The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood #13) - J. R. Ward Page 0,234

not. We’re separated, but not lost or truly apart. Do not mourn me, my love. I have not died…”

“Selena!”

As iAm heard the shout, he jerked up from the base of the slab. Shit, some savior he was. He’d fallen a-fucking-sleep holding his brother’s—

“Trez?” he said, as he realized the guy had, by some miracle, almost twenty-four hours after the cleanse, come back to consciousness.

His brother was crying, tears spilling from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.

“Trez? Are you back?” iAm jumped to his feet and leaned over the guy. “Trez?”

Those sunken black eyes shifted to his, and there was a long moment in which Trez seemed to struggle with what was or was not real.

“Trez?” iAm whispered, suddenly worried that the poison had eaten that brain up. “Are you—”

All at once those long, strong arms wrapped around him and jerked him off his feet.

And his brother was holding him.

And speaking.

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here … for you, I am here…”

At first the words didn’t register, but then …

“I’m not leaving you,” Trez said in a rough, scratchy voice. “I’m here and I’m not leaving you.”

Oh … shit.

They were the words iAm had said to the male in so many different variations throughout their lives together … words that had been represented by the deeds he had done, and days he had stayed up worrying, and years he had spent just praying they were going to make it through another night.

iAm collapsed on his brother’s now-scarred chest, his knees suddenly going out from under him.

In his fantasies, he had wondered what it would be like to be free of the curse of worrying about his brother.

He’d had a variety of iterations.

None came close to the real thing.

EIGHTY-FIVE

It was around noontime when Mary left the Brotherhood mansion … and the Shadow brothers returned.

Rhage had just sent his shellan off to Havers, after telling her that no, really, he was totally fine, when the security checkpoint at the main entrance went off.

Excusing himself from the restless cohort of his brothers in the billiard’s room, he beat Fritz to the monitor, and the instant he saw those two dark faces, he shouted.

“Who is it?” Butch asked.

“Who we’ve been waiting for!”

Releasing the locks, he positioned himself right at the inner doors—and there they were, looking like shit, both haggard and worn shadows of their former selves.

Har-har, hardy-har-har.

But they were alive. They were together. And the sight of them upright, walking and talking, relieved a little bit of the pressure that had been riding his chest for nights now.

“Hey, my man,” he said, embracing the nearest one, and then going to the other.

Trez’s voice was thin, but strong enough. “Hey, thanks for everything.”

“Thank you so much for—”

“Trez, buddy, good to see you—”

“Jesus Christ—what a story—”

“iAm, welcome back—”

And so it went, the Brotherhood filing out of the billiards room along with the females of the house, the greetings and exchanges like those of war survivors.

Or almost-war survivors …

“Oh, my God, you two made it back in time for Steve Wilkos!”

Everyone halted and looked at Lassiter, who was standing in the archway, naked to the waist in nothing but black leathers, that I’M HORNY baseball cap with its silver lamé protrusion sticking out the front of his head—and a pair of giant fuzzy slippers on his feet which, if you put them together, formed a complete Dalmatian.

The angel had returned twelve hours ago, saying that the pair of them were safe, but there was no telling whether Trez was going to make it. And for once, the asshat had seemed utterly and completely devastated by something. To the point where he’d been inconsolable.

In the silence following that happy TV announcement, Trez stared across the foyer … and then burst out laughing.

The poor bastard laughed so hard, he had to wrap his arms around his middle and wipe tears from his eyes.

As everybody joined in, the Shadow tilted his head up to the ceiling and said, “Thank you, my queen. I needed this.”

Then he walked over to the fallen angel and embraced the guy. Words were said, serious ones that made Lassiter duck his eyes.

Because he seemed to be tearing up.

But then the jackass broke rank and said, “Now take your hands off my ass. I’m not that kind of girl.”

And that struck the tone for the rest of the day. Rather like rolling a bandage over a wound, the community wrapped itself around the two Shadows, drawing them into the billiards room, offering them food and drink.

It