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Chapter Fifty-five

Mr. X opened his eyes and saw a bunch of hazy, vertical lines. Bars?

No, they were chair legs.

He was lying on a rough pine floor. Sprawled out on his stomach. Under a table.

He lifted his chin and his vision went blurry again. God, my head aches like it was cracked wide open—

Everything came back. Fighting the Blind King. Getting hit by the female with something hard. Falling down.

While the Blind King had struggled with his gunshot wounds, and the female had been focused on her mate, Mr. X had crawled away to the minivan. He’d driven even farther out of town, to the mountains at Caldwell’s very edge. By some miracle, he’d found his cabin in the dark and had barely managed to get himself inside before collapsing.

God only knew how long he’d been out cold.

Small windows in the log walls let in the early dawn glow. Was it the morning after? Somehow, he didn’t think it was. He felt as if he’d lost days.

Moving his arm around carefully, he reached for the back of his head. The injury was raw, but closing.

With concentration and effort, he managed to drag himself upright so he was leaning against the table. He actually felt a little better with his head elevated.

He was lucky. Lessers could be permanently incapacitated from serious blows or gunshots. Not dead, but ruined. Over the decades, he’d found a number of his fellow members flopping around in hidden places, rotting, unable to heal back into fighting shape, too weak to stab themselves into oblivion.

He looked at his hands. They had the dried blood of the Blind King on them and dirt from the barn’s floor.

He had no regrets that he’d run from the scene. Sometimes, the best move a leader could make was to disengage from battle. When casualties were too high, and loss was virtually assured, the intelligent maneuver was to withdraw and fight another day.

Mr. X dropped his arms. He was going to need more time to recover, but he had to get hold of his men. Leadership vacuums in the Society were dangerous. Particularly for the Fore-lesser in charge.

The door to the cabin swung open and he looked up, wondering how he would defend himself before realizing it was too close to daylight for the intruder to be a vampire.

What filled the jambs made his black blood run cold.

The Omega.

“I’ve come to help you recover,” it said with a smile.

As the door shut, Mr. X’s body trembled.

Help from the Omega was more terrifying than any death sentence.

Epilogue

“The Tomb’s mansion. I’m telling you, that’s where we should go,” Tohr said, as he stabbed some roast beef off the silver tray Fritz held out to him. “Thanks, man.”

Beth looked over at Wrath, thinking that in the month since he’d been shot, he’d fully recovered. He was healthy and strong. Formidable as always. Arrogant. Loving. Impossible and irresistible.

As he settled back in his chair at the head of the table, he reached for her hand, stroking her palm with his thumb.

She smiled at him.

They’d been living in her father’s house while he recovered, working on plans for the future. And every night, the brotherhood came for dinner. Fritz was beside himself with glee from all the people coming and going.

“You know, that’s a damn good idea,” V said. “I could really wire that place tight. It’s isolated enough on that mountain. And built of stone, so it’s fireproof. If we throw some retractable metal shutters across all the windows, we could move around during the day. Which was a critical weakness in this house when…” He stopped. “And doesn’t it have extensive underground rooms? We could use them for training.”

Rhage nodded. “The place is also big enough. We could all live there without killing each other.”

“That depends more on your mouth than any floorplan,” Phury said with a grin. The warrior shifted in his chair, making room for Boo on his lap.

“What do you think?” Tohr asked Wrath.

“It’s not my call. As those buildings and facilities were Darius’s holdings, they have now passed to