Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Would you like me to take that porcelain for a minute?” Miha asked.
“You know, that would be great. I’ll be back for it.”
“Also, how about a napkin?” Miha took one out of her desk. “I don’t have wet wipes, I’m afraid.”
“That’s awesome. Thanks.”
Accepting the precisely ironed damask square—because Fritz only ever did everything in his houses correctly—and turning over the sweets, Beth smiled a goodbye and wiped her son’s face as she walked across the foyer. When she came up to the set of closed double doors, she wondered if it wouldn’t be better if she held off interrupting—
The panels whipped open.
What was on the other side was not a surprise, yet it wasn’t easy to see, either. As usual, there were a number of Brothers and fighters standing around, all fully armed, and also as usual, they looked over at her with brotherly respect and love. But the vibe in what had once been the formal dining room was tense. Which was par for the course as well and nothing she was ever going to get used to.
V. Tohr. Z and Phury. Rhage and Butch, along with John Matthew and Qhuinn and Blay.
“Beth.”
As her name was spoken with a barking authority, she turned to the fireplace. Two armchairs had been set up facing each other, the vacant of the pair for the civilians who came with their celebrations, grievances, and conflicts, the other filled to overflowing with her hellren. Seated in what became a throne whenever he was on it, Wrath was an enormous presence in his leathers and his muscle shirt, his waist-length black hair falling from its widow’s peak, his blind eyes hidden behind wraparound sunglasses, his guide dog right by his side on the floor.
“What’s wrong.” The King jumped to his feet, the surge startling the golden, who followed his master’s example in confusion. “What—”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She motioned with her hands for him to calm down even though he couldn’t see her. “I was just driving into town to meet Sarah over at her and Murhder’s house, and I thought I would stop by.”
“Dada,” L.W. called out.
Those dark brows dropped down low. “Who’s guarding you both?”
“It’s fine—”
“No one is with you?” he demanded. Like he was prepared to relieve Vishous, who coordinated security details, of the Brother’s remaining testicle. With a rusty spike.
“I’m just going to Sarah’s—”
“But what if you needed something or—”
“Wrath.” Instantly, the King shut up, in a way that he only ever did when she said his name in that tone. “We talked about this, remember. I let V know what I was doing, as we agreed, and then I got in my car with our son and headed out like a normal person.”
As she glanced at Vishous, the goateed fighter nodded and flashed his Samsung forward. “Yup, she hit me up. And I got her on my phone. I’m tracking her all the way.”
“I’m not a prisoner and neither is your son.”
After a full minute of glowering, the great Blind King sat his ass back down, and if he were any other living thing, you might say he sulked a little, his lower lip pooching out, his brows sinking even lower. Of course, given that he remained a straight-up killer, even in his retirement from fighting, nobody would have thrown that kind of observation around.
“Come here, leelan,” Wrath muttered.
As Beth walked the length of the long room, L.W. reached out with his Danish, and Wrath’s face softened as he clearly focused on the scent of his son. Meanwhile, at his feet, George lay back down and thumped his tail, snuffling and smiling in the way goldens did.
“Someone’s sticky,” Wrath said.
“Very.”
The great Blind King reached out, flashing the tattoos that ran up his inner forearms, his lineage displayed in the symbols of the Old Language. “My leelan. My son.”
He didn’t care that L.W.’s hands were covered with cherry filling and glaze. He didn’t care that his Brothers were in the room. He didn’t give one living shit about anything other than his family—and as soon as Beth was in range, he picked her up off the floor and settled her in his lap like she weighed nothing.
As she repositioned their son, she wrapped an arm around Wrath’s huge shoulders and was reminded of how powerful he was. Even though her male was barred from going into the field, he kept in top shape, sparring with Payne in the gym, lifting, running on treadmills. He continued to work with his throwing stars, and stab targets, and shoot guns. And as ever, he was always in charge of the Brotherhood, the household at the mansion, the species at large.
Yet he had a gentle side.
L.W. rarely giggled, but as Wrath went for the Danish and smacked his lips, the peal of happy laughter seemed to fill the whole house.