A couple of blocks to the west, Phury picked up his martini and eased back into a leather banquette at ZeroSum. He and Butch had been pretty quiet since landing at the club about a half hour ago, the two of them just doing the people-watching thing from the Brotherhood's table.

God knew there was plenty to see around here.

On the other side of a waterfall wall, the club's dance floor was tweaking with techno music as humans rode waves of Ecstasy and coke and did dirty deeds in designer clothes. The Brotherhood never hung on the general-pop side, though. Their little slice of real estate was in the VIP section, a table all the way in the back next to the fire escape. The club was a good spot to R & R. People left them alone, the booze was top-drawer, and it was smack-dab in downtown, where the Brotherhood did most of their hunting.

Plus it was owned by a relative, now that Bella and Z were mated. Rehvenge, the male who ran it, was her brother.

Also happened to be Phury's drug dealer, too.

He took a good long one from the rim of his shaken-not-stirred. He was so going to have make another buy tonight. His stash was weighing low again.

A blond woman shimmied past the table, her breasts bobbing like apples under silver sequins, her postage-stamp skirt flashing her ass cheeks and her lame thong. The getup made her look like something more than just half-naked.

Dirty was maybe the word he was looking for.

She was typical. Most of the human females in the VIP section were within an inch of getting arrested for indecent exposure, but then, the ladies tended to be either professionals or the civilian equivalent of whores. As the prostitute hit the next banquette over, for a split second he wondered what it would be like to buy some time with someone like her.

He'd been celibate for so long, it seemed totally off the page even to think like that, much less follow through on the idea. But maybe it would help him get Bella out of his mind.

"See something you like?" Butch drawled.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh? You mean you haven't noticed that blonde who just flashed by here? Or the way she was checking you?"

"She's not my type."

"Then look for a long-haired brunette."

"Whatever." As Phury finished his martini, he wanted to throw the glass into a wall. Shit, he couldn't believe he'd even thought about paying for sex.

Desperate. Loser.

God, he wanted a blunt.

"Come on, Phury, you have to know that all the chicks here case you when you come. You should just try one."

Okay, way too many people were pushing him tonight. "No, thanks."

"I'm just saying¡ª"

"Fuck you and shut it."

Butch cursed under his breath and didn't comment any further. Which made Phury feel like an asshole. As he should. "I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's cool."

Phury waved down a waitress, who came right over. As his empty was taken away, he muttered, "She tried to set me up with someone tonight."

"Excuse me?"

"Bella." Phury picked up a soggy cocktail napkin and started folding it up into squares. "Said there was some social worker at Safe Place."

"Rhym? Oh, she's very cool¡ª"

"But I'm¡ª"

"Not interested?" Butch shook his head. "Phury, man, I know you're probably going to bite my head off again, but it's time for you to get interested. This shit with you and the females? Gotta end."

Phury had to laugh. "Be blunt, why don't you?"

"Look, you need to live a little."

Phury nodded over at the bionic blonde. "And you think that buying sex constitutes living a little?"

"With the way she's looking at you, you wouldn't have to pay," Butch said dryly.

Phury forced his brain to try on the scenario. He pictured himself getting up and walking over to the woman. Taking her by the arm and moving her into one of the private bathrooms. Maybe she'd blow him. Maybe he'd prop her up on the sink and spread her legs and pump into her until he came. Total elapsed time? Fifteen minutes, tops. After all, he might be a virgin, but the mechanics of sex were pretty simple. All his body would need was a tight hold and some friction and he'd be good to go.

Well, in theory. He was limp in his trousers right now. So even if he wanted to bust his cherry tonight, it wasn't going to happen. At least, not with her.

"I'm good," he said as his fresh martini arrived. After he swirled the olive around with a finger, he popped it into his mouth. "Really. I'm good."

The two of them went back to the silent routine, with nothing between them but the dim thumping from the music on the other side of the waterfall wall. Phury was about to bring up sports because he couldn't handle the quiet when Butch stiffened.

A female across the VIP area was staring their way. It was that security chief, the one who was jacked like a male and had a male's haircut. Talk about a hard-ass. Phury had seen her cuff drunken human men around like she was whapping dogs with a newspaper.

But wait, she wasn't looking at Phury. She was all about Butch.

"Whoa, you've had her," Phury said. "Haven't you."

Butch shrugged and swallowed the Lag in his glass. "Only once. And it was before Marissa."

Phury glanced back at the female, and had to wonder what that sex had been like. She seemed like the kind who could make a male see stars. And not necessarily in a fun way.

