As Butch stepped out of the Pit’s front door, he glanced up and felt a dread he had never known. Then he looked to the mansion’s grand entrance. The heavy panels that locked tight to protect those inside swung open, and one by one, the Brotherhood emerged. Z was the first out, his skulled trimmed hair and brutal, scarred face the kind of thing Butch had gotten used to seeing. Phury was, of course, behind his twin. Then it was Tohrment. Murhder. And Rhage. Qhuinn and John Matthew. Blay was with them. After that, the Band of Bastards emerged, led by Xcor—

“I love you.”

At the sound of his shellan’s voice, Butch turned. Marissa stood behind him, terror in her eyes, as if she knew, without him saying, what he sensed was true. This was it.

Touching her soft cheek, all kinds of things went through his mind. But as before, as always, none of the promises he wished he could make to her were under his control, and he was not going to have the last thing he told her be a lie.

“I love you, too.”

Leaning in, he was aware of his black daggers biting into the pads of his chest as he kissed her.

“I’m going to stay home tonight,” she said.

The reason why went unspoken. She never missed work, but this was a “never” kind of night.

“Beth asked me to come over to the big house.” Marissa’s beautiful eyes searched his face like she was looking for which way the winds of fate were blowing. “You know, to watch a movie.”

“Can I suggest a comedy?”

“We’re going with Fockers. The whole series.”

“Stiller and De Niro. Excellent choice.”

They fell silent. Sometimes, between married people who had remained connected after the nuclear bright glow of sexual attraction dimmed, there were no words needed. No words that could be enough. The emotions went too deep.

“I’ll call you,” he said.

“Please.”

They kissed again, and it was a long one—it reminded him of the way they had made love before he had gotten up to get showered, get dressed, get armed. And then she stepped away . . . and walked across the courtyard, her head down, her arms wrapped around herself.

A widow walking.

The brothers parted as she mounted the great stone steps and approached the open door, and as she passed through them, the huge males bowed to her in respect. Before she went inside, Marissa looked back at Butch and raised her palm.

He raised his own in return.

And then she was gone, the heavy door into the vestibule closing behind her, cutting off the sight of her slender form as well as the light that spilled out into the night.

“I dreamed of you,” Vishous said from back inside the Pit.

Butch shut his eyes and cursed—although he couldn’t say he was surprised. His roommate’s visions of the future were only ever about death, and everyone’s grave was close by this evening.

“Did you.” Butch glanced over his shoulder. “You going to tell me?”

V was dressed for war, in his leathers and with all his weapons on his body, but he was staying back on the home front. He and Rhage, as well as Rehvenge, with all his symphath traits, plus Payne and Xhex, were going to guard the mansion. Meanwhile, Manny was in the field already, down at the garage with the mobile surgical unit on standby, and Doc Jane, who, thanks to her ghostly status, could get anywhere in the blink of an eye, was preparing for a mass casualty event in the training center.

As Vishous came forward to the Pit’s open doorway, his lithe body moving like the predator he was, Butch was aware of bracing himself like he was about to be punched in the gut.

“The cross,” V said gravely. “The cross will save you.”

Butch fumbled into his muscle shirt in a panic. But like he would leave home without the damn thing? It was his fucking existential AmEx.

As he pulled the heavy gold weight out, he rubbed the cross with his thumb. “Right here.”

V nodded. “Keep it on.”

“Always.”

There was a pause. And then the hug came. As they embraced, Butch wished his roommate was coming out with him. As much as he respected the rest of the brothers and fighters, there was nobody he’d rather have at his six.

“I can be to you in a heartbeat,” V said roughly.

Butch nodded as they parted. And then he stepped off the stoop and crossed over to the R8. The plan was in place. The responsibilities defined. The territories assigned and the weapons and ammo apportioned.

There was nothing else to talk about.

Tohrment rode shotgun into town with Butch, and neither of them said a thing. When they got to the garage, they left the R8 in its parking space, checked in with Manny, and hit the streets.

And almost immediately . . .

. . . Butch knew which direction to go in.

When Syn got back to the mansion from Jo’s, he went around to the side wing and knocked on one of the French doors of the billiards room. He didn’t use the front entrance because he had no interest in crossing paths with anyone. He’d said his piece to Xcor about removing himself from the fighting, and now he was going to pack up his shit and get out of the house. Out of the way. Out of this world of war he had been in all his life.

