Lover Mine

EIGHTEEN

Over on the Far Side, Payne paced around in her mother’s fountain, her feet making circles in the pool that caught the falling water. As she splashed, she held her robing aloft and she listened to the colorful birds that sat in the white tree over in the corner. The little ones chirped and carried on, flitting from branch to branch, pecking at each other, fussing with their feathers.

How in the hell they found such limited activity worth waking up for she hadn’t a clue.

In the sanctuary there was no conception of time, and yet she wished she had a pocket watch or a chiming clock to figure out how late the Blind King was. They had a standing sparring session every afternoon.

Well, afternoon for him. For her, stuck here on this side, everything was perpetually daytime.

She wondered exactly how long it had been since her mother had sprung her from that deep freeze and allowed her some freedom. No way to know. Wrath had started to show up regularly about... fifteen times ago and she’d been reanimated maybe... well, long before that. So maybe over six months?

The real question was how long she’d been kept under frosted lock and key—but it wasn’t like she was going to ask her mother about that. They weren’t talking at all. Until that “divine” female who’d birthed her was prepared to let her out of here, Payne didn’t have anything to say.

For truth, the silent treatment didn’t seem to be making a difference at all, but she hadn’t expected it to. When your mother- mare was the creator of the race and answerable to no one, even the king...

It was rather easy to become trapped in your own life.

As her pace through the fountain intensified and her robing started to get soaked, she leaped out of the pool and jogged around, her fists up in front of her, the punches she threw out pumping the air.

Being the good, dutiful Chosen was not in her hardwiring, and that was the root of all of the problems between her and her mother. Oh, the waste. Oh, the disappointment.

Oh, do get over it, mother dear.

Those standards of behavior and belief were for someone else. And if the Scribe Virgin had been looking for another robed ghost to drift around like a silent draft through a temperate room, she should have picked another sire for her young.

The Bloodletter’s vital makeup was in Payne, the traits of the father carrying through to the next generation—

Payne wheeled around and met Wrath’s falling fist with a forearm block and a scissor kick to his liver. The king was quick to retaliate and the hammering elbow that returned at her was a concussion waiting to happen.

Fast duck had her barely out of the way. Another kick from her sent the king jumping back—though he was blind, he had an unerring ability to know precisely where she was in space.

Which meant he would guess she would come at his flank. Indeed, he was already spinning his weight around, ready to punch her with the sole of his boot around the back.

Payne changed her mind, hit the ground, and swept both of her legs out, catching him at the ankle and throwing him off balance. A quick jog to her right and she was out of the way of his huge, lurching body; another leap and she was latched onto his back as he landed hard, his neck caught in a choke hold within the crook of her elbow. To gain extra leverage, she grabbed onto her own wrist and used her other biceps as she pulled against his throat.

The king’s way of dealing with it? He turtled on her.

His incredible brute strength gave him the power to get his feet under both their weight and rise up. Then it was a jump in the air that had them landing with her underneath, flattened on the marble.

Hell of a bedding platform—she could practically feel her bones bending.

The king was first and foremost a male of worth, however, and in deference to her inferior muscularity, he never kept her down for long. Which irked her. She’d have preferred a no-holds-barred contest of skill, but there were differences in the sexes that were not negotiable and males were simply bigger and therefore stronger.

As much as she resented the fact of biology, there was nothing to be done about it.

And anytime her superior speed got him a good one, it was extra sweet.

The king was nimble as he popped back to his feet and swung around, his long black hair fanning out in a circle before resettling on his white judogi. With the set of dark lenses over his eyes, and that tremendous spread of muscles, he was magnificent, the very best of the vampire bloodlines undiluted with anything human or otherwise.

Although that was part of his problem. She had heard that that blindness of his was the result of all that pure blood.

As Payne went to get up, her back let out a spasm, but she ignored the sharp shooting strike and faced off with her opponent once again. This time, she was the one who came out swinging and chopping, and for a blind male, Wrath’s ability to parry her was downright amazing.

