By all that is holy, Zypher said hoarsely. Whateer was that?
Xcor blinked hard before he glared over his shoulder. She killed him.
Aye. And then some.
As the band of bastards came to stand about him, one by one, Xcor had to think of what to say, what to do.
Stiffly rising to a stand, he wanted to call for his stallion, but his mouth was too dry to whistle. His father . . . long his nemesis and yet his grounding, too, was dead. Dead. And it had happened so fast, too fast.
By a female.
His father, gone.
When he could, he looked at each of the males afore him, the two on horseback, the two on foot, the one to his right. With weighty realization, he knew that whatever destiny lay ahead, it would be shaped by what he did in this moment, right here, right now.
He had not prepared for this, but he would not turn away from what he must do:
Hear this now, for I shall utter it but once. No one is to say a thing. My father died in battle with the enemy. I burned him to pay homage and keep him with me. Swear this to me now.
The bastards he had long lived and fought with so vowed, and after their deep voices drifted away on the night, Xcor leaned down and raked his fingers through the ashes. Raising his hands to his face, he streaked the sooty marking from his cheeks to the thick veins that ran up either side of his neckand then he palmed the hard, bony skull that was all that was left of his father. Holding the steaming, charred remains aloft, he claimed the soldiers before him as his own.
I am your sole liege now. Bind yourselves unto me at this moment or thou art mine enemy. What say you all.
There was nary a hesitation. The males set upon bended knee, taking out their daggers, and bursting forth with a war cry before burying the blades into the earth at his feet.
Xcor stared at their bowed heads and felt a mantle fall upon his shoulders.
The Bloodletter was dead. No longer living, he was a legend starting this night.
And as is right and proper, the son now stepped into the soles of his sire, commanding these soldiers who would serve not Wrath, the king who would not rule, nor the Brotherhood, who would not deign to lower themselves to this level... but Xcor and Xcor alone.
We go in the direction from whence the female came, he announced. We shall find her even if it takes centuries, and she shall pay for what she hath wrought this night. Now Xcor whistled loud and clear to his stallion. I shall take this death out of her hide myself.
Springing up onto his horse, he gathered the reins and spurred the great beast into the night, his band of bastards falling into formation upon his heels, prepared to go to the death for him.
As they thundered out of the village, he put the skull of his father in his leather battle shirt, right over his heart.
Vengeance would be his own. Even if it killed him.
ONE
PRESENT DAY AQUEDUCT RACETRACK, QUEENS, NEW YORK
I want to blow you.
Dr. Manny Manello swiveled his head to the right and looked at the woman whod spoken to him. It was hardly the first time hed heard that combination of words, and the mouth theyd come out of certainly had enough silicone in it to offer a good cushion. But it was still a surprise.
Candace Hanson smiled at him and adjusted her Jackie O. hat with a manicured hand. Apparently, shed decided that the combination of ladylike and raunchy was enticingand maybe it was to some guys.
Hell, at another time in his life, he probably would have taken her up on it, under the why-the-hell-not theory. Now? File that under not-so-much.
Undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm, she leaned forward, flashing him a set of breasts that didnt so much defy gravity as flip it off, insult its mother, and piss on its shoes. I know where we could go.
He bet she did. Race is about to start.
She pouted. Or maybe that was just the way her post-injection lips poofed out. God, a decade ago shed probably been fresh faced; now the years were adding a patina of desperation to heralong with the normal wrinkle-linked aging process that she clearly fought like a boxer.
Afterward, then.
Manny turned away without replying, unsure exactly how she got into the owners section. Must have been in the rush to come back here from the saddling up at the paddockand no doubt she was used to getting into places she technically wasnt allowed: Candace was one of those Manhattan social types who was nothing but a pimp away from being a prostitute, and in a lot of ways, she was like any other waspignore the nuisance and itll go land on something else.
Or someone else, as it were.
