The King

Assail glanced up to the night sky. Following an earlier snowstorm, the moon now had some lazy clouds drifting over its face, and he hoped they took their own sweet time. More light they did not need—although the site was otherwise discreet enough: remote, in a bend on the shoreline, with forest that came nearly up to the river’s frozen edge. Also, the way in had been a lumpy, bumpy barely-there lane, even the SUV struggling in its off-road mode—

“I am worried about you.”

Assail glared over his shoulder. “I beg your pardon?”

“You do not sleep.”

“I am not tired.”

“You do too much of the coke.”

Assail turned back around and prayed for the appearance they awaited for a fresh reason. “Worry not, cousin.”

“Do you know if they made it to their destination.”

It had been so long since Ehric had asked after anyone, that Assail had to pivot around once more. And indeed, his primary instinct was to shut the inquiry down quick, yet the true concern on that hard face stopped him.

He resumed watching the sluggish, icy water. “No, I do not.”

“Will you call her?”

“No.”

“Not even to make sure they are safe.”

“She doesn’t wish for that.” And the whys of this waiting by the Hudson were proof of the soundness of her decision to leave him. “A clean break it is.”

Even he heard the hollowness in his voice.

God, he wished to hell he had never met that woman—

The sound was at first indistinguishable from the ambient night noises, but the hum quickly became distinct: Coming from the left, it announced that perhaps their wait was over.

The fishing boat that puttered around the corner was as low to the river as a floating leaf and nearly as silent. As prescribed, there were three men in it, all of them clad in dark clothes, and each had a line in the depths, as if they were naught but plying what open water there was for a meal.

They pulled in bow-first.

“Catch anything?” Assail inquired as he’d been told to.

“Three trout.”

“I had two last night.”

“I want one more.”

Assail nodded, putting his gun away and stepping forward. From that moment, everything went silently and with speed: a tarp was lifted and four duffel bags changed hands, moving from the boat to him and then to Ehric—who hung them off his shoulders. In return, Assail passed over a black metal briefcase.

The tallest of the men put in the code he had been given, popped the lid, inspected the layout of bundles of bills, and nodded.

There was a quick handshake … and then Assail and Ehric retreated into the trees. Duffels went in the rear, Ehric in the back, Assail in the passenger seat.

As they headed off, bumping back over the rutted lane, windows were cracked to catch any sounds or smells.

There was nothing.

As they came out to the road, they stopped and waited whilst still hidden in the trees. No cars coming or going. The coast, as the saying went, was clear.

On Assail’s command, the gas was hit and off they went, into the night.

With five hundred thousand street dollars of coc**ne and he**in.

So far, so good.

After extracting everything from both Benloises’ phones, he’d combed through the numbers and the texts—particularly the international ones. He’d found two contacts in South America with whom there appeared to be a lot of communication, and when he’d called from Ricardo’s phone, he’d been routed into a network of secured connections, a number of clicks occurring before a proper ringing started.

Needless to say, there had been a good deal of surprise after Assail had introduced himself and explained the purpose of his call. Benloise had, however, informed his compatriots of his new, biggest client—so it was not a complete shock to them that the one who had once been the wholesaler had become superfluous … and been eliminated.

Assail had offered them a deal to start the relationship off upon the right foot: One million in cash for half a million in product—as a gesture of good faith.

Partnerships had to be cultivated, after all.

And he had approved of the men sent to do the transaction. They were a clear step up from Benloise’s street thugs, totally professional.

Now he and his cousins simply had to parcel the product for street sale, and connect with the Forelesser for distribution. And business could resume as if Benloise had never existed.

Perfectly engineered.

“This went well,” Ehric said as they got onto the road that would take them out to Assail’s glass house.

“Yes.”

As they went along, he stared out the window, watching the trees pass by. A house. That hunting cabin.

He should have been more pleased. This was, after all, going to open up tremendous earning potential. And he loved money and all its power. Truly, he did.

Instead, the only thing on his mind was worry over where his female was whether she had in fact made it down to Miami in one piece with that grandmother of hers.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

She was gone.

Forever.

SIXTY-ONE

As Beth woke up, the first thing she did was a body scan for the urge to run for the bathroom. When that came back with a not-right-now, she pushed herself to a vertical and swung her feet to the floor. How long had she slept for? The shutters were still up so it wasn’t yet daylight, but man, she felt like she’d been out for days.

Looking down at herself, she put her hands on her belly—

Holy crap, she didn’t remember swallowing a basketball.

Under her palms, her stomach was swollen and hard, the protrusion such that she doubted she would be able to pull her pants on.

Her first instinct was to reach for the phone and call Doc Jane, but then she dialed back on the panic and got to her feet.

“Feeling okay,” she murmured. “Feeling pretty good…”

As she went over to her closet, she felt like her body was a bomb about to go off—and, man, she hated it: She’d had no idea how much she took for granted in the health department until she’d deliberately tried to complicate herself—

For no apparent reason, the Saturnine Ruby slipped right off her finger.

Glancing down, she watched the ring bounce on the carpet—and frowned as she bent over and picked the thing up. She and Wrath had traded back for convenience because both had struggled with something that didn’t fit—and the symbols of their marriage had meaning no matter whose hand they were on.

Or falling off of, as was the case—

“What the hell?” she breathed.

As she went to put the thing back on, she realized that her fingers were positively skeletal, the skin stretched over knobby knuckles and a sunken palm.

