Lover Reborn

Balancing his cane against the delicate sofa he’d been sitting on, he opened the parchment with his fingertips, like he didn’t enjoy the feel of the thing. Then in a low, deep voice, he read each sentence in the ancient language it had been composed in.

My old, dear friend,

I am writing to advise you of my arrival in the city of Caldwell with my soldiers. Although we have long tallied in the Old Country, the dire events of the previous few years in this jurisdiction have made it impossible for us to remain, in all good conscience, where we have previously established our domicile.

As you perhaps have heard from relations overseas, our strong efforts have eradicated the Lessening Society in the motherlands, making it safe for our fair race to flourish in peace and security there. Clearly, it is time I bring this stout arm of protection to bear on this side of the ocean—the race here in these parts has sustained untenable losses, ones that mayhap could have been avoided if we had been here sooner.

I ask for nothing in return for our service to the race, although I would appreciate the opportunity to meet with you and the Council—if only to express my sincerest condolences at all you have borne since the raids. It is a shame that things have come to this—the commentary is sad upon certain segments of our society.

With kindest regard,

Xcor

When Rehv was done, he folded the paper up and disappeared it. No one said a thing.

“That was my reaction, too,” he muttered dryly.

This opened the floodgates, everybody talking at once, the curses flowing rich and heavy.

Wrath made a fist and banged on his desk until the lamp jumped, and George went into hiding under his master’s throne. When order was finally restored, it was like a stallion brought under control with a bit; a tenuous respite, more like a pause in the bucking and rearing than a true settle-down.

“I understand the bastard was out last night,” Wrath said.

Tohrment spoke up. “We engaged with Xcor, yes.”

“So this is not a fake.”

“No, but it was written by someone else. He’s illiterate—”

“I’ll teach the fucker to read,” V muttered. “By cramming the Library of Congress up his ass.”

As grunts of approval threatened to turn into more outbursts, Wrath pounded on his desk again. “What do we know about his crew?”

Tohr shrugged. “Assuming he’s kept the same ones on, they’re a total of five. Three cousins. That porn star Zypher—”

Rhage harrumphed at that. Clearly, even though he was now very happily mated, he felt like the race had one, and only one, sex legend—and it was him.

“And Throe was with him in that alley,” Tohr smoothed over. “Look, I’m not going to lie—it’s clear that Xcor’s making a play against…”

When he didn’t finish the statement, Wrath nodded. “Me.”

“Which would mean us—”

“Us—”

“Us—”

More voices than you could count uttered that one word, the single syllable coming from every corner of the room, every seat cushion, every flat plane of wall someone was up against. And that was the thing. Unlike Wrath’s father, this king had been a fighter and a Brother first—so the bonds that had been formed were not out of some artifact of prescribed duty, but the fact that Wrath had stood beside them all in the field and saved their asses personally at one time or another.

The king smiled a little. “I appreciate the support.”

“He needs to die.” When everybody looked at Rehvenge, the guy shrugged. “Plain and simple. Let’s not bullshit around with protocol and meetings. Let’s just take him out.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little bloodthirsty, sin-eater?” Wrath drawled.

“From one king to another, know that I’m giving you the middle finger right now.” And he was, with a smile. “Symphaths are known for efficiency.”

“Yeah, and I can feel where you’re coming from. Unfortunately, the law provides that you have to make an attempt on my life before I can bury you.”

“That’s where this is headed.”

“Agreed, but our hands are tied. My ordering the assassination of what is otherwise an innocent male is not going to help us in the eyes of the glymera.”

“Why do you need to be associated with the death?”

“And if that bastard’s innocent,” Rhage spoke up, “I’m the fucking Easter bunny.”

“Oh, good,” someone quipped. “I’m calling you Hop-along Hollywood from now on.”

“Beasty Bo Peep,” somebody else threw out.

“We could put you in a Cadbury ad and finally make some money—”

“People,” Rhage barked, “the point is that he is not innocent and I’m not the Easter bunny—”

“Where’s your basket?”

“Can I play with your eggs?”

“Hop it out, big guy—”

“Will you guys fuck off? Seriously!”

As various cottontail comments were lobbed like Jell-O at a food fight, Wrath had to pound the desk another time or two. It was obvious where the humor was coming from: The stress was so high, if they didn’t blow off a little steam, shit was going to get grim fast. It didn’t mean the Brotherhood wasn’t focused; if anything, they all felt like Qhuinn did—socked in the gut.

Wrath was the fabric of life, the basis for everything, the living, breathing structure of the race. After the brutal raids by the Lessening Society, what was left of the aristocracy had fled Caldwell to their safe homes out of town. The last thing the vampires needed was further fragmentation, especially in the form of a violent overthrow of the rightful ruler.

And Rehv was correct: That was where this was going. Hell, even Qhuinn could see the path: Step one, create doubt in the minds of the glymera about the Brotherhood’s ability to protect the race. Step two, fill the “void” in the field with those soldiers of Xcor’s. Step three, create allies on the Council and stir up anger and lack of confidence against the king. Step four, dethrone Wrath and weather the storm. Step five, emerge as the new leader.

When order in the study was finally reestablished, Wrath looked downright nasty. “Next one of you mouthy assholes makes me pound my desk again, I’m throwing you the fuck out.” On that note, he reached down, picked up the cowering ninety-pound retriever, and settled George in his lap. “You’re freaking out my dog and it’s pissing me off.”

As the animal put his big boxy head in the crook of the king’s arm, Wrath stroked all that silky, blond fur. It was absolutely incongruous, the tremendous, cruel-looking vampire calming that handsome, gentle dog, but the two had a symbiotic relationship, trust and love thick as blood on both sides.

“Now, if you’re ready to be reasonable,” the king said, “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. Rehv is going to stall the guy for as long as he can.”

“I still think we should put a knife in his left eye,” Rehv muttered, “but in the alternative, we’ve got to hold him in place. He wants to see and be seen, and as leahdyre of the Council, I can stonewall him up to a point. His voice in the ears of the glymera is not what we need.”

“In the meantime,” Wrath announced, “I’m going to go out and meet personally with the heads of the