Putting his arm up to keep her from getting any closer, Manny leaned on the rail of his owners box and waited for his girl to be brought out onto the track. She was posted on the outside, and that was fine: she preferred not to be in the pack, and going a little extra distance had never bothered her.
The Aqueduct in Queens, New York, was not quite on the prestige level of Belmont or Pimlico, or that venerable mother of all racetracks, Churchill Downs. It wasnt dog shit, either, however. The facility had a good mile and an eighth of dirt, and also both a turf and a short course. Total capacity was ninety thousand-ish. Food was meh, but no one really went there to eat, and there were some big races, like today: The Wood Memorial Stakes had a $750,000 purse, and as it was held in April, it was a good benchmark for Triple Crown contenders
Oh, yeah, there she was. There was his girl.
As Mannys eyes locked on GloryGloryHallelujah, the noise of the crowd and the bright light of the day and the bobbing line of the other horses disappeared. All he saw was his magnificent black filly, her coat catching the sun and flashing, her superlean legs flexing, her delicate hooves curling up out of the tracks dirt and planting down again. With her at nearly seventeen hands high, the jockey was a tiny pretzeled gnat on her back, and that size differential was representative of the division of power. Shed made it clear from day one of her training: She might have to tolerate the annoying little humans, but they were just along for the ride. She was in charge.
Her domineering temperament had already cost him two trainers. The third they were on now? The guy was looking a little frustrated, but that was just his sense of control getting hoofed to death: Glorys times were outstandingthey just had nothing to do with him. And Manny was summarily unconcerned with the inflated egos of men who bossed horses around for a living. His girl was a fighter, and she knew what she was doing, and he had no problems letting her go and watching the fun as she buried the competition.
As his eyes stayed with her, he remembered the sucker hed bought her off of a little more than a year ago. That twenty grand had been a steal, given her bloodlines, but was also a fortune going by her temperament and the fact that it hadnt been clear that shed be able to get her gate card to race. Shed been a unruly yearling on the verge of getting benchedor worse, turned into dog food.
But hed been right. Provided you gave her her head and let her run the show, she was spectacular.
When the lineup approached the gate, some of the horses started to twinkle-toe it, but his girl was rock steady, as if she knew it was pointless to waste her energy on this pregame bullshit. And he really liked their odds in spite of their pole position, because this jockey on her back was a star: He knew precisely how to handle her, and in that regard, he was more responsible for her success than the trainers. His philosophy with her was just to make sure she saw all the best routes out of the pack and then let her choose and go.
Manny rose to his feet and gripped the painted iron rail in front of him, joining the crowd as it crested out of the seats and popped countless binocs. As his heart started to pound, he was glad, because outside of the gym hed been all but flatlining it lately. Life had carried a terrible numbness with it over the past year or so, and maybe that was part of the reason this filly was so important to him.
Maybe she was all he had, too.
Not that he was going there.
At the gate, it was a case of move it, move it, move it: When you were trying to stuff fifteen high-strung horses with legs like sticks and adrenal glands that were firing like howitzers into itty-bitty metal boxes, you didnt waste time. Within a minute or so, the field was locked down and the track hands were hightailing it for the rails.
Heartbeat.
Bell.
Bang!
The gates released and the crowd roared and those horses surged forward like theyd been blown out of cannons. The conditions were perfect. Dry. Cool. Track was fast.
Not that his girl cared. Shed run in quicksand if she had to.
The Thoroughbreds thundered by, the sound of their collective hooves and the driving beat of the announcers voice whipping the energy in the stands to an ecstatic pitch. Manny stayed calm, however, keeping his hands locked on the rail in front of him and his eyes on the field as the pack rounded the first corner in a tight knot of backs and tails.
The wide-screen showed him everything he needed to see. His filly was the second to the last, all but loping while the rest of them went at a dead runhell, her neck wasnt even fully extended. Her jockey, however, was doing his job, easing her out from the rail, giving her the choice of running around the far side of the pack or cutting through it when she was ready.
