The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood 12)

Pulling up on the reins, he knew she saw everything as her hands went to her mouth and Tohrture had to take her elbow to keep her upright.

He wished she had not come. But there was no going back now on any of it.

Dismounting, even though he was not even upon the bridge, he left his horse where it was and crossed onto the thick planks.

He thought perhaps she might run from him, but, no, it was the opposite.

“Are you well enough?” she said as she threw herself at him.

His arms were weak as they went around her. “Aye.”

“You lie.”

He dropped his head into her sweet-smelling hair. “Aye.”

At least with her, he did not have to pretend. The truth was, he as yet feared for the future. He may have taken his revenge out on these traitors, but there would be more.

Kings were targets for the ambitions of others.

That was reality.

Closing his eyes, he wished there was a way out of the legacy—and he worried for his future son, if he had one. Daughters had a chance. Sons were cursed.

But he could not change who he was born to be. He just prayed for the courage that had served him this night to come again when it was needed most.

At least now he had proved to himself and his beloved that he was not just a leader in peacetime. In war, he could wield the sword if he had to.

“I love you,” he said.

As his mate shuddered against him, he knew she was going to shudder again on the morrow evening—when she saw what he was going to do to the heads of those dead bodies.

Messages had to be sent in order to be received.

“Let us go unto our chamber,” he said, tucking her into his chest.

As he nodded to the Brothers, he knew they would take care of his horse—and his prey. There would be time for the beheadings later. Now? He just wanted some sanity amid the madness.

Heading into their castle, she was, as always, his only tether.

“If we have a son,” he murmured.

“Yes?” She looked up at him. “What for him?”

Wrath glanced down into the face that stared upon him, the beautiful face that defined his hours as well as his years. “I hope he finds someone like you.”

“In truth?” she whispered.

“Yes. I pray for him to be half as lucky as I.”

As Anha squeezed around his waist, her voice grew rough. “And for a daughter … a male half as good as her father.”

Wrath kissed the top of her head and continued them onward, through the great hall and up to their chamber, the Brotherhood with them, but keeping a discreet distance.

Yes, he thought, to survive, one must not be alone.

And one must have a partner of worth.

Possess that? And you were richer than any King and queen who e’er roamed the earth.

SEVENTY-THREE

Wrath saw his mother for the first time in three hundred and thirty years that following day.

On some level, he knew it had to be a dream. He had been blind for too long to be seduced into thinking that reality had suddenly changed.

Plus, hello, she’d been dead for centuries.

And yet, as she came to him out of the darkness, she was as alive as he could have wished her to be, moving with ease, wearing a red velvet gown in the old style.

“Mahmen?” he said with wonder.

As he lifted his head, he realized with a shock that it was from his pillow. And shit, this was his room—he could tell by the subtle twinkling of the walls.

His first instinct was to flip over and find—

Beth was right beside him, lying safe and sound under the blankets, her face turned toward him, her dark hair all over the pillow that matched his own. And he could tell by the shape of her belly that yes, she was still pregnant—

Jesus Christ, he could see her.

“Beth,” he said roughly, “Beth! I see you, leelan, wake upIseeyouIseeyou—”

“Wrath.”

At the sound of his mahmen’s voice, he wrenched back around. She was right beside the bed now, her arms crossed, her hands tucked into the voluminous sleeves of that dress.

“Mahmen?”

“I do not know if you shall recall this, but you came to me once.”

God, her voice was so gentle, just as he’d remembered—and he almost shut his eyes just so he could memorize the sound. Except no, he wasn’t going to get cheated out of one nanosecond of sight.

Wait, what had she said? “I did?”

“I was dying. And you came to me from out of the mist of the Fade. And you told me to follow you home. You made me stop and return with you.”

“I don’t remember—”

“It is a debt I have owed you for a very long time.” Her smile was peaceful as the Mona Lisa’s. “And I shall repay it the now. Because I love you so very, very much—”

“Repay? What are you talking about?”

“Wake up, Wrath. Wake up right now.” Abruptly, that voice changed, becoming urgent. “Call the healer—you must call the healer if you wish to save her life.”

“Save her—Beth’s life?”

“Wake up, Wrath. Right away, call the healer.”

“What are you—”

“Wrath, wake up.”

In a sudden rush, like he’d been catapulted out of REM sleep, Wrath shot upright. “Beth!” he screamed.

“What-what-what-what—”

As he twisted around to his wife, he cursed at the blackness all around him. Goddamn f**king dream, teasing him with what he didn’t have.

“What?” Beth cried.

“Shit, sorry, I’m sorry.” He reached out and soothed her, soothed himself. “Sorry, f**ked-up dream.”

“Oh, jeez, you scared me.” She laughed and he heard her hit the pillow as if she’d let herself collapse. “Good thing we sleep with the bathroom light on.”

Frowning, he turned to the side of the bed where his mother had stood and … “No, she wasn’t really here.”

“Who?”

