“Do you know what I most admire about you?”
“My absence in any given place?”
Darius frowned. “I do not have such a low view of your company.”
As the fighter seemed honestly hurt, Rhage relented. “I jest, my brother.”
“Well, allow me to say that what I admire most is your ability to follow cogent, sound advice. It’s one of your most distinguishing characteristics. Truly impressive.”
“I have never possessed that virtue and well you know it.”
“Indeed? Because I have found it to be among your most chief and laudable qualities.”
As Darius cocked a brow and regarded with steady expectation the naked, wounded, piece of meat before him who, even the now, was feeling dizzy at having his head off a stack of pillows, it was rather hard to argue a contrary position.
“You bore me with your character analysis,” Rhage muttered.
“Yet you cannot disagree, brother.” Darius smiled. “And see? Regard you being so utterly reasonable—”
“If you start to applaud me, I will get out of this bed to give you a very bad result.”
Darius inclined his head. “Duly noted.”
Allowing himself to recline once more, Rhage eyed his brother. “Did you just come here to mock the loss of my sense of peace and well-being?”
“I am doing no such thing. And staying here truly drains you so much?”
“Being attended to constantly does,” Rhage said dryly. “I am not one for extended courtesy, evidently.”
“Then you are working with the right sort of males in the Brotherhood.” Darius removed from his waistcoat a gold pocket watch and consulted the time. “And in addition to assessing your health, I am meeting with that master of works of whom I spoke.”
“About your house?”
“He is a guest here as well, as it turns out—wait, what are you doing?”
“I believe it is obvious.” Rhage pushed himself off the pillows and swung his legs out from under the sheeting. “Bring me that robe, will you?”
Darius looked across at the silk fall that had been laid upon the chair by the writing desk. His stone-faced expression was as if he were unfamiliar with what sort of garment it was—and he was worried that perhaps it was poisonous in some manner.
“My brother,” Rhage prompted. “Do bring me it, or would you prefer I join you naked?”
“If you are no well enough to procure your own dressing, you should not be upon your feet downstairs.”
“Oh, I am plenty strong to retrieve the robe. I am just trying to spare you the inevitable comparisons between our malehoods. Your disappointment would be legion. I am quite phearsom.”
“You are full of it.” But his brother smiled as he went over to the chair. “And I am only acquiescing to your demand because I fear you will attempt the stairs yourself in your nakedness. It has naught to do with girth or length.”
“As you believe.” Rhage swallowed a groan as he pushed himself to his feet. To avoid toppling over, he planted a hand on the carved headboard—and attempted to look as if he did not in fact need the support to stay upright. “I should not wish to disabuse you of your delusions. Often, they are all we have—”
“My brother, you are unwell.”
Rhage opened eyes that he was unaware of shutting. Darius had come to stand before him, and the brother seemed to be taking note of every weakness shown.
“I would beg to differ.” Rhage looked the other male dead in the eye. “And I am coming downstairs, if only to be propped up on a sofa to listen in on your conversation.”
Darius seemed sad. “You must be desperately lonely, my brother.”
“No, I just don’t want someone to ask me if I need another goddamn thing.”
And that was the extent of it. Even though Darius had to help with the draping of the silk over Rhage’s flesh, even as aid was required for full verticality to be enjoyed, even when the trip to the staircase was slow and arduous, nothing more was spoken on the issue of health and relative wellness.
Or the lack thereof.
To distract himself from his infirmity, Rhage looked around Jabon’s home as he descended the stairs. He’d had no impression of the environs on his trip in, and he was not surprised that it was all very grand, with rich tapestries of ruby and sapphire and emerald on the walls and a full painting of cherubs and goddesses on the ceiling above the imperial stairway. However, in the very impressive front-hall receiving area, there were too many crystals twinkling off of fixtures and candelabra, and too closely set were the gilt-framed oil paintings and the sculpture.
In the end, the decor was like the host’s guests, too many and too gaudy.
By the time Rhage made it onto the marble floor of the foyer, he decided that Jabon’s need to prove himself had turned the mansion into a display case for both objects and people. And in a way, the proliferation of . . . everything . . . made Rhage feel better about his forced convalescence. He would certainly not have chosen Jabon for a host, and with so many others likewise availing themselves, it made it less personal.