Manny knew exactly what she was going to do. She was going to plow right through the other horses like a wrecking ball.
That was her way.
And sure enough, as they came off the distant straightaway, she started to get her fire on. Her head lowered, her neck elongated, and her stride began to stretch.
Fuckin A, Manny whispered. You do it, girl.
As Glory penetrated the choked field, she became a streak of lightning cutting past the other runners, her burst of speed so powerful you had to know she did it on purpose: It wasnt enough to just beat them all, but she had to do it in the last half mile, blowing the saddles off the bastards at the last possible moment.
Manny laughed deep in his throat. She was so his kind of lady.
Christ, Manello, look at her go.
Manny nodded without glancing at the guy whod spoken in his ear because a game changer at the head of the pack was unfolding: The colt that was in the lead lost his momentum, falling back as his legs ran out of gas. In response, his jockey cropped him on, whipping his hindquarterswhich had all the success of someone cursing at a car whose tank was on E. The colt in second place, a big chestnut with a bad attitude and a stride as long as a football field, took immediate advantage of the slowdown, his jockey letting that horse have all its head.
The pair went neck and neck for only a second before the chestnut took control of the race. But it wasnt going to be for long. Mannys girl had picked her moment to weave in between a knot of three horses and come up on his ass tighter than a bumper sticker.
Yup, Glory was in her element, ears flat against her head, teeth bared.
She was going to eat his fucking lunch. And it was impossible not to extrapolate to the first Saturday in May and the Kentucky Derby
It all happened so fast.
Everything came to an end . . . in the blink of an eye.
On a deliberate sideswipe, the colt slammed into Glory, the brutal impact sending her into the rail. His girl was big and strong, but she was no match for a body check like that, not when she was going forty miles an hour.
For a heartbeat, Manny was convinced shed rally. In spite of the way she careened and scrambled, he expected her to find her footing and teach that unruly bastard a lesson in manners.
Except she went down. Right in front of the three horses shed passed.
The carnage was immediate, horses veering widely to avoid the obstacle in their way, jockeys breaking their tight racing curls in hopes of staying on their mounts.
Everyone made it. Except Glory.
As the crowd gasped, Manny shot forward, popping over the boxs confines and then vaulting over people and chairs and barricades until he came down to the track itself.
Over the rail. Onto the dirt.
He ran to her, his years of athletics carrying him at breakneck speed to the heartbreaking sight.
She was trying to get up. Bless her big, fierce heart, she was fighting to get up from the earth, her eyes trained on the pack as if she didnt give a shit that she was injured; she just wanted to catch up with the ones who had left her in the dust.
Tragically, her foreleg had other plans for her: As she struggled, that front right flopped around below the knee, and Manny didnt need his years as an orthopedic surgeon to know that she was in trouble.
Big trouble.
As he came up to her, her jockey was in tears. Dr. Manello, I triedoh, God . . .
Manny skidded in the dirt and lunged for the reins as the vets drove up and a screen was erected around the drama.
As the three men in uniforms approached her, her eyes began to go wild from pain and confusion. Manny did what he could to calm her down, allowing her to toss her head as much as she wanted while he stroked her neck. And she did ease up when they shot her with a tranquilizer.
At least the desperate limping stopped.
The head vet took one look at the leg and shook his head. Which in the racing world was the universal language for: She needs to be put down.
Manny rode up in the guys face. Dont even think about it. Stabilize the break and get her over to Tricounty right now. Clear?
Shes never going to race againthis looks like a multi
Get my fucking horse off this track and over to Tricounty
She isnt worth it
Manny snap-grabbed the front of the vets jacket, and hauled Mr. Easy Out over until they were nose-to-nose. Do it. Now.
There was a moment of total incomprehension, like being manhandled was a new one to the little snot.
And just so the two of them were really clear, Manny growled, Im not going to lose herbut Im more than willing to drop you. Right here. Right now.
