Rhage almost would have preferred to hate the guy.

He’d come into the Audience House ready to protect his shellan and defend his family. It was a war of sorts, with the field of battle being nature over nurture: Were two fit, non-biological adoptive parents better than a not-as-fit, but biologically related, potential parent? After all, even if Ruhn had had money, there was no way he lived in as safe a house or environment as Rhage and Mary did.

Because, hello, the two of them bunked in with the First Family.

And Ruhn was single, not very educated, and had no experience with kids of any age.

So, yeah, Rhage had come into this library ready to fight.

But instead … he found himself sitting across from what appeared to be a tragically calm, respectful, and reasonable male. And wishing the entire time that he could find fault with something—anything—about Bitty’s uncle.

“Well,” Marissa said gently—there had been a lot of gentle prompts from the likes of her. “I think the next step … is for you, Ruhn, to meet Bitty.”

Rhage bared his fangs and then quickly hid the flash of dental art.

Mary spoke up. “How do you suggest we proceed with that?”

“I think it should be supervised, but not by either of you,” Marissa murmured. “I just believe it’s best for the two of them to have an introduction where Bitty’s allegiances are not divided. She’s going to want to align with you and Rhage out of loyalty.”

“How long has she been with you?” Ruhn asked.

“Two months,” Mary said.

Rhage opened his mouth and spoke up before he could think. “But it feels like a lifetime. We love her like she’s our own, and she feels the same about us and—”

Mary elbowed him in the side.

And helllllo, sound of crickets.

“No one is doubting your love,” Marissa said. Again, gently.

Rhage burst up and marched around. “Well, good. Because it’s there and it’s going nowhere.” He glared at Ruhn. “And even if you take her away from us, we’re still going to love her. She’s still going to be in our hearts and our heads. Just so we’re clear, you leave with her and go back to wherever the fuck you’re from? There is not going to be a night that she”—he pointed to Mary—“and I aren’t going to think about her, wonder how she’s doing, worry about her—”

“Rhage,” Mary said. “Rhage, calm down—”

He stopped in front of the guy. “And I want you to remember this. If you ever hurt her—”

V closed in, grabbing Rhage’s biceps. “Okay, let’s roll back—”

“—I will field-dress you while you’re still alive and eat your heart out of your chest—”

There was a sharp whistle, and all of a sudden, Z and Butch were both in the room, coming in through the French doors. As they got in front of and behind him, he realized he’d been wrong. He’d assumed they were there to prevent an outside attack.

With those doors unlocked as they had been? Clearly, folks had been a little more concerned with an inside killing, with him as the aggressor.

And Rhage had to give Ruhn some credit. Instead of shrinking back in the sofa like a pussy … or going on a preemptive strike …

The male simply rose to his full height and sank into a defensive stance.

Just as he had two nights ago.

“It’s okay,” the goddamn fucking uncle said as Rhage felt himself being moved out of range. “He can hit me if he wants.”

That stopped everyone in the room.

V looked at the guy. “You didn’t mention you had a fucking death wish.”

“I don’t.”

“Then I want it in his file that he has very poor risk assessment,” Vishous muttered dryly.

“Let me go,” Rhage demanded. “I’m not going to light him up. I’m just telling it like it is.”

Clearly, that was not very persuasive, as his brother-bodysuit stuck with him.

“And I’m glad you feel that way,” Ruhn said, “because it means you’ve treated her well while you’ve had her. Which is more than her sire ever did.”

Damn it, why did the SOB always say the right thing?

Mary cleared her throat. “I think I would like Rhage and I to be the ones to tell Bitty. I want to make sure this is framed correctly. I don’t want her to feel as though she is being wrong or bad if she wants to see him, be with him … go with him.” She focused on Ruhn. “You, I mean.”

Ruhn’s eyes didn’t shift from Rhage. “That’s kind of you.”

