Lover Enshrined (38 page)

Not that he’d read any of her books.

Well, okay, there had been that one, but he’d been twelve and sick and had focused just on the sex parts.

“Up here,” a deep, echoing voice said.

Qhuinn looked to the top of an ornate staircase. Standing with shitkickers planted like he owned the world, dressed in black leathers and a black T-shirt, was the king.

“Come on, let’s do this,” Wrath commanded.

Swallowing hard, Qhuinn followed John to the second floor.

As they got to the top, Wrath said, “I just want Qhuinn. John, you stay here.”

John started to sign,
I want to be his witness—

Wrath turned away. “Nope. There’s going to be none of that.”

Shit, Qhuinn thought. He wasn’t going to be allowed any defense testimony?

I’ll be waiting
, John signed.

“Thanks, man.”

Qhuinn stared beyond the open doors the king had gone through. The room before him was . . . well, it looked like the kind of place his mother would have liked: pale blue, with spindly, girly furniture and drippy crystal light fixtures that looked like earrings.

Not exactly what you’d expect Wrath to hang out in.

As the king went in and planted it behind a delicate desk, Qhuinn stepped inside, shut the doors, and linked his hands in front of himself. As he waited, the whole thing struck him as surreal. He could not possibly fathom how his life had come down to this.

“Did you mean to kill Lash?” Wrath asked.

So much for opening statements. “Ah . . .”

“Did you or didn’t you?”

In quick succession Qhuinn reviewed his answers:
No, of course not, the knife was acting of its own volition, I was actually trying to stop it. . . . No, I only meant to give him a shave. . . . No, I didn’t realize that slicing open someone’s jugular was going to lead to death. . . .

Qhuinn cleared his throat once. Twice. “Yeah. I did.”

The king crossed his arms over his chest. “If Lash hadn’t gone for John’s pants, would you have done the same thing?”

Qhuinn’s lungs stopped working for a moment. He shouldn’t have been surprised the king knew exactly what had gone down, but shit, hearing the words was kind of shocking. Plus, talking about the whole thing was hard, given what Lash had said and done. It was, after all, John.

“Well?” came the demand over the desk. “If Lash hadn’t gone for his pants, would you have throated him?”

Qhuinn gathered his thoughts. “Look, John told me and Blay to stay out of it, and as long as it was a fair fight I was prepared to let it ride. But . . .” He shook his head. “Nah. That shit Lash pulled wasn’t fair. It was like using a concealed weapon.”

“But you didn’t have to kill him, did you. You could have peeled him off John. Clocked him a couple of times. Rolled him out.”

“True.”

Wrath stretched his arm to the side as if to loosen it, and his shoulder let out a crack. “You’re going to be totally fucking honest with me now. If you lie, I’ll know it, because I’ll smell it.” Wrath’s eyes burned behind his wraparounds. “I’m well aware you hated your cousin. Are you sure you didn’t use deadly force for your own agenda?”

Qhuinn dragged his hand through his hair and remembered all that he could about what had gone down. There were holes in his memory, blanks spaces carved by the tangle of emotions that had had him palming the knife and lunging forward, but he remembered enough.

“To be honest . . . shit, I couldn’t let John get hurt and humiliated like that. See, he froze. When Lash went for his pants, he froze. The two of them were in the shower and John was up against the tile and all of a sudden he went dead still. I don’t know whether Lash would have followed through with . . . well, you know . . . because I wasn’t in his head, but he was just the type who would try it.” Qhuinn swallowed hard. “I saw it happen, saw that John couldn’t do anything and . . . it was like everything went blank . . . I just—fuck—the knife was in my hand and then I was on Lash and the slice was quick. For real? Sure, I hated Lash, but I don’t give a fuck who pulled that shit on John. I would have gone gunning for them. And before you ask it, I know what your next question is going to be.”

“And your answer is.”

“Yeah, I would do it again.”

“Would you now.”

“Yes.” Qhuinn looked around at the pale blue walls and thought it didn’t seem right to be talking about such ugliness in a room that was so fricking lovely. “Guess that makes me an unrepentant murderer, huh . . . so what are you going to do to me? Oh, and you probably know this already, but my family has disowned me.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that.”

