moment to ditch his
leathers and his shirt, and as he mounted her his mouth was open, his fangs fully extended.
She smiled up at him. «Thirsty?»
«Yes.»
With an elegant tilt of the chin she gave him access to her throat, and on a growl he penetrated
her in two ways, between her thighs and at her neck. As he took her hard, she scored his back
with her short nails and wrapped her legs around his hips.
It was a good two hours before the sex was over, and as he lay in the dark beside her, satiated
and at peace, he counted the blessings he had. He had to laugh a little.
«What?» she asked.
«For all my seeing into the future, I never would have predicted this.»
«No?»
«This… this would have been too much to hope for.» He kissed her temple, closed his eyes, and
allowed himself to start to slip into slumber.
But it was not to happen. A black shadow crossed over him on the way to repose, tripping his
psychic wires, ushering in an intrusion of fear and panic. He told himself he had the heebs
because when you narrowly missed the chance to be with the one you loved, it took a little while
to chill out.
The explanation didn't stick. He knew it was something else… something too terrifying to
consider, a bomb in his mailbox.
He feared destiny wasn't finished with them yet.
«You okay?» Jane said. «You're trembling.»
«I'm fine.» He moved even closer to her. «As long as you're with me, I'm fine.»
Chapter Forty-two
On the Other Side, Phury came down the slope to the amphitheater with Z and Wrath flanking
him. The Scribe Virgin and the Directrix were waiting in the center of the stage, both in black.
The Directrix didn't seem thrilled, her eyes narrow, her lips flat, her hands tight on a medallion
that hung off her neck. There was no reading the Scribe Virgin. Her face was hidden beneath her
robing, but even if it had shown, Phury doubted he'd be able to know what she was thinking.
He stopped in front of the golden throne but didn't sit down. Probably would have been a good
idea, though. He felt as if he were floating, his body drifting, not walking, his head somewhere
other than on his shoulders. Could be the bale's worth of red smoke he'd inhaled, he thought. Or
that fact that he was marrying over three dozen females.
Dear. God.
«Wrath, son of Wrath,» the Scribe Virgin pronounced. «Come forward and greet me.»
Wrath walked up to the edge of the stage and knelt down. «Your grace.»
«You have something to ask me. Do it now, provided you phrase it correctly.»
«If it would not offend, I would ask to have Phury subject to the same arrangement Vishous was
provided with in regard to fighting. We are in need of warriors.»
«I am inclined to grant this leave for the time being. He shall live over there-«
Phury cut in with a solid, «No.» As everyone jerked around toward him, he said, «I will stay here.
I will fight, but I will stay here.» He tossed in a little bow to make up for his rudeness. «If it
would not offend.»
Zsadist's mouth opened, a whole lot of what-the-fuck-are-you-thinking on his scared face-but
the Scribe Virgin's short laugh shut him up. «So be it. The Chosen would prefer that, as would I.
Now rise, Wrath, son of Wrath, and let us commence.»
As the king stood to his full height, the Scribe Virgin lifted her hooded robe. «Phury, son of
Ahgony, I would ask you to accept the role of Primale. Do you consent?»
«I do.»
«Come forth upon the dais and kneel before me.»
He didn't feel his feet as he walked over and ascended a short set of stairs, didn't feel the marble
on his knees as he went down in front of the Scribe Virgin. When her hand landed on his head,
he didn't tremble, didn't think, didn't blink. He felt as though he were in the passenger seat of a
car, subject to the driver's whims as to speed and destination. Giving in was just expedient.
Odd, because he had chosen this, hadn't he. He had volunteered.
Yeah, but God only knew where the decision would take him.
The words the Scribe Virgin spoke over his bent form had echoes of the Old Language, but he
couldn't follow all that she was saying.
«Rise and lift thine eyes,» the Scribe Virgin pronounced at the end. «Be presented with your
mates, over whom you have mastery, their bodies yours to both command and serve.»
As he stood, he saw that the curtain had opened and that all of the Chosen were lined up, their
robes blood-red, glowing
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