“It’s really what’s good for her.” Mary pushed her hair back behind her ears. “And that’s all that matters. On that note, we should probably get going. Rhage and I should go tell her in person and then … first thing tomorrow night? And this is neutral but safe territory—if we can put off the King’s appointments for another evening?”

“Consider it done,” V declared.

“Okay,” Ruhn said as he reached into his pocket. “But, um, can you give her this for me? You can read it first, of course. It’s just … I wanted to introduce myself. I can’t read or write, so I dictated it.”

Something must have changed in Rhage’s body, because suddenly he was on his own again, the holds on him released—not that his brothers went very far.

Mary’s hand shook as she took what turned out to be a couple of pages of lined paper that had been ripped out of a spiral notebook, the frayed edges fluffing up one side of the otherwise neat square.

“I’d be happy to give this to her,” his shellan murmured.

“Like I said, you can read it. There’s nothing much to it. It’s not, like, well written or anything. I just wanted her to know who I am.”

“All right.”

“And the last page is, just, you know, nothing special.”

“Okay.”

Things kind of petered out at that point, Ruhn sitting back down and staring into the fire. Mary coming to stand next to Rhage, her arm linking through his.

“There’s one other thing,” V announced as he addressed the uncle. “The King wants to meet you. Before you can see Bitty, you will be required to sit in his presence.”

Ruhn nodded slowly. “All right. Whatever it takes.”

But the guy was obviously not looking forward to it. Because he had something to hide? Rhage wondered.

“I’m going to be in on that,” Rhage said. “I will be in on that audience.”

“Wrath wants it private.” V shook his head. “And by that, he meant without you or Mary.”

“It really should be just between the two of them.” Mary stroked his arm. “When will that meeting occur? We should wait to speak to her until it happens—”

“He can sit in if he wants.” Ruhn shrugged as all eyes swung back his way. “I have nothing to hide. I mean, I’m just a nobody, and I’m used to my lack of status. No reason to have airs if you’ve got nothing to back them up with, and if all you’ve done is live a simple, honest life? That’s the kind of thing you can explain even to a King, with a straight back and a level eye—no matter who else is in the room with you.”

Rhage blinked. And then had a horrible thought.

Fuck, under other circumstances, he might have liked the guy.

“We appreciate that, Ruhn.” Again, Marissa with her gentle way was easing things. “But it is better if it’s just you and Wrath. And a guard.”

“Wrath said he could come here now,” somebody interjected.

“Then we should go.” Mary looked at Rhage. “Let’s just go, all right? And we’ll hang out somewhere and wait for word about the meeting with Wrath before we head home.”

Someone said something—Marissa. And then Mary was talking. After that, people started nodding like there was some kind of consensus happening.

Then it was time to leave—and Rhage put his arm around Mary’s waist as they walked to the double doors. They paused as Z did the duty of letting them out.

Just as Rhage was stepping from the room, he glanced over his shoulder. Ruhn was still sitting on that sofa in front of the fire, the mostly untouched tea service in front of him, his hands lying on his thighs, his eyes unfocused.

He was nervous. But he wasn’t backing away.

“Come on,” Mary said.

Next thing Rhage knew, he was behind the wheel of the GTO, the engine was on, and the heater was going.

“You want to get something to eat?” he asked, even though he wasn’t hungry.

“Sure. Let’s go to that twenty-four-hour diner you like. The one with all the different kinds of pie.”

“Sounds good.”

Annnnnd so, some ten minutes later, he was parking between a heavy-duty pickup truck and a BMW. Snow was swirling in the air again, but not heavily—as if maybe the clouds above had separation anxiety and were reluctant to let their flakes fly.

The All-Nighter, as the place was called, was your standard diner, with a blinking sign outside and a row of bar stools at the counter inside. There was an annex that had tables, and waitresses who were bored and hostile, and a loyal clientele of which he was a member. On the menu? Free coffee, pie that was to die for, and breakfast around the clock—as well as a Reuben that could make you see God every time you bit down.