“Sorry.” Cracking his neck, he threw his leg over the side of the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

He gave things a good stretch, and as his spine let out a snap, crackle, pop, he thought fondly of the conversation he’d had with Payne as soon as he’d gotten home. They were going to start sparring again—and not because she was a female.

It was because she was a helluva good fighter and he wanted to get back in the game now.

In the bathroom, he petted George, who was curled up on the Orvis dog bed Butch had given him for Christmas—and then took a piss and had a face wash.

When he got back in bed, he intended to return to lights-out land. Except as he lay flat, he frowned. “Ah, listen … are you feeling okay?”

His Beth yawned. “Yeah, absolutely. But I’m glad I headed back here when I did—the sleep helped. And lying down feels better—I’ve got a stiff back from that mall crawl still.”

Trying to sound causal, he asked, “When’s your next appointment with the doctor?”

“Not till Friday. We’re going weekly now. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

As he fell silent, she curled in against him and let out a sigh like she was re-settling for the duration. He lasted about a minute and a half.

“What do you think about calling the doctor?”

“Calling as in—wait, you mean right now?”

“Well, yeah.”

He could feel her recoil. “But why?”

Yeah, like he could tell her anything along the lines of, My dead mom said so. “I dunno. Just, maybe she could give you a checkup or something.”

“Wrath, that’s not appropriate. Especially considering there’s nothing wrong.” He felt her playing with his hair. “Is this about that civilian? Who lost his wife and baby?”

“It wasn’t during childbirth.”

“Oh. I thought that—”

“Maybe we could just call her.”

“There’s no reason to.”

“What’s her number?” He reached for his phone. “I’m calling her.”

“Wrath, have you lost your mind?”

Fuck it, he’d just do 411.

Beth kept talking at him as he waited for the operator to come on. “Yeah, hi, in Caldwell, New York. The number of Dr. Sam—what’s her last name?”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“I’m going to pay for the visit—no, not you, Operator.” As the last name came back to him, he said it and spelled it twice. “Yeah, connect me to the office, thanks.”

“Wrath, this is—”

Just as the call went through, Beth went quiet. “Beth?” he asked with a frown.

“Sorry,” she said. “My back let out a twinge. You know what? I’m wearing running shoes next time I go walking like that. Now will you hang up and—”

“Yeah, hi, this is a medical emergency. I need Dr. Sam to come to our home, my wife’s a patient of hers … thirty-six weeks … Symptoms? My wife’s pregnant, how much time have you got?”

“Wrath?” Beth said in a small voice.

“What do you mean, you can’t—”

“Wrath.”

And that was when he shut up … and knew his mother had been right. Cranking his head toward his wife, he said with dread, “What?”

“I’m bleeding.”

The definition of terror changed when things weren’t just about you. And nothing was less about yourself than when you were thirty-six weeks pregnant, you felt a welling between your legs … and it was not your water breaking.

At first, Beth thought she’d lost control of her bladder, but as she moved the blankets aside and shifted positions, she saw something on the sheets.

She’d never seen blood so bright before.

And shit, her lower back was suddenly killing her.

“What’s going on?” Wrath demanded.

“I’m bleeding,” she repeated.

Things happened so fast at that point. It was almost like being in the back of a speeding car, everything whirring by too quick to catch: Wrath shouting into the phone, another call being made, Doc Jane and V arriving at a dead run. And then faster still, moving, moving, moving, everyone around her, while she felt curiously still and muffled.

When she was transferred onto the gurney, she looked over at where she’d been on the bed and shuddered at the neon stain. It was huge, like someone had poured out a gallon of paint underneath her.

“Is the baby going to be okay?” she mumbled, some kind of shock taking over everything. “Is he—is Wrath going to be all right?”

People offered her compassion, but no real answers.

But Wrath, the big one, was right by her side, holding her hand, orienting himself with the help of the side of the gurney.

John appeared as they hit the second-story landing. He was wearing only boxers, his hair all messed up, his eyes alert. He took her other palm.

She didn’t remember much about the rush, rush, rush down into the tunnel—except for the fact that the pain was getting severe. Oh, and the ceiling lights were whipping by as she lay back, the rhythmic pulsing like she was in a Star Wars movie about to go into warp speed.

Why couldn’t she hear anything?

As she looked at the people around her, their mouths were all going, their eyes meeting urgently over her.

“Is little Wrath going to be all right?” Even her own voice was on a fader, the volume turned way down. She tried to make it louder. “Is he going to be all right?”

And then they were dusting past the usual entrance into the training center, and going farther down—to an emergency door that had been created just for her, just for this situation.

Except this was not her birth plan. She was supposed to go into the human world, where there were people to take care of her and little Wrath, see to any problems he might have, be there for her and iAm if it was daylight, and big Wrath and John if it was night.

Little Wrath, she thought.

Guessed she’d just named their son.

As she arrived in the clinic, she just kept thinking she was not supposed to be here. Especially as she looked up at that massive operating chandelier in the main OR.

For some reason, she thought of all the times she had been down here, supporting a Brother injured in the field, or going to a checkup with Layla, or—

Doc Jane put her face in the way. Her lips moved slowly.

