The King

FIFTY-SIX

After Wrath showed Doc Jane out, he went right back to the bed. As he sat down, Beth took his hand and squeezed it.

“I’m going to be fine,” she said.

God, he hoped so. “Are you yawning?”

“Yes. I’m suddenly exhausted.”

“Let me get a ginger ale—”

“No. No, thank you … I just want to rest for a minute or two. Then I’ll tackle the idea of putting something in there.”

“Are you still sick?”

“No. I just don’t want to be.” Her thumb stroked back and forth over his palm. “We can do this, Wrath. All of it.”

As he didn’t want to let his paranoia out, he nodded. “Yeah. It’s gonna be fine.”

Except inside, he wasn’t feeling that. At all.

“You should go downstairs and work,” she mumbled, like she was already falling asleep. “Saxton stayed over. He could help you check e-mail and stuff.”

As if the glymera were going to have anything to say to him tonight?

When he’d gone down to get the grub with Fritz, he’d run into Rehvenge, who was more than happy to report on Ichan’s thwarted throning ceremony. Talk about your swagga—Rehv had been high as a kite with victory: The aristocrats had been shanked a good one, the leg they’d been standing on sliced off at the knee.

But there was no reason to be naive and assume they wouldn’t get all up in his ass again.

They were just going to find another way to come at him.

Thanks to Xcor.

Man, if he could just get his hands on that son of a bitch …

“I can’t sleep like this,” Beth said. “With you hovering.”

“I want to stay.”

“There’s nothing to be done here. We’re in hurry-up-and-wait mode until we know one way or another.”

“Who will feed you when you’re ready?”

Her tone became gentle. “I did a pretty good job of that before you came around.”

Well … crap.

In the end, he figured she needed the rest more than he needed to babysit a grown-ass female. After dropping a kiss or two on her mouth, he let George escort him out of the suite and down the stairs. Emerging on the second-floor landing, he stalled out. The last place he wanted to be was in that study—

The sound of hammering down below got his attention. What the…?

“Stairs,” he told his dog.

As George led him down to the first floor, the noises got louder, but they were still muffled—and his nose caught a whiff of concrete powder in the air. And something else …

“Hey,” Rhage said. “What’s doing?”

Wrath put out his hand and let his brother clap palms. “Nada. How’s it going in there?”

“Taking up the floor. We’ve got some heavy-duty plastic sheeting in the doorway to keep the dust down—Fritz was hoping we’d leave it open so he could clean up every morning after they leave. We kiboshed that.”

“Good call.”

On the far side of that sheeting, male voices bantered back and forth against the din of hammers cracking into stone, the chatter casual and clearly born of great familiarity. “How many workmen?”

“Seven. We want ’em in and out as fast as possible ’cuz we’re all a little twitchy—John’s here with me.”

“Hey, JM,” Wrath said, nodding in the direction of the male’s scent.

“He says hey—and wants to know how Beth is?”

“She’s good. Real good—thanks for everything, son.”

“He says, yeah, it was his pleasure.”

Good kid. Turning into a great male, Wrath thought.

“So I want to go in and meet them,” he blurted for no particular reason.

There was a long period of quiet—during which he was willing to bet Rhage and John were locking eyes and no-going each other.

“Good, glad you agree,” Wrath muttered as he cued George.

The dog signaled that they’d come up to a barrier by halting, and Wrath reached out, his palm finding a sheet that was stiff and thick. Dropping his hold on the halter, he used two hands to pull it aside so he didn’t tear it from its tethers above.

The voices stopped immediately.

Except for one that breathed, “Holy … shit.”

All at once there was a clattering, as if tools were being dropped to the floor—and then a rustling.

Like seven males of some size had just gone down on their knees.

For a moment, Wrath’s eyes teared up behind his wraparounds. “Evening,” he said, trying to be all casual. “How’s the work going?”

No answer. And he could smell the stunned disbelief—it was like sautéed onions, not entirely unpleasant.

“My lord,” came a low greeting. “It is a great honor to be in your presence.”

He opened his mouth to blow that off … except as he inhaled, he realized that was the truth. For each and every one of them. They were honestly in awe and overcome.

In a hoarse voice, he said, “Welcome to my home.”

As John ducked under the sheet and stood behind Wrath, all he could think was, About fucking time.

The seven workmen were all kneeling on one knee, their heads bowed, their eyes flipping up and down as if Wrath were the sun and they couldn’t stare at him for very long.

