And he always led the chants in the Brotherhood’s temple.

Hard to fathom that Phury would never hear that voice in the sacred cave again.

Or around the house, come to think of it. It had been months since Z had sung anything, probably because worrying about Bella didn’t put him in a Tony Bennett kind of way, and there was no telling whether his impromptu concerts would return or not.

Bella’s destiny would be the decider on that.

Phury took another hit off the blunt. God, he wanted to go see her. Wanted to reassure himself that she was okay. Visual confirmation was so different from an abundance of no-news-is-good-news.

But he wasn’t in visitation shape, and not just because he was toasted. Reaching up, he put his hands to his neck and prodded the residual injury from that chain being wrapped around his throat. He was a quick healer, but not that quick, and Bella’s eyes were working just fine. No reason to upset her.

Plus Z would be with her, and going eyeball-to-eyeball with his twin was way too bullet-to-chamber, considering the way things had been left in that alley.

A rattling sound from over on the bureau brought his head up.

Across the room, the Primale medallion was vibrating, the ancient gold talisman acting like a beeper. He watched as it moved around on the wood, dancing in a little circle as if it were looking for a partner among the silver brush set he’d put it next to.

He was so not going over to the Other Side. No way. Getting bootlicked out of the Brotherhood was enough for one day.

Finishing his blunt, he got up and left his room. As he stepped into the hall, he looked to Cormia’s door out of habit. It was slightly ajar, which was unusual, and he heard a flapping noise.

He walked over and knocked on the jamb. “Cormia? Are you okay?”

“Oh! Yes… yes, I am.” Her voice was muffled.

When she said nothing further, he leaned in. “Your door’s open.” Well, wasn’t he Einstein. “Do you want me to close it?”

“I didn’t mean to leave it like that.”

As he wondered how she’d gotten along with John Matthew, he said, “Mind if I come in?”

“Please.”

He pushed the door wide-

Oh… wow. Cormia was sitting cross-legged on her bed, braiding her damp hair. There was a towel next to her, which explained the flapping, and her robe… her robe was open in a deep V, the soft swells of her breasts in danger of being fully exposed.

What color were her nipples?

He quickly looked elsewhere. Only to find a single lavender rose in a crystal vase on the bedside table.

As his chest grew tight for no good reason, he frowned. “So did you and John enjoy yourselves?”

“Yes, we did. He was quite lovely.”

“Was he?”

Cormia nodded as she wrapped a white satin ribbon around the end of the braid. In the dim light of the lamp, the thick rope of her hair glowed as if it were gold, and he hated to see her wrap the long stretch in circles at the base of her neck. He wanted to stare at it some more, but had to take solace in the wisps that were already appearing around her face.

What a picture she made, he thought, wishing he had some paper and his quill.

Strange… she looked different, he thought. Then again, maybe it was because there was color in her cheeks. “What did you guys do?”

"I ran outside.”

Phury felt his frown get deeper. “Because something frightened you?”

“No, because I was free to.”

He had a quick vision of her racing over the grass in the backyard, her hair streaming behind her. “And what did John do?”

“He watched.”

Did he.

Before Phury could say anything, she continued, “You’re right, he’s very kind. He’s going to show me a movie this evening.”

“He is?”

“He taught me to use the television. And look at what he gave me.” She extended her wrist. On it was a bracelet made of lavender beads and silver links. “I’ve never had something like this before. I’ve always just had my Chosen pearl.”

As she touched the iridescent teardrop at her throat, he narrowed his eyes. Her stare was guileless, as pure and lovely as the rosebud across the room.

John’s attention to her made Phury see his neglect all the more clearly.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a quiet voice. “I’ll take the bracelet off-”

“No. It suits you. Beautifully.”

“He said it was a gift,” she murmured. “I should like to keep it.”

“And so you shall.” Phury took a deep breath and looked around the bedroom, catching sight of a complex structure made of toothpicks… and peas? “What is that?”

“Ah… yes.” She went over quickly, as if she wanted to shelter whatever it was.

“What is it?”

“It’s what is in my head.” She turned to him. Turned away. “It’s just something I’ve started doing.”

Phury walked across the room and knelt down next to her. With care, he ran his finger down a couple of the links. “It’s fantastic. It looks like the frame of a house.”

“You like it?” She knelt down. “I really just made it up.”

“I love architecture and art. And this… the lines are great.”

Her head tilted as she considered the structure, and he smiled, thinking he did the same thing with his drawings.

On impulse, he said, “Would you like to go down to the hall of statues? I was just going to go for a wander. It’s past the top of the stairs.”

As her eyes lifted to his, there was a knowledge in them that took him aback.

Maybe it wasn’t that she looked any different, he realized. It was that she was looking at him differently.

Shit, maybe she’d really liked John. As in liked John. What a wrench that would put into the mix.

“I would like to go with you,” she said. “I should like to see the art.”

“Good. That’s… good. Let’s go.” He rose to his feet and extended his hand for no apparent reason.

After a moment, she slid her palm into his. As they tightened their grips on each other, he realized that the last time they’d had any physical contact had been that trippy morning in his bed… when he’d had that erotic dream and woke up with his hard body all over her.

“Shall we,” he murmured. And led her to the door.

When they stepped out into the hall, Cormia couldn’t believe her hand was in the Primale’s. After she’d wanted some private time with him for so long, it was surreal that she finally had not only that, but actual physical contact.

As they headed for where she had already been, he dropped her hand but stayed close. His limp was barely noticeable, just a slight shadow in his elegant gait, and as usual he was lovelier to her than any piece of art she could possibly behold.

She worried for him, though, and not just because of what she’d overheard.

The clothes he had on were not the ones he wore to meals. The leathers and the black button-down were what he’d been fighting in, and they were marked with stains.

Blood, she thought. His and the race’s enemies.

That wasn’t the worst of it. There was a fading streak around his neck, as if some damage had been done to the skin there, and he had bruises, too, on the backs of his hands and the side of his face.

She thought of what his king had said about him. Danger to himself and others.

“My brother Darius was an art collector,” the Primale said as they went by Wrath’s study. “Like everything else in this house, these were all his. Now they’re Beth and John’s.”

“John is the son of Darius, son of Marklon?”

“Yes.”

“I read of Darius.” And of Beth, the queen, being his daughter. But there had been nothing on John Matthew. Odd… as son of the warrior, he should have been listed on the front page with the Brother’s other progeny.

“You read D’s biography?”

“Yes.” She’d gone looking for information on Vishous, the Brother she’d been originally promised to. Had she known who the Primale would turn out to be, however, she would have checked the rows of red leather volumes for the ones on Phury, son of Ahgony.