"You got a minute?" V said.
"Yeah, what's doing?" When V didn't hold forth, Wrath's voice got lower. "Vishous? You all right?"
"No."
There was a rustling then Wrath's voice came from a distance. "Fritz, can you come back and vacuum a little later? Thanks, my man." The whirring noise shut off and a door closed. "Talk to me."
"Do you ah, do you remember the last time you got drunk? Like, really drunk?"
"Shit ah" In the pause, V pictured the king's black eyebrows sinking down behind his wraparounds. "God, I think it was with you. Back in the early nineteen hundreds, wasn't it? Seven bottles of whiskey between the two of us."
"Actually, it was nine."
Wrath laughed. "We started at four in the afternoon and it took us, what, fourteen hours? I was faced for a whole day afterward. Hundred years later and I think I'm still hungover."
V closed his eyes. "Remember just as dawn was coming, I, ah told you I'd never known my mother? Had no clue who she was or what happened to her?"
"Most of it's fog, but yeah, I recall that."
God, they'd both been so polluted that night. Drunk off their asses. And that had been the only reason V had yakked even a little about what rotted in his head twenty-four/seven.
"V? What's doing? This have something to do with your mahmen?"
V let himself fall back on the bed. As he landed, the pendant in his back pocket bit into his ass. "Yeah I just met her."
Chapter Four
On the Other Side, in the sanctuary of the Chosen, Cormia sat on a cot in her white room with a small white candle glowing beside her. She was dressed in the traditional white robe of the Chosen, her feet bare on white marble, her hands folded in her lap.
Waiting.
She was used to waiting. It was the nature of your life as a Chosen. You waited for the calendar of rituals to offer up activity. You waited for the Scribe Virgin to make an appearance. You waited for the Directrix to give you duties to perform. And you waited with grace and patience and understanding, or you disgraced the entirety of the tradition you serviced. Herein no one sister was more important than another. As a Chosen, you were part of a whole, a single molecule among many that formed a functioning spiritual corpus both critical and utterly unimportant.
So woe be the female who failed in her duties lest she contaminated the rest.
But today the waiting carried an inescapable burden. Cormia had sinned, and she was awaiting her punishment.
For a long time she had wanted for her transition to be given upon her, had been secretly impatient for it, although not for the benefit of the Chosen. She'd wanted to be fully realized as herself. She'd wanted to feel a significance in her breath and her heartbeat that pertained to her being an individual in the universe, not a spoke in a wheel. Her change had struck her as the key to that private freedom.
Her change had been given unto her just recently, when she'd been invited to drink of the cup in the temple. At first she'd been elated, assuming that her clandestine desire had gone undetected and yet was fulfilled. But then her punishment had arrived.
Glancing down at her body, she blamed her breasts and her hips for what was about to happen to her. Blamed herself for wanting to be someone specific. She should have stayed as she had been-
The thin silk curtain over the doorway swept aside, and the Chosen Amalya, one of the Scribe Virgin's personal attendhentes, walked in.
"And so it is done," Cormia said, tightening her fingers until her knuckles stung.
Amalya smiled beneficently. "It is."
"How long?"
"He comes at the conclusion of Her Highness's sequester."
Desperation made Cormia ask the unthinkable. "Cannot it be another of us who is called forth? There are others who want this."
"You have been chosen." As tears were born unto Cormia's eyes, Amalya came forward, her bare feet making no sound. "He will be gentle with thine body. He will-"
"He will do no such thing. He is the son of the warrior the Bloodletter."
Amalya jerked back. "What?"
"Did the Scribe Virgin not tell you?"
"Her Holiness said only that it was arranged with one of the Brotherhood, a warrior of worth."
Cormia shook her head. "I was told earlier, when she first came unto me. I thought all knew."
Amalya's concern drew her brows together. Without a word, she sat on the cot and gathered Cormia to her.
"I do not want this," Cormia whispered. "Forgive me, sister. But I do not."
Amalya's voice lacked conviction as she said, "All will be well truly."
"What goes on herein?" The sharp voice yanked them apart sure as a pair of hands.
The Directrix stood in the doorway, her stare suspicious. With a book of some sort in one hand and a strand of black worship pearls in the other, she was the perfect representation of the Chosen's proper purpose and calling.
