As the night wore on, Throe walked the streets of Caldwell by himself, unarmed, dressed in hospital scrubs... and stronger than he'd been since he'd arrived in the New World.
His beating at the hands of those two Brothers had healed up almost immediately, and the Brotherhood had released him shortly after that second feeding.
He still had a number of hours before he was due to meet Xcor, and he passed the time with his own thoughts, walking in running shoes that had been a gift from the enemy.
During his stay with the Brotherhood, he had learned nothing about where their facilities were located. He had been unconscious when brought into their compound - and locked in a van with no windows when he'd left. After a drive of some time, no doubt due to a circuitous route, he'd been deposited by the river, and left to his own devices.
Naturally, the van had had no license plate, and no distinguishing features. And he'd had the sense that he was being watched - as if they were waiting to see if he tried to follow it as it departed from him.
He did not. He stayed where he was until it had driven off... and then he had started upon his walkabout.
Xcor's brilliant maneuver had succeeded in gaining naught. Well, aside from likely saving Throe's life. What little he had discovered about the Brotherhood was nothing that couldn't have been guessed at: Their resources were extensive, judging by the amount and sophistication of the medical equipment he'd been treated with; the number of people he'd seen or heard walking in the hall was just as impressive; and security was taken very seriously. Indeed, theirs appeared to be an entire community, hidden from human and lesser eyes alike.
Everything had to be underground, he thought. Well guarded. Camouflaged to appear as if it were nothing in particular; for even during the raids, when so many of the race's homes had been found and wiped out, there had been no rumor that the king's household had been hit.
So Xcor's plan had yielded little on Throe's part but animosity.
And for a moment, he questioned whether he would show up to meet his former leader or not.
In the end, he knew such rebellion would remain unrealized. Xcor had something Throe wanted - the only thing, really. And as long as those ashes were retained by the male, there was naught to be done but grit one's teeth, duck one's head, and push onward. It was, after all, what he had been doing for centuries.
Except he would not make the same mistake twice. Only an idiot would not recall this visceral reminder of where things really stood between them.
The answer was to get the remains of his sister back. And as soon as he did? He would miss his fellow soldiers in the same manner he ached for his family, but he would take himself out of the Band of Bastards - forcibly if need be. Then perhaps he would put down some roots somewhere else in America - there would be no returning to the Old Country. He might be too tempted to try to revisit his bloodline, and that would not be fair to them.
Toward the end of the night, at around four a.m. judging by the moon's position, he dematerialized to the rooftop of the skyscraper. He had no weapons on which to draw for protection - but he had no intention of fighting. As far as he had been taught, his sister could not enter unto the Fade without the proper ceremony so he had to live long enough to bury her.
As soon as he did, however...
Up high above the streets and other buildings of the city, in the curiously silent stratosphere where there were no horns or shouts or rumbles of delivery trucks coming in early, the wind was strong and bracingly chilly in spite of the humidity in the air and the warm temperature. Overhead, thunder rumbled and lightning skipped along the underside of storm clouds, promising a wet beginning to the day.
When he'd started his journey with Xcor, he had been a gentlemale better tutored in the fine art of leading a female upon the dance floor - as opposed to engaging in hand-to-hand combat. But he was no longer who he had been.
Accordingly, he stood out in the open without cowardice or apology, feet braced and arms at his sides. There was no weakness in the line of his chin, the contour of his chest, or the straight angle of his shoulders, and no fear in his heart at what might step out to greet him. All of that was because of Xcor: Throe had technically been born male, but it wasn't until he had run afoul of that fighter that he had truly learned how to live up to his gender.
He would always owe that to the soldiers he had been with for so long -
From behind the mechanicals, a figure stepped out, the wind catching a long coat and blowing it free from a heavy, deadly body.
Instinct and training overrode intent as Throe fell into a fighting stance, prepared to face his -
As the male took a step forward, the light from the fixture above the rooftop door caught his face.
It was not Xcor.
Throe did not ease his stance. "Zypher?"
"Aye." Abruptly, the soldier lurched forward, and then broke into a run to close the distance between them.
Before Throe knew it, he was encompassed in a rough embrace, held in arms as strong as his own, against a body as big as his own.
"You live," the soldier breathed. "You are alive...."
Awkwardly at first, and then with a strange desperation, Throe latched onto the other fighter. "Aye. Aye, I am."
With an abrupt shove, he was pushed back and examined from head to foot. "What e'er did they do unto you?"
"Nothing."
Those eyes narrowed. "Be in truth with me, brother. And afore you answer, one of your eyes is still black-and-blue."
