The Shadows

FOUR

The Chosen Selena entered the training center through the back of the office’s supply closet, and as she emerged, she jumped at the tremendous figure behind the desk.

Tohrment, son of Hharm, looked up from the computer. “Oh, hey, Selena. Surprise.”

As her heart rate regulated, she put her hand to her chest. “I didn’t expect to see anyone herein.”

The Brother refocused on the blue glow of the screen. “Yeah, I’m back to work. We’re going to open things up again.”

“Open what?”

“The training center.” Tohr leaned back in the ugliest green leather chair she had ever seen. And as he spoke, he stroked the arm as if it were a precious work of art. “Back before the raids, we had a good program set up here. But then so many members of the glymera were killed during the attacks, and those who did survive left Caldwell. Now, people are returning, and God knows we need the help. The Lessening Society is ramping up like rats to a warehouse.”

“I wondered what all these facilities were for.”

“You’re going to see it firsthand.”

“Maybe,” she said. But only if they moved fast—

“Are you all right?” the Brother asked, jumping up.

With an abrupt spin, the world tilted around her, twirling her head on her spine—or was that the room itself? Either way, Tohrment caught her before she hit the floor, scooping her up in his arms.

“I’m okay, I’m all right . . . I’m fine,” she said.

At least, she thought she spoke those words out loud. She wasn’t sure, because Tohr’s lips were moving and his eyes were locked on hers like he was talking to her, but she couldn’t hear his voice. Her own. Anything.

Next thing she knew, she was in one of the examination rooms and Vishous’s shellan, Doc Jane, was peering down at her, all dark green eyes, short blond hair and roaring concern.

The chandelier overhead was too bright, and Selena raised her palm to cover her face. “Please—this is unnecessary—”

All of a sudden, she realized she could hear herself, and the world, once dulled and diluted, came back in sharp detail.

“Honestly, I am fine.”

Doc Jane put her hands on her hips and just stood there, as if she were a barometer making some kind of a reading.

For a moment, Selena was struck with fear. She didn’t want them to know that—

“Did you just feed someone?” the Brotherhood’s physician asked.

“About an hour ago. And I didn’t eat. I forgot to eat.” Which was not a lie.

“Do you have any medical conditions I need to know about?”

“No.” Which was a lie. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

“Here,” Tohr said, pressing something cold into her hand. “Drink this.”

She did as she was told and discovered it was Coke, in a red can that said, “Share with Buddy,” on the side.

And actually, the stuff did revive her. “This is good.”

“Your coloring is getting better.” Doc Jane crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against one of the stainless-steel cabinets. “Keep drinking. And maybe you should consider calling someone else in for—”

“No,” she said sharply. “I will complete my duty.”

The importance of coming here, and making her vein available to the Brothers and others who were not able to feed from their mates, was the only thing keeping her going. It was the connection to normal life, the grounding of a job that was of significance, the metronome of nights and days without which she would consume herself with a bad destiny over which she had no control.

The reality was that her time was running out—and she was never sure when her last moment was going to come, when the last time she did anything was going to happen. And that made being here in service absolutely critical.

As she continued to nurse the soda, many things were said, questions asked on the physician’s part, answers given on hers. The vocabulary didn’t matter—she would utter anything, any lie, partial truth, or false construction to get free of this tiled room and continue on to her last visit of the night.

“I shall complete my duty.” She forced a casual smile onto her face. “And then I shall rest. Promise.”

After a moment, Doc Jane nodded—and the skirmish, at last, was won.

The war, however, was a different beast entirely.

“I’m just fine,” Selena said, hopping off the table. “Really and truly.”

“Come and see me if it happens again, okay?”

“Absolutely.” She smiled at the two of them. “I promise.”

As she left the exam room, she supposed that the lie should have bothered her. But she didn’t have the luxury of conscience anymore.

She was in a sprint against death, and nothing, not even the people she valued . . . or the male she loved . . . could get in her way.

For her, survival, such as it was, was a solo endeavor.

Back at shAdoWs, Trez had to take a moment to cough his larynx back into position before sitting up. One thing you could say about Vishous? The Brother did the dominating thing well.

Natch.

But whatever, shit was getting a little too real over there in the corner.

Across the dim space of the sex room, Rhage was curled into a ball, eyes shut, breath going in and out of his open mouth with such a measured rhythm he was either hypnotizing himself or in a fucking coma.

“What is he doing?” Trez asked.

“Trying not to turn into a monster.”

Trez popped his eyebrows. “Literally.”

“Godzilla. Only purple.”

“Jesus . . . I thought that was just gossip.”

“Nope.”

V palmed a black dagger and lifted it over his shoulder. With a vicious—ha-ha—stab, the Brother obliterated the slayer’s remains by nailing the thing in the empty chest, the second bright light of the night flaring blue-white as a blow torch before disappearing and taking the majority of the stinking remains with it. The flash didn’t take care of the grease spot, but Trez had outfitted these rooms with a drain in the center and a hose hookup discreetly mounted under the bench.

