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V:

Tohr. I want to have his daggers ready.

J.R.:

He’s going to fight again?

V:

Yup. Doesn’t know it yet, but he is.

J.R.:

You must be glad he’s back.

V:

Yup.

Vishous hits the nascent blade with his glowing hand again and then repeats the banging. After a while he thrusts the metal slice back into the sand and finishes his cigarette.

While he stabs out the hand-rolled, I feel as though I’m intruding and also not getting the job I came to do done. As the silence continues, I think of all the questions I could ask him, like . . . how does he feel about Jane being a ghost? Is he worried that he can’t have children? How are things with his mother? What’s it like for him to be committed to one person in particular? Does he miss his BDSM lifestyle? Or is he still practicing it with Jane? And what about Butch? Has their relationship changed?

Only thing is, I know that the answers would not be forthcoming, and the silences that follow each inquiry would be deeper and deeper.

I watch him work the blade, alternating the heat and the pounding, until he’s evidently satisfied and puts the dagger on the oak table. I wonder for a moment if now isn’t when the interview will really start . . . except he just stands up and goes to some smaller lengths of metal rodding that are in the corner. He’s going to start another blade, I realize.

J.R.:

Guess I better go.

V:

Yup.

J.R.:

(blinking quickly) Take care of yourself.

V:

Yup. You too.

I leave his workshop to the sound of the hiss as his hand comes into contact with metal. I go more slowly than I came, maybe because I’m hoping he’ll have a change of heart and come after me and at least . . . well, what would he do? Nothing really. A union between the two of us is my aspiration, not his inclination.

As I meander along, the empty mug and wrinkled napkin in my hand, I find myself truly and honestly depressed. Relationships require effort, sure. But you need to have one in the first place in order to work on them. V and I have never clicked, and I’m beginning to realize we never will. And it’s not that I don’t like him. Far from it.

To me, V is like diamond. You can be impressed and captivated by him and want to stare at him for hours, but he will never reach out and welcome you. As with him, a diamond exists not to be shiny and sparkly or because of who bought it to put on someone’s hand—those functions are simply by-products of the results of the incredible pressure inflicted upon its molecules. All that brilliance comes from its—and his—hardness.

And both will also be around long after all of us are gone.

Lover Unbound

The People:

Vishous

Dr. Jane Whitcomb

Phury

John Matthew

Wrath and Beth

Butch and Marissa

Zsadist and Bella

Cormia

The Directrix

Amalya (who becomes the new Directrix of the Chosen)

Layla

Qhuinn

Blaylock

Rehvenge

Xhex

Dr. Manny Manello

The Scribe Virgin

Payne

The Bloodletter

Grodht, solider in the war camp

Places of Interest (all in Caldwell, NY, unless otherwise specified):

St. Francis Hospital

Brotherhood mansion, undisclosed location

The Tomb

ZeroSum (corner of Trade and Tenth streets)

Jane’s condo

The Commodore

The Other Side (the Chosen’s Sanctuary)

Summary:

Vishous, son of the Scribe Virgin, falls in love with Dr. Jane Whitcomb, the human surgeon who saves his life after he is shot by a lesser.

Craft comments:

God, where to start.

Vishous was, hands down, the single worst writing experience of my life. Getting his story on paper was a miserable exercise in torture and was the first and thus far only time I have ever thought to myself, I don’t want to go to work.

The whys are complicated, and I’ll share three of them.

First of all, each of the Brothers is a separate entity in my head, and they’ve all had their own way of expressing themselves and their story: Wrath is very dictatorial, very blunt, and I have to race to keep up with him. Rhage