Assail's brows popped at the word current: This uprising had progressed further than he'd guessed if that was being thrown around. . . .
"These discussions have taken place over a period of months, and there has been an unwavering consistency to the complaints and disappointments. As a result, and after much deliberation with my conscience, I have found myself for the first time in my lif
e eschewing the race's current leader to the extent that I am compelled into action. These gentlemales" - at that ludicrous term, he waved an open hand to the collection of fighters - "have expressed similar concerns, as well as a certain willingness to - how shall I put it - effect a change. As I know that we are all of one mind, I thought we might discuss our next steps. "
At this point, the assembled dandies decided to piss on the conversational guidepost, reiterating, in their own interminable words, precisely what Elan had just stated.
Clearly they felt it was an opportunity for them to prove to the Band of Bastards how serious they were, but he doubted Xcor was moved by any of the hot air. These members of the aristocracy were fragile, expendable tools, each one of them limited in use and easily broken - and Xcor had to know this. No doubt he was going to work them until he didn't need them, and then he was going to snap their paltry wooden handles and cast them aside.
As Assail sat back and listened, he had no particular love or regard for the monarchy. But he was clear on the fact that Wrath was a male of his word - the same could not be true of any of these glymera yahoos: This whole group, with the exception of Xcor and his males, would kiss the king's ass until their lips went numb - right up until they caused his death. And after that? Xcor would serve himself and himself alone - and to hell with anyone else.
Wrath had stated that he would allow commerce with the humans to continue unfettered.
Xcor, however, was the type who would not permit any other seats of power to rise up - and with all the money there was to be made in the drug trade, sooner or later Assail would have a target on his back.
If he didn't have one already.
". . . and my family's estate is lying fallow in Caldwell - "
When Assail rose up from his chair, all the eyes of the fighters flipped to him.
Stepping forward through the crowd, he was careful to show his hands, lest they believe he had taken out a weapon.
"Please excuse the interruption," he said without meaning it. "But I must leave now. "
Elan began to sputter as Xcor's lids lowered.
Addressing the true leader in the room, Assail spoke clearly. "I shall make no reference to this meeting, either to the individuals here in this room or to any others, neither about the statements that have been made nor who has attended. I am not a political individual, nor do I have designs on any throne - I am but a businessman seeking only to continue to prosper in circles of commerce. In leaving this meeting and resigning herewith from the Council, I am acting accordingly, seeking neither to promote nor obstruct any of your agenda. "
Xcor smiled coldly, his eyes locked and loaded with deadly intent. "I shall consider anyone who departs this room to be mine enemy. "
Assail nodded. "So be it. And know that I will defend my interests as appropriate against interlopers of any kind. "
"As you wish. "
Assail left without hurry - at least until he got into his Range Rover. Once inside the SUV, he was efficient in locking the doors, starting the engine, and taking off.
Driving along, he was alert, but not paranoid. He believed Xcor meant every word he'd said about marking him as an enemy, but he was also aware that the male was going to have his hands full. Between the Brotherhood, who were no doubt more than formidable foes, and the glymera, who were going to be like herding cats, there was much to consume his attention.
Sooner or later, however, the male would focus on Assail.
Fortunately, he was ready now, and would stay that way.
And waiting had never bothered him.
Chapter Seventy-One
As Tohr emerged naked and dripping from the shower, the knock on his bedroom's door was loud and a little muffled, as if it had been made by the heel of a hand, instead of a set of knuckles - and after so many years of being a brother, he knew it could have been made by only one male.
"Rhage?" He put a towel around his waist and walked over to open the way up. "My brother, what's doing?"
The guy was standing out in the hall, his incredibly beautiful face solemn, his body clad in a white silk robe that fell from his broad shoulders and was tied at the waist with a simple white rope. Across his chest, his black daggers were holstered by white leather.
"Hey, my brother. . . I, ah. . . "
In the awkward moment that followed, Tohr was the one to break the tension. "You look like a powdered doughnut, Hollywood. "
"Thanks. " The brother stared down at the carpet. "Listen, I brought you something. It's from Mary and me. "