There was a slight pause. Then she said, "Yes, your grace."

Chapter Forty-seven

As night fell John was underground in the gym, lined up with the rest of trainees, a dagger in his right hand, his feet planted in the ready position. When Zsadist whistled through his teeth, John and everyone else began to move through the exercise: Swipe the weapon across the chest, slice back at an angle, step forward, and stab up under the rib cage.

"John, stay sharp!"

Shit, he was fucking this whole thing up. Again. Feeling utterly blind and mostly useless, he tried to find the rhythm in the positions, but his balance was in the crapper and his arms and legs just wouldn't behave.

"John-just stop." Zsadist came up behind him and moved his arms around. Again. "Let's do it again. Ladies, back in ready position."

John settled in, waited for the whistle… and screwed it all up. Again.

This time when Zsadist walked over, John couldn't look the Brother in the face.

"Let's try something." Z took the blade and put it in John's left hand.

John shook his head. He was right-dominant.

"Just try it. Ladies? Let's do it."

Another ready position. Another whistle. Another fuckup-

Oh, but this time it wasn't. Miraculously, John's body fell into the series of positions like a perfect piano chord. Everything was in sync, all his arms and legs going where they needed to be, the dagger controlled perfectly in his hand, his muscles coalescing and working together.

When the drill was over, he smiled. Until he met Z's eyes. The Brother was staring at him strangely, but then seemed to catch himself. "Better, John. Much better."

John looked down at the blade in his hand. He had a quick, painful memory of walking Sarelle out to her car a couple of days before she'd been killed. As he'd been by her side, he'd wished he had a dagger, had felt like his palm was too light without one. That had been his right hand then. Why the switch after the transition?

"Again, ladies!" Z called out.

They did the sequence twenty-three more times. Then worked on another that had them getting down on one knee and lunging upward. Z patrolled the line, fixing positions, barking out demands.

He didn't have to address John once. Everything just came together, the vein tapped, the gold extracted.

When class was over John headed to the lockers, but Z called him back and led him into the equipment room, over to the locked closet where the training daggers were kept.

"From now on you'll use this." Z handed over one with a blue hilt. "Calibrated for the left hand."

John tried it out and felt even stronger. He was about to thank the Brother when he frowned. Z was looking at him with the same strange expression he'd had out in the gym.

John tucked the blade into the belt of his ji and signed, What? Am I not in good position?

Z rubbed a hand over his skull trim. "Ask me how many fighters are left-handed."

John's breath stopped, an odd feeling coming over him. How many?

"Only known one. Ask me who he was."

Who was he?

"Darius. D was left handed."

John stared down at his left hand. His father.

"And you move like him," Z murmured. "It's eerie as fuck, to be honest. It's like I'm looking at him."

Really?

"Yeah, he was smooth. Like you are. Anyway. Whatever." Z clapped him on the shoulder. "Lefty. Go figure."

John watched the Brother leave, then looked at his palm again.

Not for the first time, he wondered what his father had looked like. Sounded like. Acted like. God, what he wouldn't give for some information on the male.

Maybe someday he could ask Zsadist. But he was afraid of getting emotional.

If only there was another way.

Jane backed her car into her garage and cursed at the time as she cut the engine. Eleven thirty-four. She was two and a half hours late to meet V at her place.

It had been a prime case of delayed departure. She'd had her coat on and her bag packed, but on the way to the door all sorts of medical staff had come up to her with question after question. Then one of the patients had taken a turn for the worse in the chute, and she'd had to examine the woman, then talk to the family.

She'd texted Vishous that she'd gotten tied up. Then again when she had to stay even longer. He'd hit her back saying it was fine. But then she'd called when she'd gotten stuck on a detour on the way home, and she'd gone to voice mail.

She got out of the car as the garage door eased shut. She was excited to see Vishous, but exhausted too. They'd spent the night before doing a whole lot of not sleeping, and she'd had a long day.

As she came in through the kitchen she called out, "I'm so sorry I'm late."

"It's cool," he said from the living room.

She came around the corner… and stopped. Vishous was sitting on the couch in the dark, his legs crossed. His leather jacket was next to him, and so was a wrapped bunch of calla lilies. He was still as a frozen lake.

Shit.

"Hi," she said as she dumped her coat and bag on her parents' dining room table.

"Hey." He uncrossed his thighs and planted his elbows on his knees. "Everything at the hospital okay?"

"Yeah. Just busy." She sat down next to the flowers. "These are lovely."

"Got them for you."

"I'm really sorry-"

He stopped her with his hand. "You don't have to be. I can imagine how it is."

As she measured him, she knew he wasn't trying to guilt her or anything; he was just disappointed. Which somehow made her feel worse. If he'd been unreasonable, that was one thing, but this quiet resignation from a man as powerful as him was hard to bear.

"You look tired," he said. "I think the kindest thing I can do is put you in bed."

She leaned back and gently stroked one of the flowers with her forefinger. She liked that he didn't go average with roses or even the white kind of calla lily. These were a deep peach tone. Unusual. Beautiful. "I thought about you today. Alot."

"Did you?" Though she wasn't looking at him, she heard the smile in his voice. "What did you think about?"

"Everything. Nothing. How much I wish I were sleeping next to you every night."

She didn't tell him she'd turned down the Columbia opportunity. Letting that go didn't sit right, but then, trying for a position in New York City where she'd have even more responsibility just didn't seem like a smart thing to do if the goal was to spend more, not less, time with V. She still wanted to be in charge, but you had to sacrifice things in life to get what you wanted. And the idea that you could have it all was such a fallacy.

A yawn sprang up her throat and opened her mouth. Shit, she was tired.

V stood and put out his hand. "Up you go. You can sleep next to me for a while."

She let herself be led upstairs, stripped, and pushed into the shower. She waited for him to join her, but he shook his head.

"If I start with that shit, I'm going to keep you up for the next two hours." His eyes latched onto her breasts and flashed with light. "Oh… Christ… I'll just… Fuck, I gotta wait for you outside."

She smiled as he shut the glass shower door and his big black shape stalked off into the bedroom. Ten minutes later she came out, scrubbed, flossed, brushed, and in one of her nightshirts.

Vishous had straightened the duvet, arranged her pillows, and folded the sheets back. "In," he commanded.

"I hate taking orders," she murmured.

"But you'll do it from me. On occasion." He swatted her butt lightly as she slid in. "Get comfortable."

She arranged everything where she wanted it to be as he went around and lay down on top of the bed. When he pushed his arm under her head and cuddled up close, she thought, God, he smelled good. And that soothing hand running up and down her waist was divine.