"They provided me with a healer, and a... Chosen."
"A Chosen?!"
"Aye."
"Mayhap I should try to get stabbed."
Throe had to laugh. "She was... like nothing on this earth. Fair of hair and skin and countenance, ethereal, though she lived and breathed."
"I thought they had been fabricated."
"I do not know - mayhap I have romanticized it. But she was exactly as rumors describe them - lovelier than any female your eyes have beheld."
"Do not torture me thus!" Zypher grinned briefly, and then regained his seriousness. "Are you well."
Not a question - a demand.
"They treated me as a guest for the most part." Indeed, except for the shackles and the beat-down - although given that they were protecting a precious gem's virtue, he had to say he approved of what they had wrought upon him. "But aye, I am recovered fully, thanks to their healers." He looked around. "Where is Xcor."
Zypher shook his head. "He's not coming."
"So you are to kill me then." Odd that the male would task another with what surely he would relish.
"Fuck, no." Zypher unshouldered one side of a rucksack. "I am to give you this."
From out of the pack, Zypher produced a large, square brass box with ornate markings and inscriptions.
Throe could only stare at the thing.
He had not seen it for centuries. In fact, he had not known it had been taken from his family until Xcor had threatened him with it.
Zypher cleared his throat. "He told me to tell you he releases you. Your debt to him is settled and he is returning your dead unto you."
Throe's hands shook badly - until they accepted the weight of his sister's ashes. Then they were steadied.
As he stood there in the wind and drizzle, poleaxed and unmoving, Zypher paced about in a tight circle, his hands on his hips and his eyes on the gravel that covered the skyscraper's roofing panels.
"He hasnae been the same since he left you," the soldier said. "This morning, I found him cutting himself to the bone from the mourning."
Throe's eyes shot over to the male he knew so well. "Indeed?"
"Aye. He did so all day long. And this night, he has not even gone out to fight. He is back at the safe house, sitting by himself. He ordered everyone but me away, and then gave me this."
Throe brought the box even closer to his body, holding it tightly. "Are you sure I am the cause for such upset," he said dryly.
"Very much so. In truth, he is not like the Bloodletter in his heart. He wants to be - and he is capable of much against others that I personally am not. But to you, to us... we are his clan." Zypher's stare was filled with candor. "You should come back to us. To him. He shall not act thus again - those ashes are your proof. And we need you - not just because of all you do, but who you have become to us. It has been but twenty-four hours and we are broken without you."
Throe glanced up at the sky, at the storm, at the violent, churning heavens above. Having once been damned by circumstance, he couldn't believe he would even consider being damned by consent.
"We will all be incomplete without you. Even him."
Throe had to smile a little. "Did you e'er think you would say such."
"No." The laugh that floated over upon the gusts was deep. "Not about an aristocrat. But you are more than that."
"Thanks to you."
"And Xcor."
"I'm not sure if I'm ready to give him any credit."
"Come back with me. See him. Rejoin your family. Much as it might pain you this night, you are as lost without us as we are without you."
In response, Throe could only stare out over the city, its lights like that of the stars that were eclipsed up above.
"I cannot trust him," he heard himself say.
"He has given you your freedom this night. Surely that means something."
"We are all facing death sentences if we continue. I saw the Brotherhood - if they were formidable before in the Old Country, that is nothing compared to their resources now."
"So they live well."
"They live smart. I couldn't find them even if I wished. And they have extensive facilities - they are a force to be reckoned with." He glanced over. "Xcor will be disappointed with what I have learned - which is nothing."
"He said no."
Throe frowned. "I don't understand."
"He stated he wishes to know none of it. You shall never get an apology from him directly, but he has given you the key to the binds that entangle you, and he will accept no information from you."
A brief anger shafted through him. Then what had it all been for?
Except... mayhap Xcor hadn't considered that he'd feel the way he did. And Zypher was right; the idea of not being with those males was... like a death. After all these years, they were all he had.
"If I come back, I could be a security risk. What if I've made a secret pact with the Brotherhood. What if they are here." He motioned around. "Or perhaps waiting elsewhere to follow me?"
Zypher shrugged with complete disregard. "We've been trying to meet up with them for months. Such a confluence would be welcome."
Throe blinked. And then started to laugh. "You people are crazy."
"Shouldn't that be 'we'?" Abruptly, Zypher shook his head. "You would never betray us. Even if you hated Xcor with your whole being, you would never compromise the rest of us."
That was true, he thought. As for hating Xcor...
