J. Ward - Lover Avenged

He willed the double doors wide and as a unit his brothers came to attention. As he looked across the pale blue expanse of the study to their big, hard bodies out by the balcony, he knew them not by face or clothing or expression, but by the echo of each one in his blood.

The ceremonies in the Tomb that had bound them all together resonated no matter how long ago they had been done.

“Don’t just stand there,” he said as the Brotherhood stared back at him. “I didn’t open those fuckers to turn myself into a zoo exhibit.”

The brothers came in on their heavy boots-except for Rhage, who was in flip-flops, his standard house footwear no matter the season. Each of the warriors took up his usual station in the room, with Z going over to stand by the fireplace and V and Butch parking it on a recently reinforced pencil-legged sofa. Rhage came over to the desk in a series of flip-flip-flips and hit speaker on the phone, letting his fingers do the walking to get Phury on the horn.

No one said anything about all the papers on the floor. No one tried to pick them up. It was as if the mess weren’t there, and that was how Wrath preferred it.

As he shut the doors with his mind, he thought of Tohr. The brother was in the house, just down the hall of statues by only a few doors, but he was on a different continent. Inviting him wasn’t an option-more like a cruelty, given where his head was at.

“Hello?” came Phury’s voice out of the phone.

“We’re all here,” Rhage said before unwrapping a Tootsie Pop and flip-flip-flipping it over to an ugly-ass green armchair.

The monstrosity was Tohr’s, moved up from the office for John Matthew to sleep in back after Wellsie had been murdered and Tohrment had disappeared. Rhage tended to use the thing because at his weight, it was really the safest option for his ass, steel-bolted sofas included.

With everyone settled, the room went quiet except for the crunching grind of Hollywood’s molars on that cherry thing he had in his piehole.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Rhage finally groaned around his lollipop. “Just tell us. Whatever it is. I’m getting ready to scream over here. Is someone dead?”

No, but it sure as shit felt like he’d killed something.

Wrath glanced in the brother’s direction, then looked at each one of them. “I’m going to be your partner, Hollywood.”

“Partner? As in…” Rhage glanced around the room as if checking to see whether everyone else had heard what he had. “You ain’t talking about gin rummy, are you.”

“No,” Z said quietly. “I don’t believe he is.”

“Holy. Shit.” Rhage took another lollipop out of the pocket of his black fleece. “Is this legal?”

“It is now,” V muttered.

Phury spoke up from the phone. “Wait, wait…is this to replace me?”

Wrath shook his head even though the Brother couldn’t see him. “It’s to replace a lot of people we’ve lost.”

Conversation bubbled up like a can of Coke had just been cracked open. Butch, V, Z, Rhage all started talking at once until a tinny voice cut through the chatter:

“I want to come back, too, then.”

Everyone looked at the phone-except for Wrath, who stared over at Z in order to gauge the guy’s reaction. Zsadist had no trouble showing anger. Ever. But he hid concern and worry like the stuff was loose money and he was surrounded by muggers: As his twin’s statement resonated, he was in full self-protection mode, tightening up, emitting absolutely nothing in terms of emotion.

Ah, right, Wrath thought. The tough-skinned bastard was scared cockless.

“You sure that’s a good idea,” Wrath said slowly. “Maybe fighting isn’t what you need right now, my brother.”

“I haven’t toked up in nearly four months,” Phury said through the speaker. “And I’ve got no plans to go back to the drugging.”

“Stress won’t make that shit any easier.”

“Oh, but sitting on my ass while you’re out there will?”

Wonderful. The king and the Primale in the field for the first time in history. And why? Because the Brotherhood was on its last gasp.

Great record to break there. Kind of like winning the fifty-meter ass-stroke in the Loser-lympics.

Christ.

Except then Wrath thought of that dead civilian. Was that a better outcome? No.

Leaning back in his delicate chair, he stared hard at Z.

As if he felt the eyes on him, Zsadist stepped free of the mantel and stalked around the study. They all knew what he was picturing: Phury ODed on a bathroom floor, an empty heroin syringe next to him on the tile.

“Z?” came Phury’s voice over the phone. “Z? Pick up the handset.”

When Zsadist got on with his twin, his face, with its jagged scar, drew into such a nasty frown even Wrath could see the glare. And the expression didn’t improve as he said, “Uh-huh. Yeah. Uh-huh. I know. Right.” There was a long, long pause. “No, I’m still here. Okay. All right.”

Pause. “Swear to me. On my daughter’s life.”

After a moment, Z hit the speaker again, put the handset back in place, and returned to the fireplace.

“I’m in,” Phury said.

Wrath shifted in the pansy chair, wishing so many things were different. “You know, maybe in another time, I might have told you to back off. Now, I’ll just say…When can you start.”

“Nightfall. I’ll leave Cormia in charge of the Chosen while I’m out in the field.”

“Your female going to be tight with this?”

There was a pause. “She knows who she mated. And I’m going to be honest with her.”

Ouch.

“Now I have a question,” Z said softly. “It’s about the dried blood on your shirt, Wrath.”

Wrath cleared his throat. “I’ve been back for a while now, actually. With the fighting.”

The temperature in the room dropped. Which was Z and Rhage getting pissed off that they hadn’t known.

And then suddenly, Hollywood cursed. “Wait…wait. You two knew…you knew before us, didn’t you. ’Cause neither of you look surprised.”

Butch cleared his throat like he was getting glared at. “He needed me on cleanup. And V’s tried to change his mind.”

“How long ago did this start, Wrath?” Rhage bit out.

“Since Phury stopped fighting.”

“Are you kidding me.”

Z stalked over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and even though the shutters were down, he stared at the thing as if he could see the grounds beyond. “Good goddamn thing you didn’t get yourself killed out there.”

Wrath bared his fangs. “You think I fight like a pussy just because I’m behind this desk now?”

Phury’s voice rose up from the phone. “Okay, everyone just relax. We all know now, and things are going to be different going forward. No one’s going to fight alone, even if we go in threes. But I need to know, is this going to be common knowledge? Are you going to announce it at the council meeting the night after tomorrow?”

Man, that happy little face-to-face was not something he was looking forward to. “I think we’ll keep it quiet for now.”

“Yeah,” Z bit out, “’cuz really, why be honest.”

Wrath ignored that. “I’m going to tell Rehvenge, though. I know there are members of the glymera who are grumbling about the raids. If it gets to be too much, he’ll be able to calm things down with that kind of intel.”

“Are we done here,” Rhage said in a flat tone.

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“I’m outtie then.”

Hollywood stalked from the room, and Z was right behind him, two more casualties of the bomb Wrath had dropped.

“So how’d Beth take it?” V asked.

“How do you think.” Wrath got to his feet and followed the example set by the pair who had left.