"Yes."
"You're a good Irishman, right?" When Butch nodded, V said, "Irish, Irish... let me think. Yeah..." Vishous's eyes sobered, and in a voice that cracked, he said, "May the road rise to meet you. May the wind always be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rains fall soft upon your fields. And... my dearest friend... until we meet again may the Lord hold you in the palm of His hand."
In one powerful surge, V sprang backward off the ledge into thin air.
Chapter Forty-three
"John, I need to talk to you." John looked up from Tohr's chair as Wrath came into the study and shut the door. Going by how grim the king looked, this was very serious, whatever it was.
Putting aside his lesson on the Old Language, John braced himself. Oh, God, what if it was the news he'd dreaded hearing every day for the last three months?
Wrath came around the desk and moved the throne so it faced John. Then he sat down and took a deep breath.
Yeah, this is it. Tohr's dead and they've found the body.
Wrath frowned. "I can smell your fear and sadness, son. And I can understand both, given the situation. The funeral is going to be in three days."
John swallowed and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, feeling a black whirlwind spin around him and take the world away.
"Your classmate's family has asked that all the trainees be present."
John jerked his head up. What? he mouthed.
"You classmate, Hhurt. He didn't make it through his change. He died last night."
So Tohr wasn't dead?
John scrambled to pull himself back from one brink, only to find himself looking over the edge of another. One of the trainees had died from the change?
"I thought you'd heard already."
John shook his head and pictured Hhurt. He hadn't known the guy well at all, but still.
"Sometimes it happens, John. But I don't want you to worry about it. We're going to take good care of you."
Someone had died during the transition? Shit... There was a long silence. Then Wrath propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. As his glossy black hair slipped over his shoulder, it brushed his leather-clad thighs. "Listen, John, we need to start thinking about who'll be there for you when you go through the change. You know, who will feed you."
John thought of Sarelle, who the lessers had taken along with Wellsie. His heart clenched. She was supposed to have been the one he used.
"We can play this one of two ways, son. We can try to line someone up on the outside. Bella knows some families who have daughters and one of them... hell, one of them might even make a good mate for you." As John's body got tight, Wrath said, "I've got to be honest, though - I'm not really into that solution. It could be hard to get an outsider to you in time. Fritz would have to pick her up, and minutes count when the change comes. But if you want - "
John put his hand on Wrath's tattooed forearm and shook his head. He didn't know what his other option was, but he was damn sure he didn't want to get near an available female. Without thinking, he signed, No mate. What's my other choice?
"We could have you use a member of the Chosen."
John cocked his head to the side.
"They're the Scribe Virgin's inner circle of females and they live on the other side. Rhage uses one, Layla, to feed from because he can't live off Mary's blood. Layla's safe and we can have her here in the blink of an eye."
John tapped Wrath's forearm and nodded his head.
"You want to use her?"
Yeah, whoever she was.
"Okay. Good. Good deal, son. Her blood is very pure and that will help."
John eased back into Tohr's chair, dimly hearing the old leather creak. He thought of Blaylock and Butch, who had both survived the change... thought of Butch especially. The cop was so happy now. And big. And strong.
The transition was worth the risk, John told himself. Besides... like he had a choice?
Wrath went on, "I'll go ask the directrix of the Chosen, but that's just a formality. Funny, this is the way it used to be, warriors being brought into their power by those females. Shit, they're going to be thrilled." Wrath drew a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his widow's peak. "You'll want to meet her, of course."
John nodded. Then got nervous.
"Oh, don't worry. Layla will like you. Hell, afterward, she'll even let you take her if you want to. The Chosen can be very good at initiating males like that. Some of them, like Layla, are trained for it."
John felt a stupid expression slap itself onto his face. Wrath wasn't talking about sex, was he?
"Yeah, sex. Depending on how hard the change is for you, you may end up wanting it right away." Wrath let out a wry chuckle. "Just ask Butch."
In response, John could only stare at the king and blink like a lighthouse.
"So there we have it." Wrath stood up and moved the massive throne back to the desk with no effort at all. Then he frowned. "What did you think I was coming to talk to you about?"
John dropped his head and absently stroked the arm of Tohr's chair.
"Did you think it was about Tohrment?"
The sound of the name made John's eyes burn and he refused to look up as Wrath sighed.
"You thought I was coming to tell you he was dead?"
John shrugged.
"Well... I don't believe he's gone unto the Fade."
John's stare shot up to those wraparounds.
"I can still feel this echo in my blood and it's him. When we lost Darius I couldn't feel him anymore in my veins. So, yeah, I believe Tohr lives."
John felt a shot of relief, but then went back to smoothing the chair's arm.
"You think he doesn't care about you because he hasn't called or come back?"
John nodded.
"Look, son, when a bonded male loses his mate... he loses himself. It's the hardest separation you can imagine - harder, I've heard, than losing a young for a male. Your mate is your life. Beth's mine. If anything happened to her... yeah, as I said to Tohr once, I can't even go there in the hypothetical." Wrath reached out and put his hand on John's shoulder. "I'll tell you something. If Tohr comes back, it will be because of you. He felt as though you were his kid. Maybe he could walk away from the Brotherhood, but he won't be able to leave you behind. You have my word."
John's eyes welled, but he was not going to cry in front of the king. As he set his spine along with his teeth, the tears dried in place, and Wrath nodded as if he approved of the effort.
"You are a male of worth, John, and you will make him proud. Now, I'm going to go see about Layla."
The king went to the door, then looked back over his shoulder. "Z tells me the two of you go out every night. Good. I want you to keep that up."
When Wrath left, John leaned back in the chair. God, those walks with Z were so strange. Nothing being said, just the two of them dressed in parkas, traipsing through the woods right before dawn came. He was still waiting for the Brother to ask questions, to poke and prod, to try and dig around the inside of his head. But there had been nothing like that yet. All it had been was the two of them, walking in silence beneath tall pines.
Funny, though... he'd come to rely on those little forays. And after this talk of Tohr, he was really going to need one tonight.
Butch was screaming his lungs raw as he raced across the terrace for the ledge. He threw himself at the lip and looked down, but couldn't see anything because he was so far up and there were no lights on this side of the building. As for the sound of a body drop? God knew he was hollering loud enough to drown out that kind of distant thunch.
"Vishous!"
Oh, God... maybe if he got down there fast enough, he could... shit, get V to Havers - or something... anything. He wheeled around, ready to run to the elevator -
Vishous appeared before him as a glowing ghost, a perfect reflection of what the brother had been, an ethereal vision of Butch's one true friend.
Butch stumbled, a pathetic wail coming out of his mouth. "V..."
"I couldn't do it," the ghost said.
Butch frowned. "V?"
"As much as I hate myself... I don't want to die."
Butch went cold. Then ran as white-hot as his roommate's body.
"You f**king bastard!" Butch shot forward without thinking and grabbed Vishous by the throat. "You f**king... bastard! You scared the shit out of me!"
He hauled his arm back and cold-cocked V right in the face, his fist cracking against jawbone. As he braced himself for a return shot, he was absolutely livid. Instead of fighting back, though, V locked his arms around Butch, put his head down, and just... crumpled. Shook all over. Trembled to the point of frailty.