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 fucking 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.
“I’ve got it,” he hollered out as he took his cue with him, striding over to the security check-in screen.
Saxton was on the stoop, the male looking rested and healthy.
Blay opened the way in. “Welcome back.”
There was a moment of surprise on the other male’s face, but he recovered fast with a smile. “Hello.”
Blay wasn’t sure whether they should embrace or not. Did they shake?
“We need to stop this awkwardness,” Saxton announced. “Come here.”