"Is anonymous sex any good?" he asked, feeling like he was twelve.

Butch's smile was slow. Secret. "I used to think it was. But when that's all you know, sure, you think cold pizza is fantastic."

Phury took a pull on his martini. Cold pizza, huh. So that's what was out there waiting for him. How inspiring.

"Shit, I don't mean to be a buzz kill. It's just better with the right person." Butch tossed back his Lag. As a waitress headed over to pick up for a refill, he said, "Nah, I stop at two now. Thanks."

"Wait!" Phury said, before the woman took off. "I'll have another one. Thanks."

Vishous knew the dream had come to him, because he was happy in it. The nightmare always started out with him in a state of bliss. He was, in the beginning, wholly happy, utterly complete, a Rubik's Cube solved.

Then the gun went off. And a bright red stain bloomed on his shirt. And a scream sliced through air that seemed dense as a solid.

Pain hit him like he'd been ripped into by bomb shrapnel, like he'd been doused in gasoline and matched up, like his skin had been taken off in strips.

Oh, God, he was dying. No one lived through this kind of agony.

He fell to his knees and¡ª

V shot up from the bed like he'd been boot-licked in the head.

In the penthouse's cage of black walls and night-backed glass, his breath sounded like a hacksaw going through hardwood. Shit, his heart was pounding so fast he felt like he should put his hands up to keep it in place.

He needed a drink... now.

On sloppy legs he went to the bar, grabbed a fresh glass, and poured himself about four inches of Grey Goose. The long-tall was almost at his lips when he realized he wasn't alone.

He unsheathed a black dagger from his waistband and whirled around.

"It is only I, warrior."

Jesus Christ. The Scribe Virgin stood before him swathed in black robes from head to foot, her face covered, her tiny form dominating the penthouse. From beneath her hem a glow spilled out onto the marble floor, bright as the noonday sun.

Oh, this was an audience he wanted right now. Yup, yup.

He bowed and stayed put. Tried to figure out how he could keep drinking in this position. "I am honored."

"How you lie," she said dryly. "Lift thyself, warrior. I would see your face."

V did his best to marshal some hi-how're-ya onto his puss, in hopes of camoing the oh-fuck-me that was there. Goddamn it. Wrath had threatened to turn him into the Scribe Virgin if he couldn't pull it together. Guess that dime been dropped.

As he eased upright, he figured sucking some Goose would be perceived as an insult.

"Yes, it would," she said. "But do what you must."

He swallowed the vodka like it was water and put the glass on the wet bar. He wanted more, but hopefully she wouldn't be staying long.

"The purpose of my visit has naught to do with your king." The Scribe Virgin floated over, stopping when she was just a foot away. V fought the urge to step back, especially as she reached out her glowing hand and brushed his cheek. Her power was like that of a lightening bolt: deadly and precise. You didn't want to be her target. "It is time."

Time for what? But he kept a lid on himself. You didn't ask questions of the Scribe Virgin. Not unless you wanted to add being used as floor wax to your resume.

"Your birthday draws near."

True, he was going to be three hundred and three years old soon, but he couldn't think why that would warrant a private visit from her. If she wanted to fly him some birthday jollies, quick something in the mail would be just fine. Fuck it, she could rock out an e-card from Hallmark and call it a day.

"And I have a gift for you."

"I am honored." And confused.

"Your female is ready."

Vishous jerked all over, like someone had goosed him in the ass with a jackknife. "I'm sorry, what¡ª" No questions, dumb ass. "Ah... with all due respect, I have no female."

"You do." She dropped her glowing arm. "I have picked her from among all the Chosen to be your first mate. She is the most pure of blood, the finest of beauty." As V opened his mouth, the Scribe Virgin steamrolled right over him. "You will be mated, and the two of you will breed, and you will also breed with the others. Your daughters shall replenish the ranks of the Chosen. Your sons shall become members of the Brotherhood. This is your destiny: to become the Primale of the Chosen."

The word Primale dropped like an H-bomb.

"Forgive me, Scribe Virgin... ah..." He cleared his throat and reminded himself that if you pissed Her Holiness off, they'd need barbecue tongs to pick up your steaming pieces. "I mean no offense, but I will take no female as my own¡ª"

"You will. And you will lay with her in the proper ritual and she will bear your young. As will the others."

Visions of getting trapped on the Other Side, surrounded by females, unable to fight, unable to see his brothers... or... God, Butch... snapped the hinge on his mouth. "My destiny is as a fighter. With my brothers. I am where I should be."

Besides, with what had been done to him, could he even sire young?

