The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12) - J.R. Ward Page 0,161

moment to care.

It was as if he were … marking her … in some way.

And that was okay with her.

FORTY-FOUR

Xcor was totally disoriented in the midst of the mist and knew that it was getting time to turn back. He’d been aimlessly tromping up the mountain for what felt like hours, and had still not reached any kind of summit or fortification. All he’d seen were evergreen trees. The occasional stream bed that was iced over. Deer prints in the snow—

His phone rang quietly in his pocket.

Even as he cursed the interruption, he recognized it was the proper cue to stop this madness, undoubtedly one of his Bastards checking in. Besides, assuming he discovered the Brotherhood’s lair, what did he expect to do? Howl outside of the Chosen’s window until she agreed to meet with him?

All that would do was get him surrounded by warriors—and although he’d heard that red was the color of love, bloodshed was no proper replacement for a rose.

Retrieving his cell, he answered it brusquely. “Yes?”

A sharp sound reverberated in his ear, shrill and loud enough that he pulled the thing away.

Returning it into range, he barked, “What.”

No reply.

“Damn it, Throe—”

All at once, every instinct he had or would ever possess started to scream—and not in warning as if he were about to be attacked.

Dropping his hand, he turned around slowly, afraid that it was some kind of internal misfire—

His breath left him on a long sigh as he beheld what had appeared afore him.

It was … her.

From out of the dense fog, his Chosen had materialized—and the impact of her presence leveled him even as he remained standing. Oh, lovely to behold, her gentle spirit making him feel the monster in him with great clarity.

“How are you here?” she asked in a trembling voice.

He looked around. “Where am I?”

“I—you mean you do not know?”

“The Brotherhood must not be far, but I can see or find naught in this godforsaken spell.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, she seemed to be conflicted—but why wouldn’t she be. He had to be close to where she stayed, although there was no judging whether that was in terms of meters or miles.

“How fare you?” he asked quietly. “I wish there was moonlight. I would seek to see you better.”

But he could smell her—and that scent of hers. That scent.

“I called you,” she whispered after a long moment.

He felt his brows lift. “That was you? Just the now?”

“Yes.”

For a treacherous second, his heart beat faster than if he’d run up here to her. But then … “You heard.”

“About what you did to Wrath.”

“That was the Council’s choice.”

“Do not pretend with me.”

He closed his eyes. Alas, he could not. “I told you the throne was to be mine.”

“Where are your soldiers?”

“As if I have come this night to rout the Blind King out of his home?”

Her voice grew stronger. “You have taken what you want from him, and used his beloved to do it. Why bother with him now.”

“He is not the one I came to see.”

The Chosen’s breath left her in a rush—even though the admission surely was not a surprise.

And God save him, Xcor took a step closer to her, even though by all that was right and proper, he should have run: She was more dangerous to him than any Brother, especially as the fine tremors that vibrated up through her slender body registered upon him.

He hardened fully. It was impossible not to respond.

“You know that, don’t you,” he said with a soft growl. “Were you calling me to see if you could sway mine actions? Go on, now. You can be honest—’tis just you and me out here. Alone.”

She lifted her chin. “I shall never understand your hatred for that good male.”

“Your King?” He laughed harshly. “A good male?”

“Yes,” she countered with real heat. “He is an abidingly good soul who has a true love match with his mate—a male who pledges nightly to do his best for the race—”

“Truly? And how is he accomplishing that laudable goal? No one e’er sees him, you know. He ne’er goes out to mingle with the aristocrats or the commoners. He is a recluse who has failed to deliver in a time of war. If it were not me, ’twould be another—”

“It is wrong! What you did is wrong!”

He shook his head, at once admiring the principled naïveté and saddened that she was going to have to grapple with it. “’Tis the way of the world. Strength conquers weakness. It is as