Down in the gym, Cahrnage stepped cautiously out of the abandoned office and looked around. No sign of Mayhem or Vi. Still, didn’t mean Carrot Top Junior wasn’t lurking somewhere with one of his babies strapped in a leather papoose on his back.
He listened carefully, taking in each and every sound in the big, underground training center.
Nothing.
He let out a sigh of relief. Thank the Scribe Virgin. Vi must have been too focused on Mayhem to bother looking for him.
The male closed the door behind him and made his way past the rows of exercise equipment and out into the tunnel leading to the main house. He was a bit too wired for dematerialization right now. And he didn’t fancy the intense pain of trying to unscramble his molecules on an overly pumped brain. Demat-ing, as he called it, could go wrong when you didn’t focus and calm yourself. And it had a nasty habit of being a bit of a pain for him under normal circumstances.
Cahr’s long strides took him down the tunnel and to the steps up into the main house quickly. He pushed aside the hidden door and emerged out in the mansion’s foyer.
The place was eerily quiet. Cahr had a feeling Vi’s latest rampage had scared most of the mansion’s inhabitants back to their respective rooms. The only sound was a faint thumping noise that sounded like it was coming from the area of Rhage and Mary’s room. Jeeeezuuuuus...... Looked like Hollywood was up and at ‘em already. Maybe he had a thicker head than they already knew he had. Oh, well. If he was all sexed out by tomorrow night (or as sexed out as the horny ass could get), maybe he’d be a little more forgiving of Cahr’s use of his... well, for using any and all means to keep his ass from being dragon munchies.
Just as Cahr was about to make for the stairs, a bomb seemed to explode at the top of them. A roar of fury echoed throughout the vast expanse of the foyer and engulfed Cahr, sending him to his knees and forcing him to cover his ears.
Holy fucking Virgin! Cahr looked up as the doors to Wrath’s study burst open with a blast of cold air and a body flew out into open space two stories above.
Cahr stood, a warning cry in his throat, but the flying figure managed to land on the stairs and tumble down to the floor below, rather than doing a belly flop that would have earned a ten out of ten in any high dive competition. As Cahr watched, the redheaded form stood slowly, moaning and nursing a split lip, cut eyebrow, and a bleeding nose.
Wrath appeared at the top of the steps. The cold that had filled the foyer intensified until Cahr could almost feel his cock shriveling in his plaid pajama bottoms. The king was righteously pissed, his eyes glowing through his wraparound sunglasses and his long-ass black hair flying around his head. His leather trenchcoat flapped in the chill wind, making him seem ten times larger than he already was. To top off the scariness, his fangs were fully extended, reaching out of his open mouth and seeming to almost touch his chin as he snarled with unrestrained ferocity and rage.
George, the king’s seeing eye golden retriever, scampered out, tail between his legs, to stand beside his master. Behind them, Mayhem stared wide-eyed over Wrath’s shoulder at Vilense, who was wiping the blood from his nose and watching Wrath like a safari tourist watching a rampaging rhino.
“You think it’s funny?!” Wrath bellowed, sounding more like a rabid grizzly than a rhino. His pooch’s ears flopped lower than usual, and he whimpered. “You think it’s funny, do you, that my shellan was scared shitless by you dematerializing in the billiards room with your goddamned, motherfucking cherry bomb gun, gunning for a fellow Brother who happens to be your roommate? You think its funny that she was so scared and pissed that she ran to me in tears, thinking you’d gone crazy for legit and was already prepared to go shoot you down herself? If I hadn’t taken the motherfucking gun from her, you might be dead, though I don’t trust Beth’s aim when she’s panicking anymore than I trust it when she’s fine. She was prepared to put you down herself! Put you down like a motherfucking dog!” His dog whined again. “She thought you were a danger to everyone else! She told all the females to take refuge, fucking told Bella to take Nalla, lock themselves in their room, and let no one in! That’s how bad it was! She fucking thought you were apeshit enough to go after Bella and her young!”
Vilense’s eyes widened like tennis balls, as if he hadn’t realized the adverse effect he had on everyone when he went berserk. Which he probably never had, considering he never stuck around to watch the world go up in flames. “Wrath, I—”
“DON’T YOU EVEN!” the king bellowed at the top of his lungs. The cold increased, causing frost to creep up the marble columns of the foyer and sneak down the banisters of the stairs. “Don’t you even try to justify yourself, you fucking asswipe! Right now, I’m not the only one who’s ready to rip your head off. You had Bella scared nearly as shitless as Beth, and Bella wasn’t even in the fucking room! Zsadist wants your head on a spit for Fritz to roast, and the only reason I haven’t killed you yet myself is because I’m tempted to let Z have his way with you!”
