All three of the males bowed low, paying deference to his position as bonded male.
And then Vishous unsheathed one of the black daggers that were strapped, handles down, to his chest. Opening his ungloved hand, he gripped the blade and yanked it free, his blood welling, dripping, landing on the concrete floor.
He extended his palm. "On my honor."
Saxton gripped the offering. "Alive. They come to me alive."
Blay and Qhuinn likewise cut themselves, and in turn, Saxton shook each of their bleeding palms.
And so it was done.
Whether Ruhn lived or died, he would be ahvenged.
As the following night arrived, Novo recognized the sun's descent and disappearance by the dropping of the temperature and a dimming of ambient illumination. A quick check of her watch told her what she already knew to be true and she got to her feet on a slow, stiff creep.
She had spent the day in the cold house, sitting on the kitchen floor, the boarded-up windows coupled with daytime cloud cover providing her with the protection she needed.
She had not slept, her mind churning over things at a slow-and-steady that had consumed the hours.
You're choosing this. You're picking all of this--and that means if it doesn't feel right, you don't have to do it.
All of this...it's on you.
More than anything, she found that her own words haunted her, words that she had spoken to the male who had betrayed and hurt her.
But she didn't think about them in the context of Oskar. She thought about them as they related to Peyton.
He was right. She hadn't given him a chance to explain anything. She'd been so ready to replay the past, jump back into the I've-been-screwed pool, that she'd decided what had happened. Taken at face value what his father had said. Turned on a dime.
All of which made a lot of sense.
Except when she thought of Oskar's new glasses. The ones that were for show.
The ones that were just on the surface, not anything true or real.
Leaving the house by the door she came in, she returned to Serenity's grave and stood in the wind for a little bit.
"I'll be back to visit. You rest well."
With that, she was off, traveling to her apartment...where she showered, ate something that tasted like cardboard, and checked her phone. There were a bunch of messages on the trainee thread and she read through them quickly.
Classes were canceled for the night. Something had happened, the Brothers didn't go into what. Everyone checked in, though. Even Peyton.
He had not called or texted her directly, but she hadn't expected him to.
When she called his number up out of her contacts, she knew he wasn't going to answer, and started to compose a voicemail in her head--
"Hello?"
She coughed a little from shock. "Ah...hi. It's me."
"Yup, that's what my phone says."
"Listen, I...can I come see you?"
"I'm a little busy right now."
"Oh. Okay."
"If you don't mind carrying shit down stairs, though, come on over."
"I'm sorry--wait. Are you moving?"
"Yup. Anyway, you know where I live. Or used to live. Come if you want."
As he ended the call, she nearly lost her nerve. But she was picking this, wasn't she. She was going to choose the depth, not the surface. She was going to...trust in what her heart knew of the male, rather than what things appeared to be based on a two-minute interaction with a sire that Peyton didn't respect.
Her own past traumas aside, she owed the male a chance to explain. And from there...well, it was going to be what it was. But at least she wouldn't be punishing him for sins he hadn't committed, as he had said.
Outside on the street, she needed a couple of tries before she could dematerialize, and when she re-formed on the lawn of his family's mansion, she was surprised. There was a big white U-Haul truck with a sea lion and some facts about Maine on its side backed right up to the grand front entrance.
Like the stately home was a college dorm or something and it was the end of the year.
Walking up through the snow, she paused to look into the van's open bay. There was a sofa in there. Boxes. Wardrobe stands with clothes on hangers. Shoes in laundry bins.
"Hey, could you give me a hand with this?" came a distant voice.
She wheeled around. Peyton was at the bottom of the stairs inside, trying to corral a love seat and all of its pillows in his arms.
"Yeah, of course."
She stomped her combat boots on the mat, not because she cared about tracking dirt into his father's house, but because she didn't want to slip and fall on all the marble. As she jogged over, it was hard to have that scent of Peyton's in her nose.
Harder still to hear her own words in her head, the ones that she had thrown at him like daggers.
Grabbing the edge of the love seat, they both grunted as they got it stabilized between them, and then they were crab-walking the thing across the Smithsonian foyer and out onto the ramp that led into the truck's belly.
"Where do you want this?" she asked.
"Right here is fine. I'm not taking much else."
As they lowered the weight, she said, "So...you're leaving."
"Yeah." He slapped his palms on the seat of his jeans. "It's about time. My father and I were done a long while ago."
He refused to look at her. Not because he seemed mad, though. More like he was finished with drama.
Unease rippled through her like a toxin. "Where are you going?"
"A buddy of mine has a penthouse with an extra room. I'm going to stay with him for a while until I find a place of my own."
"So you're at least staying in Caldwell. What about the training program?"
"Oh, I'm not leaving that. Why would I. I am not a quitter anymore." He measured his things. Then focused on her. "So. What can I do you for."
His affect was calm and centered, not hostile or emotional. Just as he would be with a stranger on the street: polite but not wrapped up in anything.
Her heart pounded. And not from love seat-related exertion.
"I wanted to apologize."
"It's cool. You don't have to." He turned away. "I'm not going to be weird in class or anything."
