J.R. Ward - The Shadows

He went still. “How else could a male love a female of worth like you but wholly. Completely. And without a single regret.”

As they stood there in that tunnel, halfway from the compound and halfway to the main house, she thought it was apt that what was on either side of them seemed to go off into infinity. They had but this middle point of the here and now, and they had to make it count.

“I don’t need to mate you in a ceremony,” she said.

“No?”

“We’re living the vows right now.”

“So you’re saying you won’t mate me.”

“Are you asking?” she teased.

“You want me to one-knee it?”

Sinking down to the floor, he took her hands. “Selena, will you be my shellan ? My one and only? I don’t have a ring, but we can go get you one—it’s what the humans do. Plus, I don’t know, I kind of want to buy you something expensive.”

Her first instinct was the one she had been trained to have—a demure deferral of the attention, the fuss, the pleasure.

But, in the words of her male, Fuck. That.

“I would love that. I would love everything, a ceremony, a ring, a party, the whole thing.” Opening her heart wide, she let the love in. “Everything!”

“That’s my queen,” he murmured. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

And that was how she ended up . . . engaged.

As she bent down to kiss him, it seemed utterly bizarre that the pair of them kept ricocheting back and forth between such incredibly opposite emotions. But this situation seemed to amplify the highs and lows, funneling feelings and experiences through a bullhorn until everything was too big to contain.

“So, a ring?” she said against his mouth.

“Yup, a ring.”

He ran his hands around the back of her thighs and stroked up and down. “And maybe a little sumthin’-sumthin’ you can’t get at a store.”

“And what might that be?” she drawled.

“Oh, you know. I’ll just have to show you upstairs. . . .”

SIXTY-ONE

“Yeah, I heard you arguing during the day.”

As iAm spoke, he glanced into the mirror over his bathroom sink. His brother was standing behind him, in the doorway to his bedroom, and the guy was dressed in all black, looking like he was right out of a magazine.

Clearly ready to take his female out again for the night.

“Sounded heavy,” iAm tacked on.

“It was bad for a little while.” Trez came in and sat down on the lip of the Jacuzzi. “But we got through it. I asked her to mate me.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Picking up the can of Barbasol, iAm hit the go button and then patted down his cheeks and chin. “How’s she doing?”

“Okay.”

iAm knew the male was lying. The tells were all over the place, but mostly in the way his brother didn’t meet his eyes.

“What’s on your mind, Trez.”

Trez cracked his knuckles one by one. “She doesn’t want her remains to be . . . like, where her sisters are up there.” He pointed to the ceiling, but meant the heavens above. “So, you know, when the time comes, I’m thinking of disposing of—”

As that deep voice cracked and couldn’t keep going, iAm forgot about his razor and went over, tightening the towel that was around his waist and sitting down beside his brother. “Shit.”

Trez rubbed his face. “Yeah, that about covers it. Anyway, I’m thinking I’ll build a pyre for her. Rehv’s people do that. That way, she’ll be . . .” He cleared his throat. “She’ll be free. She wants to be free at the end. You know.”

iAm shook his head. “I hate this for you.”

“Me, too. Guess I was born under the wrong star in a major way.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing. Just listen to me and forgive me if I say the wrong thing or get pissy. The stress is fucking crazy.”

They sat side by side in silence—because sometimes that was all you could do for someone you loved: There were paths that had to be walked alone. And that just sucked.

He wanted to ask how long. But that was the question of the hour, the one that nobody could answer.

“Are you going to have a ceremony?” iAm asked.

“I don’t think she wants that. I’m not sure what the Chosen do for funerals—”

“I was talking about the mating.”

“Oh, yeah. Ah, yeah, I guess.” Trez slapped his knees and got to his feet. “I gotta head out. I’m going to take her out tonight and get her a ring. I want to put a star from the heavens on her finger. Then she’s going to cook me dinner up north at Rehv’s.”

“Sounds good.” iAm looked at the guy. “Listen, this is none of my business—”

“Everything is your business. You’re my blooded brother.”

“Does Selena know about what’s doing with the s’Hisbe? About your . . . situation with the Princess?”

Trez shrugged. “I told her. A while ago. But I’m not thinking about all that right now.”

God, they were down to only a couple of nights left in the mourning period. And then . . .

One nightmare at a time, iAm thought. His brother was right.

“Listen,” iAm said. “I’m just a phone call away. You need anything, you hit me.”

“Thanks, my man.”

They clapped palms, and Trez offered a dead smile. “You look like Santa Claus.”

On that note, his brother left.

iAm sat there for a while, the uneven rim of the tub and the marble ledge making his butt feel like someone was hitting it with a two-by-four over and over again.

It was the saddest commentary that Trez was more focused on the funeral than the mating ceremony.

For a moment, he considered canceling his own . . . date. Or whatever it was with maichen . But he could just as easily wait by the phone in her company.

Naked company.

As he stood up and went to the sinks, he grabbed his Gillette eight hundred–bladed whatever and started de-Santa’ing himself. The guilt that he felt about heading off for a couple of hours of sex while his brother was suffering like this was enough to make him want to throw up.

His entire life had been in service to the male, and thinking of himself and what he wanted for his own shit was like exercising a limb that had been in a cast for decades: It seemed uncomfortable, unsure, unlikely to sustain weight.

But he felt kind of like Trez did . . . as if there was a limited time to enjoy what he had before everything changed and not for the better.

Trez might not want to think about it. But his time for reckoning with the s’Hisbe was going to come whether he acknowledged it or not. Their parents had been stripped of their station and their ill-gotten gains for essentially selling Trez to the Queen. There were no other levers to pull on that front—even if their mother and father were tortured and killed? Which had been brought up nine months ago? It had been no motivator for Trez or himself. And the s’Hisbe must have realized that because that was the last either of them had heard of that line of threats.

Impossible to get emotional about two people who had allowed you to be jailed your entire life—just so they could rise to be Primaries at court.

One thing he knew for certain? As the time for the ritual mating came due, the Queen was going to take things to a higher level. Which meant both he and Trez were going to have to watch their backs.

Probably a good idea to encourage any dating scenarios to stick close to home. Or, preferably, in the compound itself.

Shit, Trez was going to hate that.

* * *

“Hmmmm.”

As Trez let out a purr, Selena pivoted around in the closet. He had materialized behind her, his arms crossed over his chest, his body tilted against the jamb.