The Chosen (Black Dagger Brotherhood 15)

It was not a surprise that iAm took charge and got him to the new room he’d been staying in since Rhage, Mary, and Bitty had taken over the suites on the third floor.

Across the way. Onto the bed. Flat on his back.

As usual, getting off his feet offered only a slight reprieve, a brief moment where his stomach settled and his head took a breather—and then things came back a hundredfold worse.

At least iAm knew exactly what he needed. One by one, Trez’s loafers were removed, but his brother knew that the socks had to stay on because Trez’s extremities lost circulation and got cold during the headaches. Then the belt and the slacks were pulled off and the duvet taco’d around him. Suit jacket stayed on and so did the shirt. Taking those from his body would have required too much shifting around and likely triggered more throwing up.

Which was exactly what you didn’t need when your head was pounding to begin with.

Then came the drawing of the curtains, even though there was no moon out tonight. The placement of the wastepaper basket right by the side of the bed. And the inevitable depression of the mattress as iAm took a load off next to him.

God, they had done this so many times.

“Promise me,” Trez said into the darkness of his closed lids, “that you’ll give her the job. I’m not going to go after her, I swear. I don’t want to ever see her again, actually.”

He was too liable to do something stupid again—

As the taste of her came back on his tongue, he moaned as his heart ached.

“I wish you’d take medication for these things.” iAm cursed softly. “I hate to see you suffer like this.”

“It’ll pass. It always does. Hire the female, iAm. And I won’t bother her.”

He waited for something to come back at him from his brother, some kind of reply or argument, and when he didn’t get anything, he popped open his eyes—only to wince and recoil. Even though the only illumination in the room was coming from the mostly shut door to the hallway, the shit was too much for his hypersensitive eyes.

“I know she’s not Selena,” he muttered. “Trust me. I know exactly how much she is not my female.”

Hell, the implications of that kiss were the reason he’d gotten this fucking migraine. His regret had literally blown the top of his head off: guilt as a vascular event.

Doc Jane should write his ass up in a medical journal.

“Don’t punish her for a mistake that’s on me.”

At least, that was what he’d meant to say. He wasn’t exactly sure what came out of his mouth.

“Just rest,” iAm said. “I’m going to get Manny to come up and check on you.”

“Don’t bother him.” Or something to that effect. “But you could do something for me.”

“What’s that?”

Trez forced those lids of his to open and he lifted his head even though the world spun. “Get me Lassiter. Bring that fallen angel here.”

· · ·

“Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to have a word with the Chosen upstairs.”

As Wrath spoke, Layla wasn’t fooled. His tone made it clear he was hardly asking Xcor for permission to talk to one of his own subjects.

If the King’s voice had been any drier, it would have left dust all over the furniture.

But indeed, she wanted to speak with him in private as well, and as Wrath indicated the steps, she nodded. With a quick glance at Xcor, she hurried up the stairwell, opening the door at the top and bracing herself to meet Vishous in the eye.

She shouldn’t have worried.

The Brother refused to look over at her from where he was standing by the table. He merely picked up the mug he was using as an ashtray and went out the sliding glass door.

The King came up more slowly, and she felt bad for not aiding him.

“My Lord,” she said, “there is a table off to the right about fifteen feet—”

“Good.” Wrath shut the cellar door. “You’re going to want to sit down. Vishous outside? I can smell the fresh air.”

“Ah …” Layla swallowed hard. “Yes, he’s on the porch. Do you … shall I summon him for you?”

“No. This is between you and me.”

“But of course.” She bowed even though he couldn’t see her. “And yes, I do believe I will sit down.”

“Good call.”

The King stayed exactly where he was, just over a bit from the door he’d shut—and for a moment, she tried to imagine what it would be like to go through life with no visual orientation at all. There could have been an open pit before him, or a scatter of thumbtacks over the floor, or … heaven only knew what.

Yet as she measured the set of his jaw, he certainly appeared capable of withstanding all and sundry. And how she envied him that.

“So sit, why don’tcha.”

How did he know? she wondered as she hustled over and settled into one of the four chairs.

“Yes, my Lord?”

Wrath proceeded to speak in a calm, even voice, laying out a number of sentences filled with words that, under other circumstances, she would have readily comprehended.

In this case, however, nothing much after “Your young are …” sunk in.

