Lover Reborn (Black Dagger Brotherhood #10) - J. R. Ward Page 0,102

the blade of his killing knife, he was cutting his ropy, strong arms such that they dripped from too many striped wounds to count. But that was not the shocker. There were tears on the male’s face. Running down his cheeks, falling off his jaw and chin, mixing with what seeped from his flesh.

Words, hoarse and low, drifted over. “… goddamn pussy… crying, worthless, pussy… stop it… stopit… you did what you had to do to him… goddamn pussy…”

It appeared as though someone else had developed a bond with Throe.

Indeed, their leader was abject in his misery and his regret.

Zypher slowly backed up through the door and shut it again.

“What?” Syphon demanded in the darkness.

“We need to leave him be.”

“Xcor’s alive then?”

“Aye. And he’s suffering at his own hand, for the right reason—spilling his blood for whom he offended so mortally.”

There was a grumble of approval, and then everyone turned around and descended.

It was a start. But there was a long way yet to go to regain their loyalty. And they needed to learn what had happened to Throe.

Sitting upon the hard floor, in a pool of his own blood, Xcor was stretched thin between his training at the hands of the Bloodletter and his… heart, he supposed.

Odd at this age to discover that he actually had one of those, and difficult to count its discovery as a blessing.

It seemed more a badge of failure. The Bloodletter had taught him well the requirements of a good soldier, and emotions other than rage, vengeance, and greed were not part of that lexicon: Loyalty was something you demanded of your subordinates, and if they did not provide it to you and you alone, you did away with them as malfunctioning weapons. Respect was given solely in response to your enemy’s strength, and simply because you did not want to be bested by an underestimation of the opposition. Love was associated only with the acquisition and successful defense of your power—

Digging the red-stained knife blade into his skin again, he hissed as the pain tingled through his arms and legs, making his head buzz and his heartbeat flicker.

As fresh blood welled, he prayed that it would carry out of his body the confusing tangle of regret that had claimed him shortly after he had left Throe upon that pavement.

How could this all have gone so awry…

The chaos, indeed, had started when he had not departed from that alley.

After he had sent his males away from Throe, he had intended to do the same… but had ended up lurking upon the rooftop of one of the buildings, staying hidden whilst he watched over his soldier. Ostensibly, he told himself that it had been because he wanted to ensure that the Brothers found his second in command, not the Lessening Society—because the information he needed was on the former enemy rather than the latter one.

Except as he had watched Throe writhing in pain on the asphalt, limbs cocking at odd angles as he sought relief in repositioning, the reality of a proud warrior rendered defenseless had seeped into him.

For what reason had he caused such agony?

As the winds had rushed against Xcor, clearing his head and cooling his anger, he’d realized his actions sat uncomfortably within him. Unbearably.

As the slayers had arrived, he had outted his gun, prepared to defend the very male he had disposed of. But Throe had made a formidable first strike… and then the Brothers had come and acted as predicted, dispatching the lessers with ease, picking up Throe and putting him in the back of a black vehicle.

In that moment, Xcor had resolved not to follow the SUV. And the reason he so chose was an anathema as measured against his prior actions.

Throe would get treated with great competence back at the Brotherhood’s lair.

Say what one would about how the fuckers preferred luxury, he knew they had access to superior medical care. They were the king’s private guard; Wrath would not provide them with anything less. If he followed them, with the idea of infiltrating their compound? They might well discover him and fight him along the way, instead of get Throe to the help he needed.

Indeed, Xcor stayed away for the wrong reason, the bad reason, an unacceptable reason—in spite of all his training, he found himself choosing Throe’s life over ambition: His anger had taken him in one direction, but his regret had led him in another. And the latter one was what won out.

The Bloodletter no doubt