Lover Avenged

SIXTY

John Matthew rolled over in his bed and woke up when something hard poked against his cheek. With a curse, he lifted his head. Oh, right, he and Jack Daniel’s had gone a couple rounds, and the aftermath of the whiskey’s fists lingered: He was too hot even though he was naked, his mouth was dry as tree bark, and he needed to hit the bathroom before his bladder exploded.

Sitting up, he rubbed his hair and eyes…and succeeded in waking a hangover.

As his head started to pound, he grabbed for the bottle he’d been using as a pillow. There was only an inch of booze left in the bottom, but that was enough to pull a dog-that-bitcha. Ready for relief, he went to unscrew the cap to the Jack and found that he hadn’t put it on. Good thing he’d passed out with the bottle upright.

Drinking hard, he pulled the shit down into his belly and told himself to just breathe through the shock waves of nausea that fired up in his gut. When there were only fumes left in the bottle, he let the dead soldier sit on the mattress and looked down his body. His cock was asleep against his thigh, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up without an erection. Then again, he’d been with…three? four? How many women had there been? God, he had no idea.

He’d used a condom once. With the prostitute. The rest had been bareback pullouts.

In shady images, he saw Qhuinn and him two-timing some of the women, then going solo on others. He couldn’t remember what it had all felt like, remembered nothing of the orgasms he’d had, knew none of their faces, barely recalled their hair colors. What he did know was that as soon as he’d come back to this room, he’d had a long, hot shower.

All that shit he couldn’t recollect had left a stain on his skin.

With a groan, he shifted his legs off the bed and let the bottle fall on the floor next to his feet. The trip to the bathroom was a real party, his balance so far off that he weaved…well, like a drunk, as a matter of fact. And walking wasn’t the only problem he had. Standing over the toilet, he had to brace himself against the wall and concentrate on his aim.

Back in bed, he pulled a sheet over his lower body, in spite of the fact that he felt like he had a fever: Even though he was alone, he didn’t want to lie around like some porn star looking for a supporting actress.

Shit…his head was killing him.

As he closed his eyes, he wished he’d turned the light off in the bathroom.

Abruptly he stopped caring about the hangover, though. With terrible clarity, he remembered Xhex straddling his hips and riding him in a fluid, powerful rhythm. Oh, God, it was so vivid, so much more than a just a memory. As the pictures played out, he felt the tight hold of her body on his sex and the hard way she held his shoulders down, reliving that sense of being mastered.

He knew every shift and slide, all the scents, even the way she breathed.

With her, he remembered everything.

Leaning to the side, he picked the Jack up off the floor, as if by some miracle the alkie elves had refilled the fucker. No such luck-

The scream that lit off next door was the kind someone made when they’d been stabbed deep and hard, and the tearing screech sobered him like he’d been splashed with an ice bath. John grabbed his gun, shot out of bed, and hit the floor running, throwing open the door and racing into the hall of statues. On both sides of his room, Qhuinn and Blay did the same, making the same rushed, ready-to-fight appearance he did.

Down at the end of the corridor, the Brotherhood was standing in the doorway of Zsadist and Bella’s quarters, their faces dark and sad.

“No!” Bella’s voice was loud as the scream had been. “No!”

“I’m so sorry,” Wrath said.

From the knot of Brothers, Tohr looked over at John. The male’s face was white and drawn, his stare hollow.

What happened? John signed.

Tohr’s hands moved slowly. Rehvenge is dead.

John took a lot of deep breaths. Rehvenge…dead?

“Jesus Christ,” Qhuinn muttered.

From the doorway of her bedroom, Bella’s sobs tumbled into the hall, and John wanted to go to her. He remembered what that pain was like. He’d been in those horrible, numbing shoes when Tohr had taken off, right after the Brotherhood had done exactly what they were doing now-reporting the worst news that anyone could hear.

He’d screamed the same as Bella had. Wept the same as she was now.

John glanced back to Tohr. The Brother’s eyes burned as if there were things he wanted to say, hugs he wanted to offer, regrets he wanted to make right.

For a split second, John almost went to the guy.

But then he turned away and stumbled into his room, shutting the door and locking it. As he sat down on the bed, he braced the weight of his shoulders against his hands and let his head hang down. Banging around in his brain was the chaos of the past, but at the center of his chest was a single, overriding word: No.

He couldn’t go there with Tohr again. He’d been through the wringer too many times. Besides, he wasn’t a child anymore, and Tohr never had been his father, so that whole daddy-save-me shit didn’t apply to the two of them.

The closest they were going to get was fighter-to-fighter.

Shoving the Tohr crap out of his head, he thought of Xhex.

She was hurting right now. Badly.

He hated that there was nothing he could do for her.

Except then he reminded himself that even if there were, she wouldn’t have wanted what he had to offer. She’d made that perfectly clear.

Xhex sat on the twin bed in her place on the Hudson River, head hanging low, the weight of her shoulders braced against her hands. Next to her, on the thin blanket, was the letter iAm had given her. After taking it out of its envelope, she’d read it once, refolded it along its pristine creases, and retreated into this small room.