Amalya stood up quickly, but there was no denying the moment. As a Chosen, you were to rejoice in your station at all times; anything less was considered a specius deviation for which you had to render penitence. And they had been caught.
"I shall talk to the Chosen Cormia now," the Directrix announced. "Alone."
"Yes, of course." Amalya went to the door with her head down. "If you will excuse me, sisters."
"You shall progress to the Temple of Atonement, will you not."
"Yes, Directrix."
"Stay there for the rest of the cycle. If I see you on the grounds, I will be most displeased."
"Yes, Directrix."
Cormia squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for her friend as she left. A whole cycle in that temple? You could go mad from the sensory deprivation.
The Directrix's words were clipped. "I would send you there, too, were there not things you need to attend."
Cormia brushed off her tears. "Yes, Directrix."
"You shall begin your preparations now by reading this." The leather-bound book landed on the bed. "It details the Primale's rights and your obligations. When you have finished, you will begin your sexual tutorial."
Oh, dear Virgin, please, not the Directrix please, not the Directrix
"Layla will instruct you." As Cormia's shoulders sagged, the Directrix snapped, "Shall I take offense at your relief that it shall be not I who teaches you?"
"Not at all, my sister."
"Now you offend with untruth. Look at me. Look at me."
Cormia lifted her eyes and couldn't help but draw back in fear as the Directrix pinned her with a hard stare.
"You shall do your duty and do it well or I shall cast you out. Do you understand me? You shall be cast out."
Cormia was so stunned she couldn't reply. Cast out? Cast out to the far side?
"Answer me. Are we clear?"
"Y-yes, Directrix."
"Mistake this not. The survival of the Chosen and the order I have established herein are of the only significance. Any one individual who obstacles either will be eliminated. Remind you that when you feel the urge to pity yourself. This is an honor and it shall be revoked with attendant consequences by my hand. Are we clear? Are we clear?"
Cormia couldn't find her voice, so she nodded.
The Directrix shook her head, a strange light coming into her eye. "Save for your bloodline, you are wholly unacceptable. As of fact, the entirety of this is wholly unacceptable."
The Directrix left in a whisper of robing, her white silk sheath flowing around the doorjamb in her wake.
Cormia put her head in her hands and bit her lower lip as she contemplated her station: Her body had just been promised to a warrior she'd never met who was begotten of a brutish and cruel sire and upon her shoulders the noble tradition of Chosen rested.
Honor? Nay, this was a punishment-for the audacity of wanting something for herself.
As another martini arrived, Phury tried to remember whether it was his fifth? Or six? He wasn't sure.
"Man, good thing we ain't fighting tonight," Butch said. "You're drinking that shit like water."
"I'm thirsty."
"Guess so." The cop stretched in the booth. "How much longer you plan on rehydrating there, Lawrence of Arabia?"
"You don't have to hang-"
"Move over, cop."
Both Phury and Butch glanced up. V had appeared in front of the table from out of nowhere, and something was up. With his wide eyes and his pale face, he looked like he'd been in accident, though he wasn't bleeding.
"Hey, my man." Butch scooted to the right to make room. "Didn't think we'd see you tonight."
V sat down, his leather biker's jacket bunching up and making his big shoulders look positively immense. In an uncharacteristic move, he started drumming his fingers on the table top.
Butch frowned at his roommate. "You look like road-kill. What's doing?"
Vishous linked his hands together. "This isn't the place."
"So let's go home."
"No fucking way. I'm going to be trapped there all day long." V lifted his hand. When the waitress came over, he put a hundred on her tray. "Keep the Goose coming, true? And that's just for the tip."
She smiled. "My pleasure."
As she took off for the bar like she was on roller skates, V's eyes sifted through the VIP area, his brows down low. Shit, he wasn't checking out the crowd. He was trolling for a fight. And was it possible that the brother was glowing a little?
Phury looked to the left and tapped his ear twice, sending a request to one of the Moors that guarded a private door. The security guard nodded and spoke into a wristwatch.
Moments later a huge male with a cropped mohawk came out. Rehvenge was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and had a black cane in his right hand. As he came slowly over to the Brotherhood's table, his patrons parted before him, partly out of respect for his size, partly out of fear from his reputation. Everyone knew who he was and what he was capable of: Rehv was the kind of drug lord who took a personal interest in his livelihood. You crossed him and you turned up diced like something off the Food Channel.