He had no idea where to go. But he’d spent centuries living off his wits, surviving night to night, nothing permanent to ground him or sustain him. So hey, this change in living situation was not going to be a news flash.

Out west, he was thinking. Or maybe to the south. Staying in Caldwell was a big, fat not-it.

And he had to leave right now. If he didn’t, he was likely to go back to Jo and beg or something. For what, though, he didn’t know. She’d found out about that shit with the mob, and it had validated everything he had not told her—

The French door was unlatched and opened, but the male who did the duty was not a servant. Vishous was more like a force of nature, and his mood, which was snarky on a good night, was sharper than those blades he made for everyone.

“Thank you,” Syn muttered as he entered.

V shut things up, the cold getting cut off. “I was going to come find you.”

Eyeing the archway on the far side of the pool tables, Syn crossed his arms over his jacket. “You’re not talking me out of leaving.”

“Like I would bother?” V cocked a brow. “Your business isn’t mine, and you haven’t been conscripted or anything. Everyone is free to go. You’re not required to fight—”

Syn turned away. “I just wanted to be clear. That’s all—”

“—but you’re a pussy if you don’t.”

Pivoting back sharply, Syn felt his upper lip twitch. “What did you say?”

The Brother shrugged and walked around behind the bar where the bottles of top-shelf alcohol were lined up, soldiers ready to be called into service. He casually got one of the tall glasses from where the crystal was kept, but instead of pouring himself his usual strong dose of Goose, he hit the fruit juice. Six inches of fresh orange.

He tested the lip of his glass and swallowed. “Mmm, tasty. And you heard me. You’re a pussy if you quit.”

Syn stalked over to the bar, images of picking the Brother up and throwing him into all those glass bottle testing his impulse control. “What gives you the right to judge that?”

“The fact that I’m staying in the war and not expecting other people to do my work for me. The fact that my best friend is out facing the Omega right now. The fact that my brothers are with your cousins and comrades, in the field, trying to save the race. Meanwhile, you’re standing here in front of me, worried about yourself, thinking about yourself, butt hurt over some female you met how many days ago? ’Scuse me if I’m not impressed with your special snowflake routine. I’m too busy living in the real world and worrying about who’s going to die tonight.”

“You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“I held my dead shellan in my arms. So I’m pretty sure that’s Yahtzee. But whatever, you do you—”

“You don’t understand what my sire was like.”

V pointed to his own chest. “Bloodletter. You want to compare résumés with that shit?”

“I can’t orgasm.”

Vishous opened his mouth. Then shut it. “Okay, you win. And this is coming from a guy who’s only got one nut.”

“It’s not a contest.” But Syn felt his temper abate a little. Although what a triumph, right? “And I’m tired of the killing.”

“So you’re giving up.” V shrugged and put out his palms. “Hey, don’t glare at me, true? You need to stare at your decision in the bright light of conscience and own that shit. Hating my ass is not going to help you with that.”

“I’m not quitting. I’m just done.”

One black eyebrow lifted. “You’re going to have to explain how those two are different to me.”

Syn walked around, and then stopped at one of the pool tables. He considered flipping the thing to release some pent-up energy, but then he just trailed his fingertips in between the scattered, colorful balls, the green felt offering a soft resistance.

“I wasn’t in the war for the species,” he heard himself say. “I was in it because I liked to kill. For the sport. For the cruelty. For the outlet. And I don’t have that drive anymore.”

“What’s changed?”

“I saw myself through another’s eyes. And the reflection was too close to my father’s for my liking. I was always determined not to be like him. I made rules and safeguards to guide that side of me. I had standards. In the end, though? The result was the same. I was killing him over and over again by proxy—but it wasn’t helping me and I became him in the process.”

“I heard that you were taking side jobs even here in Caldwell.”

“I did.”

Vishous poured himself more orange juice, the sound of the liquid filling his glass loud in the silence. “Past tense.”

“I’m giving up a lot of things as of tonight.” Syn picked up the cue ball and rolled the white weight around in his palm, wiping off a smudge of blue chalk. “No more of that.”