Vi blanched until he looked like molding oatmeal. He knew, as did Cahr, Mayhem, and Wrath, what would happen to him if Z got a hold of him. There wouldn’t be a body, or anything for that matter, to bury.
Wrath whipped his shades off, and rubbed his nose with his eyes closed. Without the wraparounds on, he looked a little less scary, more like an angry male than an incarnation of Jack the Ripper. “Zsadist, Butch, and Vishous are all petitioning me to either kick you out or kill you, Vi. Everybody’s worried that you’ve become a liability.” He dropped his hand and opened his eyes, turning them towards the bleeding Brother’s scent. He may have lost his sight, but his peepers could still show the anger and confusion he obviously felt, and he didn’t bother to put his shades back on. “Is that what you want? Huh? Tell me, is that what you truly want? You’re a valuable asset to the Brotherhood and the species, Vilense. I don’t want to have to put you down anymore than Beth wants to watch tonight’s game on TV. And I sure as hell don’t want to get rid of you. So what the fuck am I gonna do with you?”
Vilense averted his gaze from the king’s and stared at the nearest marble column.
“Don’t have an answer?” Wrath snorted, but there was no humor on his face or in the eyes that he now covered with his wraparounds. “Neither do I. Right now, with civilian deaths increasing and reports of increasing numbers of lessers, I can’t afford to lose anyone permanently.” The male sighed, his shoulders drooping under the strain and stress of his job. Cahr felt, yet again, a stab of anxiety for his king’s health. This kind of stress wasn’t healthy for anyone, and the additional strain of trying to rule and live as normally as possible without eyesight could not be helping any.
“Right now, I think the only thing I can do is take you off rotation for a while.” Wrath faced Vi again, and nodded wearily. “Yeah... that’s about all I can afford to do. So....”
Vi’s eyes got wider, his mouth working and making him look like a guppy. “Wrath, you can’t be–”
The king growled, but with out any real anger behind it. It was the sound of a male who was too tired to listen to any more bullshit. “Yes, I can, and don’t even fucking try to argue the point. Vilense, son of Zslautehr, for the next thirty nights, you are relieved of all Brotherhood duties. In a crisis or other serious sitch, you may be called upon as a reserve fighter, but under any and all normal circumstances, you will remain in the mansion or other non-combat zone. The Brothers and I trust that you won’t need a full time guard. However, if you choose to leave the mansion for non-combat purposes, to visit Screamer’s or somewhere like that, you will be escorted by another Brother. Understand?”
Vi looked like he was somewhere in between screaming and puking. But rather than shredding his voice box or performing the Amazing Technicolor Yawn on the mosaic tiles, he bowed at the waist and managed, “Yes, my lord. I understand.”
Wrath sighed again. “I need more than that, Vi. I need it in the Old Language.”
Vi’s head twitched as he glanced up the stairs at Wrath, Mayhem, and the dog, then over his shoulder at Cahr, who was still standing outside the door to the tunnels. Then he hissed, in the Old Language, “Upon mine honor as a Brother of the Black Dagger Brotherhood, and upon my oath of fealty to thee, mine king, I swear to abide by the code of conduct placed upon me for mine unfitting behavior.”
Wrath nodded and replied in the same tongue, “I accept thy oath, Vilense, son of Zslautehr, and trust thee to hold to this agreement.” As Vi straightened, Wrath turned, laying his hand on the retriever’s head. “Go on, scram, you two. I don’t want to catch a fresh whiff of either of you until tomorrow night. It’s too late for any of us to be up for long, so move your asses. That includes you, Cahrnage,” he called, startling the crap out of Cahr, who’d been so caught up in the exchange that he hadn’t realized Wrath could probably smell him, too.
The king allowed himself to be guided back to his study by George, taking the cold air with him and closing the doors behind himself, shutting all three of them out.
