The King

SIXTY-SEVEN

The following evening, Beth lay back in her mated bed and held an extraordinary piece of cloth in her hands. “This was made by someone?”

“Yeah, the foreman’s shellan.”

Squinting, she tried to imagine how the incredibly fine and even weave could have been done by anything other than a machine. “It’s totally amazing.”

“I told them we’d use it for our son when he’s born.”

With a wince, she tried to ignore the spear of pure terror that shot through her. Wrath, who’d been panicked about the whole birthing thing before they’d conceived, seemed to be forgetting about that part for the moment. Her, on the other hand? More than making up the slack.

“Yes, of course,” she murmured. “I love the color.”

“I just had to do something for the two of them. He’s a good guy. I didn’t expect anything in return…”

As Wrath walked out of the closet, he was dressed in his uniform, and she had to take a second to admire the view. His hair was swinging loose, almost to his tight ass. His magnificent arms were showing every muscle they had, thanks to the wife beater. And those leather pants …

“So I guess she’d worked on that for a year—”

“Are you ever going to have sex with me again? Or do I have to wait five months?”

Stopped. Dead.

But at least she knew her husband was paying attention. “Come on, Wrath. Like I said yesterday, I’m pregnant, not broken.”

“Ah…”

She stared at his hips, watching his arousal take shape, wanting that long, hard erection of his.

“Well, at least I know you want me,” she murmured.

“Don’t ever doubt that.”

“So how ’bout now. Because you look … very fine.” Her eyes did another up-and-down. “Did you get bigger all of a sudden? I mean, is that a baseball bat in your pocket or are you just glad to see me? Come over here and let me sample your goods, big guy.”

He let his head fall back. “Beth…”

“Whaaaaaaat. What’s the problem—look, we gotta talk about this. This abstinence thing is not good for you and me.”

“My son’s in there, okay? And it just—it doesn’t seem … right.”

Beth didn’t mean to laugh, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I’m sorry.” She put her hands up as he frowned like he was pissed. “Honestly, I’m not making fun of you.”

“Oh, really.”

“Come here.” She held her arms out. “And no, I’m not going to seduce you. Scout’s honor.”

He walked over in his bare feet, his black socks hanging from his deft hands. It seemed ludicrous to sit the King of the vampires down and give him a pep talk—especially when he was built the way he was. But she was going to go nuts if she couldn’t have that sexual connection. And so was he.

“I’d like to be with you,” she said, “but only if you’re comfortable with it. It’s not going to hurt the baby—you can call the doctor and ask her yourself. Or talk to Z—he and Bella were together while she was pregnant. She told me so. Talk to whoever you need to, but please rethink where you’re at. Being with you has to have a place in all this.”

As he cracked his knuckles like he was considering things, she stared at the tattoos that ran up his inner forearms.

She tried to imagine a son of hers with a set of those and reached out, turning one of his hands over so she could run her fingertips across the symbols.

“Will he get these, too?” So many names, she thought. “Or because I’m his mother, is he not allowed—”

“Fuck that shit. He can abso get them—and I’ll have V do it. But only if he wants them.”

“I’m surprised.”

“About?”

“How much I want him to. I want him to be just like you.”

There was a long pause and Wrath had to clear his throat. “That’s just about the best compliment anyone’s ever paid me.”

“I don’t know … I just feel like you’re the perfect man.”

“Now you’re making me blush.”

She laughed in a rush. “It’s true.”

“I curse. Constantly. I have a short temper. I order people around—including you.”

“You’re also a great fighter. Great lover—although my son will never, ever have sex—nope, not going there, and if we have grandchildren, they will be immaculately conceived. Wait, where was I—oh, yeah, so you’re also very loyal. You’ve never looked at another woman.”

Wrath put his index finger up. “And that would be true even if I could see.”

“And you’re smart. Great-looking—”

He leaned in. “Are you trying to butter me up so I’ll have sex with you?”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe.” He kissed her lips softly. “Just give me a little time. Only yesterday you were rushed to the doc’s because you were throwing up.”

She ran her hand down his cheek and his hard jaw. “I’ll wait for you. Always.”

“I’m glad.” He sat back. “So how’s the stomach? You want food? The doctor said we need to put some weight on you, right?”

“Nothing appeals. But I will try some of those saltines and ginger ale in a bit. Layla swore by them.”

“Good deal. When do you go back to the doc again?”

“Well, that was the other part of the appointment. iAm had to work a little magic on the poor woman—naturally, my bloodwork was nothing they’d ever seen before, although the pregnancy hormone numbers turned out to be right enough. She wanted me back in a month, unless anything changes. Doc Jane said she was going to try to get an ultrasound machine for the clinic—they have some portable equipment for ortho stuff, but there isn’t one specifically for pregnancy that does three-D imaging. Unfortunately, that stuff’s going to be hella expensive—”

“Whatever they need, they get.”

