Lover Reborn

birthed rush off to fight against the enemy.

Xhexania didn’t seem fazed at all by the idea that she would be facing deadly lessers: Indeed, that sneer she had shown upon the Brother’s command suggested she would relish it.

No’One’s knees went weak as she thought about what she had brought forth into the world, this female with power in her limbs and vengeance in her heart. No female of the glymera would respond such as that; then again, they would never be asked.

But the symphath was in her daughter.

Dearest Virgin Scribe…

And yet, as Xhexania had spun around, there had been an expression quickly hidden on her face.

No’One hurried forth, limping down the hallway to her daughter’s room. At the heavy door, she knocked softly.

It was a moment before Xhexania opened up. “Hey.”

“I am sorry.”

There was no reaction. That showed. “What for?”

“I know what it is to be unwanted by parents. I do not wish you to—”

“It’s okay.” Xhexania shrugged. “Not like I don’t know where you’re coming from.”

“I—”

“Listen, I have to get ready. Come in if you like, but be warned: I’m not dressing for tea.”

No’One hesitated at the threshold. Inside, the room was well lived-in: The bed was mussed; there were leather pants draped on chairs; two sets of boots were on the floor; a pair of wineglasses were set on a table over in the corner by the chaise lounge. All around, the bonding scent of a full-blooded male, dark and sensuous, lingered in the air.

Lingered on Xhexania herself.

There was a series of clicks and No’One looked around the jamb. Over at the closet, Xhexania was putting some kind of nasty-looking gun through its paces. She was utterly competent, slipping it into a holster under her arm and taking out another. And then it was the bullets and a knife—

“You’re not going to feel any better about me if you keep standing there.”

“I did not come for myself.”

That broke the flow of those hands. “Why, then.”

“I saw the look on your face. I do not want that for you.”

Xhexania reached in and pulled out a black leather jacket. As she yanked the thing on, she cursed. “Look, let’s not pretend either one of us wanted me born, okay? I absolve you, you absolve me, we were the victims, blah, blah, blah. We need to stipulate that and move along our separate ways.”

“Are you sure that is what you want.”

The female froze, then narrowed her eyes. “I know what you did. The night of my birth.”

No’One took a step back. “How…”

Xhexania pointed to her own chest. “Symphath, remember.” The fighter came forward, her gait like a prowl. “That means I get into people—so I can feel the fear you have right now. And the regrets. And the pain. Just standing in front of me, you’re right back where you were when it all happened—and yeah, I know you buried a dagger in your stomach rather than face a future with me. So like I said, how about you and I just avoid each other, and save both of us the hassle?”

No’One lifted her chin. “Indeed, you are a half-breed.”

Dark brows popped. “Excuse me?”

“You sense but a portion of what I feel for you. Or perhaps you do not wish to acknowledge, for your own reasons, that I might wish to care for you.”

In spite of the fact that the female was strung with weapons, she abruptly seemed vulnerable.

“In your gruff self-protection, do not cut off avenues for us,” No’One whispered. “We do not need to force closeness if it is not there. But let us not stop it from blooming if there is a chance. Perhaps… perhaps you shall just tell me this night if there is some small way I can help you. We shall start there… and see what transpires.”

Xhexania broke off and walked around, her tight, hard body more like a male’s, her dress more like a male’s, her energy masculine. She stopped when she was in front of the closet and, after a moment, pulled out the skirting of the red gown Tohrment had given her for the night of her mating.

“Have you cleaned the satin?” No’One asked. “And I am not suggesting you have sullied it. Fine fabric must be cared for, however, in order to be preserved.”

“I’d have no idea where to start on that one.”

“Allow me, then?”

“It’ll be fine.”

“Please. Allow me.”

Xhexania looked over. In a low voice, she said, “Why in God’s name would you want to do that?”

The truth was as simple as four words, as complex as an entire language. “You are my daughter.”

THREE

Back in downtown Caldwell, Tohr shed the cold and the aches and the exhaustion that gumshoed him and went in pursuit once again: The scent of fresh lesser blood was like cocaine in his system, buzzing him up and giving him the strength to carry on.

Behind him, he heard the other two closing in, and knew damn well they weren’t seeking enemy—but good fucking luck trying to get him back to the mansion. Dawn was the only thing that could do that.

Besides, the more wiped out he was, the better shot he had at actually sleeping for an hour or two.

As he rounded the corner of an alley, his shitkickers skidded to a halt. In front of him, seven lessers were circling a pair of fighters, but the centerpieces were not Z and Phury, or V and Butch, or Blaylock and Rhage.

That was a scythe in the left one’s hands. A big-ass, sharply honed scythe.

“Son of a bitch,” Tohr muttered.

The male with the curving blade had his feet planted on the pavement like he was a god, his weapon poised, his ugly face smiling in anticipation as if he were about to sit down to a good meal. Next to him, a vampire Tohr hadn’t see for aeons was nothing like the guy he’d once met in the Old Country.

Looked as though Throe, son of Throe, had fallen in with a bad crowd.

John and Qhuinn pulled up on either side of him, and the latter glanced over. “Tell me that isn’t our new neighbor.”

“Xcor.”

“Was he born with that puss or did someone make it for him?”

“Who knows.”

“Well, if that was supposed to be a nose job, he needs a new plastic surgeon.”

Tohr looked over at John. “Call them off.”

Excuse me? the kid signed.

“I know you texted the brothers back at the house. Tell them it was a mistake. Right now.” When John started to argue, he cut off the conversation. “You want there to be an all-out war here? You call the Brotherhood in, he calls his bastards in, and suddenly we’re balls to the wall without any strategy. We’ll handle this by ourselves—I’m fucking serious, John. I’ve dealt with these boys before. You haven’t.”

As John’s hard stare met his own, Tohr had the sense, as always, that they had been in these situations together far, far longer than just the past few months.

“You gotta trust me, son.”

John’s response was to mouth a curse, get his phone out and start hitting the buttons.

And at that moment, Xcor tweaked that there were visitors. In spite of the number of lessers ahead of him, he started laughing. “It’s the bloody Black Daggers—and just in