Archive of Our Own ^beta

Phury’s life changed, inalterably, because of a temper tantrum. And it wasn’t even his.

It was a Thursday in winter, early evening, and he was sitting at First Meal, pushing the food around on his plate. Fritz had, as always, concocted a masterpiece, and the basil and garlic were wafting up in a way that would have been irresistibly tempting if Phury had had an appetite anytime in the past two months. He ate a bite, and it did taste good, but he just wasn’t hungry. Hadn’t been hungry since his twin brother had married the woman Phury loved. He rearranged the food a little more and took a sip of water. He noticed Vishous looking at him from across the table, and looked away. He was sure V had noticed—V noticed everything—but V wasn’t the type to get in your business as long as you didn’t get in his.

Next to Phury, Rhage refilled his wineglass and gestured toward Phury’s, but he shook his head and covered the glass—it was one of Darius’s older vintages, but at this point it would be wasted on him. Nothing tasted like much anymore—food, wine, life. He had tasted the blood of the woman he loved—and she wasn’t his. He thought briefly of going to Rehvenge for something to make him forget that, but he’d made a promise to himself, and he didn’t break his promises.

Vishous’s heavy hand slammed down on the table, and Phury—and everyone else—jumped.

“God damn it,” V said, apropros of nothing as far as Phury could tell. “I’m fucking sick of this. Every night around here, it’s like a goddamned funeral. I can’t take it anymore.”

“We’re in mourning,” said Wrath, tightly.

“My lord, with respect, but don’t you think I know that? I spend most of my waking hours trying to find Tohr—checking in with the other communities, going through the human hospital records, going through human travel and immigration records, everything I can possibly think of—and there’s nothing. Nothing. Every time I look, I get more nothing, and I’m trying not to give up, but it’s fucking hard.”

“Vishous, there are females present—” Wrath started.

“I’m not offended,” Mary said quietly from Rhage’s other side.

“Me, either,” said Bella, two seats away from V.

“I’m sorry, my lord. Ladies. But I have to do something about this, or I’m going to expose myself just so I don’t have to take the lugubriousness anymore.”

“Man,” said Rhage, “only you would throw a hissy-fit using words we can’t understand.”

“My brother, don’t blame me because you learned English watching Beavis and Butt-Head.” V turned back to Wrath. “And if that’s not enough, I have to watch the six of you”—he gestured, encompassing his mated brothers and their females—”coo over each other night and day.”

“Look,” Rhage said, “just because some of us are happy with our females—”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m ecstatic for all of you. But please have some sympathy for the rest of us.” He nailed Rhage with a glare. “Especially those of us who can hear. Every. God. Damn. Thing. All. Day. Long.”

Mary blushed fiercely and put her hand over her eyes. Her hellren put a sheltering arm around her narrow shoulders, but still looked nothing but smug. Which just figured, Phury thought.

“My lord,” Vishous continued, looking back at Wrath, “we have all suffered a loss. Two great losses, and in a short period of time. You, Rhage, and Zsadist all have your shellans to comfort you. The rest of us do not. And we need an escape.”

Wrath raised his eyebrows.

“So, to this end, I have a suggestion.”

It was possible, Phury thought, that Wrath was not quite smiling. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t, V.”

“We need to get away for a while. All the single guys—me, Butch, Phury, and John Matthew—need to go away for a couple of days. We’ll go to the city. We’ll go to the city, drink too much, get some pussy—or at least I will—play some pool, and act like idiots. And maybe catch a show. And then we’ll be able to come back and block out the noise”—he nailed Rhage with another glare—”and maybe I’ll be able to think up some other ways to look for Tohr. But I’m burning out, my lord. I’m running dry.”

He wouldn’t go to the city, Phury thought, but maybe it would be nice to have a few days to himself. Catch up on some reading, some letters he’d been meaning to write, listen to the CDs Fritz had gotten for him and that he hadn’t had time to put on.

Wrath looked at V as though he really was considering the idea. “Where would you stay?”

“The Mercer. They accommodate vampires.”

“How’d you even find that out?” Rhage asked through a bite of chicken.

“Talked to some people in the other communities. There are hotels that do; you just have to know about them.”

Wrath looked at V for a moment, and something passed between them—not as intimate and intense as what V shared with Butch, but still the unspoken communication of two males who had known each other for more than a hundred years. V was Wrath’s thinker, his strategist, his right hand in so many ways. Wrath broke the look to say, “I give my consent, provided that Butch, Phury, and John Matthew all go.”

“My lord,” Phury said, “I couldn’t—”

“You can,” Wrath interrupted, “and you will.”

Phury looked away only to see Zsadist’s eyes on him, strangely level and even more strangely warm. “You should go,” Z said quietly. “You’ve been living half a life. This is a good way to stop.”

It was pretty sad when Zsadist was lecturing you about getting a life.

“Yeah,” Phury said, “alright.”

*************

Vishous, the conniving bastard, had already planned the entire thing—with Fritz, no less a conniving bastard himself. The reservations were made, the Escalade was gassed up, and the doggen had four days’ worth of clothes packed for each of them in about half an hour. Phury delayed the departure to talk to Fritz about one last arrangement: tickets to the Philharmonic. If he had to go, he would at least do something he liked, and the Phil would be performing a program of Debussy, Telemann, and Albinoni on the Friday and Saturday they would be there. Fritz was able to get him one of the boxes—more space than he needed, but Phury hated sitting next to people he didn’t know. Box seats could sell out years in advance, but Fritz had ways Phury didn’t even want to know about.

They were on the road before eight o’clock.