Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last

and talked of the night’s fighting in the cold wind.
    “Is this Xcor, son of the Bloodletter?”
    Xcor gritted his teeth, but didn’t bother to correct the inaccuracy. The Bloodletter’s name was of use to his reputation. “Yes. Who is this?”
    There was a long pause. “I do not know whether I should be speaking to you.”
    The tones were aristocratic, and informed him of the caller’s identity well enough. “You are the associate of Elan.”
    Another long pause—and, Fates, that tried his patience. But that was another thing he kept to himself.
    “Yes. I am. Have you heard the news?”
    “About.”
    When a third stretch of silence came along, he knew this was going to take a while. Whistling to his soldiers, he indicated they were all to proceed to their skyscraper, a number of blocks to the east.
    A moment later he was up on its roof, the gusts so much stronger at his preferred elevation. As such a gale precluded discourse, he took cover in the lee of some mechanicals.
    “News about what,” he prompted.
    “Elan is dead.”
    Xcor bared his teeth as he smiled. “Indeed.”
    “You do not sound surprised.”
    “I am not.” Xcor rolled his eyes. “Although naturally, I am bereft.”
    Which was somewhat true: It was rather like losing a handy gun. Or, more accurately, a screwdriver. But those things could be replaced.
    “Do you know who did it?” the caller demanded.
    “Well, I believe you do, am I right?”
    “It was the Brotherhood, of course.”
    Another misconception, but again, Xcor was prepared to let it stand. “Tell me, are you expecting me to
ahvenge
him?”
    “That is not my concern.” The stilted tones suggested the male was in fact worried about facing the same fate himself. “His family shall go after redress.”
    “As is their right.” When there was nothing further coming, Xcor knew what was awaited and required. “I can assure you of two things: my confidentiality, and my protection. I can guess that you were at the gathering at Elan’s house in the fall. My position vis-à-vis the king has not changed, and I am surmising that this call places you in a sympathetic orientation to mine own views. Am I correct.”
    “I am not one who seeks political or social power.”
    Bullshit. “Of course not.”
    “I am…worried about the future of the race—in this, Elan and I were aligned. I did not agree with the tactics he proposed, however. Assassination carries too many risks, and ultimately, it will not accomplish what is warranted.”
    Au contraire
, Xcor thought. A bullet through the brain fixed many things—
    “The law is the way to bring down the king.”
    Xcor frowned. “I do not follow.”
    “With all due respect, the law is mightier than the sword. To paraphrase a human saying.”
    “Your oblique references are a waste of words to me. Be specific, if you do not mind.”
    “The Old Laws provide the power that Wrath wields. They spell out his unilateral dominion over all manner of our lives and our society, giving him free rein to act as he chooses, with a complete lack of accountability.”
    Which was why Xcor wanted the job, thank you very much. “Go on.”
    “There are no restrictions on what he may do, what courses he may take—in fact, he can also change the Old Laws if he so chooses, and alter the very fabric of our traditions and foundations.”
    “I am well aware of this.” He checked his watch. Assuming he didn’t get stuck on this damn phone for the next two hours, there was still plenty of time left to fight. “Mayhap you and I should get together in person tomorrow evening—”
    “There is but one caveat.”
    Xcor frowned. “Caveat?”
    “He must needs be capable of producing, and I quote, ‘a full-blooded heir.’”
    “And this is relevant how? He is mated already, and no doubt in the future—”
    “His
shellan
is a half-breed.”
    Now Xcor was the one who fell silent—and Elan’s solicitor took advantage of the quiet: “Let us be clear with each other. There is human blood in the species. From time to time, there have been matings outside the race. One could argue nobody is truly ‘full-blooded.’ There is, however, a vital difference between a civilian straying into the human mating pool, and the king producing an offspring whose very mother is a half-breed—said offspring to inherit the throne upon his death.”
    Throe leaned around the corner of the HVAC blower. “All is well?” he mouthed.
    Xcor cupped the phone. “Take the