The King inclined his head. “Yes. And as for the young, we will make sure he has a place in the species.”

“He needs a family,” she heard herself say. And then she thought of the reality that he’d never been outdoors. “Please remember, too, that he has no frame of reference for the world at large or the freedom we all take for granted. He’s been in captivity his entire life. You’re going to have to give him a hell of a lot more than room and board if you want him to come through what was done to him and where he was kept. That is all on you, not him. He’s been through enough.”

The King cracked a smile, flashing enormous white fangs. “I like you.”

“Thanks,” she said with resignation. “I appreciate that.”

“Go back to the training center. Do your goodbyes. And then you have to go.”

“Okay,” Sarah said with a heavy heart. “I will.”

John resumed his corporeal form in the driveway of the Audience House just in time to see Murhder and the human scientist leave out the front door. As they headed down the walkway to Mary’s Volvo, neither of them was saying anything, but they were holding hands, both of them focused on the shoveled snow beneath their feet.

They were not happy, and he could guess why. God, he wished he could help.

Entering through the kitchen in the back, he greeted both of the doggen who were making cupcakes for the waiting room, and then proceeded through to the front hall. There were no civilians hanging out in the parlor on the right, which was kind of a surprise. There was still plenty of night left for Wrath to see people.

But with Murhder here? Accompanied by the human? No doubt the place had been cleared out of an abundance of caution.

The archway into the dining room was open, the doors wide on their brass hinges, and he felt a surge of envy as he looked in. Tohr, V, Rhage, and Butch were clustered around Wrath, the five of them clearly discussing “Brotherhood business.”

Tohr looked up. Smiled. Motioned. “Come on in, John.”

There was a part of him that wanted to no-thank-you the invite. But what point was he proving by that and to who?

Stepping into the dining room, he looked up at the twinkling chandelier, and then down at the fancy Oriental rug, and then over to the sconces and the heavy, closed drapes.

Helluva a long way from that shitty flat he’d been able to afford for himself as a dishwasher.

“How are you?” Tohr phrased the question casually. But his eyes were too direct to carry off the no-BFD. “You look good.”

Well, he’d had a shower before he’d made arrangements to see Beth, Mary, and Bella.

Wrath glanced up even though he couldn’t see. As those nostrils flared, John had a moment of anxiety—and sure enough, those brows disappeared behind the wraparounds.

Could he smell the death, John wondered.

“I heard you were out in the field tonight,” Wrath said. “Not the brightest idea, but I gather you were successful.”

John brought up his hands and signed, Murhder is an incredible fighter. We made a good team.

As Tohr looked away sharply, and V translated into Wrath’s ear, John continued, Why do you all hate him so much?

“Let’s not focus on the past.” Tohr presented a composed face. “I want to know how you’re feeling?”

I came to see you, actually, John signed.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. You want to talk?” When John nodded, Tohr stepped away from the King, from his Brothers, and came across. “Something wrong?”

When Tohr put a heavy arm across John’s shoulders, John kept a wince of pain to himself and let the Brother lead the direction—and soon enough, they were shut in a study that seemed out of an Agatha Christie novel: The oak-paneled room with the crackling fire was exactly the place all the suspects would gather at the end to hear the whodunit conclusion.

He’d learned about Agatha Christie from Mary.

“What’s up?” Tohr took a seat on an oxblood leather sofa. “What can I do to help?”

John paced around. In his mind, when he’d drafted his list of people he wanted to make sure he connected with, he’d envisioned this meeting with Tohr to be all father-son poignant, the pair of them embracing. Sucking back tears. Throwing around all kinds of manly expressions of love and respect, I-was-honored-to-have-been-your-son statements volleying with you-were-the-best-son-I-could-have-had exclamations.

But now that he was here? It was sort of like it had been with the females. He’d wanted to make transcending pronouncements to Beth, Mary, and Bella, but instead, he’d just sat with them and reminisced about the beginning of things, the start of the connect-the-dots that had brought him into the household.

In these failures of dramatic emotional apexes, he felt like a kid who had imagined his own funeral—and then actually showed up as a ghost to discover that all of the gnashing and wailing he’d anticipated hadn’t happened. Instead, there were just a couple of hankies out and some runny noses, and then everyone beat feet back to the house for food.

