“You okay?” he asked as he went over to her. “You need Doc Jane or something?”

When she didn’t reply, he leaned in, “Layla?”

She jumped, and he reached out to calm her, as she mumbled, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Are you all right?”

“Oh. Yes.” She gave him the same sort of smile he’d given his Mary. “I’m fine.”

He was tempted to call her on the bullshit, but he wouldn’t have appreciated anyone doing that to him.

“You want me to call Qhuinn over?”

The male and Blay were talking with iAm, both of them nodding their heads . . . only to recoil in shock, as if they couldn’t believe the story that had, up until now, been delivered secondhand by Steve Wilko’s PR man over there with the phallic symbol on his forehead.

“Oh, no. No, thank you.”

As Rhage took in her affect, he thought, man, he really was as selfish as he thought he was. She had lost her blooded sister Selena just days ago.

Of course she would look like some version of Trez.

Standing next to her, Rhage wished he could help somehow. But he worried that he was as incapable of doing anything for her . . . as he was defining this seismic shift that had somehow occurred under his skin.

Ostensibly, everything was the same and all was well.

He just felt like a different male for no good reason.

And that . . .

 . . . that he found terrifying.

Across town, at Abalone’s Tudor mansion, Paradise was sitting up in her own bed, in her own room, staring at the wall across the way.

She supposed she should have been happy. According to her father, the threat from the s’Hisbe had been neutralized, and everyone was safe . . . but she was completely unsettled.

Of course, she’d moved back home.

In spite of all her independent-streak posturing, the reality of living away from her father in uncertain times was just too dangerous. And this was a step back from her autonomy.

At least she still had her job—

The knock on her door was quiet.

“Yes?” she said.

As the panels swung wide, her father appeared in between the jambs. He was in his navy-blue silk bathrobe, the one that had the family crest stitched into the breast and the tie that was as long as the hem.

“You’re still up?” she asked.

“I could not sleep.”

“So much going on.”

“Yes.” He hesitated, looking around her room as if he were renewing himself with its acquaintance. “May I come in?”

“Of course, it is your house.”

“Our home,” he corrected gently.

When he only got as far as the edge of that needlepoint rug that covered the floor, she frowned. “Are you not feeling well?”

He opened his mouth to speak. Closed it. Tried again.

Failed.

Moving her legs over, she sat up. “Father?”

Her father finally came all the way forward, and that was when she saw that he had something in his hand. A piece of paper.

In lieu of an answer, he offered whatever it was to her.

“What is this?” she said as she took the thing.

Looking down, she frowned.

“Oh . . . my God,” she breathed. “My God . . .”

It was the application to the Brotherhood’s training program. And he had filled all of it out, in his own hand.

For her.

“Father!” Leaping up, she threw her arms around him. “Thank you! Thank you!”

He held on to her. “It’s a safety issue,” he said roughly. “I just . . . you’re right. You need to learn how to fight. The idea that sometime you might be unprotected in some capacity . . .” He pulled back. “You’re right. You need to learn.”

He was clearly, in the words of Peyton, shitting Twinkies at the thought—but that was what made the gesture so grand. Even though he was scared . . . he was going to let her go anyway.

“Thank you,” she said, grabbing onto him. “I’ll be careful! I promise!”

Assuming she got in. Jeez, she’d better start working out if she was going to pass the physical-requirements test.

“I promise,” she vowed, “I’ll be careful.”

“I shall be praying for that,” he all but groaned. “Every single night.”

“I love you, Father!”

He closed his eyes as if he were on a roller-coaster ride he wasn’t sure he could handle. “And you, dearest Paradise, have my heart.”

EIGHTY-SIX

Queen Catra vin SuLaneh etl MuLanen deh FonLerahn sat alone in her quarters, the silence around her one that she had created by asking her maids and servants to leave her.

She was not moving into the former Queen’s suite of rooms.

No, she was having those turned into a nursery for the young of those who served in the palace. That way those precious little ones would be close to their parents, and for the first time, servants would not have to leave their sons and daughers with relatives or in the cold, dark jail-like facility near the poor housing area.

That had not been her first decree, however.

No, the first thing she had done, after accepting the mantle of leadership over her people, was to abolish the Anointed One curse.

She had set iAm free.

Not that he knew it. Everyone else in the s’Hisbe did, however, so at least he wouldn’t ever have to worry about seeing her or the Territory again.

Every breath she drew in hurt.

Stars above, that so much damage had been done by one so greedy.

The good news, she supposed, was that she, in concert with s’Ex, whom she had elevated to a position equivalent to King—even though, obviously, they would not be mated—would see to it that no one else was ever treated so capriciously and carelessly.

And as she would never have young, she didn’t need to worry about some kind of latent evil gene popping up.

Indeed, with iAm out of the picture, she was prepared to be celibate. Who else would she want, anyway? She had met her match—it was even decreed in the stars.

That he didn’t want her?

Well, one’s fate was not another’s, no matter the emotions involved—

As the door slid open, and a waft of food smells preceded a servant, she frowned and looked at the time on the ancient windup clock by her dressing table. She had been sitting here for hours.

“I am not hungry,” she said without looking over. “But I thank you.”

When she sensed the figure had not moved from the doorway, she glanced over at the farshi-dressed male.

“Thank you,” she repeated numbly. “But I am not as yet hungry. Please return it to the kitchen—no, wait, offer it to your fellow males and females?”

Instead of bowing and ducking out, the male came in further, the door panel sliding shut behind him.

Then he slowly lowered himself to his knees, put the tray down in front of him, and stretched his torso out flat on the marble floor toward her.

And that was when she felt the echo of herself in his blood.

Unless she was mistaken?

Wait . . .was this truly—

“iAm?” she whispered hoarsely. “iAm, is that you?”

The male figure straightened and removed his hood. And as she clasped her hands to her face, she prayed she hadn’t fallen asleep and was only dreaming.

Because his eyes, those almond-shaped, beautiful black eyes, were shining with love.

“So,” he said in that wonderful voice of his. “I heard I got demoted.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“s’Ex called me. Told me I’ve been demoted. Guess I’m not the Anointed One anymore, huh.”

iAm got to his feet and walked over to her, his big body causing the robes to shift, his scent that of dark spices.

When he was close to her, he lowered himself back to his knees. “You saying you don’t want this anymore?” he drawled, indicating himself. “Really?”

She closed her eyes, and turned away from him, the pain too great to bear. “Please . . . do not torture me.”

He clasped her hands. “Look at me. Come on, look at me . . . maichen.”