The King

“And I think I need to feed again,” his Beth said as he started up the stairs, George leading him by subtle pressure on his leg.

“I gotchu.” He frowned. “What did the doc say about the nausea?”

“She really does think I have the flu. But then, she doesn’t know about the whole needing thing and maybe that’s why?”

“I’ll talk to Havers—you don’t have to go see him.”

“That would be great, actually. I’m really nervous.”

“Don’t you worry. I got this.”

And he absolutely, positively did. He felt in control of the universe, an old, familiar part of him waking up once again.

George guided him to the door that opened up to the stairs to the third floor, and when they got to the top, Wrath went to the left.

As the vault was unlocked, he walked inside, taking her immediately to the bed. “You want me to run a bath? A shower? The sink?”

She laughed. “I just want to lie here. I feel like I’ve been on a roller-coaster ride that’s been going too fast.”

Sitting down beside her, he found her lower belly with his hand. “I love this.”

“Love what?”

“This bump thing you got going on.” He smiled. “That’s our young.”

“It sure is.”

“I wish I could see it. That picture.”

“Me, too.”

“But this is good.” He rubbed in circles, trying to imagine what his son would look like. “And he’s strong.”

“Yes. Just like his father.”

“Here, take my vein.” He extended his wrist to her mouth. “Please.”

“Oh, thank you.”

As her fangs sank into his skin, he wanted her at his throat but didn’t trust himself. He was juiced up, and that kind of shit tended to like a particular outlet—and that was not happening while she was pregnant. Nope. Not with his son in there—

His wife’s hand landed on his hard cock—and he nearly jumped out of his skin. “Fuck!”

She broke the seal on his vein. “We can have sex, you know.”

“Ah, no. Nope.”

“Wrath, I’m not sick—and it’s not like we have to worry about whether or not I’m going to get pregnant.” The smile on her face was all over her tone. “You got that job done just fine.”

“I did, didn’t I.”

“I am so happy about this,” she said, as he felt her touch his face. “About your response most of all.”

Guess he’d surprised them both with his reaction.

Stroking her belly, he thought about what was growing inside of her. “You want to know what the best part of this is?”

“Tell me,” she whispered.

“You have given me something … I didn’t even know I needed. It’s the greatest gift I will ever receive—it’s, like, completing me already in places I wasn’t aware were empty. And yet … in spite of all that? I don’t love you one bit more. You are as important to me as you’ve always been.” He curled down and pressed a kiss to the loose shirt she was wearing—it was one of his, actually, and wasn’t that great. “I was wholly bonded to you before this, and will be after this—and forevermore.”

“You’re going to make me cry again.”

“So cry. And let me take care of you. I got this.”

“I love you so much.”

He moved up to her mouth and kissed her once, twice, three times. “Right. Back. Atchu. Now finish feeding and rest—and I’ll have food brought up.”

“No food, please. Not right now. Your strength is all I need.”

Amen to that, he thought.

Wrath stayed on the edge of that bed forever as she nursed against his wrist. Then he helped her to the shower, got her dried off, and put her between the sheets.

“I’m just going to rest a little,” she said, already drifting off as the shutters started to rise for the night.

“However long you want.”

A son. A son.

“I’m going to go hit the desk,” he said—before stopping himself.

Funny, that was what he’d told her every night after First Meal, their joking way of acknowledging he was gonna go put his crown on and deal with shit.

“I’m so glad,” she said in a sleepy voice.

Funny … right now? All that King stuff didn’t seem like a burden anymore.

In fact, as he grabbed onto George’s halter, it felt shockingly easy to go down the stairs and head for his study. And as he went into the room, he found the desk, walked around its carved corners … and paused before sitting in his father’s chair.

It was with a sense of awe that he slowly lowered his weight. The throne creaked as it always did—and he wondered, as his father had sat in it, had it done the same? He didn’t remember that detail from his youth and wished his memory was better.

Instead of calling for Saxton to come in, or checking email through his voice-activated computer, he frowned and tried to pull as many recollections out of the past as he could. They were hazy, the ones he did recall—because of his faulty eyes.

God, he’d never really thought of his wife’s human side one way or the other—but he hoped like hell that the new DNA she was bringing to the table went to work on his defect. It would be so great if his son was born with good eyesight.

But if the young wasn’t?

Then he himself had blazed the trail, and he would be there to support his son. Being blind wasn’t great—but it didn’t mean you had to miss out in life.

Shiiiiiiit, to think he’d been willing to sacrifice a child just because he was scared he or she might have a defect. Stupid. So stupid. And really f**king lame of him.

Thank Christ destiny had known better—

“My lord,” Fritz said.

“Come on in!” Dayum, he was really cheerful—time to dial that down, if only so he didn’t annoy himself.

“One of the workmen wishes for an audience.”

Ah, yes. And for a moment, he reverted to his default to push things away, but then he got to his feet. “I’ll come down—no.”

With conscious thought, he sat back in the throne. “Send him up—escort him, though, will you? And get some brothers to help.”

He wasn’t ready to trust anyone but the people in his household.

“Right away,” the butler said. “My pleasure!”

Looked like he wasn’t the only one with his happy-happy-joy-joy on.

He glanced down to the floor. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, George.”

The supportive chuff he got in return was exactly the vote of confidence he needed. Fuck the glymera, for real.

A little later, Vishous’s sharp voice cut into the room. “I got your visitor, true?”

“Send him in.”

There was some shuffling and suddenly, the scents in the room changed—so overwhelmingly, Wrath recoiled.

