He and Jane were going to come back here, he decided. The next time he was off rotation, and she was out of the clinic, they were going to spend a day and night together here and it was going to be fucking fantastic. They were going to eat too much, and then get under some homemade quilts, and he was going to fuck her twelve different ways to Sunday. And after they were done, they were going to fall asleep with her on his chest—and then he was going to wake up halfway through the day to find himself handcuffed to the headboard.
Whereupon they were going to do things that were still considered illegal in some Southern states—
The door creaked as it opened behind him, and Phury came out with a smile. “V, my brother. Glad to see you.”
The pair of them clapped palms and slapped each other on the shoulder.
“You coming in? You want to eat?”
As Phury indicated the way inside, he was looking hopeful. Like he’d been worried about all that shit with Jane saving his life, and couldn’t believe he’d been granted an opportunity to reassure himself on that front.
“Ah, yeah.” V shrugged. “I’m not real hungry, but sure.”
They went in together, and Phury shut things up tightly. The hearth in the main open space was roaring with a great fire, and on the far side, through the entryway into the kitchen, V caught sight of a roasted turkey just out of the oven.
His stomach grumbled so loudly, Phury laughed. “You sure you’re not hungry.”
“Yeah, I might be rethinking that hard line, my brother.”
“Come on, I’ll make you a plate.”
The old house’s floorboards groaned under their weight, and they had to file into the kitchen one after the other to fit through the jambs.
“Sit,” Phury ordered.
So he did. “Where’s Cormia?”
“She and the other Chosen are at the mansion tonight.”
“Making the rounds, huh.”
“There are some blood needs.” The brother got two plates out and brought them over to the island. “Listen, V, about what happened in that alley—”
“I’m just glad you’re okay.” V sat on one of the stools. “And Jane, too.”
Phury’s yellow eyes locked on V. “I need you to know that I wouldn’t have asked her to do that. I never would have—I’m responsible for myself out there. No one else is. She was unbelievably heroic, and I am incredibly grateful. But it would have been a horrible outcome for me to be alive at the end of that and your shellan not.”
“I know.” V almost reached out and squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “And everything is good between you and me. No worries, true?”
“Thank you.” Phury took a deep breath. “Now, what’s on your mind?”
As Phury started working the turkey with a carving knife, peeling perfectly sliced pieces of meat off and transferring them to the plates, V wondered exactly how to put this. And then decided, fuck it.
“Who’s up next,” he demanded. “I know you know. You have to.”
Phury paused in mid-slice transfer. “What are you talking about?”
“After my mother. You’re the Primale. You have to know who she tapped for a successor. I won’t tell anyone else, but I don’t understand why it’s such a goddamn secret.”
Phury put the slice on the plate and looked up, those citrine eyes steady. “I have no clue. I’ve been wondering myself. I assumed you knew and were keeping it to yourself?”
Cursing, V patted his jacket and then paused. “You mind if I smoke?”
“Nope, not at all.”
“Thank you, baby Jesus, to borrow a phrase from Butch.”
As he lit up, he exhaled away from his brother. “This is just another of her bullshit games. We have a right to know. I don’t like all the shady around this, especially if the war is supposedly ending.”
“Have you asked Wrath?”
“No. Not yet.”
As the brother put the carving knife aside, he said, “Stuffing?”
“Am I breathing?”
Phury shoved a spoon into the bird and piled high. “Mashed?”
“Do you have gravy?”
“Am I breathing?”
V cracked a smile. “Roger that. And affirmative on the gravy.”
When a plate was put in front of him, he glanced up. “No veggies? Not that I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth.”
“Vegetable matter is a waste of porcelain space.” Phury pushed a knife and fork across the butcher block. “Ask yourself, would I sacrifice the surface area of mashed or stuffing for peas?”
“I love you.”
After V put out his barely-smoked hand-rolled at the sink, the two of them ate side by side, Phury still on his feet, V parked on the stool. The kitchen was a nice mix of old and new, the appliances state of the art, the exposed shelves, beams overhead, and old, diamond-paned windows all about the been-there-forever.
“We got any prophecies I’m not aware of?” V asked.
“You know everything I do.”
“You say the sweetest goddamn things.”
After Vishous finished the last of everything on his plate, he lit up another cigarette. “I’ll talk to Wrath, then.”
“You know, I never had much dealing with your mahmen. She wasn’t a big fan of mine—then again, I ruined everything.”
“Ask the Chosen.” V got up and took his plate to the sink. “I don’t think they’ll agree with that, true? You were their liberator.”
As Phury made some kind of a sound that could have meant anything, V took the brother’s empty and brought it over to the Kohler. “Where’s your dishwasher?”
Phury seemed to shake himself. “Ah…sorry, we don’t have one. I’ll take care of it.”
“Good. That sponge crap is above my pay grade.” V lifted his curse over his shoulder. “Unless you want me to incinerate your basin—”
“Hey, Vishous?”
V pivoted away from the sink. Phury had shifted position so he was leaning back against the counter by the gas stove, his arms crossed over his chest, his long legs, both the one that was flesh and the other that was a prosthetic, crossed at the boots. His brows were down low, his multi-colored mane of hair flowing over his shoulders like some kind of sunrise.
“What do you need?” V demanded. “Whatever it is, I’m in.”
“How about some forgiveness?” As V recoiled, Phury said in a low voice, “I feel like it’s my fault.”
“What is?”
“That your mahmen left the species.” The brother tilted his head back and seemed to be staring up through the house to the heavens above. “I mean, maybe if I hadn’t come along and fallen in love with Cormia and released all the Chosen…maybe the Scribe Virgin would have stuck around, you know?”
“Oh, hell no.” V pegged the brother with hard eyes. “You don’t own shit about any of it. Disappearing was her choice. Nobody put a gun to her head and made her peace out. The bottom line was, she wasn’t getting her ass kissed enough so she decided to fuck off the race she created. That’s her failure, not yours, mine, my sister’s, or anybody else’s.”
Phury shook his head. “Apart from the loss to the species as a whole, I’ve been worried that I took your mahmen away from you and Payne. Like I’d betrayed you in some way. It’s been killing me.”
V marched over to the guy, grabbed on to those big shoulders, and gave Phury a good shake. “Snap out of it. Don’t waste one more goddamn thought on it. She isn’t worth your time—and the sooner you come over to my side of things, the happier you’ll be. And forget the mahmen crap. Just because a female births something doesn’t mean she’s a mahmen, and when it came to the Scribe Virgin, that was true for the race, and me and my sister.” He shrugged. “Ask yourself, if you and Cormia had a young, can you imagine—can you fathom even for a second—your mate deserting that kid for any reason, under any circumstance?”
“No.” Phury shook his head. “Not at all.”