Lover Enshrined

This was what she wanted with the Primale, she thought, staring at the movie. This was it.

Chapter Seventeen

As john sat next to cormia, he checked his phone again for two reasons. The sex scene was making him feel awkward, and he was twitching for word about Qhuinn and Lash.

Damn it.

He texted Blay again, who hit right back and said he hadn’t heard from the guy either and was thinking it was time to get out the car keys.

John let the phone rest on his thigh. Qhuinn couldn’t possibly have done something really stupid. Like hang- himself -in-the-bathroom stupid. Nah. No way.

That father of his, though, was capable of anything. John had never met the male, but he’d heard the stories from Blay-and seen the evidence in that black eye Qhuinn had sported the night after his transition.

John felt his foot tapping and stopped it by putting his palm on his knee. Superstitious son of a bitch that he was, he kept thinking about that old wives’ tale that said bad news always came in threes. If Lash died, there would be two to follow.

He thought of the Brothers out on the streets with lessers. And Qhuinn in the night somewhere, alone. And Bella with her pregnancy.

He checked his phone again and mouthed a curse.

“If you need to go,” Cormia said, “I’m happy to be here on my own.”

He started to shake his head, and she stopped him by lightly touching his forearm. “Take care of whatever it is. It’s obvious you’ve had a difficult evening. I would ask you to talk about it, but I don’t think you would.”

Just because it was on his mind, he typed out: I wish I could go back and not put the shoes on.

“I’m sorry?”

Well, shit, now he had to explain or he looked like an idiot. Something bad happened tonight. Right before it went down, my friend gave me this pair of sneakers I’m wearing. If I hadn’t changed into them, the three of us would have been gone before… He hesitated, thinking that he and his buddies would have been gone before Lash got out of the shower.… what happened went down.

Cormia looked at him for a moment. “Would you like to know what I believe?”

When he nodded, she said, “If it hadn’t been the shoes, you would have dallied wherever you were for another reason. It would have been someone else putting something on. Or a conversation. Or a door that wouldn’t open. As much as we have free choice, absolute destiny is immutable. What is meant to happen does, through one measure or another.”

God, he’d been thinking along those lines back in the training center’s office. Except…

It’s my fault, though. It was about me. The whole thing happened because of me.

“Did you wrong another?” When John shook his head, she asked, “So how is it your fault?”

He couldn’t go into the details. No way. Just was. My friend did something horrible to save my reputation.

“But that was his choice as a male of worth.” Cormia squeezed his forearm. “Do not mourn his free will. Instead, ask yourself what you may do to help him now.”

I feel so damn powerless.

“That’s your perception. Not reality,” she said quietly. “Go and think. The path will come to you. I know it.”

Her quiet faith in him was all the more powerful because it was in her face, not just her words. And it was exactly what he needed.

You are really cool, he typed.

Cormia glowed with pleasure. “Thank you, sire.”

Just John, please.

He handed her the remote and made sure she knew how to work the thing. When she caught on quickly, he wasn’t surprised. She was just like him. Her silences didn’t mean she wasn’t smart.

He bowed to her, which felt a little weird but seemed like the thing to do, and then he beat feet out of there. On his way down the stairs to the second floor, he texted Blay. It had been about two hours at this point since they’d last heard from Qhuinn, and it was definitely time to go looking. As he was likely to have stuff with him, dematerializing wouldn’t be an option, so he couldn’t have gone far because he didn’t have a car. Unless he’d used one of the household’s doggen to take him somewhere?

John punched through the double doors that opened to the hall of statues and thought Cormia was so right: Sitting on his ass wasn’t going to help Qhuinn as he grappled with having been kicked out of his family, and it wasn’t going to change whether Lash lived or died.

And however awkward he felt about what his buddies had heard, the two of them were more important than those words that had been thrown out with cruelty in that locker room.

Just as he hit the stairs, his phone went off with a text. It was from Zsadist: Lash has f latlined. Doesn’t look good.

Qhuinn walked along the side of the road, his duffel slapping his ass as he put one foot in front of the other. Up ahead, a stripe of lightning snaked down out of the sky and illuminated the oak trees, turning their trunks into what looked like a line of thick-shouldered thugs. The thunder that followed was not so far off in the distance and there was ozone in the air. He had a feeling he was about to get drenched.

And he was. At first, the storm’s raindrops were fat and far between, but then they grew smaller and greater in number, kind of like the grown-up ones had jumped out of the clouds first and the young guys had followed only after it was safe.

The water hitting his nylon duffel made a popping sound, and the hair on the top of his head started to flatten out. He took no measures to shield himself, because the rain was going to win. He didn’t have an umbrella and wasn’t about to stand under an oak tree for shelter.

Extra-crispy was so not a look.

It was about ten minutes after the rain started that the car pulled up behind him. Its headlights hit his back and cast his shadow on the pavement ahead, the glow growing brighter as the engine’s whine dropped on the approach.

Blay’d come after him.

He stopped and turned around, shielding his eyes with his forearm. The rain showed up as a fine white pattern in the lights, and mist drifted across the beams, reminding him of episodes of Scooby- Doo.

“Blay, could you dim the highs? I’m going blind here.”

The night went dark and four car doors opened, with no interior light coming on.

Qhuinn slowly dropped his duffel to the ground. These were males of his species, not lessers. Which, considering he was unarmed, was only moderately reassuring.

The doors shut in a round-robin series of thunch. As another bolt of lightning shot through the sky, he got a gander at what he was facing: The four were dressed in black and had hoods covering their facial features.

Ah, yes. The traditional honor guard.

Qhuinn didn’t run as one by one they took out black clubs; he fell into his fighting stance. He was going to lose this one and lose it big, but damn it, he was going down with two sets of bloody knuckles and the teeth of these boys on the road.

The honor guard surrounded him in classic group-pound fashion, and he circled in place, waiting for the first strike. These were big guys, all his size, and their purpose was to exact physical reparation out of his body for what he’d done to Lash. As this was not a rythe, but repayment, he was allowed to fight back.