“You are totally protected. Whether you are here or at home—”

“But what if I want to go other places?”

As the next wave of quiet hit, she knew where he was in his mind. Although he rarely said it out loud, it had always been clear to her that, among the many things the male missed about the passing of his beloved shellan, he wished that her mahmen could have partaken in awkward conversations like this. He seemed to assume that having a female intercede would yield more harmonious outcomes—a conclusion that was always available to him because it could never be vetted.

Maybe her mahmen would have helped him in moments like this. Maybe not.

There was a lot rolled into that sigh of his.

Beside her, the phone rang, and she went for the receiver on the first ring, because whatever was on the line would be easier to deal with than these kinds of family dynamics.

“Good evening,” she said.

There was a slight pause, and then a male voice with a strange accent said in the Old Language, “This is the audience house of Wrath, son of Wrath.”

She frowned, and answered in the same way. “Yes, it is. How may I help you?”

“It is located at eight sixteen Wallace Avenue.”

As the male gave her the address, she looked at her father. “How may I help you?”

“You may carry unto your King a message of import. If he does not surrender custody of the Shadow Anointed One, TrezLath, upon midnight on the morrow at the boundaries of the Territory, Her Most Sacred Soul, Queen Rashth, ruler of the s’Hisbe, shall construe the harboring of said male as a declaration of war against our people. She intends for the sacred mating to occur with the heir to the Shadow throne on the first night following her period of mourning. Compliance will spare all vampires much bloodshed. Failure to comply will ensure a scourge against your already beleaguered populace.”

Click.

Removing the receiver from her ear, Paradise could only stare at the black plastic grip with its two square heads.

“Paradise?” her father said. “Whate’er was it?”

“Assuming that wasn’t a hoax . . .” She lifted her eyes to his. “The Shadows are declaring war . . . on us.”

SEVENTY-THREE

Sometime later, Trez became aware that he was no longer outside.

In fact, he was sitting on his bed up on the mansion’s third floor, his palms on his knees, his body somehow still in motion, even though he was not moving.

After he’d stayed by the pyre until it had collapsed in on itself and the flames had died out, someone must have brought him up here.

Was that the sound of a shower?

iAm appeared in the doorway to the bathroom. “Let me help you.”

“Isn’t that what you always do,” Trez mumbled.

“If the roles were reversed . . .”

As his brother approached, all Trez could do was stare up at the male as if iAm were a giant.

Emotions bubbled up through his exhaustion.

“You are,” Trez said softly, “the very best male I have ever known.”

iAm stopped short. Cleared his throat. “Ah . . . let’s get those pants off you, okay? And before you say it, yes, I know you’re not hungry, but I got you some food and yes, some alcohol.”

When iAm reached out a hand, Trez blinked and saw Selena’s frozen in space, perpetually waiting for him to grab hold and save her.

Except he hadn’t been able to.

Bowing his head, he was too tired to tear up, and the sense that he was going to feel this bad for the rest of his natural life was like a suit of steel with spikes on the inside.

“Come on,” iAm said in a voice that broke.

Trez took what had been offered to him out of reflex, neither caring about his dirty body nor his dirty pants nor the food.

But the booze . . . now, that might help.

At the very least, he could pass out from it.

As they headed into the bath, his cell phone began to ring on the bedside table, and for a moment, he paused and thought, How strange.

Except that was normal, wasn’t it. People called people when they wanted something, when they needed something, when they had news to share or just wanted to check in.

Remember, he said to himself. That was how it worked . . .

The next time he had a conscious thought, it was as he was stepping naked under the shower.

Ow.

That was all he had.

Just . . . ow. As all that water got into the wounds on his chest.

iAm was the one who leaned in and washed his hair and his body, even though the guy’s shirt got soaking wet down the front and along the sleeves.

And then they were getting out and it was towel time.

At his next check-in, he was sitting up in bed with the covers folded at his waist and a lap tray of food next to him. iAm was on the edge of the mattress, his mouth moving.

With an odd displacement, Trez watched his brother from a distance, observing his elegant hand motions, his worried expression, his smart eyes.

“I’m going to be okay,” Trez said as a lull presented itself.

He had no clue what his brother had been talking at, but he was pretty sure his welfare had been the topic.

“Will you do me a favor?” Trez asked as he glanced at the door across the way. “Will you thank . . . everybody? For me? For what they did? I was so tired . . . I didn’t know how I was going to build it.”

No reason to add a noun there. iAm knew what he was talking about.

“I will. Sure.”

“And I want you to take a break.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight.” He flexed his hands and felt the soreness in his forearms, his shoulders. Wrapping all those bandages had required an exertion he’d been unaware of throwing into the job. “I’m too . . . everything. I’m just too fucking everything.”

iAm hit him with a pair of laser beams. “Are you sure? I was going to sleep in here with you.”

“Thanks, but I could use the time alone. And before you say it, no, I’m not going to do anything stupid. You can take all my weapons.”

“Would you believe I already have?”

An image of himself with that gun to his head the night Selena had first gotten sick came to mind. “Yes, I would.”

Except there was at least one forty the guy wouldn’t have found. Not unless he took apart the Jacuzzi.

iAm started to talk again and Trez watched him go, nodding at different places just because he didn’t want to be rude. His mind had drifted off again, and before he knew it, his eyes were following that lead, rolling back in his head.

Next thing he knew, he was lying down flat.

iAm’s voice came from up above, like God’s or maybe a movie theater announcer’s: “I’m leaving the light on.”

As if he were four years old.

“Thank . . .”

iAm stood over his brother as Trez passed out cold halfway through a thank-you. As a soft snore percolated out of the guy, he shook his head.

His brother was going to be like that for a while.

Glancing to the foot of the bed, he saw the pants that he’d removed on the floor, and he went over and picked them up. It was probably best that they weren’t the first thing the male saw when he woke up—and iAm would have preferred to throw them away. The idea that they might be an important symbol of the death stopped him, however, and he settled for folding them up and putting them on a shelf in the closet.

He checked on Trez one more time. But short of pulling up a chair and watching the guy breathe for the next four or six or ten hours, there wasn’t anything for him to do here.

Backing out of the room, he paused again in the doorway . . . and saw nothing that gave him any concern other than the fact that Trez looked dead already.

Yup. Nothing amiss.

Same ol’ same-ol’.

God, he wanted to vomit.