Maybe that was why he never complained about his impairment. Then again, they didn’t talk much, which was fine with her.

Although she did wonder what his life was like on the Other Side.

How she envied him his freedom.

They continued to go at it, working their way around the fountain, then over to the columns and toward the door that led out into the sanctuary. And back again. And around again.

They were both bruised and bleeding by the finish of the session, but it was no bother. As soon as their hands dropped to their sides and no more hits were exchanged, the injuries would begin to heal up.

The last punch that was thrown was hers and it was a stunner of an uppercut, catching the king’s chin like a ball and chain, throwing his head back, that hair once again flying.

They always seemed to agree without speaking when it was time to end.

They cooled down by walking side by side to the fountain, stretching out their muscles, cracking their necks back into place. Together, they washed their faces and fists in the clear, clean water and they dried themselves on soft cloths that Payne had asked to have at the ready.

In spite of the fact that they traded punches and not words, she had come to think of the king as a friend. And to trust him as one.

First time she’d ever had that.

And it was truly just friends. As much as she could admire from afar his considerable physical attributes, there was no spark of attraction between them—and that was part of the reason this worked. She wouldn’t have been comfortable any other way.

No, she wasn’t interested in something sexual from him or anyone else. Male vampires had a tendency to take over, especially highbred ones. They couldn’t help it—it was, once again, a case of what was in the blood determining behavior. She’d had quite enough of someone with an opinion about her life. The last thing she needed was another one of those.

“You okay?” Wrath asked as they sat on the lip of the fountain.

“Yes. You?” She didn’t mind that he always asked if she was all right. The first couple of times it had offended her—as if she couldn’t handle the post-sparring aches? But then she realized it had nothing to do with her sex—he would have asked it of anyone he so exerted himself with.

“I feel great,” he said, his smile revealing tremendous fangs. “That arm bar at the beginning was boss, by the way.”

Payne grinned so broadly her cheeks hurt. Which was another reason she liked to be with him. As he couldn’t see, there was no reason to hide her emotions—and nothing got her beaming more than him telling her she’d impressed him.

“Well, Your Highness, your turtles always kill me.”

Now he was smiling even wider and she was momentarily touched to think her praise meant something to him. “Deadweight has its uses,” he murmured.

Abruptly, he turned to her, the dark spectacles he always wore making her think, once again, that he looked cruel. And yet he’d proved that wasn’t the case over and over again.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks for this. Things are bad back home.”

“How so?”

Now he looked away, as if he were staring at the horizon. Which was likely a holdover from when he hid his emotions from people. “We’ve lost a female. The enemy has her.” He shook his head. “And one of ours is suffering for it.”

“Were they mated?”

“No... but he’s behaving as though they were.” The king shrugged. “I missed the connection between them. We all did. But... it’s there and it came out tonight in a big way.”

A hunger for the down-below, for the earthbound lives that were traumatic but vivid, had her leaning in. “What happened?”

The king pushed his hair back, his widow’s peak showing starkly against his golden brown skin. “He slaughtered a lesser tonight. Just slaughtered the bastard.”

“That’s his duty, no?”

“It wasn’t in the field. It was in the house where the slayers had imprisoned the female. The bastard should have been used for interrogation, but John just lit his ass up. John’s a good kid... but that kind of bonded-male shit—stuff... can be deadly and not in a good way, feel me?”

Memories of being on the Other Side, of righting wrongs and fighting, of—

The Scribe Virgin appeared through the doorway of Her private quarters, Her black robes floating slightly above the marble floor.

The king rose to his feet and bowed... and yet somehow didn’t appear subservient in the slightest. Another reason to like him. “Dearest Virgin Scribe.”

“Wrath, son of Wrath.”

And that was... it. As you weren’t supposed to address any questions to the mother of the race, and as Payne’s mother remained silent thereafter, there was a whole lot of nothing but air happening.