There was a long silence, and Qhuinn passed the time looking at his New Rocks and feeling his heart skip in his chest.

“John wants you to stay here.”

Qhuinn’s eyes shot to the king. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Shit. You can’t approve that. No way can I stay here.” Black eyebrows crashed down. “Excuse me?”

“Er . . . sorry.” Qhuinn clammed up, reminding himself that the Brother was king, which meant he could do whatever the fuck he wanted, including but not limited to renaming the sun and the moon, declaring that people had to salute him with their thumbs up their asses . . . and taking roadkill like Qhuinn under his roof if he were so inclined.

King was spelled c-a-r-t-e b-l-a-n-c-h-e in the vampire world.

Plus, why the fuck say no to something that would help him?
Duh.

Wrath stood up, and Qhuinn had to fight not to take a step back even though they were separated by about twenty-five feet of Aubusson.

Jesus, the male towered, though.

“I spoke to Lash’s father about an hour ago,” Wrath said. “Your family has indicated to him that they’re not going to pay the restitution. As they’ve disowned you, they say that you owe the money. Five million.”

“Five
million
?”

“Lash was abducted by the
lessers
last night. No one thinks he’s coming back. You’re up for proximal murder, as the assumption is that the slayers wouldn’t have bothered snatching a dead body.”

“Whoa . . .” God, Lash . . . and, shit, that was a lot of green. “Look, I got the clothes on my back and a spare set in my duffel. They’re welcome to the shit if they want it—”

“Lash’s father is aware of your financial situation. In light of it, he wants you to become an indentured servant in their household.”

The blood rushed out of Qhuinn’s head. A slave . . . for the rest of his life? For Lash’s parents?

“This would,” Wrath tacked on, “be after you went to prison, of course. And actually, the race still has one in operation. Up north of the Canadian border.”

Qhuinn just stood there, utterly numb. Man, your life could end in so many different ways, he thought. Death wasn’t the only way out of it.

“What do you say about all this?” Wrath murmured.

Prison . . . in God only knew where for God only knew how long. Slavery . . . in a household that would forever hate him until he kicked it.

Qhuinn thought of that walk through the tunnel at Blay’s and the decision he had come to on the far side.

“I have mismatched eyes,” he whispered, lifting his fucked-up stare to the king. “But I have honor. I’ll do whatever has to be done to make it right . . .
provided
,” he said with sudden strength, “that no one makes me apologize. That . . . I can’t do that. What Lash did was beyond wrong. It was intentionally cruel and done to ruin John’s life. I. Am. Not. Sorry.”

Wrath came around the desk and strode across the room. As he passed by, he said briskly, “Right answer, son. Wait out there with your boy. I’ll be with you in a few.”

"Excuse . . . What?”

The king opened the door and impatiently nodded. “Out. There.”

Qhuinn stumbled from the room.

How’d it go?
John signed as he jumped up from a chair that was against the hall wall.
What happened?

As Qhuinn looked at his friend, he was not about to tell the guy that he was going to jail and then being released into the custody of Lash’s parents to be tortured for the rest of his days. “Ah, not too bad.”

You lie.

“Do not.”

You’re the color of fog.

“Well, hello, I had surgery, like, yesterday.”

Oh, please. What’s happening?

“To tell you the truth, I have no clue—”

“ ’Scuse me.” Beth, the queen, came up with a grave expression. In her hands was a long, flat leather box. “Boys? I need to get in there.”

As they stepped apart, she ducked into the study and shut the door.

John and Qhuinn waited. Then waited some more . . . and some more.

God only knew what was doing. Guess it took a while for the king and queen to draw up his
Go to Jail, Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $500
papers.

John took out his phone, like he needed something to do with his hands, and frowned as he checked the thing. After he texted someone, he put it back in his pocket.

Weird that Blay hasn’t checked in yet.

Not really,
Qhuinn thought, feeling like a son of a bitch. The king threw the doors wide. “Getcha asses back in here.”

There was a scramble of their feet, and then Wrath shut them all in together. The king returned to his desk, parked it in the doll-like chair, and propped his huge shitkickers on the mound of paperwork. When Beth fell in by the side of where he sat, he reached up and took her hand.