He expected her to hit the fan at his insubordination. Instead she said, "How fearless of you to deny your station. You are so like your father."

Wrong. He and the Bloodletter had nothing in common. "Your Holiness¡ª"

"You shall do this. And you shall submit of your own volition."

His reply shot out, hard and cold. "I'd need a good goddamned reason."

"You are my son."

V stopped breathing, his chest going concrete on him. Surely she meant that in the broader sense.

"Three hundred and three years ago you were born of my body." The Scribe Virgin's hood rose off her face of its own volition, revealing a ghostly, ethereal beauty. "Lift thy so-called cursed palm and know our truth."

Heart in his throat, V brought up his gloved hand, then ripped the leather off with messy tugs. In horror he stared at what was behind his tattooed skin: The glow in him was just like hers.

Jesus Christ... Why the hell hadn't he made the connection before?

"Your blindness," she said, "afforded your denial. You did not want to see it."

V stumbled away from her. When he hit the mattress, he let his ass go down and told himself now was not the time to lose his mind¡ª

Oh, wait... he'd already lost it. Good deal, or he'd be totally freaking out right now.

"How... is this possible?" Sure, that was a question, but who the fuck cared at this point?

"Yes, I think I shall pardon your inquiry this one time." The Scribe Virgin floated around the room, moving without walking, her robes unaffected by the trip, as if they were carved from stone. In the silence she made him think of a chess piece: the queen, the one among the others on the board who was free to move in all directions.

When she finally spoke, her voice was deep. Commanding. "I wanted to know conception and birth physically, so I assumed a form sufficient to perform the sexual act and went to the Old Country in a fertile condition." She paused before the glass doors in front of the terrace. "I chose the male based on what I believed were the most desirable masculine attributes for the survival of the species: strength and cunning, power, aggression."

V pictured his father and tried to imagine the Scribe Virgin having sex with the male. Shit, that must have been a brutal experience.

"It was," she said. "I received exactly what I had gone out to find in full measure. There was no going back once the rutting started, and he was characteristic to his nature. At the end, though, he withheld himself from me. Somehow he knew what I was after and who I was."

Yeah, his father had excelled at finding and exploiting the motivations of others.

"It was perhaps foolish of me to think I could pass for something I was not with a male like him. Cunning, indeed." She looked across the room at V. "He told me he would give me his seed only if a male young would be placed with him. He had never successfully begotten the live birth of a son, and his warrior loins wanted that satisfaction.

"I, however, wanted my son for the Chosen. Your father may have understood tactics, but he was not the only one. I knew well his weakness too, and had it within me to guarantee the sex of the young. We agreed that he would have you three years after the birth for three centuries, and that he could tram you to fight on this side. Thereafter you would be for my purpose."

Her purpose? His father's purpose? Shit, didn't he get a vote?

The Scribe Virgin's voice got lower. "Having reached our accord, he forced me beneath him for hours, until the form I was in nearly died from it. He was possessed by the need to conceive, and I endured him because I was the same."

Endured was right. V, like the rest of the males in the warrior camp, had been forced to watch his father have sex. The Bloodletter hadn't distinguished between fighting and fucking and had made no allowances for females' size or weakness.

The Scribe Virgin began shifting around the room again. "I delivered you unto the camp on your third birthday."

V became dimly aware of a humming in his head, like a train was gathering speed. Thanks to his parents' little bargain, he'd been living his life in ruins, stuck dealing with the aftermath of his father's cruelty as well as the war camp's vicious lessons.

His voice dropped to a growl. "Do you know what he did to me? What they did to me there?"

"Yes."

Throwing all rules of etiquette into the shitter, he said, "Then why the fuck did you let me stay there."

"I had given my word."

V burst to his feet, his hand going to his privates. "Glad to know your honor stayed intact, even if I didn't. Yeah, that's a fair fucking exchange."

"I can understand your anger¡ª"

"Can you, Mom? That makes me feel so much better. I spent twenty years of my life fighting to stay alive in that cesspool. What did I get? A scrambled head and fucked-up body. And now you want me to breed for you?" He smiled coldly. "What if I can't impregnate them? If you know what happened to me, you ever think of that?"

"You are able."

"How do you know?"

"Think you there is any part of my son I cannot see?"

"You... bitch," he whispered.

A blast of heat came out of her body, hot enough to singe his eyebrows, and her voice cracked through the penthouse. "Do not forget who I am, warrior. I chose your father unwisely, and we both suffered for the mistake. Do you think I remained unharmed as I saw what course your life laid? Think you I watched from afar unaffected? I died every day for you."