Yeah, because—fates preserve us—you wouldn’t want to tax that female with any inquiries. And it was clear why the interruption had occurred: Her mother didn’t want an intersection between Payne and the outside world.

“I’m going to retire now,” Payne said to the king. Because she would not be responsible for what came out of her mouth if her mother dared to dismiss her.

The king put his fist out. “Farewell. Tomorrow?”

“With pleasure.” Payne punched her knuckles against his, as he had taught her was customary, and headed for the door that led into the sanctuary.

On the other side of the white panels, the bright green grass was a shock to her eyes and she blinked as she went past the Primale Temple and down to the Chosen’s quarters. Yellow, pink, and red flowers grew in random bunches now, cheerful tulips mixing with jonquil and iris.

All spring blooms, if she remembered from her brief time on the earth.

It was always spring here. Ever on the verge, never to reach the full magnificence and brash heat of summer. Or least... what she had read summer was like.

The columned building wherein the Chosen resided was cut into cubelike rooms that offered a modicum of privacy to their tenants. Most of the spaces were empty now, and not only because the Chosen were a dying breed. Ever since the Primale had “freed” them, the Scribe Virgin’s private collection of ethereal do-nothings were thinning out thanks to trips to the Other Side.

Surprisingly, none of them had chosen to un- Chosen themselves—but unlike before, if they went over to the Primale’s private compound, they were allowed back into the sanctuary.

Payne went directly to the baths and was relieved to find she was alone. She knew her “sisters” didn’t understand what she did with the king and she’d just as soon enjoy the calming aftermath of the exercise without the eyes of others.

The communal washing suite was set up in a lofty marble space, the huge pool marked with a waterfall at the far end. As with all things in the sanctuary, the laws of rationality didn’t apply: The warm, rushing stream pouring over the lip of white stone was ever clean, ever fresh, even though it had no source and no evident drainage.

Taking off her modified robe, which she’d tailored to match Wrath’s judogi, as he called it, she waded into the pool with her undergarments still upon her. The temperature was always perfect... and made her long for a bath that was either too hot or too cold.

In the center of the great marble bowl, the water was deep enough to swim through, and her body relished the stretching motion of her weightless strokes.

Yes, indeed this was the best part of the sparring. Save for when she caught Wrath a good one.

When she got to the waterfall, she waded up toward it and unplaited her hair. It was longer than Wrath’s was, and she’d learned to not just braid the stuff, but tuck it up at the base of her neck. Otherwise, it was like handing him a tether to yank her around with.

Under the falling spray, bars of sweet-smelling soap awaited her palm, and she used one all over herself. As she turned around to rinse, she found that she was no longer alone.

But at least the dark-robed figure who had limped in was not her mother.

“Greetings,” Payne called out.

No’One bowed, but did not answer, as was her way, and Payne was abruptly sorry that she’d just left her robe on the flooring.

“I can get that,” she said, her voice echoing around the cavern.

No’One just shook her head and gathered up the cloth. The maid was so lovely and quiet, doing her duties without complaint even though she had some kind of disability.

Although she never spoke, it wasn’t hard to guess what her sad story was.

One more reason to despise She who had birthed the race, Payne thought.

The Chosen, like the Black Dagger Brotherhood, had been bred within certain parameters with a desired result intended. Whereas the males were to be thick of blood and stout of back, aggressive and worthy in battle, the females were calculated to be intelligent and resilient, capable of harnessing the males’ baser tendencies and civilizing the race. Yin and yang. Two parts to a whole, with the requirement of blood feedings ensuring the sexes were tied together forever.

But all wasn’t well within the divine scheme. The truth was, inbreeding had led to problems, and though in Wrath’s case the laws provided that, as son of the king, he was to take the throne with or without impairments, the Chosen were not so lucky. Defects were shunned by the breeding laws. Always had been. And so someone like No’One, who was handicapped, was relegated to serving her sisters under a cloak... a hidden, unspoken-of embarrassment that was nonetheless regarded with “love.”

