as a statue, his face too composed. His body too tense.
“How you doing?” Tohr asked quietly, making sure his back was to the group so no one overheard them. But like they all didn’t know what the male was facing tonight?
Xcor kept his voice down, too. “Just so you know, I will kill Throe myself if he’s going after the throne. I will not hesitate. I know where my allegiance lies.”
Tohr put his hand on the male’s shoulder. “I never doubt it, brother mine. Ever.”
Xcor’s eyes shined out of his brutal, harelipped face, and, not for the first time, Tohr was glad that the fighter was on their side. Xcor was formidable on a good day. A night like tonight? He was beyond deadly.
And what do you know, they had another thing going for them. Wrath was not heading down to the Audience House. Thank God. In a rare change of habit, the King had actually listened to reason. He was staying put here at the mansion, with Phury and Z on guard along with Payne. Rehvenge, with all his tricks as a symphath, was also hanging in for the night. Just in a case.
And symphaths had special weapons.
As Murhder had learned firsthand, Tohr thought with regret.
“Okay, let’s do this,” he said as he headed for the grand door.
Pushing his way through the vestibule, he was aware that a piece was missing. But Murhder was free to make his own decisions, and at least John was back and ready to fight—
Tohr stopped short without any warning, and John, who was right behind him, slammed into him, bumping his body out over the threshold.
A tall, powerful figure stood on the stone steps in the wind, unmoving in spite of the gusts that rushed the top of the mountain. Feet planted, hands down, head up, the male was prepared for what he had been bred to do.
Fight in defense of the species.
Tohr started to smile as he resumed walking forward. “You have a change of a heart, then?”
As he put his dagger hand out to Murhder, he had not expected to see the other male ever again.
Sometimes, separation was what destiny provided, regardless of what you wanted. Tohr had lived, fought, and loved long enough to have learned that lesson the hard way. But shit … it would be really goddamn good if in Murhder’s case, things didn’t go down like that.
It would be really good to have him back.
Murhder had not been able to sleep all day long. This was not unusual. What had been a fresh change to his chronic insomnia was that instead of his mind racing around how crazy he was, he’d spent the hours reviewing his life and all the people he had known, loved, and lost. Especially that last one.
There were new names on that list. Sarah, obviously. But also Nate. John.
The Brotherhood and the King.
What are you going to do about Sarah?
Did you mention her? I must have missed it.
That exchange with Tohr, just as the Brother had been leaving the B&B, had haunted Murhder the most—in a good way. It was a reminder of the loyalty he’d once had with the Brotherhood, and also a powerful statement that such fidelity was clearly still available to him.
Of course, Tohr wouldn’t have kept a secret that jeopardized the King’s security or that of the Brotherhood’s or the race’s. But he’d backed Murhder in that moment, and it had been a long time since someone had done that. More importantly, among males of worth, loyalty was like trust and respect: earned and reciprocal. With Tohr’s pledge, Murhder was inclined to offer the same, and not just to the one Brother.
To all of them.
And that was what you needed in the field. That was what he required before he could even think of returning. The door, unlocked. The final missing piece of himself, found.
That wasn’t all he’d ruminated over, however. He had also thought about the centuries he had fought. First in the woods and around the villages in the Old Country. Later, down turn-of-the-century streets of Caldwell. And more recently, in the modern world.
It had dawned on him that if he was who he believed himself to be—a warrior—then why in the fuck was he not fighting for what he wanted. What he needed. What he had every right to have.
Sarah.
You have a change of heart, then? Tohr had said.
As the Brother’s dagger hand still waited for his own in the cold breeze, Murhder glanced over at