Lover Unleashed - J. R. Ward [198]
Fool male, she thought.
Kicking up her chin, she declared, “I am the begotten issue of the Bloodletter and the Scribe Virgin. And I say to you now”—she stepped forward to him—“that I killed my father, not yours.”
Lifting her palm, she peeled back and slapped him across the face. “And do not insult my blood.”
As the female struck him, Xcor’s head whipped so far and so fast to the side that he pulled his shoulder in the attempt to keep the damn thing stuck to his spine. Blood immediately flooded into his mouth, and he spit some of it out before righting himself.
Verily, the female before him was majestic in her fury and her resolve. Nearly as tall as he was, she stared him straight in the eye, her feet planted, her hands in fists she was prepared to use against him and his band of bastards.
No ordinary female, this. And not just because of the way she had dissolved those cuffs.
In fact, as she met his gaze full-on, she reminded him of his father. She had the Bloodletter’s iron will not just in her face or her eyes or her body. It was in her soul.
Indeed, he had the very clear sense that they could all fall upon her and she would fight them each and every until the last breath and beat of her heart.
God knew she slapped like a warrior. Not some limp-wristed female.
But . . .
“He was my father. He told me that.”
“He was a liar.” At that, she did not blink. Nor did she duck her eyes or her chin. “I have witnessed within the seeing bowls countless bastard daughters. But there was one and only one son, and that is my twin.”
Xcor was not prepared to hear this in front of his males.
He glanced over at them. Even Throe had armed himself, and on each of their faces was impatient rage. One nod from him and they would set upon her, even if she incinerated them all.
“Leave us,” he commanded.
Not surprisingly, Zypher was the one who started to argue. “Let us hold her whilst you—”
“Leave us.”
There was a beat of immobility. Then Xcor screamed, “Leave us!”
In a flash, they peeled off and disappeared up the stairwell to the darkened house above. Then the door was shut, and footsteps rang out from up above as they paced around like caged animals.
Xcor refocused on the female.
And for the longest time, he just stared at her. “I have searched for you for centuries.”
“I was not upon the Earth. Until now.”
She remained unbowed as he confronted her in private. Totally unbowed. And as he searched her face, he could feel a glacial shift in the ice fields of his heart.
“Why,” he said roughly. “Why did you . . . kill him.”
The female blinked slowly as if she didn’t want to show vulnerability and needed a moment to make sure she put none out. “Because he hurt my twin. He . . . tortured my brother, and for that he needed to die.”
So perhaps the lore had a veracity after all, Xcor thought.
Indeed, like most soldiers, he had long known the gossiped story of the Bloodletter having demanded for his begotten son to be pinned upon the ground and tattooed . . . and then castrated. The tale had it that the wounding had been but partial—it was rumored that Vishous had magically burned through the binds that had held him and then escaped into the night before the cutting had been complete.
Xcor looked over to the cuffs that had fallen from the female’s wrists—burned off.
Lifting his own hands, he stared down at the flesh. That had never glowed. “He told me I was born unto a female he had visited for blood. He told me . . . she didn’t want me because of my . . .” He touched his malformed upper lip, leaving the sentence unfinished. “He took me and . . . he taught me to fight. At his side.”
Xcor was vaguely aware that his voice was rough, but he didn’t care. He felt as though he was looking into a mirror and seeing a reflection of himself he did not recognize.
“He told me I was his son—and he owned me like his son. After his death, I stepped into his boots, as sons do.”
The female measured him, and then shook her head. “And