No, wait, that wasn’t quite right. The failures with Beth, Mary and Bella had been on his side. Not the females’. They didn’t even know he was dying, and he’d lacked the courage to tell them.

Emotion was so much harder outside of the hypothetical. When you were actually standing in front of someone you needed to say difficult things to, when your throat got tight and you felt like you couldn’t breathe right, and your brain—previously spitting out sound bites that belonged on Instagram posts of beach sunsets and mountain peaks with clouds—went blank as a snow field … all of the Hollywood-perfect Moments That Mattered stuff ended up in the crapper.

And on that note, here he was with Tohr—and he was frustrated more than in the mood for a soul-wrenching goodbye.

Just so you know, John signed. Murhder didn’t take me out into the field. I found him fighting and I joined in. If you’re counting me on the list of things he’s done wrong, you need to change that.

Tohr muttered something and looked over at the fireplace. “I swear this guy is like a bad penny. I can’t get rid of him—”

John whistled so that Tohr would look back. Why would you want to? You know there’s a new enemy out there. We need fighters—we need Brothers.

“It’s not that simple, John.”

Then explain the complexities to me. Explain to me why a guy who’s done nothing but help people is being treated like a criminal. And as for making Sarah leave—Rhage’s shellan was a human. V’s, too. Payne’s hellren still is a human. Even Assail was allowed to have his Sola. Why are you not letting—

“Have you ever considered the idea that Dr. Watkins is a plant? Someone who’s here to gather intel on the species and use it against us?”

Wrath can scent liars. She was just here to see him. He would know that.

“Things change. People change. And Jesus, John, your own mate was in those labs for a while. You know what those humans are capable of. Why are we arguing about this?”

I was there with Sarah. I saw her with Nate. She came out of the hidden lab with him—she was saving him. Someone who wants to use us for research is not going to aid and abet an escape.

“Okay, fine, so let’s pretend there’s nothing wrong with her. She has no sponsor in our world. Murhder is not going to stick around Caldwell, and we do not need a random human kicking around.”

He’s bonded with her.

“Maybe for this ten minutes. Look, John, you don’t know him like we do. Murhder is totally unreliable, and I’m not going to argue about this with you any further.”

Why, because it’s Brotherhood business?

“John, you know it’s not that. Where’s all this coming from? What has Murhder been feeding you?”

I know what it’s like being on the outside looking in. It’s been my whole life—and it’s still true. So I feel for the male. More to the point, I don’t know what the hell happened in the past, but he has been nothing but a straight-up guy to me. I’m not sure how much time I have left so I’ve got nothing to lose and I’m going to speak my mind, goddamn it. You all are treating him like he’s the enemy.

Tohr rubbed his face like everything under his skull was aching. “John. You’re not going to die from that—”

With a quick movement, John ditched his parka and yanked his long-sleeved shirt off. As Tohr hissed in shock at the ugly black wound, he leaned in, just to make sure the Brother didn’t miss a thing.

Don’t tell me this isn’t going to kill me, okay, he signed. And don’t tell me Murhder doesn’t belong back with the Brotherhood. ’Cuz both are fucking lies.

Sarah walked into the training center holding Murhder’s hand, and the feel of his big palm against her own seemed right on a lot of levels: Us against the world. We are a couple. An I Love You on both sides, not just one.

Too bad they were counting down the time.

As they were both aware of what was coming, they hadn’t said much on the way back, and when they’d arrived at the series of gates, she’d distracted herself by watching as the wintery forest landscape had gotten hazy again. So strange. Like an optical illusion.

It was a shame she didn’t have more time here. There was magic in this part of the world, supernatural things that she would love to have learned about, lived around, experienced for herself. In comparison, the human world seemed one-dimensional. Uninteresting. Unremarkable.

Or maybe that was the prospect of her life without Murhder.

“I’ll go sit with Nate while you talk to Doc Jane,” he said.

“I’ll come find you when I’m done—”

Far ahead, a door in the clinical area was thrown open and the doctor in question skidded out into the hall. When she saw Sarah, she came running down, her Crocs slapping against the bald concrete floor, her scrubs and white coat flapping behind her.

“Oh, God, Nate,” Sarah said. “Is he—”

“You were right!” Doc Jane took Sarah’s free hand. “The blood samples were exactly what you wanted to see! The white blood cell count is off the charts, the immune activity is so strong—it’s what you were hoping to find!”