The King

Manny’s eyes shifted over to Payne, and the secret smile that hit his lips was another source of awwww.

“Nah. I’ve got it good now, but thanks.”

Chatter. Chatter. Good ol’ days. Bye. Thanks again.

And then the vampire contingency split off once again from the human one, Manny leading them out through a maze of bare tiled corridors that looked exactly the same—to the point where she began to become convinced they were lost. Wrong. Either their man in front had a compass implanted in his frontal lobe or he remembered well his decade working in the place—because eventually they hit ground level and went out the revolving doors they’d entered.

Fritz was waiting by the curb, that huge black-on-black Mercedes looking like it belonged to a diplomat. Which was another reason the car was so useful: People tended to err on the side of not screwing with it, like its inhabitants were really important or heavily armed. Fritz got more wave-throughs at stop signs and parking garages than she’d ever seen. Then again, he drove in the exact opposite way he moved.

The elderly butler didn’t have a lead foot. The damn thing was made out of tungsten—

Let’s go back now? John signed in front of her face—like maybe he’d been trying to get her attention.

“Wha—oh, sorry.” She pushed her hair back. “Don’t you want to go with Xhex?”

“I’m heading to the club,” the female said. “With Trez out, I need to check the traps.”

And that was a good, plausible excuse—except it was impossible to ignore the side glances being shared among the group.

“This isn’t about me,” she muttered.

Of course it isn’t, John signed. You’re doing a favor coming back with me. You know, to keep me company.

Fritz was only too happy to jump out and get her door for her, and as she ducked into the back of the sedan, she caught sight of Manny giving Payne a smooch, and John lip-locking with Xhex.

As a wave of dread came over her, she thought fondly of getting drunk as opposed to confronting her husband. The only problem was, that wasn’t going to solve anything, and besides, she had always despised women who got lit. Nothing uglier or more pathetic.

John got in on the other side, and then the Mercedes floated off, following the lane out from under the porte cochere and into the roadway that went around the medical center. With signs like EMERGENCY ROOM, FARNSWORTH REHABILITATION, and YARDLEY SPINE CENTER, it was like a highway with exits to towns you really didn’t want to visit.

Next to her, her brother kept looking over, like she was a stick of dyn**ite and he was measuring how much wick was left before shit went Technicolor boom.

“I’m fine.”

Okay, I won’t press. But here.

“Huh?” He answered her question by passing over a white handkerchief. “Why do I need—”

Fantastic. She’d started tearing up.

Really, truly fantastic.

As she blotted away tears she hadn’t been aware of crying, she shook her head and let it all fly: “I want a baby.”

Holy crap … that’s awesome, her brother signed. That’s—

“A nightmare, actually. Wrath’s a no-go.”

Oh, her brother mouthed.

“Yeah. Pretty much. And I found out right before we left.”

My God, you shouldn’t have come.

“I needed to get out of that house. And I wanted to help you.”

Well … Wrath’s probably just worried about you. It’s a scary thing for females. At this, his face got tight. I mean, Xhex isn’t into kids, and I gotta tell you, I’m relieved.

Twisting the cotton square in her hands, she let her head fall back against the rest. “But if I’m willing to assume the risks, I feel like he should go along with it. And by the way, it wasn’t like he laid his argument out in terms of being worried for my health. It was just, ‘I’m not servicing you.’ Period.”

John whistled under his breath.

“I know. Not our best moment.” She glanced back over at her brother. “I envy you and Xhex so much. You guys are so in sync.”

Ha! You should have seen us a year ago. John shrugged. I didn’t think we were going to make it.

“Really?”

Shit, yeah. She wanted to go out to fight, and like, that was fine with me—until it really dawned on me that she could get hurt. He circled his hand next to his brain. Fucked my head up bad. I mean, as a male, your woman is your thing in a way I don’t think you females can appreciate. When it comes to Xhex, I am literally not in control of my emotions, my thoughts, my actions as they relate to her safety. It’s a kind of psychosis.