Beth nodded and fell into silence.

After a moment, she picked up her husband’s big hand and rubbed her thumb up and over that black diamond of his.

“What are you going to do tonight?” Even though she knew the answer.

“I’m going to hit my desk.”

She smiled. “I love when you say that now.”

“You know … me too.” He shrugged. “It’s funny, I felt really inadequate in that job. You know, when compared to my father, blah, blah, blah. But I was the one who didn’t approve of me, not him. And I don’t know, I’ve kinda let that bullshit go.”

“I’m glad.”

“Yeah, it’s a good thing.” He frowned. “I just wish there was some way to—I don’t know, I liked helping that foreman. And there are more like him out there—there have to be. I don’t know how to get to them, though. My father used to be all in with that shit, talking to people—real people, not that glymera bullshit—”

Beth sat up in a rush. “I have an idea. I know exactly what to do.”

He glanced over at her—and the slow smile that hit his face was the sexiest thing about him. “You know what?” he said. “I love your mind. I totally do.”

Wrath swung his leg out and around, bringing it in a full circle. And contact was made exactly where he wanted it—high up, and in the face.

Tohrture went with the impact, swinging in a circle, wielding his sword in concert so that the blade flashed right up close to Wrath’s chest. Except it didn’t quite make the distance. No blood was drawn, no clothing cut.

But Wrath knew better than to enjoy the small victory. Flipping backward off his feet, he somersaulted in midair and landed solidly, setting his fighting stance, raising both his daggers—

“Drop both blades,” Ahgony barked.

Without missing a beat, he threw them away, confronting his opponent barehanded.

Tohrture came at him holding nothing back, neither speed nor strength, and Wrath became very still. At the last second, as the Brother’s war cry was sounded out and echoed in the torchlit cave, Wrath flattened to the ground and caught the fighter at the ankles with an explosive lunge.

Tohrture fell forward—and as Wrath had learned, the last thing you wanted was a Brother with a sword in his hands on top of you. Scrambling himself out of the way, he jumped back to his feet. This was critical. Always back to your feet.

Tohrture was the same, upright a moment later, sword held high, eyes level. Both of them were breathing hard, and now, after how many fortnights into training, Wrath wasn’t the only one with bruises.

The sword made a throaty whistle as Tohrture began to twirl it front to back on both sides of his massive upper body.

Wrath wasn’t even aware of the assessments he was making—where the weight of his opponent was apportioned, where those eyes were looking, how the small muscle groups were contracting. But it was all part of his training, things that had once seemed foreign and were becoming second nature—

From out of nowhere, he was attacked from the back, an enormous weight taking him down to the floor. Before he could draw air, he was flipped over and held by the throat as a spiked glove made a fist.

Crack!

The impact stunned him senseless, his arms flopping to the packed-dirt floor.

“Call!” Ahgony yelled out.

Instantly, the weight was off him, Night jumping back out of the way, his face showing concern the now, not aggression.

Wrath forced himself to roll over and brace his upper body off the ground. Struggling to breathe through his bleeding mouth, he let the sanguinary rush clear out onto the dirt flooring with gravity’s aid.

The pain had flared red-hot in his face, and as he waited for it to fade, he remembered back in the beginning of all this—how the sensation of injury had once flustered him, scared him, distracted him. No more of that. Now he knew the pattern of relief: how the numbness would inevitably come, how soon enough his mind would clear and he would be back on his feet.

Drop. Drop. Drop.

His blood was bright red as it formed a widening puddle under his face.

“That’s enough for tonight,” Ahgony announced. “Fine effort, sire.”

Wrath pushed himself up upon his knees so his torso was upright. He knew better than to attempt to stand yet. His skull was too light for that. Wait … wait …

“Here, sire, allow me,” Night said, offering his palm.

“Shall we call for the healer?” someone said.

Wrath closed his eyes and felt his body caving in. But then he pictured his beloved shellan, lying on their bedding platform, her skin the color of clouds.

Standing up on his own, he spit the remaining blood out of his mouth. “Again,” he told the assembled. “We do it … again.”

There was a beat of pause, the torchlight flickering over the other males in the secret training cave.

And then the Brothers bowed unto him in a way he had noticed they had recently started doing—not courtly, no, as it was not when greeting and leaving, as was aristocratic custom.

This was with respect.

“As you wish, my lord,” Ahgony said. Before shouting once again, “Call!”