Wrath and Doc Jane were at the foot of the stairs, and Jane's ghostly expression was as strident as her voice.
" - ultrasound technology. Look, I know it's not ideal, because you don't like people on the grounds, but we don't have a choice here. I went to the clinic, and not only will they not accept him, they demanded to know where he was."
Wrath shook his head. "Christ, we can't just bring him - "
"Yes, we can. Fritz can pick him up in the Mercedes. And before you argue with that, you've had those trainees coming to the compound every week since last December. He won't know where he is. And as for the glymera shit, no one needs to know he's here. He could die, Wrath. And I don't want that on John's conscience, do you?"
The king cursed long and low and glanced around, as if his eyes needed something to do while his head churned over the sitch. "Fine. Arrange for the pickup with Fritz. The kid can have the test and the operation, if need be, in the PT suite, but then he has to be transported back out ASAP. I don't give a rat's ass about the glymera's opinions, what I'm worried about is precedent. We can't become a hotel."
"Understood. And listen, I'm going to want to help Havers out. It's too much for him to set up the new clinic and care for patients. Thing is, it's going to involve some days off-site for me."
"Vishous okay with that security risk?"
"Not his call, and I'm telling you only out of courtesy." The female laughed dryly. "Don't give me that look. I'm already dead. It's not like the lessers can kill me again."
"That is so not funny."
"Gallows humor is part of having a doctor in the house. Deal with it."
Wrath barked a laugh. "You are such a hard-ass. No wonder V fell for you." The king grew serious. "But let's be perfectly clear. Hard-ass or not, I'm in charge here. This compound and everyone in it is my deal."
The female smiled. "God, you remind me of Manny."
"Who?"
"My old boss. Chief of surgery at St. Francis. The two of you would get along beautifully. Or... maybe not." Jane reached out and put her transparent hand on the king's thick, tattooed forearm. As the contact was made, she became solid from head to toe. "Wrath, I'm not stupid, and I'm not going to do anything precipitous. You and I want the same thing, which is for everybody to be safe - and that includes members of the species who don't live here. I'm never going to work for you, or anybody else, because that's not my nature. But I'm sure as hell going to work with you, okay?"
Wrath's smile was full of respect, and he nodded once, the closest the king ever came to a bow. "I can live with that."
As Jane took off in the direction of the underground tunnel, Wrath looked up at Phury.
He said nothing.
"That Lash you were talking about?" Phury asked, hoping the kid had been found or something.
"Nope."
Phury waited for a name. When the king just turned and hit the stairs, his long, calm stride eating up the distance two steps at a time, it was clear none was coming.
Brotherhood business, Phury thought.
Which used to be yours, the wizard was kind enough to point out. Until you lost your napper.
"I was coming to find you," Phury lied, going over to his king and deciding that an unofficial report about what had happened at the clinic was clearly unnecessary by this time. "There are a couple of Chosen who are going to be stopping by here. They're coming to see me."
The king's brows sank behind his wraparounds. "So you completed the ceremony with Cormia, huh. Shouldn't you be seeing the females over on the Other Side?"
"I will soon enough." Shit, wasn't that the truth.
Wrath crossed his arms over his heavy chest. "I heard you manned up at the clinic tonight. Thanks for that."
Phury swallowed hard.
When you were a Brother, you were never thanked by the king for what you did, because you were just carrying out your duty and your job and your birthright. You might get an attaboy for kicking ass, or some awkward, testosterone-scrambled sympathy if you got cracked and were hurt... but you were never thanked.
Phury cleared his throat. He couldn't get you're welcome out, so he just murmured, "Z was on top of everything... and so was Rehv, who happened to be there."
"Yeah, I'm going to thank Rehvenge as well." Wrath turned toward the study. "That symphath is proving useful."
Phury watched the double doors slowly close, the pale blue room beyond getting shut out of his sight.
As he himself turned to go, he caught sight of the majestic ceiling of the foyer, those warriors so proud and true.
Now he was a lover, not a fighter, wasn't he.
Aye, the wizard said. And I bet you'll be just as bad at the sex. Now go run along and find Cormia and tell her how you like her so much you're benching her. Look into her eyes and tell her that you're going to f**k her sisters. All of them. Every one of them.
Except her.
And tell yourself you're doing the right thing by her as you break her heart. Because that is the reason you're running. You have seen the way she looks at you and you know that she loves you and you are a coward.
Tell her. Tell her everything.
As the wizard started on a true roll, Phury took the stairs down to the first floor, went into the billiards room, and picked up a bottle of Martini & Rossi vermouth and a bottle of Beefeater gin. He grabbed a jar of olives, a martini glass, and ...
The box of toothpicks made him think of Cormia.
Heading upstairs again, he was still afraid to be alone, but he was equally afraid of being around anyone else.
The only thing he knew was that there was one surefire way of shutting down the wizard, and he was going to work that plan.
Until he passed the f**k out.
Chapter Twenty-three
For the most part, Rehv didn't like staying in the studio behind his office at ZeroSum. After a night like tonight, though, he wasn't up for driving out of the city to the safe house where his mother stayed, and his penthouse at the Commodore, with its glass-fronted views, was so not an option.
Xhex had been picked him up from the clinic, and on the way back to the club he'd gotten grilled pretty damn good as to why he hadn't called her in for the fighting. But come on, he'd said to her, another half-breed symphath in the mix?
Yeah, right. Besides, clinics made her jumpy as hell.
After he'd filled her in on the infiltration, he'd lied and said Havers had given him a look-see and some drugs. She'd known he was talking out of his ass about his arm, but thank f**k it was too close to dawn for them to get into a knock-down-drag-out. Sure, she could have stayed around and continued to argue with him, but Xhex always had to get back to her place. Always.
To the point that he wondered what exactly was waiting at home for her. Or who.
Walking into his bathroom, he kept his sable on even though the dial on the thermostat was cranked all the way up to fireplace. As he got the shower's heat rolling, he thought about what had gone down at the clinic and found that it had been tragically energizing. Fighting to him was like a Tom Ford suit: a perfect fit and something he could sport with pride. And the good news was that his symphath side had stayed in control, even with the enticement of all that lesser blood getting spilled.
See? He was fine. He really was.
When steam began to waft up all around him, he forced himself to take off his coat and his Versace suit and his Pink shirt. The clothes were utterly trashed, and his sable hadn't fared much better. He put them in a pile for dry cleaning and mending.
On the way to the hot water, he walked by the long mirror over the bank of glass sinks. Turning toward his reflection, he ran his hands down the five-pointed red stars on his chest. Then he went lower and cupped his cock.
Would have been nice to have some sex after all that, or at least cleanse his body's palate with a good hand job. Or three.
As he hefted himself in his palms, he couldn't ignore the fact that his left forearm looked like it had been put through a meat grinder from all his injections.
Side effects just sucked.
He stepped under the water and knew that it was hot only because of the milky, humid air around him and the way his core temperature let out a huge sigh of relief. His skin told him nothing, not how hard the spray was hitting his shoulders, not that the bar of soap he passed over himself was smooth and slippery, not that his palm was broad and warm as it followed the suds and swept them off to the drain below.
He kept it up with the soap routine longer than was necessary. Thing was he couldn't stand to go to bed with any kind of dirt on him, but more than that, he needed the excuse to stay in the shower. This was one of the few times he was warm enough, and the shock of stepping out was always a bitch.