Zsadist's half-breed brother-in-law was proving to be a surprising ally for the Brotherhood, although Rehv's true nature complicated everything. It wasn't smart to get in bed with a symphath. Literally or figuratively. So he was an uneasy friend and relative.
His tight smile barely showed any fangs. "Evening, gentlemen."
"Mind if we use your office for a little private biz?" Phury asked.
"I'm not talking," V ground out as his drink arrived. With a flip of the wrist he tossed the thing back like he had a fire in his gut and the shit was water. "Not. Talking."
Phury and Butch locked eyes, and a perfect accord was met: Vishous was so going to convo.
"Your office?" Phury said to Rehvenge.
Rehv lifted an elegant eyebrow, his amethyst eyes shrewd. "Not sure you'd want to use it. The place is wired for sound, and every syllable goes on record. Unless of course I'm in there."
Not ideal, but anything that hurt the Brotherhood hurt Rehv's sister, as Z's mate. So even though the guy was part symphath, he had the motivation to be tight about whatever went down.
Phury slid out of the booth and stared at V. "Bring your drink."
"No."
Butch got up. "Then you're leaving it. Because if you won't go home, we talk here."
V's eyes gleamed. And they weren't the only thing. "Fuck-"
Butch leaned down onto the table. "Right now you're throwing off an aura like your ass is plugged into the wall. So I strongly encourage you to drop the I-am-an-island bullshit and get your sorry excuse for a personality into Rehv's office before we have a situation. Dig?"
There was a long stretch of nothing but V and Butch looking at each other. Then V got to his feet and headed for Rehv's office. On the way, his anger carried a toxic chemical smell, the kind that stung your nose raw.
Man, the cop was the only one who had a chance with V when the male was like this.
So thank God for the Irishman.
The group of them went through the door guarded by the pair of Moors and took up res in Rehvenge's cave of an office. As the door shut, Rehv went behind his desk, reached under it, and a beeping sound went off.
"We're clear," he said, lowering himself into a black leather chair.
They all stared at V who promptly went zoo animal, all pacing around and looking like he wanted to eat someone. The brother finally stopped across the room from Butch. The recessed light above him wasn't as bright as what was shining under his skin.
"Talk to me," Butch murmured.
Without saying a word, V took something out of his back pocket. As his arm came forward, a heavy gold pendant swung on the end of a silken cord.
"Seems I got a new job."
"Oh shit," Phury whispered.
The setup in Blay's bedroom was SOP for John and his buddies: John was on the foot of the bed. Blay was cross-legged on the floor. Qhuinn was in full lounge, his new body hanging half on, half off a beanbag chair. Coronas were open, and bags of Doritos and Ruffles were being passed around.
"Okay, so spill," Blay said. "What was your transition like?"
"Screw the change, I got laid." As Blay and John both bug-eyed, Qhuinn chuckled. "Yeah. I did. Got my cherry popped, so to speak."
"Get. The. Fuck. Out," Blay breathed.
"For real." Qhuinn tossed his head back and swallowed half his beer. "I will say, though, that transition man" He looked at John, his mismatched eyes narrowing. "Get ready, J-man. It's hardcore. You wish you would die. You pray for it. And then shit gets critical."
Blay nodded. "It is awful."
Qhuinn finished his beer and tossed the empty into a wastepaper basket. "Mine was witnessed. Yours, too, right?" When Blay nodded, Qhuinn cracked open the minifridge and took out another Corona. "Yeah, I mean that was weird. My father in the room. Her father, too. All while my body was whacking out. I would have been embarrassed, but I was too busy feeling like ass."
"Who did you use?" Blay asked.
"Marna."
"Niiiiiiice."
Qhuinn's eyelids got heavy. "Yeah, she was very nice."
Blay's mouth fell open. "Her? She was the one you-"
"Yup." Qhuinn laughed as Blay collapsed back on the floor like he'd been shot in the chest. "Marna. I know. I can barely believe it myself."
Blay lifted his head. "How did it happen? And so help me God, I will whup your ass if you leave anything out."
"Ha! Like you were so forthcoming with your shit."