The vet cringed away, as if he knew he was in danger of getting corked a good one. Okay . . . okay.
Manny was not about to lose his horse. Over the last twelve months, hed mourned the only woman hed ever cared about, questioned his sanity, and taken up drinking Scotch even though hed always hated the shit.
If Glory bit it now . . . he didnt really have much left in his life, did he.
TWO
CALDWELL, NEW YORK TRAINING CENTER, THE BROTHERHOODS COMPOUND
Fucking . . . Bic . . . piece of shit . . .
Vishous stood in the hall outside the Brotherhoods medical clinic with a hand-rolled between his lips and a thumb that was getting a terrific frickin workout. No flame to speak of, though, no matter how many times he masturbated the lighters little wheel.
Chic. Chic. Chic
With utter disgust, he fired the POS into a trash bin and went for the lead-lined glove that covered his hand. Ripping the leather free, he stared at his glowing palm, flexing the fingers, arching it at the wrist.
The thing was part flamethrower, part nuclear bomb, capable of melting any metal, turning stone into glass, and making a kebab out of any plane, train, or automobile he pleased. It was also the reason he could make love to his shellan, and one of the two legacies his deity of a mother had given him.
And gee whiz, the second-sight bullshit was about as much fun as this hand-o-death routine.
Bringing the deadly weapon up to his face, he put the end of the hand-rolled in the vicinity, but not too close or hed immolate his nicotine-delivery system and have to futz around making another one. Which was not something he had patience for on a good day, and certainly not at a time like this
Ah, lovely inhale.
Leaning against the wall, he planted his shitkickers on the linoleum and smoked. The coffin nail didnt do much for his case of the grims, but it gave him something to do that was better than the other option that had been running through his head for the last two hours. As he tugged his glove back in place, he wanted to take his gift and go arson on something, anything. . . .
Was his twin sister honestly on the other side of this wall? Lying in a hospital bed . . . paralyzed?
Jesus Christ . . . to be three hundred years old and find out you had a sibling.
Nice move, moms. Real fucking nice.
To think hed assumed hed worked through all of his issues with his parents. Then again, only one of them was dead. If the Scribe Virgin would just go the way of the Bloodletter and kick it, maybe hed manage to get on an even keel.
As things stood now, however, this latest Page Six exclusive, coupled with his Janes wild-goose chase out into the human world alone, was making him . . .
Yeah, no words on that one.
He took out his cell phone. Checked it. Put it back into the pocket of his leathers.
Goddamn it, this was so typical. Jane got her focus on something and that was that. Nothing else mattered.
Not that he wasnt exactly the same way, but at times like this, hed appreciate some updates.
Fricking sun. Trapping him indoors. At least if he were with his shellan, thered be no possibility of the great Manuel Manello oh-I-dont-think-so-ing things. V would simply knock the bastard out, throw the body in the Escalade, and drive those talented hands back here to operate on Payne.
In his mind, free will was a privilege, not a right.
When he got down to the tail end of the hand-rolled, he stabbed it out on the sole of his shitkicker and flicked the butt into the bin. He wanted a drink, badlyexcept not soda or water. Half a case of Grey Goose would just barely take the edge off, but with any luck hed be assisting in the OR in short order and he needed to be sober.
Pushing his way into the exam room, his shoulders went tight, his molars locked, and for a split second, he didnt know how much more he could take. If there was one thing guaranteed to peel him raw, it was his mother pulling another fast one, and it was hard to get worse than this lie of all lies.
Trouble was, life didnt come with a tilt default to stop the fun and games when your pinball machine got too tippy.
Vishous?
He closed his eyes briefly at the sound of that soft, low voice. Yeah, Payne. Switching to the Old Language, he finished, Tis I.
