Dark Lover

The black robes moved and a glowing hand emerged. One of the birds, a chickadee, hopped onto her finger.

"You were killed in a dishonorable fashion," she said, stroking the tiny bird's chest. "And after having served the race well for centuries. You were an honorable princeps and a fine warrior."

"That my deeds pleased you gives me great reward."

"Indeed." She whistled to the bird. The bird whistled back, as if answering. "What say you, princeps, if I were to offer more than you have asked for?"

Darius's heart beat faster. "I would say yes."

"Without knowing the gift? Or the sacrifice?"

"I trust in you."

"And why could you not be king?" she asked wryly, putting the bird back. She faced him. "Here is what I offer you. Life anew. An intersection with your daughter. A chance to fight once more."

"Scribe Virgin…" He went down to the floor again. "I accept, knowing I do not deserve such favors."

"I will not hold you to that answer. Here is what you will sacrifice. You will have no conscious memory of her. You will not be as you are now. And I require one token of faculty."

He didn't know what the last one was, but he wasn't about to ask.

"I accept."

"Are you sure? Do you not want time to consider this further?"

"Thank you, Scribe Virgin. But my choice is made."

"So be it."

She came over to him and those ghostly hands emerged from the black robe. At the same time, the veil over her face lifted of its own accord. The light was so blinding he could see nothing of her features.

As she took hold of his jaw and the back of his head, he trembled in the face of her strength. She could have crushed him on a whim.

"I give you life anew, Darius, son of Marklon. May you find what you seek in this incarnation."

She pressed her lips to his, and he felt the same shock he had when he'd died. All his molecules exploding, his body splintering into air, his soul set free and soaring.

Chapter Fifty-five

Mr. X opened his eyes and saw a bunch of hazy, vertical lines. Bars?

No, they were chair legs.

He was lying on a rough pine floor. Sprawled out on his stomach. Under a table.

He lifted his chin and his vision went blurry again. God, my head aches like it was cracked wide open-

Everything came back. Fighting the Blind King. Getting hit by the female with something hard. Falling down.

While the Blind King had struggled with his gunshot wounds, and the female had been focused on her mate, Mr. X had crawled away to the minivan. He'd driven even farther out of town, to the mountains at Caldwell's very edge. By some miracle, he'd found his cabin in the dark and had barely managed to get himself inside before collapsing.

God only knew how long he'd been out cold.

Small windows in the log walls let in the early dawn glow. Was it the morning after? Somehow, he didn't think it was. He felt as if he'd lost days.

Moving his arm around carefully, he reached for the back of his head. The injury was raw, but closing.

With concentration and effort, he managed to drag himself upright so he was leaning against the table. He actually felt a little better with his head elevated.

He was lucky. Lessers could be permanently incapacitated from serious blows or gunshots. Not dead, but ruined. Over the decades, he'd found a number of his fellow members flop-ping around in hidden places, rotting, unable to heal back into fighting shape, too weak to stab themselves into oblivion.

He looked at his hands. They had the dried blood of the Blind King on them and dirt from the barn's floor.

He had no regrets that he'd run from the scene. Sometimes, the best move a leader could make was to disengage from battle. When casualties were too high, and loss was virtually assured, the intelligent maneuver was to withdraw and fight another day.

Mr. X dropped his arms. He was going to need more time to recover, but he had to get hold of his men. Leadership vacuums in the Society were dangerous. Particularly for the Fore-lesser in charge.

The door to the cabin swung open and he looked up, wondering how he would defend himself before realizing it was too close to daylight for the intruder to be a vampire.

What filled the jambs made his black blood run cold.

The Omega.

"I've come to help you recover," it said with a smile.

As the door shut, Mr. X's body trembled.

Help from the Omega was more terrifying than any death sentence.

Epilogue

"The Tomb's mansion. I'm telling you, that's where we

X should go," Tohr said, as he stabbed some roast beef off the silver tray Fritz held out to him. "Thanks, man."

Beth looked over at Wrath, thinking that in the month since he'd been shot, he'd fully recovered. He was healthy and strong. Formidable as always. Arrogant. Loving. Impossible and irresistible.

As he settled back in his chair at the head of the table, he reached for her hand, stroking her palm with his thumb.

She smiled at him.