Humans could get messy, too.

“So you’ve bonded, huh,” V said as he took a load off and watched over his Brother like a pack animal guarding a fallen wolf.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Selena. You’ve bonded with her.”

Trez cursed and scrubbed his face. “Ah, no. Not really.”

“A very wise person once told me . . . lie to anybody you want, just never yourself.”

“Look, I don’t know—”

“So is that why you’ve been gone from the house so much?”

Trez considered staying on the blow-smoke train, but what was the use. He’d just attacked a male he respected, a male who, P.S., was totally and completely in love with his own female, just because the guy had taken the vein—and nothing else—of a Chosen trained to be of service in that way.

If that didn’t put the bonded-male stamp on his forehead, he didn’t know what would.

“I just . . .” Trez shook his head. “Fuck. Me. Fine, I’ve bonded—and I can’t be around her feeding you all. I mean, I know it’s a necessary service, and it stops at the vein, yada, yada, yada. But it’s too dangerous. I’m liable to do that”—he nodded at Rhage—“at any moment.”

“She won’t have you? I know it can’t be because of Phury. He respects the shit out of you.”

Yeah, he and the Primale, who was responsible for all of the Chosen, were cool. Too bad that wasn’t the issue. “It’s just not going to work out.”

“Why.”

“Can we get back to why a lesser has Assail’s drugs on him?”

“No offense, but I just cut you some huge slack by not turning your jugular into a sink drain. Think you can do me the honor of being honest?”

Trez looked down at his hands, and flexed the fingers out in a fan. “Even if I hadn’t slept with a thousand human women, I’m not exactly a free man.”

“Rehv said your debt to him is more than repaid.”

“The tie that binds me is not to him.”

“So who owns your leash.”

“My Queen.”

There was a long, low whistle. “In what way?”

Funny that he’d spent so much time with the Brotherhood and never told them anything about the anvil over his head. Then again, for so long all he’d done was try to pretend it wasn’t there himself.

“I’m supposed to service the heir to the throne.”

“When did this happen?”

“Birth. Mine, that is.”

V frowned. “The Queen know where you are?”

“Yeah.”

“You should have disclosed this to us before you moved in. Not saying we wouldn’t have harbored you, but your people can be very particular about who they associate with. We got enough problems without a diplomatic issue with the s’Hisbe.”

“There may be an extenuating circumstance, though.” As his phone started to vibrate in his shirt pocket, he reached in and shut it off without looking at who the call was from. “I’ve been in neutral. With the possibility of either a head-on collision with a semi or a swerve that could save me.”

“Selena know any of this?”

“She knows some of it.”

The Brother inclined his head. “Well, it’s your story to tell—at least with respect to the Chosen. As it impacts Wrath and our throne, though? All bets are off.”

“Any night. I’ll know any night—the Queen’s due to give birth literally any moment.”

“I keep nothing from my King.”

Trez felt his phone go off again and he silenced it a second time. “Just tell him the dice are still rolling. We don’t know what we got. Maybe the star chart will not match mine—and then I’ll be free.”

“Will pass that on.”

There was a period of silence, and then Trez started to squirm. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

When there was no answer, he got to his feet, and brushed off his ass. And still those diamond eyes stared at him. “Hello? V—what the fuck.”

“You’re running out of time,” the Brother said in a low voice. “On two fronts.”

Trez’s phone went off again, but he wouldn’t have answered the damn thing even if he’d wanted to. “What are you talking about.”

“There are two females. And in both cases, you’re running out of time.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re—”

“Yeah, you do. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

No, because there was only one ticking time bomb in his life, thank God. “Is Rhage going to wake up, or does he need a crash cart?”

“This is not about him.”

“Well, it ain’t about me either. Seriously, does he require medical help?”

“No. And that is not what we’re talking about.”

“Wrong pronoun, buddy. I’m not in this conversation.”

Besides, who knew, maybe if the s’Hisbe shit went his way, he could work on the situation with Selena. After all, if he wasn’t the Anointed One, he was free to be . . .

Shit, unless he gave up his work here, he’d still be a pimp. In recovery from his sex addiction. Who was going to need therapy to get over bad-destiny PTSD.

Yeah, wow. Bachelor of the year over here.

And hell, it wasn’t like Selena seemed to miss him—and he didn’t blame her. His past with all those human women, even though he’d stopped with the whoring as soon as he’d kissed her, was nothing romantic. It was downright disgusting.

The months of celibacy hardly made up for his efforts to deliberately stain his physical body—

“I’m having a vision of you.” V rubbed his eyes.

“Look, unless you need me, I’ma—”

“For you, the statue will waltz.”

As Trez’s phone went off again, he found that the heebs had overtaken every square inch of his body. “With all due respect, I have no clue what you’re talking about. Take care of that Brother for however long you need to, no one’s going to disturb you here.”

“Be present. Even when you think it will kill you.”

“No offense, V, but I’m not hearing this. Later.”