Shifting her head to the side, she looked out through frosted windows to the sluggish, murky river. It was bitterly cold today, the temperature slowing the current of the water down and icing up the rocky shores.

Rehv was such a bastard.

When she’d sworn to him that she would take care of a female, she hadn’t thought that vow through well enough. In the letter, he called her on the pledge and identified the female as herself: She was not to come for him, nor endanger the life of the princess in any way. Furthermore, in the event she did anything like that on his behalf, he would not accept her help and would choose to stay in the colony no matter what actions she took in the name of saving him. Finally, he directed that should she go against his wishes and her word, iAm was to follow her to the colony, thus endangering the life of the Shadow.

Mother. Fucker.

It was the perfect endgame, worthy of a male like Rehv: She might be tempted to can her vow, and she might think there was a way to talk sense into her boss, but she already had the burden of Muhrder’s life around her neck, and now Rehvenge’s. Adding iAm’s to the list would kill her.

Plus Trez would go after his brother. Making it an even four.

Caged by the situation, she gripped the edge of the mattress so hard her forearms shook.

The knife got into her palm somehow; only later would she recall that she’d had to stand up and walk naked across the room to her leathers to get it out of its holster.

Back on the bed, she thought of the males she’d lost over the course of her life. She saw Murhder’s long dark hair and his deep-set eyes and the scruff he always had on his heavy jaw…heard his Old Country accent and recalled the way he’d always smelled of gunpowder and sex. Then she saw Rehvenge’s amethyst stare and his mohawk and his beautiful clothes…smelled his Must de Cartier cologne and relived his chic brutality.

Finally, she pictured John Matthew’s dark blue eyes and short-cropped military-style hair…felt him moving deep inside of her…heard his heavy breathing as his warrior body had given her what she’d wanted and hadn’t been able to handle.

They were all gone, even though at least two of them were still alive on the planet. But people didn’t have to be dead to be out of your life.

She looked down at the viciously sharp, shiny blade and angled the thing so that it caught the weak sunlight in a flash that momentarily blinded her. She was good with knives. They were her favorite weapon, actually.

The knock on her door brought her head up.

“You okay in there?”

It was iAm-who not only had acted as Rehv’s mail carrier, but was evidently charged with babysitting. She’d tried to throw him out of her house, but he’d just shadowed on her, taking a form that she couldn’t get hold of, much less bootlick out the damn door.

Trez was sitting in the hunting cabin’s main room, as well, but talk about role reversal. When she’d locked herself in her bedroom, he’d been stock-still in a hard-backed chair, staring out over the river in a heavy silence. In the wake of the tragedy, the brothers had traded personalities, iAm being the only one who talked: As far as she recalled, Trez hadn’t said one thing since the news had droppped.

All that quiet was not about Trez mourning, though. His emotional grid was marked with anger and frustration, and she had a feeling Rehv, in all his cock-sucking wisdom, had found a way to trap Trez into inaction, too. Like her, the Moor was trying to find a way out, and knowing Rehv, there wouldn’t be one. He was a master at manipulation-always had been.

And he’d put a lot of thought into this exit strategy. According to iAm, everything was all set up, not only on the personal levels, but the financial ones, too. iAm got Sal’s; Trez got the Iron Mask; she got a chunk of cash. Ehlena was provided for as well, although iAm said he would handle that. The bulk of the family estate went to Nalla, with millions and millions of dollars passing to the young, along with all the heirlooms that, according to primogeniture, had been owned by Rehv, not Bella.

He’d exited beautifully, wiping clean ZeroSum’s drug and bookie businesses entirely. The Mask still had girls for hire, but none of the other stuff was going to go down there or at Sal’s. With the Reverend gone, the bunch of them were almost clean.

“Xhex, say something so I know you’re alive.”

There was no way iAm could get through the door or dematerialize inside to check and see if she was still breathing. The room was a steel safe, utterly impenetrable. There was even fine mesh skirting around the doorjamb so that he couldn’t shadow his way in.

“Xhex, we already lost him tonight. You make it two for two and I’m going to kill you all over again.”

“I’m fine.”

“None of us is fine.”

When she didn’t reply, she heard iAm curse and move away from the door.

Maybe later she could help the two of them. They were, after all, the only people who knew what she felt like. Even Bella, who’d lost her brother, didn’t know the exquisite torture the three of them were going to have to live with for the rest of their days. Bella thought Rehv was dead, so she could go through the mourning process and come out the other side and get on with her life in some fashion.

For Xhex, iAm, and Trez? They were going to be stuck in the limbo-hell of knowing the truth and being able to do nothing to change it-with the result being that the princess was free to torture Rehvenge for as long as he had a heartbeat.

As Xhex thought about the future, her grip on the dagger hilt tightened.

And got stronger as she brought the weapon downward onto her skin.

With her mouth screwed down tight to keep her pain inside, Xhex shed her own blood instead of tears.

Although what was the difference, really. Symphaths cried red, in the manner of the vein anyway.