Or “pity” was more like it.

Payne knew precisely how the female must feel. Not about a physical defect, but about being relegated to a slot of expectation that one couldn’t possibly live up to.

And speaking of expectation...

Layla, another of the Chosen, entered the bath and removed her robing, handing it over to No’One with the gentle smile that was her trademark.

The expression was lost as she lowered her eyes and entered the water. Indeed, the female seemed to be tangled in thoughts that were not pleasing.

“Greetings, sister,” Payne said.

Layla’s head whipped up and her brows rose. “Oh... verily, I knew not you were herein. Greetings, sister.”

After the Chosen bowed deeply, she sat on one of the submerged marble benches, and although Payne wasn’t a conversationalist, something about the dense quiet around the other female drew her.

Finishing her rinse-off, she swam over and settled beside Layla, who was sluicing puncture wounds on her wrist.

“Whom did you feed?” Payne asked.

“John Matthew.”

Ah, yes, the male to whom the king referred, perhaps. “Did it go as it should?”

“Indeed. It did indeed.”

Payne leaned her head back against the edge of the pool and stared at the Chosen’s blond beauty. After a moment, she murmured to the female, “May I inquire something of you?”

“But of course.”

“Wherefore the sadness. Always with you... you return in sorrow.” Even though she knew. For a female to be forced into sex and feeding just because it was tradition was an unconscionable violation.

Layla regarded the puncture marks on her vein with a kind of dispassionate absorption, as if she were puzzling over the wounds of another. And then she shook her head. “I shall not bemoan the glory I have been given.”

“Glory? Verily, you appear to have been given something else entirely.” A curse was more apt.

“Oh, no, ’tis a glory to be of service—”

“For truth, do not hide behind such words when your visage belies your heart. And as always, if you carry criticism of the Scribe Virgin upon your lips, come sit around my fire.” As a pair of shocked pale green eyes flipped up, Payne shrugged. “I’ve made no secret of how I feel. Ever.”

“No... indeed you have not. It just seems so...”

“Unladylike? Inappropriate?” Payne cracked her knuckles. “What a pity.”

Layla exhaled long and slow. “I have been properly trained, you know. As an ehros.”

“And that is what you don’t like—”

“Not at all. That is what I don’t know, but wish to.”

Payne frowned hard. “You are not used?”

“Verily, I was denied by John Matthew on the evening of his transition after I saw him safely through the change. And when I go to feed the Brothers, I am ever untouched.”

“I beg your...” Was she hearing that right? “You want to have sex. With one of them.”

Layla’s tone turned shrewd. “Surely you of all my sisters understand what it is like to be naught but a potential.”

Well... hadn’t she gotten the scenario all wrong. “With all due respect, I can’t fathom why you would want... that... with one of those males.”

“Why would I not? The Brothers and those three younger males are beautiful, phearsome creatures of strength. And with the Primale leaving us all unserved...” Layla shook her head. “To have been well taught and had it described and read about the act... I want to experience it for myself. Even if it is but once.”

“For truth, I cannot summon even the slightest inclination. Never have, don’t think I ever will. I’d rather fight.”

“Then I envy you.”

“Oh?”

Layla’s eyes seemed ancient. “Far better to be uninterested than unfulfilled. One is a relief. The other an emptiness with heavy weight.”

As No’One appeared with a tray of cut fruit and fresh juice, Payne said, “No’One, won’t you join us?”

Layla smiled up at the maid. “Indeed. Please do.”

With a shake of her head and a bow, No’One just left them the repast she had so thoughtfully prepared and went about her business, limping through the archway and out of the baths.

Payne’s frown stayed in place as she and the Chosen Layla fell into silence. Mulling over what had been exchanged, it was hard to understand how they could have opinions of such total opposite regard—and both be in the right.

For Layla’s sake, Payne wished she herself was wrong; what a disappointment it would be to pine for something that was far, far less than expectation bore it to be.