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As if he sensed her, he stopped and glanced up. His eyes flashed like citrines, sparkling, captivating her.

And she watched the glow in them dim.

Cormia was the one who pivoted away, because she’d quite had it with being the one who was left. Just as she turned, she saw Zsadist coming around the corner of the hall of statues. His eyes were black as they shifted to her, and she didn’t have to ask how Bella was. Words weren’t necessary, given his dark expression.

“I was going to stay with her,” she said to the Brother. “She asked for me.”

“I know. I’m glad. And thank you.”

In the beat of silence, she measured the daggers crisscrossing over the warrior’s chest. And there were other weapons on him, she thought, though she couldn’t see them.

The Primale had had none. No daggers, no bulges under his clothes.

She wondered where he was going. Not the Other Side, as he was dressed for this world. Where then? And for what?

“Is he down there waiting for me?” Zsadist asked.

“The Primale?” When the Brother nodded, she said, “Er . . . yes, yes, he is.”

Odd to be the one who knew where he was . . . and the one to be asked.

She thought of his lack of weapons.

“Take care of him,” she demanded without apology.

“Please.”

Something tightened Zsadist’s face, then he inclined his head once. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

As Cormia bowed and turned to the hall of statues, Zsadist ’s low voice stopped her dead: “The baby’s not moving very much. Not since whatever happened last night.”

Cormia looked over her shoulder and wished there were more she could do. “I’ll purify the room. That is what we do on the Other Side when . . . I’ll purify the room.”

“Don’t tell her you know.”

“I won’t.” Cormia wanted to reach out to the male. Instead, she said, “I’ll take care of her. Go and do your business with him.”

The Brother bowed his head and took off down the stairs.

Below in the foyer, Phury rubbed his chest and then stretched, trying to get rid of the ache between his pecs. He was surprised at how difficult it was to see Cormia turn away from him.

Curiously brutal, as a matter of fact.

He thought of the Chosen he’d met at dawn. The difference between her and Cormia was obvious. Selena was eager to be First Mate, her eyes shining as she looked him over as if he were a prize bull. It had taken all the manners he had just to stay in the same room with her.

She wasn’t a bad female and was more than beautiful enough, but her affect . . . man, it was like she wanted to crawl into his lap right then and there and get down to it. Especially as she’d assured him that she was more than ready to serve him and her tradition . . . and that “every bone in her body wanted this.”

This clearly meaning his sex.

And there was another coming at the end of tonight.

Sweet. Jesus.

Zsadist appeared at the head of the stairwell and came down quickly, his windbreaker in his hand. “Let’s go.”

As he measured his twin’s tight brow, Phury thought, Bella wasn’t doing well.

“Is Bella—”

“Not going there with you.” Z marched across the foyer, passing by without so much as a glance. “We’re just about business, you and me.”

As Phury frowned and then followed behind, their footsteps echoed up as if one person, not two, were walking along. Even with Phury having the prosthesis, he and Z had always had the same long stride, the same way of going heel to toe, the same swing in their arms.

Twins.

But the similarities ended with biology, didn’t they. In life, they’d gone in two separate directions.

Both of which had sucked.

With a sudden shift in logic, Phury saw things in a different light.

Shit, all along he’d tortured himself about Z’s fate . . . all along he’d lived in the cold, pervasive shadow of their family’s tragedy. He had suffered, goddamn it . . . he had suffered, too, and suffered still. And while he respected the sanctity of his twin’s mating with Bella, something popped in his head at getting closed out as if he were an absolute stranger. And