Lover Mine(27)

His hands were behind his back.

In spite of his outward appearance of calm, he was twisting those hands where no one could see, the movement in the tops of his forearms belying his nervous churning.

Darius could understand how the boy felt. After this address, they were one and all going out into the field and Hharm's son would be tested for the first time against the enemy.

He was not properly armed.

Fresh from the war camp, his weapons were no better than Darius's had been . . . just more of the Bloodletter's castoffs. Which was deplorable. Darius had had no sire to provide for him, but Hharm should have taken care of his boy, giving him well-balanced, well-made instruments that were as good as his own.

The king raised his arms and looked up unto the ceiling. "May the Scribe Virgin look upon those herein assembled with all grace and blessing as these soldiers of worth go out unto the fields of conflict."

The war cry exploded from the Brothers, and Darius joined in with all his breath, the roar echoing and rebounding and continuing as a chant started up. As the thundering sound rose higher and higher, the king held his palm out to the side. From the shadows, the young heir to the throne came forward, his expression far older than his seven years. Wrath, son of Wrath, was, like Tohrment, the spitting image of his sire, but there the comparison between the two pairs ended. The regent king was sacred, not just to his parents, but to the race.

This small male was the future, the leader to come . . . evidence that in spite of the affronts committed by the Lessening Society, the vampires would survive.

And he was fearless. Whereas many a wee one had shrunk back behind a parent when facing a single Brother, the young Wrath stood his own, staring up at the males before him as if he knew, regardless of his tender age, that he would command the strong backs and fighting arms of those before him.

"Go forth, my warriors," the king said. "Go forth and wield thy daggers with lethal intent."

Bloodythirsty things to say in front of tender ears, but in the midst of the war, there was no advantage to shielding the next generation of royalty. Wrath, son of Wrath, would never be out in the field--he was too important to the race--but he would be trained so he could appreciate what the males under his authority were facing.

As the king stared down upon his begotten issue, the elder's eyes misted with pride and joy and hope and love.

How different Hharm and his son were. That young was beside his blooded sire, but for all the attention that was paid to him, he might have stood next to a stranger.

Ahgony leaned into Darius. "Someone needs to watch o'er that boy."

Darius nodded. "Aye."

"I fetched him from the war camp this night."

Darius glanced over at his brother. "Indeed? Where was his sire?"

"Betwixt the legs of a maiden."

Darius cursed under his breath. Verily, the Brother was of brutish constitution in spite of his breeding and courtesy of his base instincts, he had sons aplenty, which may have explained though certainly not excused his thoughtlessness. Of course, his other sons were not eligible for the Brotherhood because their mothers were not of Chosen blood.

However, Hharm appeared to be unconcerned.

As the poor boy stood so separate, Darius remembered well his own first night in the field: how he'd been tied to no one . . . how he'd feared facing the enemy with nothing but his wits and what little training he'd had to fortify his courage. It wasn't that the Brothers had cared naught how he fared. But they had had to watch after themselves and he'd had to prove he could hold his own.

This young male clearly was in the same predicament--it was just that he had a father who should have eased his way.

"Be well, Darius," Ahgony said as the royals went in among the Brothers, clasping palms and preparing to take their leave. "I am escorting the king and the prince."

"Be well, my brother." The two embraced quickly and then Ahgony joined the Wraths and went with them out of the cave.

As Tohrture stepped up and began apportioning territories for the night, pairs started to form and Darius looked through the heads at Hharm's son. The boy had faded back against the wall and was standing stiffly, still with those hands behind his back. Hharm seemed uninterested in anything other than trading hyperbole with the others.

Tohrture put two fingers up to his mouth and whistled. "My brothers! Attention!" The cave went stone silent. " Thank you. Are we clear on territories?"

There was a collective affirmation and the Brothers started to leave--and Hharm didn't even look back at his son. He just went for the exit.

In the wake, the boy brought his hands forward and rubbed them one into the other. Stepping forward, he said his father's name once . . . twice.