"Yes, Directrix."

Cormia squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for her friend as she left. A whole cycle in that temple? You could go mad from the sensory deprivation.

The Directrix's words were clipped. "I would send you there, too, were there not things you need to attend."

Cormia brushed off her tears. "Yes, Directrix."

"You shall begin your preparations now by reading this." The leather-bound book landed on the bed. "It details the Primale's rights and your obligations. When you have finished, you will begin your sexual tutorial."

Oh, dear Virgin, please, not the Directrix… please, not the Directrix…

"Layla will instruct you." As Cormia's shoulders sagged, the Directrix snapped, "Shall I take offense at your relief that it shall be not I who teaches you?"

"Not at all, my sister."

"Now you offend with untruth. Look at me. Look at me."

Cormia lifted her eyes and couldn't help but draw back in fear as the Directrix pinned her with a hard stare.

"You shall do your duty and do it well or I shall cast you out. Do you understand me? You shall be cast out."

Cormia was so stunned she couldn't reply. Cast out? Cast out… to the far side?

"Answer me. Are we clear?"

"Y-yes, Directrix."

"Mistake this not. The survival of the Chosen and the order I have established herein are of the only significance. Any one individual who obstacles either will be eliminated. Remind you that when you feel the urge to pity yourself. This is an honor and it shall be revoked with attendant consequences by my hand. Are we clear? Are we clear?"

Cormia couldn't find her voice, so she nodded.

The Directrix shook her head, a strange light coming into her eye. "Save for your bloodline, you are wholly unacceptable. As of fact, the entirety of this is wholly unacceptable."

The Directrix left in a whisper of robing, her white silk sheath flowing around the doorjamb in her wake.

Cormia put her head in her hands and bit her lower lip as she contemplated her station: Her body had just been promised to a warrior she'd never met… who was begotten of a brutish and cruel sire… and upon her shoulders the noble tradition of Chosen rested.

Honor? Nay, this was a punishment-for the audacity of wanting something for herself.

As another martini arrived, Phury tried to remember whether it was his fifth? Or six? He wasn't sure.

"Man, good thing we ain't fighting tonight," Butch said. "You're drinking that shit like water."

"I'm thirsty."

"Guess so." The cop stretched in the booth. "How much longer you plan on rehydrating there, Lawrence of Arabia?"

"You don't have to hang-"

"Move over, cop."

Both Phury and Butch glanced up. V had appeared in front of the table from out of nowhere, and something was up. With his wide eyes and his pale face, he looked like he'd been in accident, though he wasn't bleeding.

"Hey, my man." Butch scooted to the right to make room. "Didn't think we'd see you tonight."

V sat down, his leather biker's jacket bunching up and making his big shoulders look positively immense. In an uncharacteristic move, he started drumming his fingers on the table top.

Butch frowned at his roommate. "You look like road-kill. What's doing?"

Vishous linked his hands together. "This isn't the place."

"So let's go home."

"No fucking way. I'm going to be trapped there all day long." V lifted his hand. When the waitress came over, he put a hundred on her tray. "Keep the Goose coming, true? And that's just for the tip."

She smiled. "My pleasure."

As she took off for the bar like she was on roller skates, V's eyes sifted through the VIP area, his brows down low. Shit, he wasn't checking out the crowd. He was trolling for a fight. And was it possible that the brother was… glowing a little?

Phury looked to the left and tapped his ear twice, sending a request to one of the Moors that guarded a private door. The security guard nodded and spoke into a wristwatch.

Moments later a huge male with a cropped mohawk came out. Rehvenge was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and had a black cane in his right hand. As he came slowly over to the Brotherhood's table, his patrons parted before him, partly out of respect for his size, partly out of fear from his reputation. Everyone knew who he was and what he was capable of: Rehv was the kind of drug lord who took a personal interest in his livelihood. You crossed him and you turned up diced like something off the Food Channel.

Zsadist's half-breed brother-in-law was proving to be a surprising ally for the Brotherhood, although Rehv's true nature complicated everything. It wasn't smart to get in bed with a symphath. Literally or figuratively. So he was an uneasy friend and relative.

His tight smile barely showed any fangs. "Evening, gentlemen."

"Mind if we use your office for a little private biz?" Phury asked.

"I'm not talking," V ground out as his drink arrived. With a flip of the wrist he tossed the thing back like he had a fire in his gut and the shit was water. "Not. Talking."

Phury and Butch locked eyes, and a perfect accord was met: Vishous was so going to convo.

"Your office?" Phury said to Rehvenge.

Rehv lifted an elegant eyebrow, his amethyst eyes shrewd. "Not sure you'd want to use it. The place is wired for sound, and every syllable goes on record. Unless… of course… I'm in there."

Not ideal, but anything that hurt the Brotherhood hurt Rehv's sister, as Z's mate. So even though the guy was part symphath, he had the motivation to be tight about whatever went down.

Phury slid out of the booth and stared at V. "Bring your drink."

"No."

Butch got up. "Then you're leaving it. Because if you won't go home, we talk here."

V's eyes gleamed. And they weren't the only thing. "Fuck-"

Butch leaned down onto the table. "Right now you're throwing off an aura like your ass is plugged into the wall. So I strongly encourage you to drop the I-am-an-island bullshit and get your sorry excuse for a personality into Rehv's office before we have a situation. Dig?"

There was a long stretch of nothing but V and Butch looking at each other. Then V got to his feet and headed for Rehv's office. On the way, his anger carried a toxic chemical smell, the kind that stung your nose raw.

Man, the cop was the only one who had a chance with V when the male was like this.

So thank God for the Irishman.

The group of them went through the door guarded by the pair of Moors and took up res in Rehvenge's cave of an office. As the door shut, Rehv went behind his desk, reached under it, and a beeping sound went off.

"We're clear," he said, lowering himself into a black leather chair.

They all stared at V… who promptly went zoo animal, all pacing around and looking like he wanted to eat someone. The brother finally stopped across the room from Butch. The recessed light above him wasn't as bright as what was shining under his skin.

"Talk to me," Butch murmured.

Without saying a word, V took something out of his back pocket. As his arm came forward, a heavy gold pendant swung on the end of a silken cord.

"Seems I got a new job."

"Oh… shit," Phury whispered.

The setup in Blay's bedroom was SOP for John and his buddies: John was on the foot of the bed. Blay was cross-legged on the floor. Qhuinn was in full lounge, his new body hanging half on, half off a beanbag chair. Coronas were open, and bags of Doritos and Ruffles were being passed around.

"Okay, so spill," Blay said. "What was your transition like?"

"Screw the change, I got laid." As Blay and John both bug-eyed, Qhuinn chuckled. "Yeah. I did. Got my cherry popped, so to speak."