“—every other night and day, tracking his rotation schedule. It’s fair and equitable, and I believe balances everyone’s interests. Fritz will be responsible for escorting you to—”

“I’m so sorry,” she choked out. “Could you … please, could you repeat what you just said?”

The King’s face seemed to soften. “I want you to have your kids every other night and day. Okay? You and Qhuinn will split physical custody fifty-fifty, and you will be jointly responsible for making all decisions pertaining to their welfare.”

Layla blinked fast, aware that every part of her body was shaking. “So I am not cut off.”

“No, you are not.”

“Oh, my Lord, thank you.” She covered her mouth with her palm. And then spoke around her hand. “I couldn’t have gone on without them.”

“I know. I get it, trust me. And the Sanctuary will ensure safety.”

Layla recoiled. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’ll transport them to the Sanctuary and stay with them in the Scribe Virgin’s private quarters—shit knows she’s not using them anymore. It’s the safest place for the three of you because it’s not even on the planet, and Phury and Cormia have assured me that you’ll be able to easily travel in the way of a Chosen up and back with the kids—all you have to do is hold them to you and off you go.” Wrath shook his head. “Qhuinn is going to hit the fucking roof when I lay this on him, but there is no way he can argue about their welfare if they’re up there. And when they’re not with you … you’re free to go wherever you want, be with whoever you want, and you can use this place as your home base.”

There was a pause, and Layla flushed.

Because Wrath knew exactly what she was going to want to do and with whom. At least until Xcor departed for the Old Country.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, yes, indeed.”

“One caveat—you have to bring them back down when it’s time for Qhuinn to have them. Just like he’s going to have to give them to you when it’s your night. The schedule has to be honored by the both of you.”

“Absolutely. They need their father. He’s very important in their lives. I don’t want to do anything to hamper that.”

And Wrath was right. Now that she had been essentially pardoned of her treason charges, Qhuinn’s main argument against her having contact with the young was going to be that she couldn’t be in the Brotherhood house with them, and there was nowhere else, no safe house, no refuge, no structure, even if it was wired for security by a hundred thousand Vishouses, that was going to come close to the protection offered at that mansion.

The solution? Off the planet.

After all, there had been but one raid on the Sanctuary, some twenty-five years before. And that had been a coup staged by malcontents in the glymera who were no longer living.

s not a surprise that iAm took charge and got him to the new room he’d been staying in since Rhage, Mary, and Bitty had taken over the suites on the third floor.

Across the way. Onto the bed. Flat on his back.

As usual, getting off his feet offered only a slight reprieve, a brief moment where his stomach settled and his head took a breather—and then things came back a hundredfold worse.

At least iAm knew exactly what he needed. One by one, Trez’s loafers were removed, but his brother knew that the socks had to stay on because Trez’s extremities lost circulation and got cold during the headaches. Then the belt and the slacks were pulled off and the duvet taco’d around him. Suit jacket stayed on and so did the shirt. Taking those from his body would have required too much shifting around and likely triggered more throwing up.

Which was exactly what you didn’t need when your head was pounding to begin with.

Then came the drawing of the curtains, even though there was no moon out tonight. The placement of the wastepaper basket right by the side of the bed. And the inevitable depression of the mattress as iAm took a load off next to him.

God, they had done this so many times.

“Promise me,” Trez said into the darkness of his closed lids, “that you’ll give her the job. I’m not going to go after her, I swear. I don’t want to ever see her again, actually.”

He was too liable to do something stupid again—

As the taste of her came back on his tongue, he moaned as his heart ached.

“I wish you’d take medication for these things.” iAm cursed softly. “I hate to see you suffer like this.”

“It’ll pass. It always does. Hire the female, iAm. And I won’t bother her.”

He waited for something to come back at him from his brother, some kind of reply or argument, and when he didn’t get anything, he popped open his eyes—only to wince and recoil. Even though the only illumination in the room was coming from the mostly shut door to the hallway, the shit was too much for his hypersensitive eyes.

“I know she’s not Selena,” he muttered. “Trust me. I know exactly how much she is not my female.”

Hell, the implications of that kiss were the reason he’d gotten this fucking migraine. His regret had literally blown the top of his head off: guilt as a vascular event.

Doc Jane should write his ass up in a medical journal.

“Don’t punish her for a mistake that’s on me.”

At least, that was what he’d meant to say. He wasn’t exactly sure what came out of his mouth.

“Just rest,” iAm said. “I’m going to get Manny to come up and check on you.”