When she didn’t respond, he touched her arm to make sure she was paying attention. Sounds a lot like what you and Wrath are dealing with. Yeah, you can be all, ‘It’s about a kid,’ but given the mortality rates for females? In his mind, it’s probably about your survival—and he’s picking that over any kind of son or daughter.

God, maybe it made her a bitch, but … she really didn’t want to see Wrath’s side of things. Especially not spelled out so rationally—assuming that was, in fact, how her man felt.

She was still too hurt and angry.

“Okay, fine, maybe that’s all true. But let me ask you a question—would you ever deny Xhex a child if she wanted one?” When he didn’t answer, Beth said, “See? You wouldn’t.”

Technically, I didn’t reply.

“It’s in your face.”

Yeah, but, it’s easy for me to be all like, whatever—because she doesn’t want one. Maybe I’d feel differently if she did. The risks are real, and there’s only so much medical management can do.

“I still say it’s my body, my decision.”

But you’re his primary concern. So he does get a vote.

“A vote’s one thing. The royal veto’s another.” She shook her head again. “Besides, if you’re able to articulate the position of a bonded male? So should he. He doesn’t get a pass just because he’s the King.” As sound bites came back from the confrontation, she got nauseous. “His solution is to drug me. Like I’m some kind of animal. I just … I don’t know if I can get over this.”

Maybe you should take a break. Like … get away until you aren’t so pissed off. Then come back and talk it out.

She put her hand on her stomach, and as she measured the fat padding that was now there, she felt so damned dumb for sitting on her ass eating ice cream with Layla. She wasn’t any closer to her needing—whenever, if ever, that came, it was clearly going to be on its own schedule. All she’d done was make her pants tight and drive a wedge between herself and her husband.

In the words of Dr. Phil, How’s that working for ya?

Great, Phil. Just awesome.

Hell, maybe she should watch OWN more often. Dr. Phil reruns were on for, like, five hours every morning, Monday through Friday. Surely he’d done a show on couples who disagreed over the baby thing.

Why don’t you go stay at our father’s house, John signed.

She thought of the mansion. “Yeah, no. I don’t want to even think about that place.”

As if on cue, images of her and Wrath from back in the beginning hit her hard—especially the memory of their first official date. God, things had been so perfect back then, the two of them falling in love so easily. Wrath had had her over to the house and dressed in a Brooks Brothers suit for the one and only time in their relationship. They’d sat at the dining room table and Fritz had waited on them.

That’s when Wrath had told her she tasted like—

With a groan, she put her head in her hands and tried to breathe calmly. Didn’t work. Her brain seemed to have the mental equivalent of an arrhythmia, thoughts and memories from the happy past and worries about the grim future mixing into a jumpy, jerky mess.

The only thing she was clear on?

John was right. She couldn’t go back home yet: The instant she saw Wrath, she was going to light into him, and that was going to get them nowhere.

God knew they’d already had that conversation once. A repeat was just going to make things harder.

“Okay,” she heard herself say. “All right. But I need something to eat first.”

It’s a deal, John signed.

SIXTEEN

As Wrath took form by the race’s clinic, he sensed Vishous materializing beside him—and resented the fact that he was required to have a f**king babysitter. But at least V’s medical knowledge was going to be a value add.

“Fifteen feet straight ahead,” his brother announced. “Four feet of cleared pavement in front of you. Then it’s snow-covered ground.”

Wrath threw out one stride and hit hard asphalt. With his next step forward, the snow absorbed his shitkicker.

There was no bringing George to this. Blindness was not a virtue in times of peace for a ruler. During war? It was a critical weakness—and nothing said lights-out better than a Seeing Eye service dog.