He stared down at the box in his arms.
There had been many times over the years when he had wondered at the turns and twists of his fate.
And it appeared tonight he was going to wonder anew at his destiny.
He had been unsure about the course against Wrath, but now that he had seen that Chosen female, he rather liked the idea of o'ertaking the throne and finding her and claiming her for himself.
Bloodthirsty? Yes, indeed - his earlier self would have never thought in such ways. But his newer self had gotten used to taking what he wanted, the cloak of civility having grown threadbare after years without his tending its delicate fibers.
If he could get to Wrath, he could find her again....
Abruptly, he felt his mouth move and heard his own voice in the wind: "He is going to have to allow me to buy cell phones."
Xcor stayed home all night long.
The problem was the damage to his forearms. He hated the fact that they had yet to heal, but he was smart enough to know that he could barely use them. Indeed, just gripping the spoon to feed himself soup was proving difficult.
A dagger against an enemy would be an impossibility. And then there was the infection risk.
It was the damn blood thing. Again. Mayhap if he had taken the time to feed from that whore back in the... fates, had it been in the spring?
Frowning, he performed an uneasy addition, one that yielded far too great a sum. No wonder he remained in difficult straits... and good thing he wasn't completely blood crazed.
Or was he? Thinking back upon what he had wrought with Throe, it was difficult not to judge his actions by that condemning catchall.
With a curse, he hung his head, exhaustion and a strange kind of ennui settling upon his shoulders -
The back door at the kitchen opened, and given that it was too early for his soldiers to return, he knew that it was Zypher with the update on Throe's departure.
"Was he all right?" Xcor asked without looking up. "Did he get off safely?"
"He is and he did."
Xcor's eyes shot up. Throe himself was in the archway, standing tall and proud, his eyes alert, his body strong.
"And he returneth safely," the male finished in a grim tone.
Xcor immediately refocused on his soup and blinked hard. From a vast distance, he watched as the spoon in his hand shook out its contents.
"Did Zypher not tell you," he muttered gruffly.
"That I was free? Aye. He did."
"If you wish to fight, I shall set aside my meal."
"I don't know that you're up to anything but feeding yourself the now."
Damn sleeveless shirts, Xcor thought as he turned his arms inward so that less of the damage showed. "I could muster if need be. Where are your boots?"
"I don't know. They took everything I had."
"Were you treated well."
"Well enough." Throe came forward, the boards beneath his feet creaking. "Zypher said you wanted to know none of what I've seen."
Xcor just shook his head.
"He also said that I would never get an apology out of you." There was a long pause. "I want one. Now."
Xcor put aside his soup and found himself searching the wounds he had given himself, recalling all that pain, all that blood - which had dried brown on the floorboards beneath him.
"And then what," he said in a rough voice.
"You'll have to find out."
Fair enough, Xcor thought.
Without grace - not that he had any, anyway - he rose to his feet. At his full height, he was unsteady for too many reasons to count, and the off-balance feeling got even worse as he met the eyes of his... friend.
Looking Throe in the face, he stepped up and put out his palm. "I am sorry."
Three simple words spoken loud and clear. And they didn't go nearly far enough.
"I was wrong to treat you as I did. I am... not as much of the Bloodletter as I thought - as I have e'er wanted to be."
"This is not a bad thing," Throe said quietly.
"When it comes to the likes of you, I would agree."
"And the others?"
"The others as well." Xcor shook his head. "That would be as far as it goes, however."
"So your ambitions have not changed."
"No. My methods, though... they will ne'er be the same."
In the silence that followed, he had no clue what he was going to get in return: a curse, a punch, a wretched row. The instability struck him as more than fair.
"Ask me to return to you as a free male," Throe demanded.
"Please. Come back, and you have my word - though it be worth less than a pence - that you shall be accorded the respect you have long deserved."
After a moment, his palm was engulfed. "All right then."
Xcor released a shuddering breath, one born out of relief. "All right, indeed."
Releasing the fighter's hand, he bent down, picked up his mostly untouched bowl of food... and offered what little he had to Throe.
"You will allow me to transform communications," the male said.
"Aye."
And that was that.
Throe accepted the soup and went over to where Xcor had been sitting. Sinking down to the floor, he put the brass box on the far side of himself and began to eat.
Xcor joined him on the stain of the blood he had shed during the day, and in silence, they completed their reunion. But it was not over, at least not on Xcor's part.
His regret stayed with him, the heaviness of the burden of his actions altering him forever, like an injury that had scarred over and healed wrong.
Or rather, in this case... healed right.
