In the silence that followed, John decided that some things were best just left at their definition. And this was one of them, given the Brother's tight expression.
"I'm glad you're wearing his ring," Tohr said abruptly as he got to his feet. "Especially on a night like tonight. "
John looked at the hunk of gold on his finger. It felt so right. As if he'd been wearing it for years.
Me, too, he signed.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get dressed myself. "
As John glanced up, he was taken back to a moment all that time ago when he'd answered the door to his shitty studio and leveled a gun up, up, way up, into the guy's face.
And now Tohr had brought him his ceremonial mating robes.
The Brother smiled a little. "I wish your father was here to see this. "
John frowned and rolled that signet ring around on his finger, thinking about how much he owed the male. Then on a quick surge, he burst to his feet. . . and embraced the Brother hard. Tohr seemed momentarily surprised but then strong arms reciprocated.
When John pulled back, he stared straight into those eyes. He is here, he signed. My father is right here with me.
An hour later, John was standing on the mosaic floor in the foyer, shifting his weight back and forth between his two feet. He was dressed in the traditional mating ceremony garb of a noble male of worth, the black silk pants falling to the floor, the loose top secured with a jeweled belt that had been presented to him for use by the king.
The decision had been made to conduct the ceremony at the base of the grand staircase, in the archway that was formed by the dining room. The double doors of where everyone ate had been shut to form a wall, and on the other side of them, the doggen had set out a feast.
Everything was arranged, the Brotherhood standing in a line next to him, the shellans and other members of the household assembled in a loose half-circle across the way. Among those playing witness, Qhuinn was on one end; Blay and Saxton were on the other. iAm and Trez were in the middle, having been invited as special guests.
As John looked all around the space, he took note of the malachite columns and the marble walls and the chandeliers. There had been so many times since he had come here to stay when people had told him how much his father would have enjoyed people filling up all the rooms and living their lives under the sturdy roof.
John focused on the apple tree depict
ed on the floor. It was so lovely, a sign of spring, eternally flowering. . . the kind of thing that uplifted you every time you saw it.
He'd loved the tree since he'd moved in--
A collective gasp snapped his head up.
Oh. . . sweet. . . Mary. . . Mother. . . of. . .
His brain conked out at that point. Just went blank. He was pretty sure his heart was still ticking, given that he remained upright, but other than that?
Well, he'd just died and gone to heaven.
Standing up at the top of the grand staircase, with her hand poised on the golden balustrade, Xhex had appeared in a breathtaking glory that rendered him senseless and astonished.
The red gown she was wearing suited her perfectly, the black lace at the top playing to her black hair and her dark gray eyes, the miles of satin skirting falling about her slender body in resplendent waves.
As she met his eyes, she fussed with the waist, then smoothed the front.
Come to me, he signed. Come down to me, my female.
In the far corner, a tenor began to sing, Zsadist's crystal-clear voice sailing up toward the warrior paintings on the ceiling far, far above them all. At first John didn't know what the song was. . . although if he'd been asked what his name was, he would have said Santa Claus, or Luther Vandross, or Teddy Roosevelt.
Maybe even Joan Collins.
But then the sounds coalesced and he caught the tune. U2's "All I Want Is You. "
The one John had asked the male to sing.
Xhex's first step brought out the sniffles from the females. And Lassiter, evidently. Either that or the angel had dust in his eye.