Chapter Seventeen
As Beth stepped out of the staircase, the industrial space of the Brotherhood’s garage towered above her, all the exposed ductwork and metal girders making it feel like some kind of post-apocalyptic movie set.
In the center of it all, an RV the size of a house gleamed in the low lighting.
The mobile surgical unit had been upgraded over the years, and the current version was painted in gold, bronze, and black.
With its heavily tinted windows, it looked like the tour bus of some rock star.
But she didn’t pay a lot of attention to any of that.
The two gurneys were around to the rear, and the fact that there were dark gray plastic body bags on them made her stomach flip-flop in the cradle of her pelvis.
“I’ve got you, leelan,” Wrath murmured as he put his arm around her waist.
And she had him, leading him forward, as someone stepped out from the mobile unit’s rear.
Zsadist.
The Brother was in his fighting clothes, although there wasn’t much distinction between them and what he wore at the Wheel.
The only difference was the amount of weapons strapped onto his powerful body.
With his skull-trimmed hair, the black slave band around his throat, and the scar that ran down his face in an S-curve, he looked like an absolute menace—unless he knew you.
Then he was the most loyal and protective ally and guard there ever was.
Still, her heart sank a little every time she saw him.
Even after decades upon decades of personal work with Mary, and his mating with Bella, and the birth of his daughter Nalla, you could tell that he continued to struggle with his horrific past.
But he never complained. Never took it out on anybody else.
“My brother,” Wrath said as he put his palm forward without getting too close.
No one ever touched Z or crowded him. He was like an untamed wolf who circled and sometimes came forward. Which he did tonight.
As the Brother clapped hands with what was offered, the sleeve of his leather jacket rode up and exposed the slave band on his wrist. Those terrible ownership tattoos, like the damage that had been done to him psychologically, were permanent. And yet he had crafted a good life for himself.
And considering the reason they were all here, and what was in those bags, it gave her hope for the species. Even in the midst of the war.
“Beth,” he murmured with a nod of respect.
It was then she noticed some of the members of the Band of Bastards in the background. As they offered a wave, she lifted her hand in return.
“They were found down by the river, at Thirty-first Street,” Z reported. “And the identities are confirmed. I sent pictures to Shuli and he just responded.”
“I want to see them,” Beth stated roughly. “Especially Emile.”
There was a heartbeat of silence before Wrath inclined his head. “Open both the bags for her.”
The sound of the first zipper being drawn down went through her ears and into her soul. And then she was covering her mouth with her hand.
The male’s face was as gray as a river stone, his expression frozen in an agonizing grimace that at first didn’t make any sense—until she realized that his upper lip had been tacked up with nails that had been driven into his cheekbones.
His fangs had been removed, the gaping holes revealing his swollen tongue, blood staining the enamel of the remaining teeth pink.
There were also congealing red puddles in the ear and the cup formed at the base of the throat.
“This is Rolhand, son of Rolhand the Elder,” Z said in a low tone.
Beth looked away and had to tell herself not to hyperventilate. Especially as she heard that zipper going back up into place.
Wrath spoke in a grim voice: “Okay, that’s enough. Let’s go—”
“No.” She cut her hellren off and turned back around. Clearing her throat a couple of times, she said, “About ten years ago, I saw Emile with his parents at the Audience House. It was just after he graduated from medical school. I need…to see him, too.”
There was a long moment. Then when Wrath nodded sharply, Z’s blunt fingers went to the zipper on the second bag, and as he started to draw it down, a tuft of blond hair fanned out.
She immediately recognized the face that was exposed, and the recollection of the male with his proud mahmen and father percolated up from memory.
Remembering how happy the family had been on that special night of blessing, she was relieved to a degree that he hadn’t been mutilated as the other male had been.
At least his parents will be able to see his face one last time—
“They took his fangs, too,” Z said harshly. “But mostly worked on him below the neck.”
There was another pause, as if he were waiting to see how far Beth wanted to see. When she shook her head, he rezipped things.
