Next thing he knew, he was lying down flat.
iAm’s voice came from up above, like God’s or maybe a movie theater announcer’s: “I’m leaving the light on.”
As if he were four years old.
“Thank…”
iAm stood over his brother as Trez passed out cold halfway through a thank-you. As a soft snore percolated out of the guy, he shook his head.
His brother was going to be like that for a while.
Glancing to the foot of the bed, he saw the pants that he’d removed on the floor, and he went over and picked them up. It was probably best that they weren’t the first thing the male saw when he woke up—and iAm would have preferred to throw them away. The idea that they might be an important symbol of the death stopped him, however, and he settled for folding them up and putting them on a shelf in the closet.
He checked on Trez one more time. But short of pulling up a chair and watching the guy breathe for the next four or six or ten hours, there wasn’t anything for him to do here.
Backing out of the room, he paused again in the doorway … and saw nothing that gave him any concern other than the fact that Trez looked dead already.
Yup. Nothing amiss.
Same ol’ same-ol’.
God, he wanted to vomit.
Heading down to the second floor, he went over to the open doors of Wrath’s study. All the Brothers and fighters were in there, some sitting, others pacing, a few leaning against walls.
They stopped talking and looked over at him.
He raised a hand in greeting. “Sorry to bother you all. Figured you’d want to know that he’s crashed upstairs. He’s so grateful for everything you did, and he asked me to let you know that.”
There was some murmuring—but something was off. Way off.
“What’s going on?” he said slowly.
Wrath spoke up from the ornate throne behind the ornate desk. “You mind coming in here for a minute and shutting the doors?”
So they’d been waiting for him.
“Ah, yeah. No problem.”
When he’d closed them all in, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me. And don’t bullshit around whatever it is. I haven’t the patience or the energy.”
Wrath leveled those black sunglasses at him. “We received a phone call about a half an hour ago at the audience house.”
“Okay.”
“The individual did not identify themselves. They were, however, evidently from the s’Hisbe. Bottom line, either I turn over your brother at midnight tomorrow or the Queen is declaring war on not just myself and the Brothers, but vampires at large.”
iAm closed his eyes.
He should have seen this coming. He really should have.
He just really could have used, like, ten minutes before the next drama bomb landed in front of him.
Letting out his breath, he muttered, “Son of a bitch—”
“But we’re not giving him up.”
iAm’s lids popped wide. “What?”
Wrath braced his powerful arms on the desk and leaned in, baring his fangs. “I don’t respond to threats. And we are prepared to go to war if that’s what it comes down to—but whatever the outcome, I will not deliver that male anywhere. Period.”
As a low growl vibrated through the air, iAm looked around.
He hadn’t cried since the moment Selena had passed, not even when he’d walked out of the back of the house behind his brother to the pyre. It was as if, when the Chosen died, the electrical fuse to that part of him blew under the load that it was having to carry, the center of his chest going lights-out.
Now, though, as he met the steady, aggressive stares of the males in the room, the tears started to roll down his cheeks.
It appeared, after decades of being without a tribe, that he and his brother had found theirs.
These proud warriors, and their females, had adopted two orphans who had been out in the world on their own … and they were prepared to fight to the death to protect what was theirs.
Taking a shuddering breath, he pulled his shit together and shook his head at Wrath, even though the male couldn’t see him. “I’m sorry, I can’t let you do that—”
“Excuse me?” the King bit out. “I know you aren’t trying to tell me my business.”
“But Shadows are capable of…” He cleared his throat, not wanting to insult them. “You don’t understand what my people can do.”
They had tricks that regular vampires did not.
Wrath smiled with a blood thirst. “Maybe you haven’t met my ally?” As the King swept his hand to the side, he pointed at Rehvenge. “Do I need to make introductions?”
Rehvenge’s amethyst eyes were cold. “As the leader of my people, I am not without resources to call upon—and I assure you, we are more than capable of countering any attack that Queen brings.”
The symphaths, iAm thought. Jesus …
Wrath glanced around the room. “She wants a war? I’ll give her one—and I guarantee that a scorched-earth policy is going to look like a Sunday fucking dinner compared to what I’m prepared to do to her if she tries to take our boy.”
At that, all iAm could do was stand there and blink like a dummy.
God. Damn.
It was enough to almost make him feel sorry for that female.
SEVENTY-FOUR
When iAm materialized on the terrace of the condo at the Commodore about twenty minutes later, he found that the note he’d told Fritz to bring over was still Scotch-taped to the glass. He peeled the thing off, saw that it had been opened and read, and put it away inside his leather jacket.
Then he opened things up, and turned on some lights with his mind.
As the illumination flared, he blinked until his eyes adjusted properly. The cold gusts coming in fluttered the drapes, and even tipped a throw pillow over on the sofa. He did not shut the slider behind himself as he entered.
Taking off his jacket, he paced around.
His conscience was not at peace. Not at all. To have found his tribe, only to have them go to war for him and his brother? That was too much to live with. Yeah, sure, the Brothers were all big boys, and specially trained, and armored up the ass—and they had the symphaths backing them.
But people were going to die.
That was the nature of weaponized conflict.
Whatever the other solution was, he had to find it. Fast—
“iAm?”
As maichen’s voice registered, he wheeled around. “Oh, God, you’re here.”
Without giving the poor female so much as a hi-how’re-ya, he went over and dragged her against him, holding her hard. Even through all the robing, he felt her body, her warmth, her soul, and he drank that in, taking from it the energy he needed.
Pulling back, he removed her hood and clasped her head, bringing her in for a kiss. “Thank God.”
“iAm, what has happened?”
He took her hands urgently. “I need you to listen to me, and listen to me carefully. I want to take you somewhere safe.”
“iAm, I can’t go with you.”
“The Territory is not safe.”
She stilled. Frowned. “Whate’er do you speak of?”
Fucking hell, the last thing he needed was the reality that if he didn’t take care of the no-win situation with the Queen properly, maichen was likely to get injured or killed: Nobody was going to be spared if there was a war with the s’Hisbe—and after talking to Wrath and Rehv, he knew both of those leaders were prepared to attack the Shadows where they lived.
At midnight tomorrow.
“Things are happening at very high levels. The palace isn’t going to be secure enough—”
“Are we to be attacked? By whom?”
“I don’t want to go into it.”
She stepped back sharply. “What is wrong.”
At that moment, a figure came in from the hallway, a massive figure robed in black.
“Well, well, this is a surprise,” s’Ex drawled. “Princess.”
After a moment of confusion, iAm glanced over his shoulder at the open slider, wondering if a fourth person had entered the condo. Considering the way the drama had been running lately? Yeah, the Queen’s daughter absolutely could have shown up here for no good reason.
Things were that out-of-control.
“Have you not properly introduced yourself yet?” s’Ex said. “Would you like me to do the honors, Your Serene Highness?”
As iAm shook his head, he decided maybe there was another explanation: s’Ex had clearly lost his ever-fucking mind. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You mean she hasn’t told you?”
iAm looked back at maichen. “Told me what? She is a maid who took care of me.”
“She is your brother’s betrothed.” The Queen’s executioner came further into the room, stalking them both. “And under palace law, I am now required to kill you, because you’ve seen her face.” The male leaned in and dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “Although I’m thinking, considering the way you greeted her … that you’ve probably seen a lot more than that. Haven’t you. Unless you want me to believe that she’s meeting you here solely to pretend to do your laundry?”
Cold. Cold over his head, on his shoulders, across his chest, down to his feet.