“You boys familiar with the term
ahstrux nohtrum
?” When the two of them shook their heads like idiots, Wrath smiled a cold, nasty little grin. “It’s an antiquated position. It’s like a private guard, only they’re allowed to use deadly force when protecting their master. They’re killers with a pass.”

Qhuinn swallowed hard, wondering what the hell that had to do with him and John.

The king continued. “
Ahstrux nohtrum
may be commissioned only by royal decree, and the standard is kind of like the U.S. Secret Service’s for protection. The subject must be a person of interest, and the guard must be capable.” Wrath kissed his queen’s hand. “A person of interest is someone whose presence is significant as judged by the king. Which is me. Now . . . my
shellan
here, she’s the most precious thing in the world, and there is nothing that I won’t do to make sure her heart is protected. Also, in terms of the race as a whole, she is queen. Therefore her only brother most definitely falls into the person-of-interest category.

“As for the qualified-guard part . . . I happened to know, Qhuinn, that out of the training class, you were the best fighter, aside from John. You’re vicious with the hand-to-hand, a great shot on the range”—the king’s voice grew wry—“and we’re all aware of how good you are with a knife, aren’t we.”

Qhuinn felt a weird rush go through him, like some kind of fog had lifted and revealed an unexpected path out of the wilderness. He reached for John’s arm to steady himself even though it totally slapped the
Hello! My Name Is Nancy
tag on him.

“One thing, though,” the king said. “
Ahstrux nohtrum
are expected to sacrifice their own lives for the one they protect. If shit comes down to it, they will take a mortal hit. Oh, and it’s a lifelong commitment, unless I say different. I’m the only one who can issue a pink slip, feel me?”

Qhuinn’s mouth talked of its own accord: “Of course. Absolutely.”

Wrath smiled and reached over to the box Beth had carried in. He took out a thick sheaf of paper, at the bottom of which was a gold seal with red and black satin ribbons. “Gee, would you look at this.”

He casually tossed the official-looking document to the far edge of the desk.

Qhuinn and John leaned in together. In the Old Language, the thing stated that . . .

“Holy . . . fuck,” Qhuinn breathed, then abruptly looked up at Beth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to use foul language.”

She smiled and kissed the top of her
hellren
’s head. “It’s okay. I’ve heard worse.”

“Look at the date,” Wrath said.

It was backdated . . . the fucker was backdated to two months ago. According to the document, Qhuinn, son of Lohstrong, had been functioning as John Matthew, son of Darius, son of Marklon’s
ahstrux nohtrum
since late June.

“I’m really rat-ass awful at paperwork,” Wrath drawled.

“I just forgot to tell you two what was doing. My bad. Now, of course, this means that you, John, are responsible for the restitution, because the subject being guarded has to settle all debts incurred as a result of protection.”

John immediately signed,
I’ll pay—

“No, wait,” Qhuinn cut in. “He doesn’t have that kind of money—”

“Your buddy’s worth about forty million at this point, so he can handle it just fine.”

Qhuinn looked over at John. “What? Why the hell are you working in the office for clothes money?”

Who do I make the check out to?
John signed, ignoring him.

“Lash’s parents. Beth, as the Brotherhood’s CFO, will tell you which account it comes out of, right,
leelan
?” Wrath squeezed the queen’s hand and smiled up at her. When he refocused on Qhuinn and John, the loving expression was gone. “Qhuinn’s moving into the house effective now, and he’s going to have a salary of seventy-five thousand a year, which you will pay. And, Qhuinn, you’re so totally out of the training program, but that doesn’t mean the Brothers and I won’t . . . oh, I don’t know, spar with your ass to keep your skills sharp. After all, we take care of our own. And you’re one of us now.”

Qhuinn took a deep breath. And then another. And then— “I need . . . I need to sit down.”

Like a complete flippin’ lightweight, he stumbled over to one of the pale blue couches. With everyone staring at him like they were about to offer him either a paper bag to breathe into or some Kleenex, he put his hand to where he’d been operated on in hopes of making it seem like he was overcome by his injury, not his emotions.

Trouble was . . . he couldn’t seem to draw any air into his lungs. He wasn’t sure what the fuck was going into his mouth, but whatever the shit was, it wasn’t doing a damn thing to clear the dizziness in his head or the burning sensation around his rib cage.