Confused, he had scrambled about, dematerializing this way, that way, up and back—as all the while, a strange feeling of dread came over him, like his skin was an antenna for danger and it was warning of imminent harm. Backing off, he had found himself at the base of a mountain, the contours of which registered, even in the bright, clear moonlight, as fuzzy, indistinct, unclear.
This had to be where they stayed.
Mayhap up at the top. Mayhap down the far side.
There was no other explanation—after all, the Brotherhood lived with the king to protect him…so undoubtedly, they would take precautions the likes of which no one else would, and perhaps have at their disposal technologies as well as mystical provisions that were otherwise unavailable.
Frantic, he had circled the vicinity, going around the base of that mountain a number of times, sensing nothing but the refraction of her signal and that strange dread. His ultimate conclusion was that she had to be somewhere in that vast, thick acreage: He would have sensed her traveling beyond it, in any direction, if she had come out on another side, and it seemed reasonable to assume that if she had gone to her sacred temple, upon some alternate plane of existence, or—Fates forbid—died, the resonant echoing of himself would have disappeared.
His Chosen was there somewhere.
Returning to the warehouse, to the present, to where he was now, Xcor rubbed his palms back and forth slowly, the rasping of the calluses rising up into the quiet. Over on the left, on the edge of the candlelight, his weapons were laid out one by one, the daggers, the guns, and his beloved scythe carefully arranged next to the messy pile of outer clothing he’d removed as soon as he’d chosen this particular spot on the floor.
He focused upon his scythe and waited for her to talk to him: She often did that, her blood-thirsty ways in lockstep with the aggression that flowed in his veins and defined his thoughts and motivated his actions.
He waited for her to tell him to attack the Brotherhood where they lay. Where their females were. Where their young slept.
The silence was worrisome.
Indeed, his arrival in the New World had been predicated upon a desire to gain power, and the biggest, boldest expression of that drive was overthrowing the throne—so, naturally, that was the course he had chosen. And he was making headway. The assassination attempt in the fall, which had without a doubt put death sentences upon his and his soldiers’ heads, had been a tactical move that had very nearly finished the whole war before it had gotten started. And his ongoing efforts with Elan and the glymera were promoting his agenda and shoring up his support in and among the aristocracy.
But what he had learned this night…
Fates, nearly a year’s worth of work and sacrifice and planning and fighting paled in comparison to what he had discovered this night.
If his hunch was correct—and how could it not be?—all he had to do was marshal his soldiers and begin a siege as soon as night fell. The battle would be epic, and the Brotherhood and First Family’s home permanently compromised no matter the outcome.
It would be a conflict for the history books—after all, the last time the royal homestead had been hit had been when Wrath’s sire and mahmen had been slaughtered before his transition.
History repeating itself.
And he and his soldiers had a serious advantage that those slayers back then had not possessed: The Brotherhood now had several bonded members. In fact, he believed they were all bonded—and that was going to split those males’ attentions and loyalties as nothing else could. Although their primary directive as the personal guard of the king was to protect Wrath, their very cores would be torn, and even the strongest fighter with the best of weapons could be weakened if his priorities were in two places.
Moreover, if Xcor or one of his males could get hold of even one of those shellans, the Brotherhood would fold—because the other thing that was true of them was that the pain of their Brothers was agony of their own.
One female of any of theirs would be all that was required, the ultimate weapon.
He knew it in his soul.
Sitting in the candlelight, Xcor rubbed his dagger hand against his other palm, back and forth, back and forth.
One female.
That was all he needed.
And he would be able to claim not only his own mate…but the throne.
FORTY
Qhuinn knew he’d put Blay in a totally unfair position.
Talk about pity fucks. But oh, God…looking into those blue eyes, those goddamn bottomless blue eyes that were open to him in the way they’d once been…it was all he could think about. And yeah, technically it was sex in terms of where he wanted his various body parts—well, one specifically. There was so much more to it than that, though.