Naturally, the retriever had been apoplectic at being left behind—but with Beth already pissed off at him, of course he’d had to alienate his damn dog. Next thing to work on? The Brotherhood. Although that set of hardheaded motherfuckers was too tenacious to be put off by anything less than an H-bomb.

“Stop,” V said.

Wrath came to a halt even though he had to grit his molars. But it was better than walking into the side of the building.

There was a pause, during which V put in the code that changed every evening, and then they entered the shallow lobby, that trademark antiseptic hospital smell announcing that they were indeed in the right place.

And shit knew he felt sick: His chest was aching, his head was pounding, and his skin felt too small for his bones.

Clearly a case of a**hole-itis.

And it was probably terminal.

“Greetings, my lords,” came a tinny female voice—and even through the speaker, it was filled with awe. “We’re sending the elevator for you at this moment.”

“Thanks,” V gritted.

Yeah, the brother hated Havers for a variety of reasons. Then again, so did Wrath.

Just think, when the good doctor had tried to kill him a couple of years ago, it had seemed like such a big deal. Now? Compared to the likes of Xcor and the Band of Bastards, one white coat with a bow tie and horn-rimmed glasses coming after him was a goddamn cakewalk.

Shit, he wished he could go back to his father’s era, when people respected the throne.

There was the sound of an elevator opening and then V touched the back of Wrath’s arm. Together, they entered the compartment, and after a bing and slide of the doors, a sinking feeling confirmed they were heading underground.

When the doors reopened, Vishous got careful with the leading: He closed in so he was shoulder-to-shoulder and stayed that way, no doubt looking to casual viewers as if he were just a bodyguard doing his duty to the King of the race.

Instead of functioning as a surrogate set of eyeballs.

A sudden murmuring in the waiting area was a sure sign they’d walked into a public place. And the reception at Reception was likewise electric.

“My lord,” some female said, as a squeak broke out like a chair had been shoved back. “This way. Please.”

Wrath turned his head to the voice and nodded. “Thanks for fitting us in.”

“Of course, my lord. It is a rare honor to have your presence in our…”

Blah, blah, blah.

The good news was that he was fast-tracked to a private area with minimal interruption. And then it was a case of waiting. It wouldn’t be for long, though. He was willing to bet Havers would put his running shoes on to get to wherever they were.

Not that that tight-ass pu**y would know what Nikes were necessarily.

“Do, like, all hospitals have to have Monets in them?” Vishous groused.

“Guess the posters come cheap.”

“This is an actual painting.”

Oh. Yeah. Clearly, they were in a VIP suite. “Leave it to Havers—a cliché even while at Sotheby’s.”

“He probably brought it over from the Old Country. Tasteless fool. Once you’ve seen a f**king water lily, you’ve seen them all. And I hate pink. I really hate pink. Although lavender is worse.”

As Wrath put his hands out to feel around, he thought of the Impressionist paintings he’d seen back when his eyesight had worked a little. Talk about blurred vision—nothing like a half-blind painter’s smudgey art being viewed by a half-blind ass-hat.

Surrealists with their razor-sharp edges had been much better if he’d wanted to—

Wow. His brain really didn’t want to think about why they were here.

“There’s an examination table directly in front of you.”

“I’m not getting examined,” Wrath muttered.

“Fine, someone’s grandmother’s silk sofa is to your right.”

As he rerouted and took the couch route, he thought of how much he loved having his own in-house docs. Too bad Doc Jane and Manny couldn’t answer his questions in this case. And yeah, he supposed he could have gotten the information another way—like have Fritz come here and ask things. But sometimes firsthand was the only way to go: He wanted to catch the scent of the physician when the male spoke. It was the only way to be sure it was the truth.

“You going to tell me what this is about,” V demanded.

A flicking sound was followed by a scratch, and a moment later, the scent of Turkish tobacco did away with most, if not all, of the bleachy ferment of oh, so many Lysol moppings.

When Wrath didn’t say shit, V cursed. “You know, Jane can do this, whatever it is.”