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A fireplace. A . . . massive desk and throne.

She hadn’t moved her body here herself; she hadn’t the strength. And Wrath could not have cast her corporeal form forth. There was but one explanation. She had been expelled by her mother.

There would be no going back; she had her wish. She was free, e’er-more.

An odd peace o’ercame her, one that was either the calming pall of death . . . or the realization that the fight was over. Indeed, live or die, that which had defined her for years had passed, a weight lifted that sent her flying anew in her as yet still flesh.

Wrath’s face came into her field of vision, his long black hair slipping free of his shoulders and falling forward. And at that moment, a blond dog ducked under the heavy arm of the king, its kind face holding a welcoming inquiry, as if she were an unexpected but very appreciated guest.

“I’m going to get Doc Jane,” Wrath said, stroking the flank of the dog.

“Who?”

“My private physician. Stay here.”

“As if . . . I’m going anywhere?”

There was the jangle of a collar and then the king left, his hand on a harness that connected him with the beautiful dog, the animal’s paws clipping on the floor when they reached the edge of the rug and hit hardwood.

He truly was blind. And here on this side, he needed someone else’s eyes to function.

A door shut and then she thought of naught but the pain. She was floating, rendered buoyant by the agony in her body—and yet, in spite of the incredible discomfiture, she was aloft on a strange peacefulness.

For no evident reason, she noted that the air had a lovely smell here. Lemon. Beeswax.

Just lovely.

Fates be, her time on this side had been long ago and, going by how strange things looked, in a different world. But she remembered how much she had liked it. Everything had been unpredictable and therefore captivating . . .

Sometime later, the door opened and she heard once more the jangle of the dog’s collar and caught Wrath’s powerful scent. And there was someone with them . . . who didn’t register in a way that Payne could process. But there was definitely another entity in the room.

Payne forced open her eyes . . . and nearly recoiled.

It was not Wrath standing o’er her, but a female . . . or at least it appeared to be a female. The face had feminine lines—except the features and the hair were translucent and ghostly. And as their stares met, the female’s expression shifted from concerned to shocked. Abruptly, she had to steady herself on Wrath’s arm.

“Oh . . . my God . . .” The voice was rough.

“Is it that obvious, Doc?” the king said.

As the female struggled to respond, it was not the sort of reaction one hoped to engender in a physician. Verily, Payne had thought that she was well aware of how injured she was. However, it might well be that she was unclear as to the gravity of her condition.

“Verily, am I—”

“ Vishous.”

The name froze her heart.

For she had not heard it in well over two centuries.

“Wherefore speaketh thou of my dead?” she whispered.

The physician’s ghostly face took tangible form, her forest green eyes revealing a deep confusion, her flesh carrying the pallor of someone fighting emotions. “Your dead?”

“My twin . . . is long passed unto the Fade.”

The physician shook her head, her brows dropping low over that intelligent stare. “Vishous is alive. I’m mated to him. He’s alive and well here.”

“No . . . it cannot be.” Payne wished she could reach up and grab the doctor’s solid arm. “You lie—he is dead. He is long—”

“No. He is very much alive.”

Payne couldn’t understand the words. She had been told he was gone, lost to the Fade’s tender mercies—

By her mother. Of course.

Verily, had the female cheated her out of knowing her own brother? How could one be so cruel?

Abruptly, Payne bared her fangs and growled low in her throat, the fire of anger displacing her agony. “I will kill Her for this. I swear I will treat Her as I did our blooded sire.”

SIXTY-SIX

John took off after Xhex the instant she left the group and started running.