Lover Unleashed

THIRTY-THREE

Traditionally, in and among the glymera, when one entered the house of another, a calling card was to be placed upon a silver tray that was held out by the butler doggen of the host. The card was to have one’s unique name and lineage listed, and the purpose was to announce the visitor, whilst at the same time pay homage to the social mores that shaped and defined the upper classes.

However, when one could not write or read . . . or more to the point, when one preferred methods of communication that were more visceral and less viceroy?

Well, then one left the bodies of the dead he’d rendered in an alley for his “host” to find.

Xcor got up from the table he had been sitting afore and took his mug of coffee with him. The others were asleep below, and he knew he should join them, but there would be no rest. Not this day. Mayhap not the next.

Leaving those split yet writhing lessers behind had been a calculated risk. If humans found them? Trouble. And yet it was worth it. Wrath and the Brotherhood had too long ruled this continent, and to what end? The Lessening Society persisted. The vampire population had scattered. And those arrogant, flabby, feckless humans were everywhere.

Xcor paused in the downstairs hallway and looked around his permanent accommodations. The house that Throe had secured was indeed appropriate. Made of stone, it was old and on the outskirts, two measures of value that were highly appropriate for their purposes. At some point in its life, it had been quite a showplace, but that time had faded and so had its gentility. Now, it was a shell of what it had been, and all of what he required: stout of wall, sturdy of roof, and more than big enough to house his males.

Not that anyone would be up in these aboveground rooms or the seven bedrooms on the second floor very often. Even though heavy drapery was pulled o’er every window, the countless panes of glass needed to be bricked in before things were really safe enough during the daylight hours.

Indeed, all stayed underground, in the cellar.

It was the good old days returned, he thought, for only in modern times had the conception of separate accommodations taken root. Afore they had eaten together, fucked together, and taken their repose as a group.

As soldiers should.

Mayhap he would require them to remain beneath the earth. Together.

And yet he was not down there with them and had not been. Antsy and unsettled, ready to pursue but lacking prey at the moment, he’d been going from empty room to empty room, stirring dust along with his desire to conquer this new world.

“I have them. All of them.”

Xcor stopped. Took a grab off the lip of his mug. Turned around. “How clever of you.”

Throe entered what had once been a rather grand parlor room, but was now naught but cold and empty. The fighter was still dressed in leather, except somehow he gave off an elegant appearance. Not a surprise. Unlike the others, his pedigree was as perfect as his golden hair and his sky blue eyes. So too were his body and visage: No defects dwelled upon him or within him.

He was, however, very much one of the bastards.

As the male cleared his throat, Xcor smiled. Even after all these years together, Throe was uncomfortable in his presence. How quaint.

“And . . .” Xcor prompted.

“There are remnants of two families in Caldwell at present. What is left of the other four main bloodlines is scattered around what is classed as New England. So some are mayhap up to five hundred to seven hundred miles away.”

“How many are you related to?”

More with the throat clearing. “Five.”

“Five? That would fill your social calendar rather quickly—planning on dropping by for any visits?”

“You know that I cannot.”

“Oh . . . indeed.” Xcor finished off his coffee. “I had forgotten you’d been denounced. Guess you shall have to tarry with us heathens herein.”

“Yes. I shall.”

“Mmm.” Xcor took a moment to enjoy the awkward silence.

Except then the other male had to ruin it: “You have no grounds to proceed,” Throe said. “We are not of the glymera.”

Xcor flashed his fangs in a smile. “You worry o’ermuch about rules, my friend.”

“You cannot call a meeting of the Council. You do not have standing.”

“True enough. It is, however, another story to present them with a reason to convene. Was it not you yourself who said there were grumbles about the king following the raids.”

“Aye. But I am well aware of what you seek, and the end goal is treason at best, suicide, at worst.”

“Such a narrow thinker you are, Throe. For all of your practical education, you have a gross lack of vision.”

“You cannot depose the king—and surely you are not thinking of trying to kill him.”