Mayhem stood staring at the shut doors for a moment, then looked down at Vi and started down the stairs. “Hey, Vi, man, you ok—”
Vi snarled, and Mayhem stopped. “Bed. Now. I don’t want to see you, either of you—” his head whipped around, and Cahr got the full blast of Vi’s Glowing Glare of Doom, “—until tomorrow night. I am liable to make a serious attempt on both of your lives otherwise. So be forewarned. Do not worry about my sleeping arrangements. I am going to sleep in the guest room two doors down from you, and I will not take any visitors. So stay the hell away from me and that room, and be sure to let Fritz and the rest of the house know. Good night.”
The male bowed low to each of them and dematerialized. Mayhem blinked a few times, then shot Cahr a look. “We lettin’ him do his own thing today for real?”
Cahr nodded. Vi only ever talked with proper grammar when he was dead serious. It didn’t stop a smattering of curses from arranging themselves in his vocabulary, but the sound of a semi-gentlemanly tone coming out of his mouth meant you did what he wanted or you were worse off than he would be if Zsadist let loose on him.
Mayhem clunked down the stairs, his shitkickers heavy on the steps and making echoing thuds every time he descended one. At the bottom, he stopped and sank down onto the bottom-most step, rubbing his hand over his close-cropped hair and tattoo. “Shit... I feel bad, Cahr. I mean, if we hadn’t unplugged his friggin’ laptop, he would’ve still been able to fight. He ain’t gonna get over that any time soon.”
Cahr went and joined him on the stair, enclosing his bent knees in a loose embrace and staring at his linked hands. “No, man, if I hadn’t attacked you, the computer wouldn’t’ve been unplugged.”
Mayhem looked at him and gave him a crooked smile. “Whatev. Hey, if I hadn’t made those wiseass remarks about betting on Rhage kicking your ass, you wouldn’t’ve attacked me. So, really, it’s my bad.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Cahr shrugged.
“Asshole.”
“Dickwad.”
They both smiled, although neither could quite muster the enthusiasm to laugh. Cahr stood up again, feeling restless but a little better. Mayhem stood, too, stretching his arms out and sighing. “Well, I think I’ve had enough of a workout tonight. How ‘bout you?” He looked Cahr over and gave him a sympathetic smile. “No offence, dude, but you look like shit.”
Cahr rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly feeling as tired as he obviously looked. “You would, too, dipshit, if you’d had the night I had.”
Mayhem’s black eyebrows rose, but he nodded. “Yeah, I probably would. C’mon, let’s hit the sack.”
“What sack? My mattress is a genuine Hästens Sängar Vividus, fuck you very much. I dunno if your pathetic little Tempur-Pedic qualifies as anything but a sack.”
“Hey, no ragging on my Swedish Sleep System. Besides, all your Vividus proves is that you’re willing to pay sixty grand on a mattress.”
“So?”
“That’s got ‘pussy’ written all over it.”
“Don’t make me kick your ass again.”
They made it up to their room, bantering and razzing each other like normal. But the sight of Vilense’s empty bed brought their fooling around to a halt. In silence, Mayhem stripped down and crawled under the single comforter on his bed. Cahr, still only in his PJ bottoms, threw back the single sheet on his bed and lay down. Covering himself with it, he craned his neck and looked over at Mayhem, who had his back to him and his face practically kissing the wall. “Yo, Tiger.”
“Mm?”
“What’re we gonna do ‘bout Vi?”
Mayhem shrugged one shoulder, still facing the wall. “Not really our problem, is it?”
“You know damn good and well it is. Look, I was thinking. Tomorrow night, since we’ve got the night off, why don’t the three of us hit one of the clubs? Iron Mask, maybe? Or what about that new place, Freeze? Couple rounds of something oughta at least help Vi with his anger prob.”
Mayhem lifted his head and turned it slightly, half-looking over his shoulder. “Hmm... yeah, I’m down with that.” He put his head back on his pillow and wriggled around a bit, getting more comfortable. “Now, try that hypno shit on yourself and get some sleep. Can’t walk into a bar with you looking like the southbound end of a northbound cow.”
Cahrnage laughed and willed the lights off. Lying on his back in the dark, he listened for a while to the sound of Mayhem’s breathing, hearing it slow down and even out as he finally drifted off.
Despite his own lack of energy, and the way his body was feeling like he’d been run over by a John Deer a couple thousand times, Cahr couldn’t drop off as quickly as Mayhem had. His eyes were heavy, and he couldn’t have opened them if he’d wanted to. But his mind was too busy. For some reason, he kept thinking about tonight. The Beast was unpredictable, unless, of course, you were Rhage and could tell that in about thirty seconds, everyone was on the menu at Papa Beast’s Vampire Take’n’Bake. But for the most part, most of the Brothers were on the Beast’s “tempting-but-I’ll-pass” list. Cahr had been able to keep from being eaten multiple times without having to resort to his, for lack of a much better term, special ability.