Then the King spoke, and the four simple words that came out of his mouth were transformative, the workmen looking up on a oner with … a kind of love.

Wrath made like he was glancing around. “So, how do you think this is going to go?”

The males glanced back and forth, and then the foreman, the guy who’d introduced the workers one by one while they were patted down, spoke.

“We’re going to take up the floor. And put down a new one.”

More looking back and forth—while Wrath just continued to swing his wraparounds left and right as if he were taking in the view.

“Are you…” The foreman cleared his throat as if he were pained. “Would you prefer another team?”

“What?”

“Have we displeased our lord in some way to bring you herein?”

“God, no. I was just curious. That’s all. I don’t know anything about construction.”

The foreman glanced at each of his males. “Well, that’s because it’s beneath you, my lord.”

Wrath laughed in a harsh burst. “The hell it is. It’s honest work. There’s no shame in that. So what are your names?”

The foreman’s eyes bugged like that was the last thing he’d expected. But then he rose from the floor and jacked up his tool belt. “I’m Elph. This is…” He whipped through the introductions quickly.

“You all have families?” Wrath asked.

“I got a daughter and a mate,” Elph said. “Although my first shellan died in childbirth.”

Wrath put his hand over his heart as if struck by something. “Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry.”

The foreman blinked at the King. “I … thank you, my lord.”

“How long ago was it that you lost her?”

“Twelve years.” The male cleared his throat. “Twelve years, three months, seventeen days.”

“How’s your daughter?”

The foreman shrugged. Then shook his head. “She’s okay—”

The one in the back, who’d said the holy shit, spoke up. “She’s paralyzed. And she’s an angel.”

The glare he got from his superior was immediate—like the guy didn’t want Wrath bothered. “She’s fine,” he cut in.

“Paralyzed?” Wrath seemed to pale. “From the birthing?”

“Ah … yeah. She was injured. She was delivered without assistance. Other than me who was of sorry aid.”

“Where the fuck was Havers?”

“We couldn’t get to the clinic.”

Wrath’s nose flared. “You’re lying to me.”

The foreman’s brows lifted in shock. “It was no one’s fault, my lord. Except for mine.”

“I thought you were in construction. Or did you go to medical school?”

“I did not.”

“So how was it your fault?” Wrath shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry. Look, I’m glad your daughter survived.”

“It is my biggest blessing, my lord.”

“No doubt. And I know you have to miss your mate like hell.”

“Every night. All day. Although my second shellan keeps me going.”

Wrath nodded like he knew exactly where the male was at. “I get that. I so totally get that. Something similiar happened to my brother, Tohr.”

There was a long pause. Then the foreman said slowly, “I don’t know what else to say, my lord. Other than you have honored us greatly with your presence.”

“You don’t have to say anything. And I should leave you guys alone. I’m taking up your time.” Wrath lifted his dagger hand in a casual wave. “Later.”

As the plastic sheeting fell back into place behind the King, the workmen were speechless.

“Is he always like that?” the foreman asked numbly.

Rhage nodded. “He truly is a male of worth.”

“I didn’t think he would be … like that.”

“Like what?”

“So approachable.”

“Based on what?”

“The rumors. They say he’s aloof. Untouchable. Uninterested in people like us.” The foreman shook himself like he couldn’t believe he’d said that aloud. “What I mean is—”

“Nah, you’re good. I can imagine where that comes from.”

“He looks like his father,” the older one in the back said. “Spitting image.”

“You knew him? Wrath’s dad, that is?” Rhage asked.

The older male nodded. “And I saw the two of them together once. Wrath the younger was five. He always stood beside his father when the King had audiences with the commoners. I had a property dispute with my landlord who was in the glymera. The King took care of me over that aristocrat, I tell you.” An air of sadness overcame the male’s entire aura. “I remember when the King and queen were killed. We were certain the heir had been slaughtered as well—by the time we learned otherwise … this Wrath was gone.”

“I heard he was shot recently,” the foreman said to Rhage. “Is that true?”

“We don’t talk about it.”

The foreman bowed. “Of course. I apologize.”

“Like I said, you’re good, don’t worry. Come on, JM, let’s leave these guys to work.” As John nodded, Rhage tacked on, “Just let us know if you need anything.”

John went to follow the Brother, but then paused in the split between the sheets. The workmen were still staring at where Wrath had stood and talked with them, as if they were replaying everything. As if they’d been witnesses to a historic event.

Stepping out, he wondered if Wrath was aware of the effect he’d had on them.

Probably not.