"Well, aren't you Mother fucking Teresa," he shouted, aware that his own body had started to heat up. "You're supposed to be all-powerful. If you'd given a shit, you could have stepped¡ª"

"Destinies are not chosen, they are conferred¡ª"

"By who? You? Then are you the one I should hate for all the shit that was done to me?" Now he was glowing all over; he didn't even have to look down at his forearms to know that what was within his hand had spread throughout him. Just. Like. Her. "God... damn you."

"My son¡ª"

He bared his fangs. "You do not call me that. Ever. Mother and son... we aren't that. My mother would have done something. When I couldn't help myself, my mother would have been there¡ª"

"I wanted to be¡ª"

"When I was bleeding and torn up and terrified, my mother would have been there. So don't fly me that sonny-boy bullshit."

There was a long silence. Then her voice came clear and strong. "You will present yourself to me following my sequester, which starts this night. You will be presented of your mate as a formality. You will return when she is suitably prepared for your use, and you will do what you were birthed to do. And you will do it of your own free choosing."

"The hell I will. And fuck you."

"Vishous, son of the Bloodletter, you will do this because if you do not, the race will not survive. If there is any hope of withstanding the onslaughts of the Lessening Society, more Brothers are needed. You of the Brotherhood are but a handful now. In past epochs there were twenty and thirty among you. Where may yet more come but from selective breeding?"

"You let Butch into the Brotherhood, and he wasn't¡ª"

"Special dispensation for a prophecy realized. Not the same at all, and well you know it. His body will never be as strong as yours. If not for his innate power, he could never function as a Brother."

V looked away from her.

Survival of the species. Survival of the Brotherhood.

Shit.

He walked around and ended up by his rack and his wall of toys. "I'm the wrong guy for this kind of thing. I'm not the hero type. I'm not interested in saving the world."

"The logic is in the biology and cannot be countered."

Vishous lifted his glowing hand, thinking about the number of times he'd used it to incinerate things. Houses. Cars. "What about this? You want a whole generation cursed like me? What if I pass this down to my offspring?"

"It is an excellent weapon."

"So's a dagger, but it doesn't light up your friends."

"You are blessed, not cursed."

"Oh, yeah? Try living with the thing."

"Power requires sacrifice."

He laughed in a hard rush. "Well, then, I'd give this shit up in a heartbeat to be normal."

"Regardless, you have a duty to your species."

"Uh-huh, right. Just like you had one to a son you birthed. You'd better pray I'm more conscientious with my responsibility."

He stared out over the city, thinking of the civilians he'd seen battered, beaten, dead at the hands of the Omega's lessers. There had been centuries of innocents slain by those bastards, and life was hard enough without being hunted. He should know.

Man, he hated that she had a point about the logic. There were only five in the Brotherhood now, even with Butch's membership: Wrath couldn't fight by law, because he was the king. Tohrment had disappeared. Darius had died last summer. So there were five against an ever-replenishing enemy. Making it worse, the lessers had an endless supply of humans to pull into their undead ranks, whereas Brothers had to be born and raised and had to survive their transitions. Sure, the trainee class being worked on back at the compound would go out as soldiers eventually. But those boys would never possess the kind of strength, endurance, or healing capabilities that males from the Brotherhood bloodlines would.

And as for making more Brothers... Small pool of sires to choose from. By law Wrath as king could lay with any female in the species, but he was fully bonded to Beth. So too were Rhage and Z to their females. Tohr, assuming he was still alive and ever came back, wasn't going to be in any frame of mind to get members of the Chosen pregnant. Phury was the only other possibility, but he was a celibate with a broken frickin' heart. Not really man-whore material.

"Shit." While he chewed on the situation, the Scribe Virgin stayed quiet. As if she knew one word from her, and he would drop the whole thing and to hell with the race.

He turned around to face her. "I'll do it on one condition."

"Which is."

"I live here, with my brothers. I fight with my brothers. I'll go to the Other Side and"¡ªHoly shit. Oh, God¡ª"lay with whoever. But my home is here."

"The Primale lives¡ª"

"This one won't, so take me or leave me." He glared at her. "And know this. I am enough of a selfish bastard that if you don't agree, I will walk, and then where will you be? After all, you can't make me fuck females for the rest of my life, not unless you want to work my cock yourself." He smiled coldly. "And how's that for some biology, true?"

Now it was her turn to move around the room. As he watched her and waited, he hated that they seemed to think in the same manner¡ªwith motion.