Heart starting to hammer, she rushed to the mirror in the bathroom, turning on the lights—

Beth gasped. The reflection staring back at her was all wrong—all totally frickin’ wrong. Overnight, literally, her face had hollowed out, all the fat gone from her cheeks and her temples, her chin sharp as a knife, the tendons in her neck standing out in bald relief.

Stark fear speared into her chest. Especially as she lifted her arm and pulled at the skin on her triceps. Loose. Way loose.

It was as if she had lost twenty-five pounds within hours—except for her belly.

Trying not to completely freak out, she headed for the closet to find something she could wear. In the end, she pulled on a pair of drawstring sweatpants, and one of Wrath’s few button-downs. The latter was like a cloud of fine white cotton around her—and that meant, as she had another hot flash, there was plenty of ventilation happening.

At least her slippers fit perfectly.

Heading down to the second-floor landing, she put her head into the study and didn’t find Wrath at the desk. Maybe he was working out?

She was going down the grand staircase when she found him.

He and George were walking out of the dining room along with a string of doggen, the staff carrying all kinds of silver trays across the depiction of the apple tree in bloom.

The second he caught her scent, he stopped. “Leelan! Are you sure you should be up?”

Turned out the smell of the food was one hell of a distraction: the spike of hunger she got in response enough to halt her in her tracks.

“Ah … yeah, I feel okay. I’m hungry, actually.”

As well as scared to death.

While the staff continued on into the billiards room, filing in past some sheets of heavy plastic, Wrath came over to the base of the stairs. “Let’s get you into the kitchen.”

Heading all the way down to join him, she let him take her arm, and leaned into his strength, taking a deep, easing breath. She’d probably just imagined everything up there. Really. Probably.

Crap. “You know, I slept well,” she murmured as if to reassure herself. Which didn’t work.

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hm.”

Together, they walked past the long dining table, and went through the flap door in the far corner. On the other side, iAm was once again at the stove, stirring a great pot.

The Shadow turned—and immediately frowned as he looked at her.

“What?” She put her hands to her stomach. “What are you—”

“Nothing,” he said, banging his wooden spoon on the steel vat. “You two like chicken soup?”

“Oh, yes, that sounds perfect.” Beth hopped up onto a stool. “And some bread maybe—”

Fritz materialized at her elbow with a baguette and a plate with butter. “For you, madam.”

She had to laugh. “How did you know?”

As Wrath sat on the stool next to her, George parked it between them. “I had him on standby.”

A steaming bowl of soup was slid in front of her by the Shadow. “Enjoy.”

“Him, too?” she asked of iAm.

“Yeah, the Shadow mighta been on it as well.”

Picking up the spoon Fritz offered her, she dug in, aware the three males were staring at her—Wrath with such intensity, it was almost as if he’d gotten his sight back—

“Mmmmm,” she said—and meant it. The soup was perfect, simple, not too heavy, and warm, warm, warm.

Maybe it was just that she’d been through the needing and not eaten for how long?

“So what’s going on in the billiards room,” she asked, to try to distract the males.

“They’re cleaning up after me.”

She winced. “Ah.”

Wrath patted around for the baguette and broke off the hard end, putting it aside. The piece he then tore for her was soft in the middle, crunchy on the outside—and the butter he put on it was the unsalted, sweet kind.

The combo was great with the soup.

“Would you like something to drink?” Fritz asked.

“Wine?” iAm said—before catching himself. “No, not wine. Milk. You need the calcium.”

“Good idea, Shadow,” Wrath chimed in as he nodded at Fritz. “Make it whole—”

“No, no, that will make me gag.” Annnnd didn’t that stop all of them in their tracks. “Which was true before all the, well, you know. But the skim does sound good.”

And so it went, the three of them waiting on her: More soup? iAm hit her bowl again right away. More bread with butter? Husband was on it. More milk? The butler raced for the fridge.

Being surrounded by all the normal really helped calm her down. But she felt the need to try to set the record straight before they fed her until she exploded.

“Boys. I really appreciate all this—but we don’t know if I’m preg—”

She did not get to finish the thought, much less the sentence.

All at once, everything she’d eaten headed for the fire exit at the same time, her stomach contracting without warning.

She barely made it to the staff bathroom in time.

Yup, it all came up, from soup to bread, as it were. And then, even when she could have sworn not just her stomach, but her entire chest cavity was empty, the heaving kept her bent over the toilet until her eyes watered, her head pounded, and her throat was nothing but a raw, burning mess.

“Hey, how we doing?”

Of course, it was Doc Jane. “Hey, what’s up—”

It was a long while before she could say anything else. And P.S., she really hated how the gagging sounds echoed in the bowl.

When there was a break in the action, so to speak, she rested her hot, sweaty forehead on her arm, reached up to flush again … and found that she didn’t have the energy to pull the lever down.

“I think we need to get you to the doctor,” Jane said.

“I thought you were one,” Wrath bit out.

“Do we have to?” Beth countered—

The fact that she started throwing up again pretty much answered things, didn’t it.

As Wrath stood just outside the staff bathroom by the kitchen, he was ready to scream at his lack of vision: There was nothing like having your mate in medical distress to get you good and pissed off that you were blind.

With his piece-of-shit pupils, he couldn’t see her face to get a read on her coloring, her expression, her eyes. And his keen sense of smell? Out the window, too—the vomiting had clogged up his sinuses, making it impossible to tease out any emotional clues.

The one thing that was working? His ears—so that every new round of sickness went straight into his brain.

“Okay, let’s go,” Beth finally said hoarsely.

“Wait a f**king minute,” he barked. “Go where?”

Jane’s voice was level. “To the doctor—”

“You are a f**king doctor—”