J. Ward - Lover Enshrined

Blay whispered, “Let’s go, Qhuinn.”

Qhuinn gritted his teeth. “You need to shut your hole, Lash. For real.”

John stepped into his buddy’s grille and signed, Let’s just go to Blay’s and chill, okay?

“Hey, John, a question just occurred to me. When you were raped in the stairwell by that human guy, did you scream with your hands? Or just breathe really hard?”

John went devastation-still. As did his two friends.

No one moved. No one breathed.

The locker room became so quiet that the dripping from the communal shower sounded like a snare drum.

Lash shut his locker door with a smile and looked at the two others. “I read his medical file. It’s all in there. He was sent to Havers’s for therapy because he was exhibiting symptoms of”-Lash did air quotations-“ ‘post-traumatic stress.’ So come on, John, when the guy fucked you, did you try to scream? Did you, John?”

Surely. This. Was. A. Nightmare, John thought as his balls shriveled up.

Lash laughed and shoved his feet into combat boots. “Look at you. All three of you struck stupid. It’s the cock-sucking Retardateers.”

Qhuinn’s voice took a tone it never had before. There was no bravado, no heated anger. It was stone-cold nasty. “You better pray this doesn’t get out. To anyone.”

“Or what? Come on, Qhuinn, I’m a firstborn son. My father is your father’s eldest brother. Do you really think you can touch me? Hmm… nah, not so much, my boy. Not so much.”

“Not one word, Lash.”

“Whatever. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get ghost. The bunch of you are sucking the will to live right out of me.” Lash shut his locker and walked over to the door. Naturally, he paused and looked over his shoulder, smoothing his blond hair. “Bet you didn’t scream, John. Bet you asked for more. Bet you begged the-”

John dematerialized.

For the first time in his life, he moved from one spot to another right through the air. Taking form in front of Lash and planting his body against the door to block the guy’s exit, he looked back at his friends and bared his fangs. Lash was his and his alone.

When they both nodded, the beat-down began.

Lash was ready for the first punch, all braced with his hands up and his weight on his thighs. So instead of throwing a fist, John ducked, lunged forward, and bear-hugged the bastard’s waist, crashing him back into a wall of lockers.

Lash wasn’t fazed in the slightest and recovered with a knee crack that nearly broke John’s face. Recoiling from the smash, John stumbled back, then reengaged, grabbing Lash’s throat, jamming his thumbs up under the guy’s chin, and locking in tight. He head-butted Lash’s nose, busting that fucker open like a geyser, but Lash didn’t give a shit. He smiled through the blood that ran down into his mouth and threw a low rightie gut punch that kicked John’s liver up into his lungs.

Fists were traded back and forth, back and forth, as the two of them plowed into banks of lockers and benches and trash bins. At some point, a couple of trainees tried to come in, but Blay and Quinn forced them out and locked the door.

John grabbed onto Lash’s hair, reared back, and bit him on top of the shoulder. As he pulled away, flesh tore free, and the two of them spun around while Lash welded his palms together and swung a two-hander square into John’s temple. The impact sent him tap-dancing into the shower, but he caught himself before he fell. Unfortunately, his re flexes weren’t fast enough to keep him from getting cracked in the jaw.

It was like getting hit with a baseball bat, and he realized Lash had somehow slipped on a pair of old-fashioned brass knuckles-probably because he needed the advantage given that John was bigger. Another hit landed somewhere on John’s face, and suddenly it was the Fourth of July in his head, fireworks everywhere. Before he could blink clear his vision, he got slammed face-first into the tiled wall in the shower and held in place.

Lash reached around to the front of John’s pants.

“How about a replay, John-boy?” the guy rasped. “Or do you only like humans in your ass?”

The feel of a big body pressing into his from behind froze John solid.

It should have energized him. It should have sent him wild. Instead, he became the frail boy he’d been, helpless and terrified and at the mercy of someone much, much bigger. He was instantly where he’d been in that decrepit stairwell, pushed against the wall, trapped, overpowered.

Tears sprang to his eyes. No, not this… not this again- From out of nowhere, a war cry came, and the weight was lifted from him.

John fell to his knees and threw up on the wet tile floor.

When his retching receded, he let himself fall onto his side and twisted into a fetal position, shaking like the nancy he was-

Lash was down on the tile right next to him… and his throat was cut wide-open.

The guy was trying to breathe, trying to hold his blood in, and it wasn’t working.

John looked up in horror.

Qhuinn stood above them both, panting. In his right hand was a bloody hunting knife.

“Oh, Jesus…” Blay said. “What the fuck did you do, Qhuinn?”

This was bad. This was life-altering bad. For all of them. What had started as a brawl… had likely ended up as a murder.

John opened his mouth to holler for help. Naturally, nothing came out.

“I’ll get someone,” Blay said, and ran out.

John sat up, whipped off his shirt, and leaned over Lash. Taking the guy’s hands away, he pressed what had been on his back to the open wound and prayed the blood would stop. Lash met his eyes, then brought his own hands up as if to help.

Lie still , John mouthed. Just lie still. I can hear people coming.

Lash coughed and blood came out of his mouth, spattering over his lower lip and running down his chin. Shit, the red stuff was everywhere.

But they had done this before, John told himself. The two of them had fought right here in this shower, and the drain had run red then, too, and it had been okay.

Not this time , a voice inside of him warned. Not this time…

A roar of panic flared, and he started to pray for Lash to live. Then he prayed for time to go backward. Then he wished for this to be a dream…

Someone was standing over him and saying his name.

“John?” He looked up. It was Doc Jane, the Brotherhood ’s private physician, and Vishous’s shellan . Her translucent, ghostly face was calm, her voice even and soothing. As she knelt down, she became as solid as he was. “John, I need you to step back so I can get a look at him, okay? I want you to let go and step back. You’ve done a good job, but I need to take care of him now.”

He nodded. But even still, she had to touch his hands to get him to release his hold on his shirt.

Someone picked him up off his knees. Blay. Yeah, it was Blay. He could tell by the guy’s aftershave. Jump by Joop!

There were a lot of other people in the locker room. Rhage was just inside the shower, and next to him was V. Butch was there.

Qhuinn… where was Qhuinn?

John looked around and found him across the way. The bloody knife was gone from his hand, and Zsadist was next to the guy, looming.

Qhuinn was paler than the white tile, his mismatched eyes unblinking as he stared at Lash.

“You’re under house arrest at your parents’,” Zsadist said to Qhuinn. “If he dies, you’re up for murder.”

Rhage went over to Qhuinn, as if thinking that Z’s hard tone wasn’t helping the sitch. “Come on, son, let’s get your stuff from your locker.”

Rhage was the one who led Qhuinn out of the locker room, and Blay followed them.

John stayed right where he was. Please let Lash live, he thought. Please…