She stopped by the rack and reached out a glowing hand, hovering it above the hardwood slab. The remnants of the sex he'd had vanished into thin air, the mess cleaned up, as if she didn't approve. "I thought perhaps you would like a life of ease. A life where you were protected and didn't have to fight."

"And lose all that careful training I had at my father's fist? Now, that would be such a waste. As for protection, I could have used it three hundred years ago. Not now."

"I thought perhaps... you would like a mate of your own. The one I chose for you, she is the best of all the bloodlines. A pure-blood with grace and beauty."

"And you picked my father, right? So you'll excuse me if I don't get all excited."

Her gaze drifted over to his equipment. "You favor such... hard couplings."

"I'm my father's son. You said it yourself."

"You could not participate in this... sexual endeavor with your mate. It would be shameful and frightening for her. And you could not be with anyone other than the Chosen. It would be a disgrace."

V tried to imagine giving up his proclivities. "My monster needs to get out. Especially now."

"Now?"

"Come on, Mom. You know everything about me, right? So you know my visions have dried up and I'm half-psychotic from lack of sleep. Hell, you gotta know I took a jump off this building last week. Longer this goes on, the worse I'm going to get, especially if I can't get a... workout in."

She waved her hand, dismissing him. "You see nothing because you are at a crossroads in your own path. Free will cannot be exercised if you are aware of the ultimate outcome, therefore the prescient part of you naturally suppresses itself. It will return."

For some crazy reason that eased him, even though he'd fought the intrusions of other people's fates since they started appearing to him centuries ago.

Then something dawned on him. "You don't know what's going to happen to me, do you. You don't know what I'm going to do."

"I would have your word that you shall fulfill your duties on the other side. That you shall take care of what must be done there. And I would have it now."

"Say it. Say you don't know what you see. If you want my vow, you give me this."

"Why for?"

"I want to know you're powerless about something," he bit out. "So you know how I feel."

The heat of her rose until the penthouse was like a sauna. But then she said, "Your destiny is mine. I know not your path."

V crossed his arms over his chest, feeling like a noose was around his neck and he was standing on rickety chair. Fuck. Him. "You have my bonded word."

"Take this and accept your nomination as Primale." She held out a heavy gold pendant on a black silk cord. When he took the thing, she nodded once, a sealing of their pact. "I shall go forth and inform the Chosen. My sequester ends several days hence. You will come to me then and be installed as the Primale."

Her black hood lifted without hands. Just before it lowered over her glowing face she said, "Until we meet hence. Be well."

She disappeared without sound or movement, a light extinguished.

V went over to the bed before his knees let go. As his ass hit the mattress, he stared at the long, thin pendant. The gold was ancient and marked with characters in the Old Language.

He didn't want young. Never had. Although he supposed that under this scenario, he was nothing more than a sperm donor. He wasn't going to have to be a father to any of them, which was a relief. He wouldn't be good at that shit.

Shoving the pendant into the back pocket of his leathers, he put his head in his hands. Visions of growing up in the warrior camp came to him, the memories crystal-clear and sharp as glass. With a nasty curse in the Old Language, he reached over to his jacket, took his phone out, and hit speed dial. When Wrath's voice came on the line, there was a whirring noise in the background.

"You got a minute?" V said.

"Yeah, what's doing?" When V didn't hold forth, Wrath's voice got lower. "Vishous? You all right?"

"No."

There was a rustling then Wrath's voice came from a distance. "Fritz, can you come back and vacuum a little later? Thanks, my man." The whirring noise shut off and a door closed. "Talk to me."

"Do you... ah, do you remember the last time you got drunk? Like, really drunk?"

"Shit... ah..." In the pause, V pictured the king's black eyebrows sinking down behind his wraparounds. "God, I think it was with you. Back in the early nineteen hundreds, wasn't it? Seven bottles of whiskey between the two of us."

"Actually, it was nine."

Wrath laughed. "We started at four in the afternoon and it took us, what, fourteen hours? I was faced for a whole day afterward. Hundred years later and I think I'm still hungover."

V closed his eyes. "Remember just as dawn was coming, I, ah... told you I'd never known my mother? Had no clue who she was or what happened to her?"

"Most of it's fog, but yeah, I recall that."

God, they'd both been so polluted that night. Drunk off their asses. And that had been the only reason V had yakked even a little about what rotted in his head twenty-four/seven.

"V? What's doing? This have something to do with your mahmen?"

V let himself fall back on the bed. As he landed, the pendant in his back pocket bit into his ass. "Yeah... I just met her."