Lassiter, page 41
As Lassiter walked through the forest, he was part of an immense lineup of people.
Watching those ahead, and feeling the presence of those behind, he noted that the black robes were out again, and marveled at the swing of destiny. Happiness one moment… paralyzing grief and shocking loss the next.
Although he’d led the way in the topple, hadn’t he. And people thought Dhunhd was bad? The loss of the shellan that he’d barely felt like he’d had was, for him, the first death… the harbinger of the second that laid waste to all of the lives in the Brotherhood’s extended family.
And now they were here, everyone, servants and young as well, traipsing through the forest of the mountain, the scents of pine and mourning intertwining such that he doubted he would ever smell a conifer again and not think of this procession of black robes.
Then again, he was going to spend the rest of his interminable nights and days grieving. So what was one more association, really.
The foot travel ended at the camouflaged opening of a cave system, and there was a slow-up as the mourners waited to pass through the constriction. Everyone took their hood off as they entered—because it had been decided that anonymity didn’t set the right tone—and he did the same, pulling the cloth off his head as he stepped into a winding passageway that culminated in a meshed gate bolted into the rock.
No one was talking, and he was aware that rules were being broken here. In the past, no one but members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood were allowed in the Tomb. Tonight, though, it certainly felt as though the whole of the household had joined those hallowed ranks.
Grief had inducted them all.
After he stepped through the gate, which was being held open by Rhage, there was a long hall of empty, new-built shelves. He remembered when they had been filled with the jars of lessers, those trophies collected by members of the Brotherhood over centuries, the earliest ones imported on ships under sail from the Old Country.
The Omega had broken into them all on its last-gasp attempt to stay alive, consuming the bloodied hearts that had contained the dregs of his essence. After the infiltration, V and Butch had cleaned up the mess and rebuilt the setup.
Fresh start. For an old war.
Eventually, the great hall opened up to a tremendous, nearly arena-sized chamber that was lit by black candles and torches, and had a gradual descent to a stage-like platform with an altar on it. Behind the locus of worship and ceremony, a wall that was twenty feet tall and God only knew how long owned the focal point of the cave.
Countless names were carved in the stone.
Every one of the Brotherhood was listed, right up to the most recent addition to the membership, John Matthew.
As the solemn crowd filed in, instead of going to the front with them, Lassiter hung back, taking his place against the rear of the cave. In a way, all this sorrow fit his mood, and although he didn’t want the suffering for anyone, it did make things easier as he didn’t have to pretend to anybody that he was fine.
And no one had questioned Rahvyn’s absence, so consumed were they by the absolute tragedy.
Which was the only relief to be had for him.
As he wondered where she was, and prayed she was safe, he stared all the way down to the ancient skull that sat on the center of the altar. It was the first brother.
The first warrior.
How was this happening, he thought as he watched the crowd gather below the stage in a semicircle—just like it had been at his and Rahvyn’s ceremony.
As a fresh wave of agony swamped him, the last of the mourners trickled in, and then there was a dense silence broken only by sniffling and the occasional cough.
When he heard a soft shuffling sound, he glanced over and closed his eyes briefly.
It was Beth, dressed in a white robe. L.W. was in her arms, George by her side.
She was positively gray, her eyes sunken in her head, her aura one of such profound anguish, she was a dark shadow that lived and breathed.
Tohr followed her, holding a bundle of something with reverence.
The pair of them walked down together, and when they mounted the stage, the brothers joined them, lining up with the widow and the young. With his head lowered, Tohr stepped forward to the altar.
Next to the skull, he placed a leather jacket and a pair of wraparounds.
And then beneath, he set a pair of black boots that had been shined so perfectly, they might as well have been floodlights.
Tohr stepped back and began chanting. On his cue, the brothers picked up the mourning cadence, swaying from side to side. And when Beth looked like she was about to faint, Zsadist stepped up and put his arm around her to hold her steady.
Lassiter could only stand in the back and try to breathe. As he attempted to contain his emotions, he had the thought that he’d finally gotten the job description right: He wasn’t getting involved in this. He was going to stay back.
For the moment, at least. There was no way in hell he wasn’t fighting that goddamn Lash again. No way—
Down in front, as the cadence rose to a deafening level, the King’s dog broke out of the lineup and slinked forward, its head lowered, its ears drooping.
George went right to the boots his master had worn and lay down beside them, placing his boxy blond head across the steel toes.
Lassiter lowered his eyes, and decided he had to leave. He just couldn’t take any more pain.
Just as he was about to turn away, he heard another soft sound of folds of cloth next to him, and he wondered who the straggler was—
As he looked over, he froze.
And it was clearly the same for Rahvyn, as the hooded black robe she was wearing did a double take.
Staring across at the female, he tried to see her face, but there was nothing showing because she had not revealed herself as everyone else had. She was looking at him, though. He could feel her eyes, even though he couldn’t see them.