He’d never known such … gratitude? Was that what it was? Reverence? It was a bouquet born of deep emotions, that was for sure.

“The foreman’s bowing before your desk, my brother,” V said. “His hat’s off.”

The fact that the foreman was crying was something Vishous judiciously left off the report.

Wrath got to his feet and went around. Before he could say anything, though, a stream of words fell from the humble male’s mouth.

“I know it’s you. I know it could only be you.” The male’s voice choked. “I cannot repay you—how did you know?”

Wrath shrugged. “I just figured your daughter probably needed a better wheelchair. And a couple of ramps.”

“And the van. That van … how did you…”

“I’m guessing money’s a little tight—although you take care of your family just fine. And as for the why, you’re helping me here, I wanted to help you there.”

“My second shellan, she cannot express her thanks enough. Nor can I. But we offer you this. As an unworthy tribute to Your Highness.”

Wrath frowned, a sudden slice from the past coming back to him.

And it made him blink hard.

He could remember people doing this with his father, offering the King tokens of thanks.

“I am honored,” he said gruffly as he put his hands out.

What was laid across his palms was smooth, soft. “What is it?”

There was an awkward pause. As if the foreman didn’t understand.

And that was the moment when Wrath knew he’d come to a crossroads. Oddly, he thought of his son.

Shifting the slight weight to one hand, he reached up …

… and removed his wraparounds.

“I’m blind,” he told the commoner. “I cannot see. That’s how I knew what would matter to you and your family. I’ve got some experience making accommodations in this world.”

The gasp was loud.

Wrath smiled a little. “Yeah, that Blind King title isn’t just gossip. It’s the God’s honest—and I am not ashamed of it.”

Holy Shit … until he said the words, he hadn’t realized how inferior he’d felt. How much he had kept hidden. How many apologies he had offered because of something that he had no control over. But that time was past.

Sighted or not, he had an example to set in this world—and he was goddamned if he wasn’t going to live up to it.

“So please,” he told the clearly astonished commoner. “Describe to me the gift that you pay me honor with.”

There was a very long pause. And the foreman wasn’t the only one who was surprised. V was emanating twelve kinds of OMG as he smoked like a frickin’ chimney over in the corner.

The foreman cleared his throat. “It is—um, my mate, she weaves fabric in the traditional way from the Old Country. She sells it within the race for solace banners and clothing. This is … it is her finest weave, one that she did years ago and has not had the heart to sell. It took her a year to complete it—” The male’s voice cracked. “She said she knows now why she could not let it go. She says to tell you she knows now, she was saving it in tribute for you.”

Wrath put the wraparounds aside and ran his hands back and forth over the cloth. “I’ve never felt anything this fine—it’s like satin. What color is it?”

“Red.”

“My favorite color.” Wrath paused. And then decided, Fuck it. “I’m having a son.”

Cue the second gasp.

“Yeah, my love and I … we got lucky.” Abruptly, the reality of his son not being the heir to the throne hit—and there was a sadness. There truly was—but also a kind of relief. “I will use this to receive him in. When he is born.”

Annnnnnnnnnnnnd that would be a third gasp.

“No, he’s not the heir to the throne,” Wrath said. “My wife is part human. So he cannot sit where I do—and that’s all right.”

His son would make his own way. He was … free.

And as Wrath spoke his truth, without apology or explanation, as he cloaked himself in the vestments of honesty, as he said the words he had kept hidden without realizing he had done so …

He realized he, too, was finally free—and that his parents, if they had had a chance to look over his shoulder, would have approved of him.

Just the way he was.

SIXTY-SIX

The Caldwell Galleria Mall was open until ten o’clock at night.

As Xcor materialized in a hidden corner of its vast chain of parking lots, he then strode past the lines of parked cars, his long strides eating up the distance to an entrance that had some giant red sign over a multitude of doors.

He had no idea what he was doing here. About to walk around humans. With a purpose that, had one of his soldiers put such forth, he would never have let them get over it.

Pushing in through the glass portals, he frowned. Female clothes abounded on the left and the right, all manner of cheery colors—that made him think fondly of unleashing a flamethrower to put his retinas out of their misery.

Up ahead, there was section after section of glass cases with sparkling oddities in them, scarves hanging from racks, and mirrors—goddamn, there were mirrors everywhere.

Passing them by, he ducked his eyes. He didn’t want the reminder of his ugliness. Especially not this night—

Did they even have what he was looking for in this place?

Prowling around the first floor, he could feel the eyes of the proper customers on him—and it was clear they were wondering if they were going to end up on the evening news in a bad way. He ignored them all and proceeded upward on a set of moving stairs.

It was on the second floor that he found the menswear department.

Yes, herein, all manner of masculine shirts and pants and sweaters and jackets were arranged on hangers and display tables. And just as with down below, music thumped in low tones overhead, whilst light streamed from the ceiling to set off the merchandise.

What the hell was he doing here—

“Hey, can I help you—whoa!”

As he wheeled around and settled into his attack stance, the black human salesperson jumped back and put his palms up.

“Forgive me,” Xcor muttered. At least he hadn’t outed one of his weapons.

“No problem.” The handsome, well-dressed man smiled. “You looking for something specific?”

Xcor glanced around, and nearly walked back to that fancy stairwell. “I require a new shirt.”

“Oh, cool, you got a hot date?”

“And pants. And socks.” Come to think of it, he never wore underwear. “And undergarments. And a jacket.”