She reached out and took his arm. "Please. Let me talk."
With a deliberate move, he took himself out of her reach--and she was reminded of all the times she had done that to him, literally and figuratively.
"Actually," he intoned, "maybe it's best that you don't."
"Peyton, I said things I didn't mean last night--"
"You sounded very lucid to me, FYI. And listen, you're not the first person to call me out for having no substance, for being a flaker." Suddenly, his face got serious. "You will be the last one, though. I promise you that."
"I didn't mean it. I was hurt and I jumped to conclusions after I--"
"Oh. By the way, I am sorry for what my father said to you. When I came back here after you and I had our little--discussion, shall we call it--he told me what he'd done and we had it out. I broke his favorite Tiffany lamp, but at least it wasn't over the motherfucker's head." He shrugged. "Incidentally, not that you care, that's the reason I'm leaving. He's not going to force me into mating anybody, and I am sure as shit done with living under the same roof with a male who could accuse you of being a goddamn prostitute to your face."
"So it was all a lie?"
"About the female? Why ask me that?"
"You rightfully accused me of not giving you a chance to explain--"
"No, why ask me a question when you won't believe the answer? I am very sure I could talk until I'm blue in the face, and you will do what you want with the words." He pivoted away and headed back into the house. "You know, recast them to suit yourself. Play a game of chess and move 'em around until you get the answer you've pre-decided is the truth--"
She caught up with him on the fancy stairs. "I went to see Serenity."
r /> At that, he stopped.
"That's what I named her. I spent the day at the house. In the kitchen."
It seemed like a lifetime before Peyton slowly turned back around.
And oh, man, she was not going to waste this chance. She spoke fast and with the kind of urgency that came from desperation.
"You were right. I've been punishing you and everyone around me for what Sophy did to me and what Oskar wasn't strong enough to fight against. And then I've been punishing me for the miscarriage even though I didn't do anything wrong. I've had this...fury in my blood that I haven't been able to handle. And I'm so sorry. You told me last night you hoped I'd figure it out for myself and I'm trying, I really am. I just...I love you. Even though I'm broken, I love you. And not like I did Oskar. I was with him because he was the first male who paid any attention to me and I was too fucking stupid to know the difference between hope and reality. But you...you were the only person I wanted to see when it was time to tell my truth. You were the only place I wanted to go. And that's because this," she pointed to her heart, "knows more than this."
As she indicated her head, she prayed she was getting through to him. "I would do anything to take back those words I threw at you. You didn't deserve any of it. You have more than earned a chance to explain what actually was going on about that mating thing, but in my anger, I didn't have the ability to give you that. I know I don't deserve a second chance, but--"
"Shh. Just stop talking for a minute."
He put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. Then he focused beyond her, looking around her.
Novo's heart beat so hard, it rivaled an entire rhythm section.
"Let me ask you one thing," he said after a long time.
"Anything. I don't care what it is."
He shifted his eyes to hers. "Do you think we can fit my love seat and my couch at your place? Or just the love seat."
Novo shook her head to clear it. "I'm sorry, what--"
"I mean, how much square feet do you have?" As she stared at him in total confusion, he held out his arms and smiled. "Come on, the female of my dreams tells me she loves me and then she thinks that I, a homeless indigent, am not going to take advantage of that and move in with her? Really? Like, seriously? Even if I wasn't in love with you, too, you're bound to be a better roommate than Nickle."
Novo couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry.
So she did both as she leapt into Peyton's loving arms. "I don't deserve you," she choked. "I really don't."
--
As Peyton held Novo to his chest, he closed his eyes and breathed in. "Deserve me? Well, considering that many people think I'm a curse of Biblical proportions--"
She pushed back. "Says who. I'll cut a bitch."
"My father, for one. But he has poor taste."
Peyton kissed her quick. And then again for a little longer. When they eased back for air, he stroked the tears from her cheeks.
"You don't have to say it," he murmured. "I already know."
"Know what?"
"That you don't want anyone to know about this soft side to you. So I'm just going to tell them that you came over, kicked me in the balls, and took my liver when I coughed it onto the floor. I had to follow you home or I wouldn't be able to cleanse my own blood."
She laughed, and then searched his face as if she were re-memorizing it after a long trip. "It's okay. I'm not feeling like I have to protect myself all the time anymore."
"Good. 'Cuz I've got your back."
"And I have yours." She craned a glance toward the open door of the mansion. "And I think we need to leave your couch. Your wardrobe takes up more space than I've got already."
"Cool. I'll just take it out of the truck and leave it in the middle of the foyer. My father will probably want to haul the fucker back out and burn it on the front lawn because it's mine--but at least he won't have to have the doggen move it that far."
"You are a very considerate son."
"Aren't I?"
She kissed him again. "But listen...my place is a dump compared to what you're used to. It's small, it's doesn't have any windows, and the neighbors can sometimes be pests."
Peyton looked around at the grandeur he had grown up in. His sire had vowed to take him out of the will and remove him from the family tree--so all this was going to be a thing of his past. And the amazing thing? He was so totally good with that.
Stuff was nice. Love was better.
