Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last

closed his eyes.
    Great. Just fucking wonderful.

SEVEN
    A bout ten blocks away from Trez’s bad-to-worse night, Xcor was wiping the blade of his scythe off with a chamois cloth that was soft as a lamb’s ear.
    Across the alley, Throe was on his phone, talking in a low voice. He had been thus e’er since the third of the three
lessers
they’d found in this quadrant of the city had been discharged back to the Omega.
    Xcor was not interested in any delay, cellular or otherwise. The rest of his Band of Bastards were elsewhere downtown, seeking out either or both of their two enemies—and he would prefer to be engaged thusly.
    But biological needs must. Goddamn it.
    Throe ended his call and looked over, his handsome face drawn in serious lines. “She is willing.”
    “How kind of her.” Xcor sheathed his scythe and put his cleaning cloth away. “I am, however, less interested in her acquiescence than in the issue of whether she is able.”
    “She is.”
    “And how do we know this?”
    Throe cleared his throat and glanced away. “I went to her last night and availed myself.”
    Xcor smiled coldly. So that explained his soldier’s absence—and the reason for the departure was a relief. He had feared that the other male had…
    “And how ever was she.”
    “She was viable.”
    “Did you sample all her charms?”
    The gentlemale, who had once been a highbrow member of the
glymera
, but was now useful, cleared his throat. “I, ah…yes.”
    “And how were they.” When there was no answer, Xcor tracked through the black-stained snow, closing in on his second in command. “How was she, Throe? Wet and willing?”
    The male’s flush grew deeper on his perfectly handsome face. “She was adequate.”
    “How many times did you have her?”
    “Several.”
    “And in varying positions, I hope?” When there was only a stiff nod, Xcor relented. “Well, you have then faithfully discharged your duty to your fellow soldiers. I’m quite certain that the others shall want to partake of both vein and sex as well.”
    In the awkward beat of silence that followed, Xcor would never have admitted it to anyone, but he’d pressed for details not to deliberately goad his subordinate…but because he was glad Throe had lain with the female. He wanted distance between the male and what had happened back in the fall. He wanted calendars full of years, and countless females, and rivers of other females’ blood….
    “There is but one stipulation,” Throe said.
    Xcor thinned his mouth. As the female in question had not seen him yet, it couldn’t be more cash—besides, he did not need to feed as of now. Thanks to…“And that is.”
    “It must be done at her abode. At first night tomorrow.”
    “Ah.” Xcor smiled coldly. “’Tis a trap then.”
    “The Brotherhood does not know who made the inquiry.”
    “You identified six males, did you not.”
    “I used not our names.”
    “No matter.” Xcor glanced around the alley, his senses reaching out, searching for
lesser
or Brother. “I do not underestimate the king’s reach. Nor should you.”
    Indeed, his own ambitions had pitted them all against a foe of worth. The assassination attempt on Wrath’s life back in the autumn had been his open declaration of war, and as expected, there had been a predictable fallout: The Brotherhood had found his Band of Bastards’ lair, infiltrated it, and left with the rifle pack that contained the weapon that had been used to put a bullet into the Blind King’s throat.
    Undoubtedly, they were going for proof.
    The question was, of what? He did not know as of yet whether the king lived or had died, and neither did the Council, from what he understood. In fact, the
glymera
knew not that the attempt had even occurred.
    Had Wrath survived? Or had he been killed and the Brotherhood was at the moment busy trying to fill the vacancy? The Old Law was very clear about the rules of succession—provided the king had offspring, which he did not. So it would be his next nearest kin—assuming there were any.
    Xcor wanted to know, but he made no inquiries. All he could do was wait until word presented itself—and in the meantime, he and his soldiers kept killing
lessers
, and he continued to shore up his power base within the
glymera
. At least both of those endeavors were going well. Every night, they stabbed slayers back to the Omega. And his limp-wristed contact on the Council, the not-particularly-venerable Elan, son of Larex, was