"Don't dodge the question. Start barking like the dog you are, buddy."
Qhuinn sat forward, and John took the cue, moving to the very edge of the bed.
"Okay, so it was all over, right? I mean the drinking was done, change was finished, I was lying on the bed just yeah, train-wrecked. She was hanging out in case I needed more from her vein, like in a chair in the corner or something. Anyway, her father and mine were talking and I kind of passed out. Next thing I know, I'm alone in the room. Door opens and it's Marna. Says she forgot her sweater or some shit. I took one look at her and well, Blay, you know what she looks like, right? Instant hard-on. Can you blame me?"
"Not in the slightest."
John blinked and leaned in even closer.
"Anyway, there was a sheet over me, but somehow she knew. Man, she was totally looking me over and smiling, and I was like, 'Oh, my God' But then her father calls her name from down the hall. The two of them had to stay over because it was daylight by the time I was through, but he clearly didn't want her bunking in with me. So as she leaves, she tells me she'll sneak back in later. I didn't really believe her, but I had my hopes. Hour goes by, I'm waiting I'm jonesing. Another hour. Then it's like, Fine, she ain't snowing. I call my dad on the house phone and tell him I'm crashing. Then I get up, drag my ass into the shower, come back out and she's in the room. Naked. On the bed. Christ, all I could do was stare. But I got over that fast." Qhuinn's eyes fixated on the floor and he shook his head back and forth. "I took her three times. One right after the other."
"Oh shit," Blay whispered. "Did you like it?"
"What do you think? Duh." As Blay nodded and lifted his Corona to his lips, Qhuinn said, "When I was done, I put her in the shower, cleaned her off, and went down on her for half an hour."
Blay choked on his beer, spraying it all over himself. "Oh, God"
"She tasted like a ripe plum. Sweet and syrupy." As John's eyeballs popped clear out of his head, Qhuinn smiled. "I had her all over my face. It was fantastic."
The guy took a long swallow, like he was so the man, and made no effort to hide his body's reaction to what he was no doubt reliving in his head. As his jeans got tight at the zipper, Blay covered up his hips with a fleece.
Having nothing to conceal, John looked down at his bottle.
"Are you going to mate her?" Blay asked.
"For God's sake, no!" Qhuinn's hand lifted and he gently prodded his black eye. "It was just a thing that happened. I mean, no. She and I? Never."
"But wasn't she a-"
"No, she wasn't a virgin. Of course she wasn't. So no mating. She would never have me like that anyway."
Blay looked over at John. "Females of the aristocracy are supposed to be virgins before they're mated."
"Times have changed, though." Qhuinn frowned. "Still, don't say anything to anyone, okay? We had a good time, and it was no big deal. She's good peeps."
"Lips sealed." Blay took a deep breath, then cleared his throat. "Ah it's better with someone else, isn't it?"
"Sex? By miles, buddy. Doing yourself takes the edge off, but it's nothing like the real thing. God, she was so soft especially between her legs. I loved being on top of her, working my shit in deep, hearing her moan. I wish you guys could have been there. You'd have really dug it."
Blay rolled his eyes. "You having sex. Yeah, now, there's something I need to see."
Qhuinn's smile was slow and a little evil. "You like watching me fight, right?"
"Well, sure, you're good at it."
"Why should sex be any different? It's just something you do with your body."
Blay seemed nonplussed. "But what about privacy?"
"Privacy is a matter of context." Qhuinn got out a third beer. "And, Blay?"
"What?"
"I'm really good at sex, too." He cracked the top and took a pull. "So here's what we need to do. I'm going to take a couple days to get strong, and then we're going out to the clubs downtown. I want to do it again, but it can't be with her." Qhuinn looked over at John. "J-man, you're coming with us to ZeroSum. I don't care if you're a pretrans. We go together."
Blay nodded. "The three of us are a good vibe. Besides, John, you're going to be where we are soon."
As the two started making plans, John got quiet. The whole picking-up-chicks thing was unfathomable, and not just because the transition had yet to hit him. He had a bad history with things of a sexual nature. The worst.
For a split second, he had a vivid memory of the dirty stairwell it had happened in. He felt the gun at his temple. Felt his jeans being yanked down. Felt the unthinkable as it was done to him. He remembered his breath scratching up and down his throat and his eyes watering and how, when he'd pissed himself, it had gotten on the tips of the guy's cheap sneakers.