Crossing to the center of the room, he resumed his perch on the rolling stool next to the gurney. Stretched out under a number of blankets, Payne was immobilized with her head in blocks and a neck brace running from her chin to her collarbone. An IV linked her arm to a bag that hung on a stainless-steel pole and there was tubing down below that plugged into the catheter Ehlena had given her.
Even though the tiled room was bright and clean and shiny, and the medical equipment and supplies were about as threatening as cups and saucers in a kitchen, he felt like the pair of them were in a grungy cave surrounded by grizzlies.
Much better if he could go out and kill the motherfucker whod put his sister in this condition. Trouble was . . . that would mean hed have to pop Wrath, and what a buzz kill there. That big bastard was not only the king, he was a brother . . . and there was the little detail that what had landed her here had been consensual. The sparring sessions that the two had been rocking for the last couple months had kept them both in shapeand, of course, Wrath had had no idea who hed been fighting because the male was blind. That she was a female? Well, duh. It had been on the Other Side and there were no males over there. But the kings lack of vision had meant hed missed what V and everyone else had been staring at anytime theyd walked into this room:
Paynes long black braid was the precise color of Vs hair, and her skin was the same tone as his, and she was built just as he was, long, lean, and strong. But the eyes . . . shit, the eyes.
V rubbed his face. Their father, the Bloodletter, had had countless bastards before hed been killed in a lesser skirmish back in the Old Country. But V didnt consider any of those random females relations.
Payne was different. The two had the same mother, and it wasnt just any mahmen dearest. It was the Scribe Virgin. The ultimate mother of the race.
Bitch that she was.
Paynes stare shifted over and Vs breath got tight. The irises that met his were ice white, just like his own, and the navy blue rim around them was something he saw every night in the mirror. And the intelligence . . . the smarts in those arctic depths were exactly what was cooking under his bone dome, too.
I cannot feel anything, Payne said.
I know. Shaking his head, he repeated, I know.
Her mouth twitched like she might have smiled under other circumstances. You may speak any language you wish, she said in accented English. I am fluent in . . . many.
So was he. Which meant he was unable to form a response in sixteen different tongues. Go, him.
Have you heard . . . from your shellan? she said haltingly.
No. Would you like more pain meds? She sounded weaker than when hed left.
No, thank you. They make me . . . feel strange.
This was followed by a long silence.
That only got longer.
And longer still.
Christ, maybe he should hold her handafter all, she had sensation above the waist. Yeah, but what could he offer her in the palm department? His left one was trembling and his right one was deadly.
Vishous, time is not . . .
As his twin let the sentence drift, he finished in his mind, on our side.
Man, he wished she wasnt right. When it came to spinal injuries, however, as with strokes and heart attacks, opportunities were lost with each passing minute the patient went untreated.
That human had better be as brilliant as Jane said.
Vishous?
Yeah?
Do you wish that I had not come herein?
He frowned hard. What the hell are you talking about? Of course I want you with me.
As his foot got tapping, he wondered how long he had to stay before he could go out for another cigarette. He just couldnt breathe as he sat here, unable to do anything while his sister suffered, and his brain got choked with questions. He had ten thousand whats and whys sitting on the top of his head, except he couldnt ask them. Payne was looking like she could slip into a coma at any moment from the pain, so it was hardly time to kaffeeklatsch it.
Shit, vampires might heal lightning-fast, but they were not immortals by any stretch.
He could well lose his twin from this before he even got to know her.
On that note, he gave a look-see at her vitals on the monitor. The race had low blood pressure to begin with, but hers was hovering close to ground level. Pulse was slow and uneven, like a drum section made up of white boys. And the oxygen sensor had had to be silenced because its warning alarm had been going off continuously.
As her eyes closed, he worried that it would be for the last time, and what had he done for her? All but yell at her when shed asked him a question.
He leaned in closer, feeling like a schmuck. You have to hold on here, Payne. Im getting you what you need, but youve got to hang on.
His twins lids rose and she looked at him from out of her stationary head. I have brought too much upon your doorstep.