And he had a thought. Over the past couple of nights, the loss of her had solidified in his chest, in his mind, in his life, the absence of her like a construction that was built in a hardy fashion because it was going to be permanent.
He had to accept the god-awful reality because he had no choice, as there was nothing to fight for, no opportunity to argue. Over. Done with. His fate sealed because Rahvyn had gotten half the story right, and been disinclined to listen to the rest of the truth.
Glancing back down to the altar, he stared at that leather jacket. Then shifted his eyes to Beth.
Abruptly, he decided, fuck it. Life was short and violent, and destiny was a cunt, and he was very sure, if Wrath had been in his shoes, the King would have busted out of a funeral to try to save his relationship with his Queen.
Or, at the very least, explain himself.
Lassiter leaned over to her and said in a low voice, “I need to talk to you. Right now.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
It was all so overwhelming. All of it.
Everything.
So in a way, as Rahvyn showed up late to the great Blind King’s funeral, she really should not have been surprised that Lassiter happened to be standing way in the back, right at the entry to the cave’s torchlit amphitheater.
And naturally, he was now demanding to be heard. In a way that suggested he was prepared to start the conversation right here.
With a shout, if he had to.
For so many reasons, she was not up to any kind of talking with anyone. But she also did not have the strength to argue with him at a whisper about how not only was it inappropriate for them to deal with their personal issues at a time like this, she was truly not interested in hearing anything he had to say.
In the end, she merely shrugged and backed out through the archway she had just put to good use.
Lassiter marched off, going all the way back to the start of the hall of empty shelves, and when he finally halted, and she tilted her hood up to regard him, she felt like she was looking at a stranger in the light of the torches that hissed and seethed from the mountings.
“You’re right,” he said in a harsh tone. “I did come back to you because of the spell. It was to keep Devina and Lash apart because if they joined forces, the Brotherhood and the vampires would surely not survive. I did learn about the Book’s provision about breaking up true love, I knew that you and I were the couple involved, and I pursued you because I wanted to affect an outcome.”
Rahvyn pushed her hood off her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “That is a fine recitation of facts. I am not certain why it bears repeating, especially at this particular moment in time—”
“What you got wrong,” he interjected sharply, “was why I left you in the first place.”
At this, he broke off from her, pacing up and back, his footfalls over the bare stones of the floor louder than even his voice, it seemed. When he stopped again in front of her, she tilted to the side and eyed the length of the corridor, estimating how far it was to the exit—
“That night in the meadow, I knew I was turning myself over to Devina. So she could use me. Use my body.”
Rahvyn blinked. And slowly righted herself.
“I made a bargain with the demon that she could”—he cleared his throat—“that she could do with me what she pleased… if she would leave Balthazar and Erika alone. She’d wanted me. From the beginning. I didn’t want her. I never… wanted her. But she was contaminating Balthazar’s soul and she was going to kill him. When I met you in the field and conjured those flowers, it was right before I left to turn myself over to her, and I said goodbye to you because I knew that, on the other side, I was going to be a different male. I’d saved myself, you see. I’d… saved myself. That was the bad thing that I did for the right reason. It was not going back to you and manipulating you into a relationship.”
As a dawning horror swept through Rahvyn’s marrow, she brought her hands up to her mouth.
“After it was over,” he continued, “I was broken. I was ashamed. I felt dirty… in this body. I couldn’t bear to think of being in your presence, much less touching you. But then again, after you revived me, I was talking to the brothers about the lesser induction in that basement downtown, and how Lash and Devina were together… and I figured it out. That was why she wanted to fuck me. She knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to you in good conscience. The more I thought about it all, I knew there had to have been a spell because it was the only explanation—and it was clear that we had to do everything to keep the demon apart from the Omega’s son. So yeah, I went back to you because of the spell—but it was the only thing that could possibly have gotten me over the way I felt about myself after what the demon put me through. When I was with you, kissing you, making love to you, I put what had been done to me aside so that I could make it good for you. You had been hurt much worse than I had, and I…” He paused and cursed. “When you said you were grateful for what happened to you because it made you stronger, I really get it. I was grateful for the spell. It gave me the strength I needed to shove it all down underneath and keep going, instead of wallowing in that cave on the mountain, a hollow husk because I was ruined for the female I loved.”
There was a stretch of silence. And then she choked back a sob.
“Lassiter,” she said with horror, “why didn’t you tell me?”
He laughed harshly. “Really? You’re asking me that? After everything that had been done to you, you think I was in any kind of hurry to tell you my story? You were carrying enough, and I didn’t want you to worry about me.”
As he got wavy in front of her, she realized she was tearing up, the implications of all that she had accused him of pounding her like blows to her body.
“Anyway, that’s the why of it,” he said baldly. “I know it doesn’t make a difference, but if I’m going to lose the female I love, I’ll be damned if I lose my integrity along with her.”
At that, he spun around and headed for the gate at the far end of the hall.
