Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last

feet now. And the shit was warm. There was also a mellow light source—candlelight.
    God, his heartbeat was loud in his ears.
    After a number of yards, he was again pulled to a stop, and then he heard shifting fabric everywhere around him. The Brothers disrobing.
    He wanted to look up, see where they were at, find out what was doing, but he did not. As instructed, he kept his head down and his eyes on the—
    A heavy hand landed on the nape of his neck, and Wrath’s voice boomed in the Old Language. “
You are unworthy to enter herein as you stand now. Nod your head
.”
    Qhuinn nodded.
    “
Say that you are unworthy
.”
    In the Old Language, he replied, “
I am unworthy
.”
    From all around him, the Brothers let out an explosive shout in the Old Language, a disagreement that made him want to thank them for having his back.
    “
Though you are unworthy
,” the king continued, “
you desire to become as such this night. Nod your head
.”
    He nodded.
    “
Say that you wish to become worthy
.”
    “
I wish to become worthy
.”
    This time the tremendous shout from the Brothers was one of approval and support.
    Wrath continued. “
There is only one way to become worthy, and it is the right and proper way. Flesh of our flesh. Nod your head
.”
    Qhuinn nodded.
    “
Say that you wish to become flesh of our flesh.
”
    “
I wish to become flesh of your flesh
.”
    As soon as his voice faded, a chanting started up, the deep voices of the Brotherhood mingling until they formed a perfect chord and a perfect cadence. He did not join in, because he had not been told to do so—but as someone stepped in front of him, and somebody fell in line behind him, and then the whole group started weaving side by side, his body followed their lead.
    Moving together, they became one unit, their powerful shoulders shifting back and forth to the rhythm of the chanting, their weight tick-tocking on their hips—the lineup of them beginning to move forward.
    Qhuinn started chanting. He didn’t mean to; it just happened. His lips parted, his lungs filled, and his voice joined the others….
    The instant it did, he started to cry.
    Thank fuck for the hood.
    All of his life he had wanted to belong. Be accepted. Be one among a many that he respected. He had wanted it with such a need that the denial of any and all unity had nearly killed him—and he had survived only by revolting against authority, customs, norms.
    He hadn’t even been aware of giving up on ever finding this communion.
    And yet now here he was, somewhere in the earth, surrounded by males who had…chosen him. The Brotherhood, the most respected fighters in the race, the most powerful soldiers, the elite of the elite…had
chosen
him.
    No accident of birth, this.
    To have been considered a curse, but be embraced here and now? Abruptly, he felt as if he were whole in a way that he had never been before—
    All at once the acoustics changed, their collective chanting richocheting around, as if they had entered a tremendous space with a lot of loft.
    A hand on his shoulder brought him to a halt.
    And then the chanting and the movement stopped, the final strains of their voices drifting away.
    Somebody grabbed onto his arm and drew him forward. “Stairs,” Z’s voice said.
    He went up about six of them, and then there was a straightaway. When he was stopped, it was with his chest and his toes against what seemed to be a marble wall of the same sort of rock the floor was made of.
    Zsadist walked off, leaving him where he was.
    His heart banged against his sternum.
    The king’s voice was loud as thunder. “
Who proposes this male
?”
    “
I do
,” Zsadist answered.
    “
I do
,” Tohr echoed.
    “I do.”
    “I do.”
    “I do.”
    “I do.”
    Qhuinn had to blink repeatedly as, one by one, every single Brother spoke up. Every single fucking one of the Brothers proposed him.
    And then came the last.
    The voice of the king resonated loud and clear: “
I do
.”
    Fuck him, he needed to blink more.
    Then Wrath continued, his aristocratic inflection of the Old Language backed up by a warrior’s strength. “
On the basis of the testimony of the assembled members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood, and upon the proposals by Zsadist and Phury, sons of the Black Dagger warrior Ahgony; Tohrment, the son of the Black Dagger warrior Hharm; Butch O’Neal, blooded relation of mine own line; Rhage, the son of the Black Dagger warrior Tohrture; Vishous, son of the Black Dagger