You dont worry about me.
That is all I have ever done.
V frowned again. Clearly this whole brother/sister thing was a news flash only on his end, and he had to wonder how in the hell shed known about him.
And what she knew.
Shit, here was another chance to wish hed been vanilla.
You are so certain of this healer you seek, she mumbled.
Ah, not really. The only thing he was sure of was that if the bastard killed her there was going to be a double funeral tonightassuming there was anything left of the human to bury or burn.
Vishous?
My shellan trusts him.
Paynes eyes drifted upward and stayed there. Was she looking at the ceiling? he wondered. The examination lamp that hung over her? Something he couldnt see?
Eventually, she said, Ask me how long I have spent at our mothers beckoning.
You sure you have the strength for this? When she all but glared at him, he wanted to smile. How long.
What is this year for the Earth? When he told her, her eyes widened. Indeed. Well, it has been hundreds of years. I was imprisoned by our mahmen for . . . hundreds of years of life.
Vishous felt the tips of his fangs tingle in rage. That mother of theirs . . . he should have known what peace hed found with the female wouldnt last. Youre free now.
Am I. She glanced down toward her legs. I cannot live in another prison.
You wont.
Now that icy stare grew shrewd. I cannot live like this. Do you understand what Im saying.
The inside of him went absolutely frigid. Listen, Im going to get that doctor here and
Vishous, she said hoarsely. Verily, I would do it if I could, but I cannot, and there is no one else I have to turn to. Do you understand me.
As he met her eyes, he wanted to scream, his gut roping up, sweat flushing across his brow. He was a killer by nature and training, but that wasnt a skill set hed ever intended to wield on his own blood. Well, their mother excepted, of course. Maybe their dad, except the guy had died on his own.
Okay, amendment: not something he would ever do to his sister.
Vishous. Do you
Yeah. He looked down at his cursed hand and flexed the goddamn piece of shit. I get it.
Deep inside his skin, at his very core, his inner string started to vibrate. It was the kind of thing hed been intimately familiar with for most of his lifeand also an utter shock. He hadnt had this sensation since Jane and Butch had come along, and its return was . . . another slice of Fuck Me.
In the past, it had taken him seriously off the rails into the land of hard-core sex and dangerous, on-the-edge shit.
At the speed of sound.
Paynes voice was thready. And what say you.
Damn it, hed just met her.
Yes. He flexed his deadly hand. Ill take care of you. If it comes to that.
As Payne stared up out of the cage of her dead-lead body, her twins bleak profile was all she could see, and she despised herself for the position shed put him in. She had spent the time since shed arrived on this side trying to tease out another path, another option, another . . . anything.
But what she needed was hardly something one could ask of a stranger.
Then again, he was a stranger.
Thank you, she said. Brother mine.
Vishous just nodded once and resumed staring straight ahead. In person, he was so much more than the sum of his facial features and the massive size of his body. Back before she had been imprisoned by their mahmen, she had long watched him in the seeing bowls of the sacred Chosen and had known the instant he had appeared in the shallow water who he was to herall shed had to do was look at him and she saw herself.
Such a life he had led. Starting with the war camp and their fathers brutality . . . and now this.
And beneath his cold composure, he raged. She could feel it in her very bones, some link between them giving her insight beyond that which her eyes informed her of: On the surface, he was collected as a brick wall, his composite components all in order and mortared in place. Inside his skin, however, he seethed . . . and the external clue was his gloved right hand. From underneath its base, a bright light shone . . . and got eer brighter. Especially after shed asked him what she had.
This could be their only time together, she realized, her eyes slicking over anew.
You are mated to the healer female? she murmured.
Yeah.
When there was only silence, she wished she could engage him, but it was clear he answered her only out of courtesy. And yet she believed him when he said he was glad shed arrived herein. He didnt strike her as the type to lienot because he cared about morality or politeness as such, but rather because he viewed such effort as a waste of time and inclination.