His normal table was in the back by the emergency exit, and the waitress who worked the night shift jerked her head in that direction.

Which was her way of saying, Hey, good to see you again. Your favorite spot’s open, and I’ll bring you your coffee ASAP. Oh, and glad you brought the wife with you this time.

Given everything that was going on, the lack of cheerful interaction was a serious bene.

He and Mary took their seats. Coffee was served in heavy mugs. Rhage got the banana cream, Boston cream, and a slice of apple. Mary got a second fork for sampling.

Before he dug in, he put his phone right out on the Formica tabletop. Just in case, you know, reception was bad in the pocket of his leather jacket.

They sat in silence, that cell with its unlit screen between them like a fucking black hole in space, sucking all matter and energy into it.

Mary sipped her coffee. Left that fork where it was on the folded-up paper napkin. From time to time, she looked around at the mostly empty tables.

“You know what I like about this place?” she murmured.

“The pie?” he said between bites. Which were all texture, no taste tonight.

“Well, yes. But it’s so bright in here. Usually, at night, everything is dim. I never really noticed this until I came to live with you and started doing the night-is-day, day-is-night thing. Like, for some reason, humans tend to make the insides of all restaurants dim after sundown. Here, though, it reminds me of what it’s like to be out during the day.”

“Do you resent the changes?” he asked, wiping his mouth. “You know … in your life?”

“Not at all.” Her eyes swung over to his. “I have you, and that makes everything better.”

“Not in this situation with Bitty, it doesn’t.”

“Nothing could make that any better.”

“Too right.”

He pushed the banana cream plate away with half the slice still on it. He didn’t know why he’d ordered the damn thing. He wasn’t a big fan of bananas, and even with the crunch of the graham cracker crust, there was a uniformity of texture between the custard and the cream that kind of made him gag.

It was the reason he couldn’t do key lime. Or chocolate mousse …

God, he was really hurting, wasn’t he. If he was debating desserts in his head.

“You didn’t like that?” Mary remarked.

“Not really. But I thought I’d try something new.”

Yeah, ’cuz this was a night to expand your horizons. Or maybe try out the theory that there was a keep-your-daughter god who required you to override your gag reflex as tribute.

“I’ve been here to eat so many times,” he said as he pulled the apple in for a landing. “For years and years. And I never thought it was going to be part of our story, you know?”

Because sure as hell, he was going to remember exactly where they were sitting now and what he was eating and how Mary looked until he was dead.

“I know exactly how you feel,” she murmured.

As he set to work on his number two, he looked around at the other people, the two over there by the window, the three spaced out evenly on stools at the counter.

Who the fuck knew what was going on in their lives, good or bad. After all, there was a tendency to assume that the anonymity of strangers translated into calm, clear slates for their lives, but that was just bullshit. Everyone had drama. You just didn’t know what it was if you didn’t know them.

“What do they say about life?” he muttered. “Nobody gets out of this alive?”

Bing!

They both jumped, him dropping his fork on his plate, her splashing coffee out of her mug.

He leaned into his phone, entered his code, which was Mary’s birthday, and waited for the cell to cough up the text. “Wrath says it’s a go. We can proceed.”

They both straightened and sat there for a moment.

Then, without words, he took two twenties out of his wallet, she mopped up what she’d spilled, and then they were making their way to the exit.

I don’t know how to do this, he thought as they stepped outside.

I don’t know how to look that little girl in the eye and tell her to go meet her uncle.

I don’t know how to ever let her go.

In the GTO, he turned to Mary. “I love you. I don’t know what else to say.”

“I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, and take a shuddering breath … and become crazy-relieved that this was all a bad dream.”

Rhage paused to give reality a chance to hop on that train.

When nothing changed, no alarm went off, no elbow from Mary nudged him awake … he cursed, started the engine, and headed out.

To have an impossible, lose-lose conversation with his daughter.