Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last

they had. After introducing the idea at the meeting earlier tonight, he hadn’t pressed them for a yes or no. There was plenty of shit that, as king, he was more than willing to cram down people’s throats. Who the Brothers were going to welcome into the club was not one. “And?”
    Zsadist spoke up in the Old Language. “
I, Zsadist, son of Ahgony, inducted in the two hundred forty-second year of the reign of Wrath, son of Wrath, hereby nominate Qhuinn, an orphan in the world, for membership unto the Black Dagger Brotherhood.
”
    Hearing formal words out of the Brother’s mouth was a shocker. Z, above all of them, thought the past was a bunch of bullshit. Not when it came to this, apparently.
    Jesus, Wrath thought. They were going to run with it. And fast—he’d thought it would take longer than this. Days of mulling over. Weeks. Maybe a month—and then, maybe, a no-go for a variety of reasons.
    But they were playing ball—and accordingly, so was Wrath.
    “
Upon what basis do you make this pledge of your, and your bloodline’s, name?
” Wrath asked.
    Now Z dropped the formal, and went for the real. “He brought me home safe to my
shellan
and my little female tonight. At the risk of his own life.”
    “Fair enough.”
    Wrath scanned the males who were standing around his desk, even though he couldn’t see them with his eyes. Sight didn’t matter, though. He didn’t need operational retinas to tell him where they all were or how they were feeling about shit; the scents of their emotions were clear.
    They were, as a group, steadfast, resolved, and proud.
    But formalities needs must.
    Wrath started with the one all the way on the end. “V?”
    “I was ready to get on board when he crawled all over Xcor.”
    There was a grumble of agreement.
    “Butch?”
    That Boston accent came across loud and clear. “I think he’s a wicked strong fightah. And I like the guy. He’s aging up good, dropping all that attitude, getting serious.”
    “Rhage?”
    “You shoulda seen him tonight. He wouldn’t let me take that plane up—said two Brothers were too much to lose.”
    More of that grumbling approval. “Tohr?”
    “That night you were shot? I got you out of there thanks to him. He’s the right stuff.”
    “Phury?”
    “I like him. I really do. He’s the first to run into any situation. He will literally do
any
thing for any one of us—it doesn’t matter how dangerous.”
    Wrath rapped his desk with his knuckles. “It’s settled, then. I’ll tell Saxton to make the changes, and we’ll do it.”
    Tohr cut in. “With all due respect, my lord, we need to resolve the
ahstrux nohtrum
designation. He can’t be watching John’s ass as his primary directive anymore.”
    “Agreed. We’ll tell John to release him—and I can’t believe the answer will be no. After that, I’ll have Saxton draw up the papers, and then following Qhuinn’s induction, V, you take care of the ink on his face. Like if John had died of natural causes or some shit?”
    There was a rustling of clothes, as if some of the Brothers were making the symbol of “Dearest Virgin Scribe forbid” over their chests.
    “Roger that,” V said.
    Wrath crossed his arms over his chest. This was a historic moment, and well he knew it. Butch’s induction had been legal because of theblood tie the male had with royalty. Qhuinn was a different story. No royal blood. No Chosen or Brotherhood blood, although he technically was an aristocrat.
    No family.
    On the other hand, that kid had proven himself again and again on the field, living up to a standard that, as far as the Old Laws currently stated, was reserved only for those of specific lineages—and that was bullshit. It wasn’t that Wrath didn’t appreciate the Scribe Virgin’s breeding plan. The prescribed matings between the strongest males and the smartest females had in fact produced extraordinary results when it came to fighters.
    But it had also resulted in defects like his blindness. And it restricted merit-based promotions.
    Bottom line, this recasting of the laws concerning who could and could not be in the Brotherhood was not only appropriate in terms of the kind of society he wanted to create—it was a matter of survival. The more fighters the better.
    Plus, Qhuinn had truly earned the honor.
    “So be it,” Wrath murmured. “Eight’s a good number. A lucky number.”
    That low growl of agreement rippled through the air once again, the sound one of complete and utter