Tonight, however, was weird.
And it wasn’t the first time either. Two months ago, he had been out hunting with Rhage and Z. They’d found some lessers and took them on. Rhage didn’t even get shot that time, and the Beast poofed out of nowhere. Plus side: the Beast had taken care of the lessers, even though Cahr would rather have called Butch for cleanup. Minus: the Beast decided it wasn’t quite full yet and turned on him and Z. They had been really lucky that time, because it started chasing them out of the alley and had gotten stuck between a parked truck and a couple dumpsters. Cahr had sedated it and brought Rhage back, but had been stuck with being the one Rhage vented on afterwards.
Hollywood did not do so well with asteroid-sized migraines.
Be that as it may, even Rhage was admitting that something was up with the Beast. And whatever it was, it wasn’t good. As far as Cahr could tell, Rhage’s sex life was as fabulous as ever, so that wasn’t the problem. He and Mary weren’t having any problems. He hadn’t fought with any of the Brothers recently, and the Brothers didn’t have any problems with him. The Beast shouldn’t be feeding off any pent up anger or frustration Rhage was feeling. So that left only two other options, to Cahr’s mind.
Option One: The Beast was really a girl and was PMSing, which Cahr wouldn’t doubt considering he had very little experience with the Beast at that close of a range. He generally tried to stay as far back from the thing as possible, but up until now, he had had the distinct impression that the Beast was male. You never knew, though, unless you were Hollywood.
Option Two: The Beast was starting to fight for the right to Rhage’s physicality. A.k.a., it wanted out, and was increasing its efforts to get out.
Cahr fervently hoped it was Option One. Because nobody wanted to deal with Puff the Magic Dragon’s evil cousin running around Caldwell.
The male rolled onto his side, facing the room but keeping his eyes shut. The distinct lack of a third person in the room was making him edgy. Not hearing the sound of Vi’s breathing, his sighs of contentment in a good dream or the growls of anger and fear in a nightmare, gave Cahr the feeling that the world was out of balance. It was just wrong. Vi should be there, in his bed across from Cahr’s, sleeping peacefully like a creepy, grown-up, not-scarred version of Chucky.
Okay, no, scratch that. That was a bad analogy. A really bad one.
Point was, Cahr was getting worried. Rhage wasn’t the only one with increasing control problems of late. Vilense had been getting weirder, too. It was hard to notice unless you were paying attention, but there were signs. The male spent more and more time in the room, working online and inventing crazy new shit, and when he went out to hunt, he would wrap things up so quickly that his groups would have to come home early. Cahr had suspected for some time that Vi had a secret online lover or something stupid like that, but Vi didn’t really seem capable of loving anything except his inventions. No, it was something else, and Cahr was not exactly sure he wanted to know what it was.
No matter the case, it was scaring Cahr. Not that he could ever voice that particular thought to anyone. Brothers didn’t get scared like female young. They sucked it up and dealt with it. That’s how it was.
So why am I feeling like such a pansy-assed bitch? he wondered, finally starting to feel exhaustion take over his mind. Why am I the only one who’s terrified at the thought of what might happen if Vi goes nuts for real?
He couldn’t think about it anymore tonight. His internal clock was telling him that the sun was up high enough in the sky that he needed to turn off his brain and sleep. Tomorrow night would be better. Vilense would have had time to calm down a bit, sleep, get refreshed and, hopefully, decide not to kill anyone. Then Cahr and Mayhem would take him out to a club or something and let him unwind, shake loose a little more angst with a few rounds of his favorite Smirnov or his high-end Herradura tequila, again with the hopes that he wouldn’t Freddy Kruger anyone. Cahr groaned as he remembered that they were supposed to have told Fritz not to bug Vi, but since the doggen didn’t know that Vi had switched rooms for the day, he would hopefully come by here first to deliver breakfast, as Cahr had requested he do on their days off rotation. So that should be okay.
Of course, now, he was having other issues going under. Like the mental image of Vi standing over him while he slept, holding a knife and saying, "Hi, I'm Chucky, and I'm your friend 'til the end! Hidey-ho!" Yeah... he was not getting any sleep today.