After the rush had passed and faded, she opened her eyes and was greeted by the warm yellow stare that made her glow from the inside out.
"I love waking up," he said, kissing her on the mouth.
"Me, too - "
The stairwell fire alarm went off, its shrill cry the kind of thing that made you want to be deaf.
Phury laughed and rolled to the side, tucking her into his chest. "Five... four... three... two - "
"Soooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrryyy!" Layla called out from the foot of the stairs.
"What was it this time, Chosen?" he hollered back.
"Scrambled eggs," she yelled up.
Phury shook his head and said softly to Cormia, "See, I'd have figured it was the toast."
"Can't be that. She broke the toaster yesterday."
"She did?"
Cormia nodded. "Tried to put a piece of pizza in it. The cheese."
"Everywhere?"
"Everywhere."
Phury spoke up. "That's okay, Layla. You can always clean the pan and try again."
"I don't think the pan's going to work anymore," came the reply.
Phury's voice dropped. "I'm so not going to ask."
"Aren't they metal?"
"Should be."
"I'd better go help." Cormia shifted upright and called out, "I'm coming down, my sister! Two secs."
Phury tugged her back to him for a kiss, then let her go. She had a quick shower, as in lightning quick, and came out wearing loose blue jeans and one of Phury's Gucci shirts.
Maybe it came from years of wearing robes, but she didn't like tight clothes. Which was fine with her hellren, because he liked her in his.
"That color looks perfect on you," he drawled as he watched her plait her hair.
"You like the lavender?" She did a little twirl for him and his stare flashed brilliant yellow.
"Oh, yeah. I like. Come here, Chosen."
She put her hands on her hips as the piano started playing down below. Scales. Which meant Selena was up. "I have to go downstairs before Layla burns the house down."
Phury smiled that smile he sported when he was picturing her very, very naked. "Come here, Chosen."
"How about I go and come back with food?"
Phury had the audacity to throw the tangled sheet away and put his hand on his hard, heavy sex. "Only you have what I'm hungry for."
A vacuum cleaner joined the chorus of noise coming from downstairs, so it was clear who else was up and about. Amalya and Pheonia drew straws every day to see who got to use the Dyson. Didn't matter whether the carpets in Rehvenge's great camp needed it or not - they always got vacuumed.
"Two secs," she said, knowing that if she got within range of his hands, they were going to be all over each other again. "Then I'll come back and you can feed my mouth, how about that."
Phury's massive body trembled, his eyes rolling back into his skull. "Oh, yeah. That's... Oh, yeah, that's a very good plan."
His phone let out a reminder beep, and he reached over to the bedside table with a groan. "Okay, go on now, before I don't let you out of here for another hour. Or four."
She laughed and turned for the door.
"Dear... God."
Cormia turned around. "What is it?"
Phury sat up slowly, his hands holding the phone as if it were worth more than the four hundred dollars he'd paid for it the week before.
"Phury?"
He held it out to her screen-first.
The text was from Zsadist: Baby girl, two hours ago. Nalla. Hope you're good. Z.
She bit her lip and then gently put her hand on his shoulder. "You should go back to the house. You should see him. See them."
Phury swallowed hard. "Yeah. I don't know. Not going back there... I think it's maybe a good thing. Wrath and I can do what we need to over the phone and... Yeah. Better not to."
"Are you going to return the text?"
"I am." He covered his hips with the sheet and just stared at the phone.
After a moment, she said, "Would you like me to do it for you?"
He nodded. "Please. Make it from both of us, 'kay?"
She kissed the top of his head and then texted, Blessings upon you and your shellan and your young. We are with you in spirit, love, Phury and Cormia.
The following evening, Phury was tempted not to go to the NA meeting. Very tempted.
He wasn't sure what made him go. Didn't know how he did it.
All he wanted was to light up so he didn't have to feel the pain. But how messed up was it that he was hurting? The fact that his twin's young had come into the world healthy, that Z was now a father, that Bella had lived through it, that the young was all right... you would figure he'd be thrilled and relieved. It was what he and everyone else had been praying for.
No doubt he was the only one who was f**ked in the head over it all. The rest of the Brothers would be busy toasting Z and his new daughter and pampering Bella. The celebrations would be going on for weeks, and Fritz would be ecstatic with all the special meals and ceremonies.
Phury could just see it. The grand entrance of the mansion would be draped in bolts of brilliant green, the color of Z's bloodline, and purple, the color of Bella's. Wreaths of flowers would be hung on every single door in the house, even the closets and cabinets, to symbolize that Nalla had come through to this side. The fireplaces would stay lit for days with sweet logs, those slow-burning, treated pieces of wood whose flames would burn red for the new blood of the darling one.
At the start of the twenty-fourth hour following her birth, every person in the house would bring unto the proud parents a tremendous ribbon bow woven of their family colors. The bows would be tied on the spindles of Nalla's crib, as pledges to oversee her through her life. By the end of the hour, the place where she laid her precious head would be covered with a cascade of satin bows, their long ends reaching the floor in a river of love.
Nalla would be gifted with priceless jewelry and draped in velvet and held in gentle arms. She would be cherished for the miracle she was, and ever would her birth be rejoiced in the hearts of those who had waited with hope and fear to greet her.
Yeah... Phury didn't know what got him to the community center. And he didn't know what helped him through that door and into that basement. And he didn't know what made him stay.
He did know that when he returned to Rehvenge's house, he couldn't go inside.
Instead he sat on the back terrace, in a woven wicker chair, under the stars. There was nothing on his mind. And absolutely everything.
Cormia came out at some point and put her hand on his shoulder, as she always did when she sensed he was deep in his head. He kissed her palm, and then she kissed his mouth and went back inside, likely to get back to work on the plans for Rehv's new club.
The night was quiet and downright cold. Every once in a while the wind would come and brush through the treetops, the autumnal leaves rustling together with a cooing sound like they enjoyed the attention.
Behind him in the house, he could hear the future. The Chosen were stretching their arms out into this world, learning things about themselves and this side. He was so proud of them, and he supposed he was the Primale of old tradition in that he would kill to protect his females and would do anything for any of them.
But it was a fatherly love. His mated love was for Cormia and her alone.
Phury rubbed the center of his chest and let the hours pass as they would, at their own speed, while the wind gusted as it did, at its own strength. The moon drifted up to its apex in the sky and began its descent. Someone put opera on inside the house. Someone changed it to hip-hop, thank God. Someone started a shower. Someone vacuumed. Again.
Life. In all its mundane majesty.
And you couldn't take advantage of it if you were sitting on your ass in the shadows...whether that was in actuality, or metaphorically because you were trapped in an addict's darkness.
Phury reached down and touched the calf of his prosthesis. He'd made it this far with only part of a leg. Living through the rest of his life without his twin and without his brothers... he would do that, too. He had much to be grateful for, and that would make up for a lot.
He wouldn't always feel this empty.
Someone in the house went back to the opera.
Oh, shit. Puccini this time.
"Che Gelida Manina."
Of all the choices they had, why pick the one solo guaranteed to make him feel worse? God, he hadn't listened to La Bohème since... well, forever, it seemed. And the sound of what he had loved so much squeezed his ribs so tightly, he couldn't breathe.