Xhex glanced over at the Brother. Jesus Christ, he looked totally different, as if he were a younger, healthy relation of the guy she had known since Wellsie had been killed. And given the way he was now? Xcor had a grave with his name on it already dug.
"What happens if I have to defend myself?"
"You have permission to do whatever you have to in order to secure your safety. In fact, in that event. . . " The king turned his blind eyes in John's direction. "I encourage you to bring every weapon you have to bear in your own defense. "
Read: Use that symphath side of yours, girlfriend.
"But if possible," Wrath added, "leave as much undisturbed as possible, and Xcor aboveground. "
"That shouldn't be a problem," Xhex said. "I don't have to touch him or any of the others. I can keep it just about the rifle. "
"Good. " As the king smiled and flashed his fangs, the others started talking in a rush. "Perfect - "
"Wait, I haven't agreed to anything yet," she said, shutting them all up as she looked over at John. "Not. . . yet. "
Chapter Forty-Nine.
"Unhand me, you fool," Xcor blabbered as he felt himself lifted once again.
He was beyond finished with being manhandled: Up off his bunk he'd been resting on. Into the vehicle. Taken somewhere else. And now disturbed anew.
"Almost there," Zypher said.
"Leave me be. . . . " That was supposed to have come out as a demand. Instead, he sounded like a child to his own ears.
Ah, how he wished for his former strength, so that he could have pushed himself free, and stood upon his own legs.
But that time had passed. Indeed, he was well gone. . . and mayhap done for.
His dire condition was the result of no one particular injury from that fight with that soldier - it was the culmination of all of them, the wounds covering his head and his gut, the agony something rather like the beat of his heart, a force that existed and persisted within him, over which he had no control.
Initially, he had fought the tide under the masculine just-throw-it-off theory. His body had had other plans for him, however, and more sway than his mind and will did. Now it felt as if he was owned by this pall of disorientation and exhaustion -
Abruptly, the air he breathed was cold and clear, slapping some sense into him.
Struggling to focus his eyes, he was greeted by a meadow, a rolling meadow that rose to meet a magnificent autumnal tree. And there. . . yes, there under the branches that were cast in red and yellow was Throe.
Next to whom was a slim figure in a white gown. . . a female.
Unless he was seeing things?
No, he was not. As Zypher carried him closer, she became more distinct. She was. . . incalculably beautiful, with pale skin and blond hair that was twisted up upon the crown of her head.
She was vampire, not human.
She was. . . unearthly, an illumination spilling out from her form, one so bright it o'ershadowed the moon.
Ah, so this was a dream.
He should have guessed. After all, there was no reason for Zypher to take him into the farmland parts, risking their lives for some fresh air. No cause for any female to be waiting upon his arrival. No possibility that someone as fair as she would be out alone in the world.
No, this was just a product of his delirium, and therefore he relaxed into the iron arms of his soldier, recognizing that whatever his subconscious had coughed up was not going to matter at all, and he might as well let things play out. Eventually he would wake up, and mayhap this was a sign he had finally settled into a deep, healing sleep.
Besides, the less he fought, the more he could concentrate on her.
Oh. . . loveliness. Oh, virtuous beauty, the kind that turned kings into serfs and soldiers into poets. This was the sort of female worth fighting for, dying for, just to gaze for a moment upon her face.
Such a shame she was but a vision. . .