Blood Wicked (43 page)

“Of course,” their father said. “There’s no guarantee he’ll produce one, let alone three.”

Malek’s shoulders sank a tiny bit. “Okay, but today, marriage and children don’t always have to come hand in hand—”

“No bastard child will ever be a Black Gryffon.” Their father shook his head. “That’s the law.”

“I think the law’s antiquated,” Malek grumbled.

“Doesn’t matter what we think.” Drako stood, giving his scowling younger sibling a clap on the shoulder. “So what? You have to take a wife. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Depends on your perspective.”

“Hey.” Drako glanced at his father. “There’s no law that says we have to be monogamous, right? I mean, if our wives know beforehand that we have no intention of limiting ourselves to having sex with just them, then we’re good, right?”

Their father shrugged, eyes glimmering with an unexpectedly playful sparkle. “If you can find yourselves wives who are willing to live with that kind of arrangement, then more power
to you. Your mother wouldn’t. It was hell, giving up certain things, but I could never deny that woman anything.” He sighed. “There are some sacrifices that are worth it.”

“I hear you,” Drako said, knowing full well what kind of agony it had to have been. “Discomfort” was an understatement, but he respected the old man more than he could ever say for his commitment to their mother. Since at least the early eighteenth century every Black Gryffon had practiced some form of D/s, and many of them had multiple lovers. His father had done neither.

In the silent moment that followed, Drako studied the man he had emulated his entire life. The old man’s once dark-brown hair was now all silver, and lines fanned from the corners of his eyes, but otherwise in Drako’s eyes this man would always be the powerful guardian leader he had respected and admired. His father’s body was still heavily muscled, his mind sharp as a blade. Drako guessed retirement hadn’t slowed him down a bit.

Only the deep shadow in the old man’s eyes hinted at how close he was to passing from their world to the next.

“I miss her, son,” their father said. “Your mother loved like nobody I’ve ever known. The last ten years have been so empty without her.”

Drako touched the side of his neck. He could almost swear his tattoo—which had been, ironically, his mother’s final gift to him before she died—was tingling. “I miss her, too.” Knowing somehow this would be the last time he’d see his father alive, Drako gave the old man a hug then watched as his brothers did the same. It wouldn’t be much longer, he guessed, before their father would be reunited with the woman he missed so dearly.

Their father left with a final wave and a smile, and Drako shoved aside the deep sorrow tugging at his heart and forced his mind to the next task he faced as leader of the Black Gryffons.

It was his duty to help his brothers find brides, women who would be willing to live with husbands who, in Malek’s case,
wouldn’t be faithful. And in his own, would accept his lifestyle. It had to be this way, even if it meant it would take longer to find the right brides.

He had to be honest with his future wife, and he expected his brothers to do the same. He would never be able to live with the guilt of hiding the truth. The pain those secrets would cause.

His wife. His bride. Who would she be?

It was a matter of choosing the right woman. A special woman.

A certain set of deep brown-black eyes and sculpted cheekbones flashed in his mind, and it was then that he remembered where he’d first seen his quiet little Rin.

It couldn’t be. But it was.

The supposedly shy Rin wasn’t who her friend believed. Quite the opposite.

His lips curled into a smile and his heavy heart lifted.

He knew exactly where to find his bride. Rin was one very special woman, and he had a good feeling she’d be willing to listen to his proposal.

In general, people tried too hard to simplify issues. Life wasn’t comprised only of black, white, sane, insane, good, bad. There were an infinite number of shades of gray in between.

He had gone to great lengths to find people who saw a full spectrum of gray in the world. Only they could appreciate him, could share his vision.

Someday, every man, woman, and child on the earth would thank him. They would finally appreciate the truth he’d tried to share with them so many times. The simplemindedness that had blinded them wouldn’t matter anymore. The truth would be too big and dazzling to deny.

That someday would be soon.

Smiling, he signed the document, ending his voluntary stay
at the hospital. He gathered his prescriptions, medications, and personal possessions and stepped out into the warm, sunny day. The antipsychotic medication left his mind a little fogged and suppressed his emotions, but even with a full dose of Haldol still coursing through his bloodstream, he was ready.

So much work to do; so little time to do it.

A sleek black Mercedes-Benz crawled down the driveway and rolled to a stop in front of the hospital’s entry. He waited, unsure whether it was his ride or not. The window rolled down, and a hand waved at him.

When he approached, the passenger handed him a card with no name, no phone number, only a gray-scale image of a chimera.

“Enter,” the passenger said, his or her head turned, so he couldn’t see the face.

Without questioning the passenger or driver, he got in the car.