Refocusing on Novo, he said, "I would rather be in a hovel with you than a castle with anybody else."
As she looked up at him, her smile was so resplendent, he basked in it for a moment. Then he held up a forefinger.
"And as for your pesky neighbors, I have the solution for that." Leaning to one side, he took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. "I'll just put this on the door."
Flattening the sheet, he turned it around so she could see the note Dr. Manello had written and put on the door to her hospital room back when she'd been recovering.
"Oh..." she said as she touched it. "You were going to take this with you."
"I'm a sap. For you, that is." He smiled at her. "And sooner or later, I was going to cave and come try you again. You're irresistible to me."
"Even though I'm a bitch sometimes?"
Peyton gave her his sauciest wink. "I love a challenge, what can I say."
They made out for a little bit. And then he linked her arm through his own. "Let's unload the sofa and blow this Popsicle stand."
"Sounds like a perfect plan."
They were halfway across the foyer when Novo said, "Hey, will you go as my date to my sister's wedding...mating...whatever it is."
Peyton stopped and thought about it. "Yeah, but on one condition."
"What's that?"
"I get to hit him."
"Who? Oskar?"
"Yup. Right in the piehole." As Novo rolled her eyes and started shaking her head, he put his hands up. "One shot. I promise. And listen, because I'm a stand-up guy, I'll do it after the pictures are taken. Come on, you're my female. I gotta take care of you."
"I can take care of myself," she said sternly.
"True. But you have to admit, you'd like to see that. Admit it. Come onnnnnnnnnn."
"Fine," she muttered. "I would. But you're not going to hit him..."
"Even a little?" he asked as they headed out into the cold. "How about I duct-tape his ass cheeks together? Short-sheet his bed? Ex-Lax his chocolate pudding...? I have other ideas, you know..."
Novo put her hands on her hips and tried to keep a straight face. In the end, she cracked and started laughing. "You are out of control."
He came in for the clinch and she didn't fight him. "Not any longer. I know what I want and where I want to be. And it is to be with you. You're my home just like I'm yours."
She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Do we have to unpack the truck before we have sex?"
"Fuck that shit." He grinned. "Actually, I was planning on pulling over and doing you in the front seat on the way across town."
"I like the way you think," she said as she kissed him long and hard. "You are a male with great plans..."
It was twelve minutes after midnight on the dot when Saxton dematerialized to the rear of the Audience House. He did not enter through the kitchen door. Instead, he turned around and faced the four-bay garage that was set back from the mansion. The Brotherhood's blacked-out van was parked there, and with a calm that would have shocked him under other circumstances, he started through the snow to the set of exterior stairs leading to the structure's second level. As he ascended, his breathing was as even as a metronome, his heart rate steady, his eyes unblinking in spite of the cold.
From what felt like a vast distance, he watched as his hand reached out and turned a knob. Pushing the way open, he stepped inside, into the dim light.
The moans of the human men were muffled by the gags that were in their mouths. There were three of them, weaving on their feet, all wit
h their hands tied behind their backs and their terror making them sweat like meat left out too long in the heat. Two he recognized from the attack behind the restaurant. The other was not one he had seen before, but the fellow was of predictable ilk: big, beefy, short-haired, and ruddy-faced.
Vishous held one. Blay and Qhuinn the others.
There was plastic sheeting beneath their boots.
The humans struggled even more as his presence registered, and as they jerked against their tethers, he was reminded of hooves stamping in a stable, the rustle-thump of heavy-weighted bodies just the same.
No one said anything.
Vishous simply nodded over to a workbench. There was a single dagger on it. Black bladed. Was it V's or Qhuinn's, he wondered idly as he removed his leather gloves.
No matter, he thought as he went across and palmed it with his bare right hand.
For no particular reason, he looked around the raftered space. There were a number of inset windows that punched out into the roofline, but each was covered with black curtains. There was no glass in the door. None of the neighbors would be able to see this.
He didn't care if they did.
Approaching the first one, the human started to thrash against V's hold, his nose blowing out liquid, his cheeks puffing up around the gag.
As if the Brother wanted to make things easy, Vishous changed his grip so that his glove-covered hand, the dangerous one, slapped onto the man's forehead and he pulled back, exposing the throat.
A bead of sweat, like a tear, rolled down the human's cheek as he begged for mercy. Saxton heard none of it. No, all he had were visuals of Ruhn on the floor of that kitchen, his precious blood spilled, his body on a coat that had been his only comfort as he lay dying.
Saxton's arm acted before he was aware of making any kind of mental command. It lifted up the dagger...
And then it slashed the black blade across that exposed, fragile neck.
The blood flowed quick, spraying out so that it speckled Saxton's face. And V held the human up off the ground as the man began to spasm such that he tap-danced his way to death.
As Saxton moved on to the second, he found himself opening his mouth and hissing with fully descended fangs. Then he extended his tongue and licked the blade.
The human who was going to die next saw all this and screamed around his gag, fighting to get free of Qhuinn not just because he was going to be killed, but because he had discovered that something was very, very different about the male who was his executioner. In response, the Brother just tightened his hold around that barrel chest and yanked that head back by the hair.