Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Wrath followed the sweet chemical smell to a steel door, and he punched in a code with his left hand. As soon as he opened the heavy weight, he heard the rush of running water, and felt his boots step onto some kind of tile.
When George stopped, Wrath trusted the dog and went no farther.
“Fritz,” he said as he caught the scent of his dear butler in and among the polish.
There was a rustle and the water was cut off, and Wrath imagined the ancient doggen turning around from whatever sink he was standing at, his black uniform—with its starched white shirt and bow tie perfectly centered at the popped collar—like something out of The Windsor Family Cookbook.
“Miss Rahvyn!” came the cheerful reply. “Whate’er may I… do… for…”
As that familiar voice drifted into silence, the faithful butler’s lined face came to mind: Fritz’s precisely coiffed white hair with its side part, and the wrinkles that gathered around his mouth because he smiled so much, and his expression of worried servitude, were as clear as if Wrath could see—
The sound of something clanging loudly on the floor rang out between them.
“Sire…?” came the choked question. “Is it truly you.”
Wrath held his free arm out wide. “It’s me.” The scent of the butler’s tears was like spring rain on asphalt. “It’s okay, Fritz.”
“I do not understand,” was the rough reply. “How are you here the now?”
In the silence that swelled as Wrath tried to think of an answer, he thought of Rahvyn. She reminded him of the Scribe Virgin, in the sense that that female tapped into energies that were so ancient, so powerful, they transcended definition or even description. So unfortunately he couldn’t explain anything to his most faithful servant.
“I don’t think the whys matter. It’s all about where we’ve ended up. Back together… at last.”
He tacked on that final part for the both of them.
The lesson in his “death” was becoming clear. Love, like time, was tangible. You could feel both in your bones, in your soul. And the latter was a thief if you were lucky enough to have the former.
“I’m glad to see you,” Wrath heard himself say.
There was a muffled sniffle, and then a scrape across the floor, as if a chair were being pushed out of the way.
“My Lord. Please… forgive me, oh, please… my Lord, forgive me.”
The doggen’s voice came from a lower point now, as if Fritz was on his knees.
“There is nothing to forgive.” Wrath shook his head. “Not a damned thing.”
“It is all… my fault.”
The scent of the elderly doggen’s tears filled Wrath’s nose, as he breathed in the sorrow and regret of a male of worth.
And felt an anger he knew could destroy him.
Releasing his hold on George’s harness grip, he extended his dagger hand and moved forward until he made contact with a thin shoulder. The weight of the King’s ring, the one that had been worn by his father, and his father’s father, and all the Wraths who had come before—back to the first one whose skull was on that altar in the Tomb—was innate, the kind of thing he usually didn’t notice because he’d worn it for so long.
Except he felt the heaviness now, especially as Fritz grabbed on to what had been laid upon him. The doggen kissed the black diamond and then pressed the ring and the back of his ruler and master’s hand to his forehead.
While he wept.
Wrath lowered his own head and closed his eyes, even though that didn’t change his vision. As he felt the moment wrap around the two of them, he was reminded of the way paths crossed, of how two strangers could become family, and how differences in station could dissolve when devotion to a job, and loyalty to an employee, transcended the work and became… love on both sides.
“It was my fault, sire,” Fritz mumbled. “I defied your orders. I went out when I should have stayed in—”
“I know why you left. My Beth told me. You were helping Karolyn and her young. He needed his blanket, and you went to get it for him.”
“I killed you—”
“You did not.” He placed his palm on the doggen’s head. “You have to release that burden.”
“But I robbed your son of his sire, your shellan of her mate, you from the both of them. I took from the species its rightful leader—”
“Stop. Right now.”
In the quiet that followed, the butler sniffled and attempted to compose himself—and Wrath swallowed a growl. As the Creator was his witness, thirty-three years of pain was going to be taken out of Lash’s fucking hide for so many reasons.
“I need you, Fritz,” he said in a commanding voice. “Your King requires your service.”
A shuddering breath rippled through the torrent of tears. “Y-y-you do?”
He wanted to hug the male and do the love-you thing. He wanted to share an awkward laugh after a dark-humor joke. He wanted to leave the past in the history books and never fucking think about that night Fritz had gone to help a subordinate—and they had all lost so much collectively.