“What is the male’s name again?” he asked his brother as they entered a drawing room. “I find I cannot recall.”
Before Darius could answer, a male across the overly appointed space rose to his feet. As Rhage looked unto the “master of works,” he was struck by a flare of recognition. He could not place where he had seen the vampire before, however.
The male likewise did a double take. “Ah . . .”
But evidently his was for another reason. When the stranger’s stare went down and then promptly traveled elsewhere, Rhage looked at himself. Well, this was something he had not considered. The robe was sufficient to provide a certain modesty, but it was wholly incapable of fulfilling its job when it came to arm and leg, and it struggled likewise as things pertained to the torso, the V created by the lapels so deep, most of his chest was on display. Including the sacred star-shape scar of the Brotherhood.
But what of it, Rhage thought.
“It is so hot herein,” he drawled as he did a little spin, “that I find this refreshing.”
The male inclined his head, as if he were dealing with someone who struggled with reality. “But of course. It is rather warm out this eve.”
“Yes.” Rhage smiled. “You understand.”
Darius provided introductions, and Rhage proffered his dagger hand unto “the Jackal.” “A pleasure.”
As their palms clasped, the male narrowed his eyes. “Forgive me, but you look unwell.”
“He is in recovery from a wound,” Darius murmured as he went over unto a broad table that was the only clear space in the room. “Dearest Virgin Scribe . . .”
With his brother’s commentary drifting, Rhage’s interest carried him forth. As he got within range, he recognized that with which he had little familiarity: Architectural renderings of building plans, the broad sheets of paper with lines of rooms and roof laid out in a stack of—
“How many chambers does this have?” Rhage said as he propped his palms on the table edges and leaned in to relieve the burden of his weight upon his legs. “And how many floors?”
The Jackal peeled the top sheeting up. “There are three or more levels aboveground, depending upon what elevation one regards.”
The pages were lifted one and another, and Rhage’s eyes could not keep up with all of the facilities.
Looking over at his brother, he shook his head. “How many people do you intend to stay under that roof?”
“As many as we can fit.”
“Then you endeavor to have the whole of the species in your residence. You will have to fight Jabon for guests.”
“Not hardly.” Darius reached out and traced the lines of something labeled “East Wing.” “But perhaps, someday, there will be shellans. Young. A community that is a family.”
“This is for the Brotherhood, then?”
“Aye.”
Rhage opened his mouth to discount that frivolous fantasy. Wrath, the supposed King, had refused to lead for centuries, and the brothers were singular actors who, on rare occasions, came together—mostly because the paths of two lessers being separately chased happened to intersect. What conception in Darius’s mind could possibly conflate that solitary, transient landscape into any kind of a whole?
For example, Zsadist? Mated?
Then again, that broken male would likely be dead in a few years anyway. Although . . . people had been saying that for a while now.
“’Tis a fine thing to have dreams,” Rhage murmured remotely.
“Mayhap you will accept these renderings with my best regards,” the Jackal said unto Darius as he lowered the broad pages back into place. “After you study them, you can come back here and we can discuss whether you want to use them and, if so, what you would like to change.”
Darius’s stare moved around the topmost sheet as if he were translating the depictions of rooms and hallways into three dimensions in his head. “Do you have time to go through this with me the now?”
“Of course, but there is no hurry if you wish to study at your leisure. I am staying here for two weeks.”
“Are you a relation of Jabon’s, then?”
“We do not share a bloodline. We have been of acquaintance for some while, however. When I was orphaned, his sire helped me on my way.”
“Have you no living blood?”
“My mahmen passed two years following my transition.”
“What of your sire?”
The Jackal tapped the plans. “Do you want to start at the top and work our way down? Or commence from the basement?”
Darius inclined his head, acknowledging the firm change in subject. “The basement. Let us build from the ground up.”
The Jackal carefully folded back the layers, at last exposing a sheet that had far fewer compartments. “First, allow me to explain the plumbing system and heating provisions. I have some new ideas—and I urge you to consider outfitting the structure for electricity. It is the standard for all buildings of the future.”