"This weekend," Qhuinn announced, "we are going to get you taken care of, Blay."
John put his beer down and rubbed his face as Blay's cheeks got red.
"Yeah, Qhuinn I don't know-"
"Trust me. I'm going to make it happen for you. Then, John? You're next."
John's first response was to shake his head no, but he stopped himself so he didn't look like an idiot. He was already feeling behind the eight ball, all small and unmanly. Turning down an offer to get laid would put him solidly in Loserland.
"So we got a plan?" Qhuinn demanded.
As Blay fiddled with the bottom of his T-shirt, John got the distinct impression the guy was going to say no. Which made John feel so much better-
"Yeah." Blay cleared his throat. "I ah, yeah. I'm, like, juiced as shit. It's almost all I can think about, you know? And it's, like, painful, for real."
"I know exactly what you mean." Qhuinn's mismatched eyes sparkled. "And we are going to have us some good times. Shit, John will you tell your body to get its groove on?"
John just shrugged, wishing he could leave.
"So, time for some 'sKillerz'?" Blay asked, nodding to the Xbox on the floor. "John's going to beat us again, but we can still fight for number two."
It was a royal relief to get focused on something else, and the three of them got wound up by the game, yelling at the TV, throwing candy wrappers and beer caps at one another. God, John loved this. On the video screen they competed as equals. He was not small and left behind; he was better than they were. In sKillerz, he could be the warrior he wanted to be.
As he tanned their hides, he looked over at Blay and knew the guy had picked this game specifically to make John feel better. But then, Blay tended to know where people were in their heads, and how to be kind without embarrassing someone. He was an excellent friend.
Four six-packs, three trips to the kitchen, two full games of sKillerz, and a Godzilla movie later, John checked his watch and got off the bed. Fritz would be coming for him soon, because he had an appointment at four a.m. every night that he had to make or he was kicked out of the training program.
See you tomorrow in class? he signed.
"Good deal," Blay said.
Qhuinn smiled. "IM later, k'ay?"
Will do. He paused at the door. Oh, hey, meant to ask.
He tapped his eye and pointed to Qhuinn. What's up with the shiner?
Qhuinn's stare stayed absolutely steady, his smile bright as ever. "Oh, it's nothing. Just slipped and fell in the shower. Really stupid, huh."
John frowned and glanced at Blay, whose eyes hit the floor and stayed there. Okay, something was-
"John," Qhuinn said firmly, "accidents happen."
John didn't believe the kid, especially given that Blay's peepers were still down for the count, but as someone who had his own secret he wasn't into the prying thing.
Yeah, sure, he signed. Then he whistled a quick goodbye and took off.
As he closed the door, he heard their deep voices and put his hand on the wood. He wanted to be where they were so badly, but the sex stuff No, his transition was about becoming male so he could avenge his dead. It was not about banging chicks. Matter of fact, maybe he should take a page from Phury's book.
Celibacy had plenty of things to recommend it. Phury had been abstaining for, like, ever, and look at him. He was totally tight in the head, a real together kind of guy.
Not bad footsteps to follow in.
Chapter Five
"You're going to be the what?" Butch blurted.
As he looked at his roommate, Vishous could barely choke out the fucking word. "The Primale. Of the Chosen."
"What the fuck is that?"
"Basically, a sperm donor."
"Wait, wait so you're going to do, like, IVF?"
V dragged a hand through his hair and thought how good it would feel to put his fist through the wall. "It's a little more hands-on than that."
Speaking of hands-on, it had been a long time since he'd had straight sex with a female. Could he even get off during the formal, ritualistic sex of the Chosen?
"Why you?"
"Has to be a member of the Brotherhood." V paced around the dark room, figuring he'd keep his mother's identity under wraps a little longer. "It's a small pool to choose from. One that's getting smaller."
"Will you live over there?" Phury asked.
"Live over where?" Butch cut in. "You mean you won't be able to fight with us? Or, like hang?"
"No, I made that a condition of the deal."
As Butch exhaled in relief, V tried not to get sapped out that his roommate cared about seeing him as much as he cared about being seen.