Riding a wave of despair, her eyes traveled down the length of the loose bag, from the flat plane of the chest to the straightaway of the legs to the jut of the two feet. She did not know what had been done to him. Couldn’t bear to imagine it.
“He and his parents came in—” She coughed a little.
“They came in the night L.W. started to go through his change. Even though they were aristocrats, they were so loving... and the blessing he received for his accomplishments meant so much to all of them. I can’t believe his whole life ends… here. Like this.”
Wrath stepped in, and she felt his arm return to her waist. When he murmured something, she was too caught up in the collision of the past and the present to hear what he was saying.
But the tone…the tone was just what she needed.
She knew the kind of grief those parents—all of the parents—were going to have to go through in the coming nights, days… years.
“Where were these two found,” Wrath asked.
“In the basement of an abandoned walkup on Thirty-first and Jefferson,” Z said. “Syphon scented them somehow. He’s still out there, scouring that area, even though the killers are likely long gone.”
“My son needs to get the fuck out of Shuli’s house,” Wrath muttered. “It is not safe there.”
Clearly, these males had been tortured for information.
“Yeah, he does,” Z said. “And as for these males, we don’t know why they were left behind. Usually, the Lessening Society cleans up after themselves better—they don’t want attention from humans any more than we do. They left their tools, too. Something interrupted them.”
“Have the families been contacted?”
“We’re working our way through the first four right now. Until ten minutes ago, when these two were still considered missing, we were assuming you’d want to be the one who talked to their parents.”
From out of nowhere, Beth heard L.W.’s voice once again: Everyone else is out there in the field. All of the Brothers, all of the fighters—and their families shit themselves every night. But you get a pass because you married the King. You are lucky.
Abruptly, images filtered through Beth’s mind, one after another: Autumn opening the door to her and Tohr’s residence, the worry etched into her beautiful, heart-shaped face…
Doc Jane standing in her bedroom, her eyes grave on her injured mate…
and then it was all the audiences that she herself had played witness to over the decades, civilians taken down by the enemy.
After that, she thought of every other time she had gone to the Brotherhood clinic and worried over an injured fighter. All those gunshots wounds, stabbings, broken bones…
Finally, she returned to her and Wrath’s last anniversary, in that alley, with L.W.
This had to stop. Somehow, they had to bring the war to an end.
Before her own son ended up in a body bag.
All things considered, Wrath would have seriously fucking preferred that Beth not see any of this. Smell it. Stand next to it. But for reasons he was not going to question, she felt as though she needed to be here. And God knew she’d seen plenty of this shit over the decades he was gone.
“There’s one other thing,” Z said.
Behind his wraparounds, Wrath closed his useless eyes. Of course, there was something else.
“They took the hearts.” Zsadist’s voice changed orientation as he paced around. “Even though the lessers were interrupted, they appear to have taken both with them. As well as the fangs.”
Great. Fucking wonderful. Wrath had never heard of anything like either of that before, but the Lessening Society was always morphing—and maybe this was payback. After all, the Black Dagger Brotherhood had collected the cardiac muscles of slayers for generations.
What the hell was Lash doing now.
“I do want to go to these males’ parents,” Wrath said. “Do we have addresses?”
“Yup, and Fritz is already on his way here.”
“I’m coming, too,” Beth spoke up.
Wrath brought her even closer to his side.
With every inhale he took, her sadness and fear filled his nose, drowning out the scents of gasoline and oil in the garage.
He would have spared her if he could, taken her away from all of this—and as he thought about the future, he could really feel his fangs start to tingle.
His body likewise became alive with aggression, the swirling anger and hatred coursing through his veins reminding him of their son.
Not the kind of thing he wanted them to have in common.
“We need footage from where the others were found in the alley at Bathe,” he ordered. “V is down for the count, but someone else can—”
“Vishous is already on it,” Z said. “And he’s trying to access cameras in the area where these bodies were found, too. Pretty rundown street, though. The public safety monitoring system is probably out of commission—he’s still going to do his best, though. From his bed.”
Wrath should have known that the brother wouldn’t stay down, even if he had to do the searching from flat on his back.