Interlopers he could deal with, however. And with the support of the Council? He was willing to bet he could become a populist leader—provided everyone got in line.
Wrath wasn’t the only one who could change the laws.
“Do not waste time with this,” Xcor said. “You have a week. No longer.”
The answer that came back at him was gratifying: “I shall proceed with all haste.”
And wasn’t that a lovely way to end a phone call.
SEVENTY-FOUR
The tunnel that connected the mansion with the training center was cool, dim, and quiet.
As Qhuinn walked through it, he was by himself and glad of it. Nothing worse than being surrounded by happy people when you felt like death.
When he got to the door that led into the back of the office’s closet, he put in the code, waited for the lock to pop, and pushed his way inside. A quick trip past the stationery and pens, and through another door, and he was going around the desk. Next thing he knew, he was in the corridor in front of the weight room, but exercise wasn’t what he was looking for. After what the Brotherhood had done to him, he was stiff and achy—especially in the arms, thanks to having held himself upright on those pegs.
Man, his hands were still numb, and as he flexed his fingers, he knew what arthritis felt like for the first time in his life.
Moving along, he stopped again when he got to the clinic area. As he went to straighten his clothes, he realized he was still wearing only the robe.
He wasn’t going back to change; that was for sure.
Knocking on the recovery room’s door, he said, “Luchas? You up?”
“Come in,” was the hoarse reply.
He had to brace himself before he entered. And he was glad he did.
Lying on the bed with his head propped up, Luchas still looked as if he were on the verge of extinction. The face that Qhuinn had remembered as intelligent and young was lined and grim. The body was painfully thin. And those hands…
Jesus Christ, the hands.
And he thought his ached a little bit?
He cleared his throat. “Hey.”
“Hello.”
“So…yeah. How you been?”
Fucking duh on that one. The guy was staring at weeks of bed rest, and then months of PT—and was going to be lucky if he could ever hold a pen again.
Luchas winced as he tried to lift his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m surprised you came.”
“Well, you’re my—” Qhuinn stopped himself. Actually, the guy was not, in fact, any relation of his. “I mean…yeah.”
Luchas closed his eyes. “I have always, and will always, be your blood. No piece of paper can change that.”
Qhuinn’s eyes went to that mangled right hand, and its signet ring. “I think Father would very much disagree with you.”
“He’s dead. So his opinion is no longer relevant.”
Qhuinn blinked.
When he didn’t say anything, Luchas popped his lids open. “You seem surprised.”
“No offense, but I never expected to hear that come out of your mouth.”
The male indicated his broken body. “I have changed.”
Qhuinn reached over and pulled a chair out for himself; as he sat down, he rubbed his face. He had come here because seeing your previously dead estranged brother was the only remotely acceptable reason for skipping a party thrown in your honor.
And spending the night watching Blay and Saxton together? Not going to happen.
Except now that he was here, he didn’t think he was up to any kind of conversation.
“What happened with the house?” Luchas asked.
“Ah…nothing. I mean, after…what happened went down, no one claimed it, and I had no rights to it. When it reverted to Wrath, he gave it back to me—but listen, it’s yours. I haven’t been inside of it since I got kicked out.”
“I don’t want it.”
Okaaaaaaaaaaay, another big surprise. Growing up, his brother had talked nonstop of everything he’d wanted to accomplish when he was older: the schooling, the social prominence, taking over where their father left off.
Him saying no was like someone turning down a throne—unfathomable.
“Have you ever been tortured?” Luchas murmured.
His childhood came to mind. Then the Honor Guard. But he sure as shit wasn’t going to bust the guy’s balls. “I been knocked around some.”
“I’ll bet. What happened afterward?”
“What do you mean?”
“How did you get used to normal again?”
Qhuinn flexed his sore hands, looking at his own fingers that were all perfectly functional and intact in spite of the aches. His brother wasn’t going to be able to count to ten anymore: Healing was one thing, regeneration another entirely.