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As she hustled the wardrobe out of the room, turning down help from the males, she asked No’One and Beth to come with her. After all, when it came to her mother and John’s sister, they all needed to start getting acquainted . . . and what better way than to get her well and properly dressed for her future hellren.

For her male of worth.

For the love of her life.

Tonight was actually the very best thing that had ever happened to her.

SEVENTY-FOUR

John Matthew was forced to stand aside and watch his shellan heft a trunk the size of a Chevy off down the hall with his sister . . . and her mother?

He was thrilled about the latter two females; not so much about the former deadweight. But he knew better than to play he-man with the muscles. If Xhex needed his help, she’d ask for it.

And what do you know, she was strong enough to do it all by herself.

Right, for reals . . . that was hot—he wasn’t going to lie.

“Have you got your duds?” Tohrment asked gruffly.

As John glanced over at the guy, it was clear the Brother had just been rocked to his core. He was absolutely reeling in his shitkickers. Except, given the hard line of his brow and his jaw, he was not going to go into it.

Ah . . . I don’t know what I’m wearing, John signed. A tuxedo?

“No, I’ll go get you what you need. Hold on.”

Bam—the door was shut.

John looked around his room, and when he saw the closet, that clown smile he seemed to wear all the time came back. Walking over, he put the little red bag he’d gotten at the jewelers on the bureau and paused to admire the display of their coupledom.

Oh, man . . . she’d moved in. She’d really moved in. Her clothes and his were hanging together.

Reaching out, he touched her leathers and her muscle shirts and her holsters . . . and felt his flush of pride and happiness dim a little. She was going to fight in the war. Side by side with him and the Brothers. The Old Laws might have expressly forbidden it, but the Blind King had already proven he wasn’t a slave to the ancient ways—and Xhex had already proven she could more than handle herself in the field.

John headed for the bed and sat down. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her out in the night with the slayers.

Okay. Fuck that. He knew exactly how he felt about it.

Wasn’t going to tell her not to go out there, though. She was who she was and he was mating with a fighter.

Just as she was.

His eyes shifted to the bedside table. Leaning over, he popped open the top drawer and took out his father’s diary. Smoothing his hand down the supple leather, he felt history slide out of the intellectual and into the actual. Long, long ago another’s hands had held this book and written on its pages . . . and then through a series of accidents and luck the journal had come down through the nights and days to John.

For some reason, on this evening, his tie to his father Darius seemed strong enough to best the foggy ether of time and pull the two of them together, uniting them until . . . God, it seemed as if they were almost one person.

Because he knew his father would have been thrilled with this. Knew surely as if the guy were seated next to him on this bed.

Darius would have wanted him and Xhex to end up together. Why? Who knew . . . but that was a truth as real as the vows he would soon be taking.

John reached forward for the drawer again, and this time, he took out the small old box. Lifting the lid, he stared down at the heavy gold signet ring. The damn thing was huge and sized to fit a warrior’s hand, its surface glowing through the fine network of scratches that covered the crest and the sides.

It fit the forefinger on his right hand perfectly.

And he abruptly decided he wasn’t taking it off again even when fighting.

“He would have so approved of this.”

John’s eyes flashed up. Tohr had come back and brought a bunch of black silk with him—as well as Lassiter. Standing behind the guy, the fallen angel’s light spilled in all directions, as if a sunrise had happened out in the hall.

You know, for some reason I think you’re right,