• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

I need some space, he signed without meeting either of their stares.

“No problem,” Qhuinn replied.

There was a pause as John waited for them to go in the house. Qhuinn cleared his throat once. Twice.

Then in a choked voice, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you again. I—”

John shook his head and signed, It’s not related to sex. So don’t worry, k?

Qhuinn frowned. “Okay. Yeah, cool. Ah…you need us, we’re around. Come on, Blay.”

Blay followed, the two of them walking up the shallow stone steps and going into the mansion.

Standing alone, finally, John had no idea what to do or where to go, but dawn was coming soon, so short of a quick jog through the gardens, he had few outdoor options.

Although, God, he wondered whether he could even go inside. He felt contaminated by what he’d learned.

Xhex was a symphath.

Did Rehvenge know? Did anyone else?

He was well aware of what the law required him to do. He’d learned that in training: When it came to symphaths, you reported them for deportation or you were deemed an accomplice. Pretty damn clear-cut.

Except what happened then?

Yeah, no guessing at that. Xhex would be shipped off like trash to a dump—and things would not go well for her. It was clear she was a half-breed. He’d seen photographs of symphaths, and she looked nothing like those tall, thin, creepy-ass SOBs. So chances were very good she’d be killed up in the colony, because from what he knew, symphaths were like the glymera when it came to discrimination.

Save for the fact that they liked to torture what they derided. And not in the verbal sense.

What the fuck did he do…

When the cold had him shivering under his leather jacket, he went into the house and directly up the grand staircase. The doors of the study were open, and he could hear Wrath’s voice, but he didn’t stop to see the king. He kept walking, going around the corner to the hall of statues.

He wasn’t heading for his room, though.

John pulled up in front of Tohr’s door and paused to stroke his hair flat. There was only one person he wanted to talk this through with, and he prayed that for once there would be something coming back to him.

He needed help. Badly.

John knocked softly.

No answer. He knocked again.

As he waited and waited, he stared at the panels of the door and considered the last two times he’d burst into rooms uninvited. The first had been over the summer when he’d barged into Cormia’s bedroom and found her naked and curled on her side with blood on her thighs. Result? He’d pummeled the holy hell out of Phury for no reason, as the sex had been consensual.

The second had been Xhex, tonight. And look at the situation that had put him in.

John knocked harder, his knuckles banging loud enough to wake the dead.

No answer. Worse, no sounds at all. No TV, no shower, no voices.

He stepped back to see if there was a glow coming from under the door. Nope. So Lassiter wasn’t in there.

Dread made him swallow hard, as he slowly opened the door wide. His eyes went first to the bed, and when Tohr wasn’t lying there, John flat-out panicked. Racing across the Oriental rug, he shot through into the bath, fully expecting to find the Brother sprawled out in the Jacuzzi with his wrists cut.

There was no one in either room.

A strange, giddy hope flared in his chest as he went back into the hall. Looking left and right, he decided to start with Lassiter’s bedroom.

No answer, and, looking inside, he found a whole lot of neat and tidy along with the dimming scent of fresh air.

This was good. The angel had to be with Tohr.

John hot-stepped it down to Wrath’s study and, after he knocked on the jamb, he put his head in, doing a quick review of the spindly sofa and the armchairs and the mantel by the fireplace that the Brothers liked to lean against.

Wrath looked up from the desk. “Hey, son. What’s doing?”

Oh, nothing. You know. Just…excuse me.

John headed down the grand staircase at a jog, knowing that if Tohr was having his first