* * *
In all the TV talk shows he’d ever watched, Lassiter had heard hosts and experts preach the confession-is-good-for-the-soul rhetoric. And during his brief period of self-improvement a little while ago, he’d also listened to the TED Talks. Read the inspirational posts on FB and Insta. Watched the TikToks.
But you know what? He didn’t feel any fucking better for having bared his truth.
Then again, he was still walking out of this cave alone—
“Lassiter!”
At the sound of his name, he pivoted around—and he had a soul-searing visual of Rahvyn standing there in the midst of all the empty shelving, her silver hair catching the torchlight as waves escaped from the neckline of the black robe she wore.
The female was still, and ever would remain, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—
With a hoarse cry, she lunged forward and ran toward him, hitting him so hard she nearly knocked him off his feet—and his arms shot around her by reflex.
But also because, in a pathetic part of his soul, he had missed her so much that he’d use any excuse to hold her one last time.
He wasn’t surprised as she pushed him back.
The tears streaming down her face were a shocker, however.
“Oh, my angel,” she said, “how could you have not told me? I would have been there for you—I want to be there for you. I am so sorry I misinterpreted everything—I think I questioned, in ways I could not acknowledge, that it was all too good to be true, that you would want me, and need me. That you would choose me. Oh, verily, I am so sorry…”
She was talking fast, tripping over words, snuffling. Then her hands were on his face, his shoulders, his chest.
He watched the goings-on for a moment, as if from a vast distance. Then he tentatively—reaaaaaaally tentatively—touched a strand of her hair. You know, just to make sure this was real.
“I did not know your truth,” she said in a broken voice. “And I never would have guessed.”
He shook his head slowly. “It wasn’t duty for me. Just so you and I are perfectly clear… you were never a duty. You were only ever a gift. The spell just got me over my fears and my self-loathing. That was all it did.”
Now her hands were back on her face, her expression so appalled she looked as though she was going to faint. “Lassiter, how can you ever forgive me…”
Reaching out, he eased her arms down. Then he searched her panicked face.
“What can I do to help it,” she whispered. “Tell me how I can make it up to you, tell me… if it is not too late, please, I love you, and I wish to make this right between us, if I am able.”
A warm, fuzzy pool of relief started to flush into the cold vault he had become, and he found himself weaving on his feet.
Then he said softly, “For you and me, it is never, ever too late. If I’ve told you once, I’ll tell you a thousand more times. You are my Gift of Light. Without you by my side, I am forever in darkness.”
As he spoke, her eyes shifted over his head. “Your halo… I love that it is with you.”
He smiled a little. “That’s because you bring it to me.”
With a muffled sob, she threw her arms around him and kissed him.
As the funeral wore on and grief found expression deep within the recess of the earth, outside, closer to the surface, love rebloomed in the midst of the early spring.
Like wild flowers in a meadow of April snow.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
One hundred million years after Beth donned a white robe and left the royal suite, she returned to the third floor of the Brotherhood mansion, aching and tired. Worn out. Cried out. Hollowed out.
As she closed herself in, she forced herself to look around. The jeweled walls still gleamed, the furniture remained in the same places, the layout with the bath beyond and the nook with the crib was identical.
A wrecking ball had busted through the place, however. Everything was ruined. But that wasn’t the worst part of it all.
The worst part was that Wrath’s clothes were still hanging in their closet, and the pillow beside her own still smelled like him, and there was his cell phone, right by his side of the bed.
The worst part of coming back here was all the evidence of the life interrupted, the personal possessions that no longer had an owner.
On that note, George walked by her, passing by his bed and his water bowl, going straight over and hopping up on the mattress. He curled into a ball where Wrath had always slept, tucking his tail in and putting his head on his front paws. His brown eyes watched her as if he were waiting for her to fall apart again.
And as if his heart was broken, too.
Glancing down into L.W.’s face, she found the young staring at her in exactly the same way—and looking into those pale green eyes, she nearly started weeping again.
Not for the last time, she couldn’t decide whether the fact that those were his father’s eyes was bad or good.
Maybe later on, when the grief wasn’t so fresh, it would be a solace to look into them. Right now, it was a dagger straight into her heart.
Going across the grand and glorious space, she had a thought that she should eat something.
A thought that she should change out of the robe.
A thought… about something else, something practical, that likewise went right out of her head.
Lying down next to George, she put L.W. to her chest and let the tears fall. Then again, she couldn’t have stopped them if she’d tried.
Shifting her stare over to Wrath’s pillow, she moved the thing out of the way. There, under where he had put his head for all those days, a black dagger was pressed into the mattress.
She remembered back to their beginning, when he had come to her at her old apartment and told her that he was what she needed. He had been terrifying and beautiful—and also the explanation, finally, as to why she had always felt so apart from everyone around her.
He’d been the trailhead to her true identity, to the father she had always wanted to know, to her community.