“Don’t bother him.” Or something to that effect. “But you could do something for me.”

“What’s that?”

Trez forced those lids of his to open and he lifted his head even though the world spun. “Get me Lassiter. Bring that fallen angel here.”

· · ·

“Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to have a word with the Chosen upstairs.”

As Wrath spoke, Layla wasn’t fooled. His tone made it clear he was hardly asking Xcor for permission to talk to one of his own subjects.

If the King’s voice had been any drier, it would have left dust all over the furniture.

But indeed, she wanted to speak with him in private as well, and as Wrath indicated the steps, she nodded. With a quick glance at Xcor, she hurried up the stairwell, opening the door at the top and bracing herself to meet Vishous in the eye.

She shouldn’t have worried.

The Brother refused to look over at her from where he was standing by the table. He merely picked up the mug he was using as an ashtray and went out the sliding glass door.

The King came up more slowly, and she felt bad for not aiding him.

“My Lord,” she said, “there is a table off to the right about fifteen feet—”

“Good.” Wrath shut the cellar door. “You’re going to want to sit down. Vishous outside? I can smell the fresh air.”

“Ah …” Layla swallowed hard. “Yes, he’s on the porch. Do you … shall I summon him for you?”

“No. This is between you and me.”

“But of course.” She bowed even though he couldn’t see her. “And yes, I do believe I will sit down.”

“Good call.”

The King stayed exactly where he was, just over a bit from the door he’d shut—and for a moment, she tried to imagine what it would be like to go through life with no visual orientation at all. There could have been an open pit before him, or a scatter of thumbtacks over the floor, or … heaven only knew what.

Yet as she measured the set of his jaw, he certainly appeared capable of withstanding all and sundry. And how she envied him that.

“So sit, why don’tcha.”

How did he know? she wondered as she hustled over and settled into one of the four chairs.

“Yes, my Lord?”

Wrath proceeded to speak in a calm, even voice, laying out a number of sentences filled with words that, under other circumstances, she would have readily comprehended.

In this case, however, nothing much after “Your young are …” sunk in.

“—every other night and day, tracking his rotation schedule. It’s fair and equitable, and I believe balances everyone’s interests. Fritz will be responsible for escorting you to—”

“I’m so sorry,” she choked out. “Could you … please, could you repeat what you just said?”

The King’s face seemed to soften. “I want you to have your kids every other night and day. Okay? You and Qhuinn will split physical custody fifty-fifty, and you will be jointly responsible for making all decisions pertaining to their welfare.”

Layla blinked fast, aware that every part of her body was shaking. “So I am not cut off.”

“No, you are not.”

“Oh, my Lord, thank you.” She covered her mouth with her palm. And then spoke around her hand. “I couldn’t have gone on without them.”

“I know. I get it, trust me. And the Sanctuary will ensure safety.”

Layla recoiled. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’ll transport them to the Sanctuary and stay with them in the Scribe Virgin’s private quarters—shit knows she’s not using them anymore. It’s the safest place for the three of you because it’s not even on the planet, and Phury and Cormia have assured me that you’ll be able to easily travel in the way of a Chosen up and back with the kids—all you have to do is hold them to you and off you go.” Wrath shook his head. “Qhuinn is going to hit the fucking roof when I lay this on him, but there is no way he can argue about their welfare if they’re up there. And when they’re not with you … you’re free to go wherever you want, be with whoever you want, and you can use this place as your home base.”

There was a pause, and Layla flushed.

Because Wrath knew exactly what she was going to want to do and with whom. At least until Xcor departed for the Old Country.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, yes, indeed.”

“One caveat—you have to bring them back down when it’s time for Qhuinn to have them. Just like he’s going to have to give them to you when it’s your night. The schedule has to be honored by the both of you.”

“Absolutely. They need their father. He’s very important in their lives. I don’t want to do anything to hamper that.”

And Wrath was right. Now that she had been essentially pardoned of her treason charges, Qhuinn’s main argument against her having contact with the young was going to be that she couldn’t be in the Brotherhood house with them, and there was nowhere else, no safe house, no refuge, no structure, even if it was wired for security by a hundred thousand Vishouses, that was going to come close to the protection offered at that mansion.

The solution? Off the planet.

After all, there had been but one raid on the Sanctuary, some twenty-five years before. And that had been a coup staged by malcontents in the glymera who were no longer living.