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Wrath glanced up at Beth. God, she was so beautiful. His partner. His lover. His queen.
He smiled, unable to look away from her eyes. "Leave us, gentlemen. I want to be alone with my shellan."
As the brothers filed out, they were laughing with masculine appreciation. As if they knew exactly what was on his mind.
Wrath struggled on the bed, trying to force himself upright so that he bore the weight of his upper body on his hips.
Beth watched him the whole time, refusing to help.
When he was steady, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He could feel her skin already.
"Wrath," she said with warning as he beamed at her.
"Come on up here, leelan. A deal's a deal."
Even if all he could do was hold her, he just needed her in his arms.
Chapter Fifty-three
José de la Cruz shook the arson investigator's hand. "Thanks. I look forward to your written report."
The man shook his head as he glanced back at the charred remains of the Caldwell Martial Arts Academy. "Never seen anything like this. You'd swear some kind of nuclear bomb went off. Frankly, I don't know what to put in the file."
José watched the man walk over to his county truck and drive off.
"You going back to the station?" Ricky asked while getting into his own squad car.
"Not right now. I gotta head across town."
Ricky waved and headed out.
Alone at the site, José took a deep breath. The smell of the fire was pungent, even four days later.
As he headed to his unmarked, he looked down at his shoes. They were pale gray from the twelve inches of soot that covered the site. The stuff was more volcano ash than anything left behind by a normal fire. And the ruins were odd, too. Usually parts of a structure survived, no matter how hot the flames. Here, nothing remained. The building had been razed to the ground.
Like the arson investigator, he'd never seen anything of the sort.
José got behind the wheel, stuck the key in the ignition, and put the car in gear. He drove eight miles to the east, into a grittier part of town. A series of unimpressive apartment buildings appeared, urban weeds that grew up from the concrete and asphalt ground.
He stopped in front of one. Put the car in park. Turned off the engine. It was a long time before he could force himself out of the car.
Steeling his nerves, he walked over to the front entrance. A couple was coming out, and they held the door open for him. After going up three flights of stairs, he headed down a ratty hall with carpeting that was flat and brown from having borne thousands of footsteps.
The door he was looking for had been repainted so many times, its sunken panels were almost flush.
He knocked, but did not expect any answer.
Picking the lock was the work of a moment. He pushed the door open.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. A body left for four or five days would smell by now, even in the air-conditioning.
But there was nothing.
"Butch?" he called out.
He closed the door behind him. The couch was covered with the sports sections of the CCJ and the New York Post from the previous week. There were empty beer cans on the table. In the kitchen, there were dishes in the sink. More empties on the counter.
José went into the bedroom. All he found was a bed with messy sheets and a lot of clothes on the floor.
He paused by the bathroom door. It was closed.
His heart started pounding.
Pushing it open, he fully expected to find a body hanging from the showerhead.
But there was nothing.
Homicide Detective Butch O'Neal had disappeared. Without a trace.
Chapter Fifty-four
Darius looked around himself. The peaceful mist of the Fade had dissolved, revealing a courtyard of white marble. From a fountain in the center, water fell in a twinkling dance, catching the diffused light and sending it back out in flashes. Songbirds called sweetly, as if both welcoming him and announcing his arrival.
So this place actually exists, he thought.
"Good day, Darius, son of Marklon."
He dropped to his knees without turning around and lowered his head. "Scribe Virgin. You honor me with an audience."
She laughed softly. As she stepped in front of him, the hem of her black robes came into his view. The glow spilling out from under the silk was as bright as direct sunlight.
"Darius, how could I refuse? It is the first congregation you have ever asked for." He felt something brush his shoulder, and the hair on the back of his head tingled. "Rise, now. I would see your face."
He got to his feet, towering over the slight figure. He kept his hands clasped in front of him.
"So the Fade is not to your liking, princeps?" she asked. "And you want me to send you back?"
"I humbly tender such a request, if it would not offend. I have waited the required period. I would see my daughter. Just once. If it would not offend."
The Scribe Virgin laughed again. "I must say, you make a better presentation than your king. Quite a way with words that warrior has not."
There was a pause.
He used the time to think of his brothers.
How he missed Wrath. Missed them all.
But the one he wanted to see was Beth.
"She is mated," the Scribe Virgin said abruptly. "Your daughter, she is taken by a worthy male."
He closed his eyes, knowing not to question. Dying to hear. Hoping his Elizabeth would be happy with whatever mate she had chosen.
The Scribe Virgin seemed delighted at his silence. "Look at you, ne'er a query in sight. Such control you have. And for your etiquette, I would tell you what you pine to know. It is to Wrath. Who is ascending. Your daughter is queen."
Darius dropped his head, not wanting to reveal his emotions, not wanting her to see his tears. Perhaps she would think he was weak.
"Oh, princeps," the Scribe Virgin said softly. "Such joy and sadness in your breast. Tell me, the company of your sons in the Fade is not enough to feed your heart?"
"I feel as if I have left her behind."
"She is no longer alone."
"That is good."
There was a pause. "And still you wish to see her?"
He nodded.
The Scribe Virgin moved away, over to the collection of birds that sat, trilling and happy, on a white tree with white blooms.
"What do you wish for, princeps? Are you seeking a visitation? Something quick? In her dreams?"
"If that would not offend." He kept his words formal because she deserved the reverence. And because he hoped it would sway her.
The black robes moved and a glowing hand emerged. One of the birds, a chickadee, hopped onto her finger.
"You were killed in a dishonorable fashion," she said, stroking the tiny bird's chest. "And after having served the race well for centuries. You were an honorable princeps and a fine warrior."
"That my deeds pleased you gives me great reward."
"Indeed." She whistled to the bird. The bird whistled back, as if answering. "What say you, princeps, if I were to offer more than you have asked for?"
Darius's heart beat faster. "I would say yes."
"Without knowing the gift? Or the sacrifice?"
"I trust in you."
"And why could you not be king?" she asked wryly, putting the bird back. She faced him. "Here is what I offer you. Life anew. An intersection with your daughter. A chance to fight once more."
"Scribe Virgin..." He went down to the floor again. "I accept, knowing I do not deserve such favors."
"I will not hold you to that answer. Here is what you will sacrifice. You will have no conscious memory of her. You will not be as you are now. And I require one token of faculty."
He didn't know what the last one was, but he wasn't about to ask.
"I accept."
"Are you sure? Do you not want time to consider this further?"
"Thank you, Scribe Virgin. But my choice is made."
"So be it."
She came over to him and those ghostly hands emerged from the black robe. At the same time, the veil over her face lifted of its own accord. The light was so blinding he could see nothing of her features.
As she took hold of his jaw and the back of his head, he trembled in the face of her strength. She could have crushed him on a whim.
"I give you life anew, Darius, son of Marklon. May you find what you seek in this incarnation."
She pressed her lips to his, and he felt the same shock he had when he'd died. All his molecules exploding, his body splintering into air, his soul set free and soaring.