“Kill?” Xcor cocked a brow. “I do not wish him a coffin for a bed. Not a’tall. I bid him a long life . . . such that he may stew in the juices of his failure.”

Throe shook his head. “I know not why you hate him so.”

“Please.” Xcor rolled his eyes. “I have nothing against him personally. It is his status that I covet, pure and simple. For him to be alive whilst I sit upon his throne is just an added spice for my meal.”

“Sometimes . . . I fear you are mad.”

Xcor narrowed his eyes. “I assure you . . . I am neither enraged nor insane. And you should walk carefully the line you stand upon with comments like that.”

He was fully capable of killing his old friend. Today. Tonight. Tomorrow. His father had taught him that soldiers were no different from any other weapon—and when they were in danger of misfiring? They had to go.

“Forgive me.” Throe bowed slightly. “My debt to you remains. As does my loyalty.”

Such a sap. Although in truth, Xcor murdering the male who had defiled Throe’s sister had been a very worthwhile investment of time and blade, for it had tied this steadfast and true fighter to him. E’ermore.

Throe had sold himself to Xcor to get the deed done. Back then, the male had been too much of a dandy to commit the murder with his own hand, and so he had forced himself into the shadows to seek what he would never have invited in through even the service entrance of his mansion. He had been shocked when the money offered had been turned down, and had started to walk off when Xcor had made his demand.

A quick jogging of the memory as to the condition his sister had been found in had been enough to get a pledge out of him.

And subsequent training had done wonders. Under Xcor’s tutelage Throe had hardened o’er time, like steel forged in heat. Now he was a killer. Now he was useful for something other than playing social statue at dinner parties and balls.

Such a shame his bloodline hadn’t seen the transformation as an improvement—in spite of the fact that his father had been a Brother, for godsakes. You’d think the family would have been grateful. Alas, they had disowned the poor fucker.

It made Xcor positively weep every time he thought about it.

“You will write to them.” Xcor smiled again, his fangs tingling, his cock doing likewise. “You will write to all of them and you will announce our arrival. You will point out their losses, reminding them of the young and the females that were cut down that summer night. You will recall to their minds all the audiences they have not had with their king. You will express the proper outrage on their behalf and you will do it in a way they will understand—because you were once one of them. And then we shall wait . . . to be summoned.”

Throe bowed. “Aye, my leahdyre.”

“In the meantime, we shall hunt for lessers and keep a tally of our killings. So that when they ask after our health and well-being, which the aristocracy is wont to do, we can inform them that although prime-bred horses are pretty in the stables . . . a pack of wolves is what you want guarding your back door.”

The glymera were worthless on so many levels, but they were as predictable as a pocket watch; self-preservation was what made their hands, big and small, go ’round and ’round . . . and ’round once more.

“Best go get your rest,” Xcor drawled. “Or are you already on the hunt for one of your diversions.” When there was no answer, he frowned at the reply hidden within the lack of response. “You have a purpose above and beyond what passed our fighting hours previously. The human dead are of far less concern than the living enemy of ours.”

“Aye.”

Read: Nay.

“Do not tarry in other pursuits to the disadvantage of our goals.”

“Have I ever let you down?”

“There is still time, old friend.” Xcor stared at the male from beneath half-masted lids. “There is always time for your bleeding-heart nature to get you into trouble. And lest you disagree, may I remind you of the circumstances you have found yourself in for the last two centuries.”

Throe stiffened. “No. You need not. I am perfectly aware of where I am.”

“Good.” Xcor nodded. “That is rather important in this life. Carry on.”

Throe bowed. “I bid you good sleep, my leahdyre.”

Xcor watched the male depart, and as he found himself alone once again, the burning in his body annoyed him. Sexual need was such a waste of time, for it neither killed nor nourished, but on a regular basis, his cock and balls needed something other than a rough tugging session.

When darkness fell this coming night, Throe was going to have one other thing to procure for the band of bastards, and this time, Xcor was going to be forced to have his fill of it.

And they were going to need blood, as well. Preferably not human, but if they had to make do for now?

Well, they’d just have to get rid of the bodies, wouldn’t they.