“I’m going up,” he told his brother.

“Wait for me.”

But of course, he didn’t. He just headed on up, one foot after the other after the other. Probably a stupid move, but he’d never been good at waiting.

Just not part of his nature.

SEVENTEEN

As Trez stood in the corner of Selena’s hospital room, he felt . . . shit, totally cornered.

He didn’t want to be angry with the female. For fuck’s sake, she’d nearly died in front of him.

“What?” she said. “What’s on your mind.”

The good news was that he had watched, over the last twenty minutes or so, as her coloring had returned in full, how her eyes were now sharp as tacks, as her body, though still stiff, was so much closer to normal.

The bad news was that her little dissertation there about the nature of his sex addiction and him trying to do right by her was not anything he was going to hear. And he prayed to God she didn’t keep pushing the subject.

“Selena, I think you need to rest.”

“Don’t tune me out, Trez.”

He shoved his hand across his head. Wished he had some long-ass hair like Wrath’s just so he had something to pull at. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you.”

“So tell me I’m wrong. Even though I don’t believe that. But say something. Anything.”

Trez grimaced and shook his head. “I’ma go now and—”

“Trez—”

“No, we’re not going to do this.”

“Why? If we have a thousand nights, what’s one awkward conversation.”

“This is a helluva lot more than awkward, sweetheart.” God, he could hear the sharpness in his own voice. Feel the ramp-up in his body. “Yeah, I think I’ll come back—”

“It’s still going to be here when you return.” She motioned between them with her hand, and for a moment, he was so damned grateful for the movement, he forgot what they were talking about. “Distance is not going to help this.”

His heart started to pound. Like he was afraid or some shit.

But that wasn’t what was happening.

Really. It wasn’t.

“What do you want me to say?” he muttered. “Give me the words and the inflection and I’ll do it. Anything to make this go away.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.”

Long pause. “All right,” she said with defeat.

Oh, great. That made him feel soooo much better.

How had they traveled the distance between relief at her survival to all this tension so fast?

He wasn’t about to tell her about the news from the s’Hisbe. She had more than enough to worry about on her own, and he didn’t want her concerned that the Queen’s executioner was going to put him in chains and drag him back to the Territory at any moment.

“Selena, listen . . .” He shook his head. “Am I embarrassed about what I did with all those humans? Absolutely. Do I have regrets? All the time. Do I believe that I’m tainted? According to my culture, I’m completely contaminated. But you need to know that sometimes, a slut is just a slut. A whore is nothing more than a whore. I had a drive and I had nowhere else to go with it.”

He looked away, tracing the floorboards with his eyes.

The silence grew louder than a scream.

“I think you’re right,” she said.

Trez exhaled in relief. Thank God she was buying it—

“You do need to go.”

“What?”

“Until you can be honest? I think you need to stay away. Because either you’re lying to yourself or you’re lying to me. Either way, you need to—as the Brothers would say—get your shit together.”

He shook his head. “Yeah. Wow. Not how I saw this going.”

“Me neither.”

“Okay. Then. So.”

As she just stared over at him, the room ran out of its air supply. At least as far as he was concerned.

Trez cleared his throat. “Fuck . . . I’ll go then.”

He stalked out, using the door that led into the corridor rather than run the risk of running across Doc Jane and Ehlena in that examination room.

Yeah, ’cuz he really felt like having an audience right now.

Thank fuck iAm had left and gone to check in at shAdoWs, The Iron Mask and Sal’s. His brother was the last person he wanted to be around at the moment.

Moving quickly, he stalked down the corridor and paused before stepping in front of the glass door of the office. When he didn’t hear any voices, he peered around. Empty.

Score.

He made it through the supply closet and out into the tunnel without a hitch, and he even jogged down to the staircase. Codes were entered. Steps were mounted. The door under the stairs was opened quietly.

The sound of a vacuum cleaner running in the library was not a surprise. But the lack of any Brothers anywhere was. Usually, at this time of night, the ones who were off rotation were chilling in the billiards room, watching tube. Playing pool. Drinking.

He took advantage of the ghost-town routine and headed for the bar. As he came up to the top shelf display, he paused for a moment to consider his options and then chose Woodford Reserve. And Grey Goose. And a bottle of chard that was sitting out, unchilled, on the granite counter.

Like he was really going to fucking care what he drank.

The grand staircase was a piece of cake, and he was not surprised to find the King’s study empty as Wrath spent most of his nights out meeting with his civilians. Making the turn toward the hall of statues, he pared off before all that marble and opened the door to the stairs that took him up to the third floor.

The First Family’s suite of rooms was hidden behind a bank vault, but his room and his brother’s were right out in the open, just two normal doors close together.

In spite of the argument with Selena, he wasn’t going to bolt to the Commodore. He wanted to be on site in case she . . .

Yeah.

Closing himself in, he put his three new best friends on the bedside table, and turned on the lamp. The velvet drapes were drawn, and he left them that way as he continued on to the bathroom, shedding his clothes. With a crank of the showerhead, he got the water rolling, and he was careful to leave the lights off.

No reason to meet his own eyes in the mirror.

He waited until things got steamy before stepping into the marble enclave. He’d had more than enough of things that were uncomfortable, thank you very much.

Soap—everywhere. Rinse—everywhere. Shampoo—on his head, followed by conditioner. Razor—on his jaw, his chin, his cheeks.

Then it was a case of out with the towel and naked into his bed.

He got under the covers from habit, his brain studiously checking out of absolutely all thought, only common practice driving him to a place and situation where he could get drunk horizontally.

Cracking the lid on the Grey Goose, he took a good pull and ground his molars as the burn fired down his throat and lit up his gut like Fenway Park.

As V would have said.

How in the hell had the night ended up like this.

iAm was not about to waste time with shAdoWs, The Iron Mask or Sal’s. Screw that. There was more than enough competent staff at all three to take care of business. He’d just told his brother the lie because he didn’t want Trez even more freaked out.

Materializing on the terrace of their condo, he glanced at his watch and then went inside. Pacing around, he turned on some lights, checked the refrigerator even though he knew there was nothing much in it, and poked around the cabinets.

He hadn’t eaten since . . . Sal’s the night before, actually. And he hadn’t fed in . . . shit, he didn’t know how long.

Probably needed to handle that, but as always, he had little interest in the vein. Not that he didn’t appreciate and respect the Chosen who served him and his brother. He just didn’t like the whole business of sucking at someone’s wrists when she was a stranger. Yeah, yeah, duty, whatever.