"When does it happen?"
"Few days."
Phury spoke up. "Does Wrath know?"
"Yup."
As V thought about what he'd signed on for, his heart started kicking in his chest, a bird flapping its wings to get out of his rib cage. The fact that he had two of his brothers and Rehvenge giving him the hairy eyeball made the panic worse. "Listen, you mind excusing me for a while? I need to shit, I need to get out."
"I'll go with you," Butch said.
"No." V was in a desperate frame of mind. If there was ever a night he might be tempted to do something grossly inappropriate, it was now. Bad enough what he felt for his roommate was an unspoken undercurrent; making it a reality by acting on it would be a catastrophe neither he, Butch, nor Marissa could handle. "I need to be by myself."
V shoved the godforsaken pendant back in his ass pocket and left the crushing silence of the office. As he fast-tracked it out the side door into an alley, he wanted to find a lesser. Needed to find one. Prayed to the Scribe Vir-
V stopped dead. Well, shit. He sure as hell wasn't praying to that mother of his anymore. Or using that phrase.
God damn.
V settled back against the cold brick of ZeroSum's building, and, much as it pained him, he couldn't help but think back to his life in the warrior camp.
The camp had been situated in middle Europe, deep in a cave. Some thirty soldiers had used it as a home base, but there had been other residents. A dozen pretrans had been sent there for training, and another dozen or so whores fed and serviced the males.
The Bloodletter had run it for years and had churned out some of the best fighters the species had. Four members of the Brotherhood had gotten their start there under V's father. Many others, of all levels, hadn't survived, however.
V's first memories were of being hungry and cold, of watching others eat while his stomach moaned. Through his early years, hunger had driven him, and like the other pretrans, his sole motivation had been to feed himself, no matter how he had to do it.
Vishous waited in the shadows of the cave, staying out of the flickering light thrown by the camp's fire pit. Seven fresh deer were being consumed in a bawdy frenzy, the soldiers slicing meat off bones and chewing like animals, blood marking their faces and hands. On the fringes of the meal, all the pretrans trembled with greed.
Like the others, V was sharpened to an edge from starvation. But he didn't stand with his fellow young. He waited in the far away darkness, eyes locked on his prey.
The soldier he tracked was fat as a hog, with folds of flesh falling over his leathers and facial features indistinct for the puffy padding, the glutton went without a tunic most of the time, his bulbous chest and distended belly jiggling while he paraded around kicking the stray dogs that lived in camp or going after the whores. For all his sloth, however, he was a vicious killer, what he lacked in speed being made up for in brute strength. With hands as big as a grown male's head, he was rumored to snap the limbs off lessers and eat them.
At every meal he was among the first to get to the meat, and he ate with speed, though he was hampered by a lack of accuracy. He didn't pay a lot of attention to what actually made it into his mouth: Pieces of deer flesh and streams of blood and segments of bone would coat his stomach and chest, a gory tunic knit of his sloppy ministrations.
This night the male finished early and eased back onto his haunches, a deer flank in his fist. Though he was through, he lingered next to the carcass he'd been working on, pushing other soldiers away for amusement.
When it was time for the sparring punishments to be dealt out, the soldiers moved from the fire pit to the Bloodletter's platform. In the light of torches, soldiers who had lost during practice were bent over at the foot of the Bloodletter and violated by those who'd bested them, to the sneers and slaps of the others. Meanwhile, the pretrans fell on what was left of the deer while the females of the camp watched with hard eyes, waiting their turn.
V's prey wasn't much interested in the humiliations. The fat soldier watched for a little while, then lumbered off, the deer leg hanging from his hand. His filthy pallet was all the way at the far edges of where the soldiers slept, because even to their noses, his stench offended.
Stretched out, he looked like an undulating field, his body a series of hills and valleys. The deer leg lying across his belly was the prize at the top of the mountain.
V stayed back until the soldier's beady eyes were covered by fleshy lids and his hefty chest went up and down with a slowing rhythm. Soon fish lips fell open, and one snore escaped, followed by another. It was then that V closed in on his bare feet, making no sound over the dirt floor.
The foul smell of the male didn't deter V, and he cared not about the grime on the deer's fresh muscle. He reached forward, small hand splayed, inching toward the bone joint.