as if he were holding himself together, and his legs were bent and twisted to the side with the knees hanging in midair.
But his head was turned in the opposite direction. Toward Bella. And those distorted lips were parted ever so slightly instead of sneering. And his brows, usually drawn down in aggression, were loose, relaxed.