"Who...else?"
"Rhage."
"Butch."
"Phury."
"Zsadist."
"Tohr."
The voices all matched the names, those deep, serious, no-bullshit tones sinking into his brain, helping to ground himself in a reality that didn't involve the past.
And then the last one was the final rung of the ladder that got him out of that mental tailspin and back to what was real. "Wrath."
Qhuinn went to jerk his head toward the king, but the impulse got him nowhere.
"I'm going to let you go, buddy, okay?" V said. "You gonna mind your manners?"
"Yeah."
"On three. One. Two. Three - "
Vishous leaped back and landed in a hand-to-hand combat pose: arms up, fists ready, stance stable. In spite of the fact that the Brother's face was covered by the hood, Qhuinn could just picture the expression: No doubt that if Qhuinn made any move, he'd be reintroduced to the wall - and that acquaintance had already been well and truly made, f**k him very much.
He felt about six inches flatter.
With a curse, Qhuinn turned around slowly, keeping his hands where the Brotherhood could see them. "Are you kicking me out of the house?"
He had no clue what the hell he'd done, but with his history of pissing people off - on purpose and by default? Could be anything.
"No, you idiot," V said with a laugh.
Facing the lineup of hooded, solemn figures, he searched where the faces were, making contact, reminding himself that these were the guys he had fought with side by side, that they'd always had his back, that they'd worked together.
So what the hell was going -
The third figure from the left lifted his arm, a long finger extending out and pointing to the dead center of Qhuinn's chest.
Instantly, Qhuinn was back in the carcass of the Cessna, the in-flight drama over, Zsadist alive and well, the goal reached...that male singling him out as he was now.
In the Old Language, Wrath said, "You shall be asked a question. You shall be asked it only once. Your answer shall stand the test of time, extending out from this moment unto your bloodline forever more. Are you prepared to be asked."
Qhuinn's heart began to thunder. Eyes bouncing around, he couldn't believe that this was...
Except...how was it possible? Based on his bloodlines and his defect, it wasn't legal for someone like him to -
From out of nowhere, the image of Saxton working in that library for all those nights hit him.
Holy...fuck.
So many questions: Why him? Why now? What about John Matthew, whose chest already, magically, bore the marking of the Brotherhood?
As his mind raced, he knew he had to answer, but shit, he couldn't -
With a sudden clarity, he thought of his daughter, picturing that image that he'd seen in the door to the Fade.
Qhuinn looked at each of the hoods again. How ironic, he thought. Nearly two years ago, an Honor Guard of black robes had been sent to him to make sure he knew his family didn't want him. And now, here these males were, come to draw him into a different kind of fold - that was every bit as strong as that of blood.
"Hell, yeah," he said. "Ask me."
Blay's first clue that something big was up was the sound of footfalls going by his room: He was in front of his mirror, shaving, when he heard them come down the hall of statues, heavy, repetitive - a lot of them.
Had to be the Brotherhood.
Then, as he bent over the sink to rinse the residual shaving cream off his cheeks, something hard dropped to the floor next door - or was thrown at a wall. In what sure as shit seemed like Qhuinn's room.
Cranking off the hot and cold mix, he snagged a towel and wrapped it around his hips as he jogged out of his suite and headed down to -
Blay skidded to a halt. Qhuinn's room was dark, but the light from the corridor shone in...on a circle of black robes that surrounded the guy. As he was held face-first against the wall.
Blay's only thought was that a second Honor Guard had come for the fighter - even though he knew damn well that it was the Brotherhood under all those robes. Had to be, right?
Vishous's voice solved that one, the male's words slow and even.
Then Qhuinn was released. As he turned around, he was white as a sheet, shaking as he stood naked in the center of that circle of hooded figures.
Wrath cut through the silence, the king's deep baritone filling the darkness. "You shall be asked a question. You shall be asked it only once. Your answer shall stand for the test of time, extending out from this moment unto your bloodline forever more. Are you prepared to be asked."
Blay put his dagger hand up to his mouth as the thing fell open. This couldn't be...could it? They were inducting him into the Black Dagger Brotherhood?
Instantly, he put it all together - Saxton working for all those months; Qhuinn's acts of heroism; John getting informed that the guy was no longer his ahstrux nohtrum.
Wrath must have changed the Old Laws.
Holy f**king shit.
"Hell, yeah. Ask me."
Blay had to smile as he ducked away and went back to his room. Leave it to Qhuinn to be blunt.
As he shut his door, he stayed against it, waiting. Moments later, those heavy footsteps came again, filing past his room, going down the hall, disappearing...changing history forever.
In all the aeons of the Brotherhood, there had never been anyone inducted who wasn't the son of a Brother and a female of Chosen blood. Qhuinn was technically an aristocrat - even with him forsaken by his family, and with his "defect," his lineage was what it was. But he didn't have the kind of DNA credentials - or the warrior name - that the others did.
And yet, assuming he lived through the ceremony, he would return to the mansion as a male among equals, forsaken no more.
It was good that Luchas was alive to see this. That was going to matter.
Blay got dressed, and when he checked his phone, he saw the group text that had gone out from Tohr, saying that no one was going out into the field tonight - and that they were getting a pair of new roommates: The Shadows were coming to stay at the mansion.
Cool. Given the disquiet with the aristocracy, and that attempt on Wrath's life? Nothing better than having those two killers under the roof. Coupled with Lassiter's antics, that meant the king had a trio of guys with extra skills protecting him.
With any luck, Trez and iAm would be permanent fixtures.
Leaving his room, he jogged down the stairs and was not surprised to find the doggen running around, setting up a feast.
How long was it going to take, he wondered.
And man, he wished he had something to occupy the time.
Wandering into the billiards room, because he knew better than to approach Fritz with an offer to help with the preparations, he picked up a cue and racked a set of balls. As he was chalking the tip, the bell at the vestibule's door went off.