Lover Reborn (Black Dagger Brotherhood #10) - J. R. Ward Page 0,33

room, irrespective of his warning: People jumped out of their seats, throwing up their dagger hands.

Bad idea, Qhuinn thought, agreeing with the others.

Wrath let them go for a minute, like he’d expected this. Then he resumed control of the meeting. “I can’t expect support if I don’t earn it—and I haven’t personally seen some of these people in decades, if not centuries. My father met with folks every month, if not every week, to resolve disputes.”

“You’re the king!” someone bit out. “You don’t need to do shit—”

“You see that letter? It’s the new world order—if I don’t respond proactively, I’m undermining myself. Look, my brothers, if you were out in the field, about to face the enemy, would you fool yourself about the landscape? Would you lie to yourself about the layout of the streets, the buildings, the cars, or whether it was hot or cold, raining or dry? No. So why should I bullshit myself that tradition is something I can take cover behind in a shoot-out? Back in my father’s time … that shit was a bulletproof vest. Now? It’s a sheet of paper, people. You gotta know that.”

There was a long period of silence, and then everyone looked at Tohr. Like they were used to turning to him when shit got sticky.

“He’s right,” the Brother said gruffly. Then he focused on Wrath. “But you gotta know you’re not doing this alone. You need to have two or three of us with you. And the meet-and-greets have to be staggered over a period of months—cram them in too tight and you look desperate, but more to the point, I don’t want anyone getting organized to do a hit on you. Sites must be prescreened by us, and…” At this, he paused to glance around. “You need to be aware that we’re going to be triggerhappy. We will shoot to kill when your life’s on the line—whether it’s a female or a male or a doggen or the head of a family. We will not ask permission, or merely wound. If you can live with those terms, we will let you do this.”

Nobody else could have laid down the rules like that and walked without a limp afterward: The king gave out orders to the Brotherhood, not the other way around. But this was the new world, as Wrath had said.

The male in question ground his molars for a while. Then grunted. “Agreed.”

As a collective exhale hit the airwaves, Qhuinn found himself looking over at Blay. Aw, hell, talk about a suck zone—this was why he avoided the guy like the plague. Just one glance and he was locked on, all kinds of reactions rolling through him, until the room spun a little—

For no good reason, Blay’s eyes flipped up and met his.

It was like getting goosed in the ass with a live wire, his body spasming to the point where he had to hide the reaction by coughing while he glanced away.

About as smooth as a crater. Yup. Fantastic.

“ … and in the meantime,” Wrath was saying, “I want to find out where these soldiers are staying.”

“I can take care of that,” Xhex spoke up. “Especially if I hit them in the daytime.”

All heads turned in her direction. Beside her, John stiffened from head to foot, and Qhuinn cursed under his breath.

Talk about your showdowns … except hadn’t the pair of them just had one?

Man, sometimes he was really glad he didn’t do relationships.

Not again, John thought to himself. For fuck’s sake, they’d just gotten back on speaking terms, and now this?

If he’d thought fighting side by side with Xhex was trouble, the idea of her trying to infiltrate the Band of Bastards on their home turf put him on the edge of a seizure.

As he let his head fall back against the wall, he realized that everyone and their dog was staring at him. Literally—even George’s brown eyes were trained in his direction.

“Are you kidding me,” Xhex said. “Are you frickin’ kidding me.”

Even after she spoke, nobody looked at her. It was all about John: Clearly, as he was her hellren, they were seeking his approval—or not—about what she’d put out there.

And John couldn’t seem to move, stuck in the cold quagmire between what she wanted and where he didn’t want them to end up.

Wrath cleared his throat. “Well, that’s a kind offer—”

“Kind offer?” she spat. “Like I’m inviting you to dinner?”

Say something, he told himself. Put your flapping hands up and tell her … What? That