“…eth? Can you hear me, Beth?”

Ah, good, someone had cranked up the volume on the world.

But her response didn’t register. She couldn’t hear her own voice.

“Okay, good.” Doc Jane enunciated everything clearly. “I want to do an ultrasound to rule out placenta previa—which is a complication where the placenta ends up in the lower part of the uterus. But I’m worried you have an abruption.”

“What … that?” Beth mumbled.

“Are you having pain?”

“Lower back.”

Doc Jane nodded and put her hands on Beth’s belly. “If I press—”

Beth moaned. “Just make sure Wrath is okay.”

They wheeled the ultrasound machine over and her nightgown was cut away. As that gel was squirted onto her stomach and the lights dimmed, she didn’t look at the monitor. She stared at her husband’s face.

That wonderful, masculine face was utterly terrified.

He wasn’t wearing his son glasses—sunglasses, rather. And his pale green, unfocused eyes were roaming around the room as if he were desperate to see something, anything.

“How did you know?” she whispered. “That I was in trouble…” ng up on the reins, he knew she saw everything as her hands went to her mouth and Tohrture had to take her elbow to keep her upright.

He wished she had not come. But there was no going back now on any of it.

Dismounting, even though he was not even upon the bridge, he left his horse where it was and crossed onto the thick planks.

He thought perhaps she might run from him, but, no, it was the opposite.

“Are you well enough?” she said as she threw herself at him.

His arms were weak as they went around her. “Aye.”

“You lie.”

He dropped his head into her sweet-smelling hair. “Aye.”

At least with her, he did not have to pretend. The truth was, he as yet feared for the future. He may have taken his revenge out on these traitors, but there would be more.

Kings were targets for the ambitions of others.

That was reality.

Closing his eyes, he wished there was a way out of the legacy—and he worried for his future son, if he had one. Daughters had a chance. Sons were cursed.

But he could not change who he was born to be. He just prayed for the courage that had served him this night to come again when it was needed most.

At least now he had proved to himself and his beloved that he was not just a leader in peacetime. In war, he could wield the sword if he had to.

“I love you,” he said.

As his mate shuddered against him, he knew she was going to shudder again on the morrow evening—when she saw what he was going to do to the heads of those dead bodies.

Messages had to be sent in order to be received.

“Let us go unto our chamber,” he said, tucking her into his chest.

As he nodded to the Brothers, he knew they would take care of his horse—and his prey. There would be time for the beheadings later. Now? He just wanted some sanity amid the madness.

Heading into their castle, she was, as always, his only tether.

“If we have a son,” he murmured.

“Yes?” She looked up at him. “What for him?”

Wrath glanced down into the face that stared upon him, the beautiful face that defined his hours as well as his years. “I hope he finds someone like you.”

“In truth?” she whispered.

“Yes. I pray for him to be half as lucky as I.”

As Anha squeezed around his waist, her voice grew rough. “And for a daughter … a male half as good as her father.”

Wrath kissed the top of her head and continued them onward, through the great hall and up to their chamber, the Brotherhood with them, but keeping a discreet distance.

Yes, he thought, to survive, one must not be alone.

And one must have a partner of worth.

Possess that? And you were richer than any King and queen who e’er roamed the earth.

SEVENTY-THREE

Wrath saw his mother for the first time in three hundred and thirty years that following day.

On some level, he knew it had to be a dream. He had been blind for too long to be seduced into thinking that reality had suddenly changed.

Plus, hello, she’d been dead for centuries.

And yet, as she came to him out of the darkness, she was as alive as he could have wished her to be, moving with ease, wearing a red velvet gown in the old style.

“Mahmen?” he said with wonder.

As he lifted his head, he realized with a shock that it was from his pillow. And shit, this was his room—he could tell by the subtle twinkling of the walls.

His first instinct was to flip over and find—

Beth was right beside him, lying safe and sound under the blankets, her face turned toward him, her dark hair all over the pillow that matched his own. And he could tell by the shape of her belly that yes, she was still pregnant—

Jesus Christ, he could see her.

“Beth,” he said roughly, “Beth! I see you, leelan, wake upIseeyouIseeyou—”

“Wrath.”

At the sound of his mahmen’s voice, he wrenched back around. She was right beside the bed now, her arms crossed, her hands tucked into the voluminous sleeves of that dress.

“Mahmen?”

“I do not know if you shall recall this, but you came to me once.”

God, her voice was so gentle, just as he’d remembered—and he almost shut his eyes just so he could memorize the sound. Except no, he wasn’t going to get cheated out of one nanosecond of sight.

Wait, what had she said? “I did?”

“I was dying. And you came to me from out of the mist of the Fade. And you told me to follow you home. You made me stop and return with you.”

“I don’t remember—”

“It is a debt I have owed you for a very long time.” Her smile was peaceful as the Mona Lisa’s. “And I shall repay it the now. Because I love you so very, very much—”

“Repay? What are you talking about?”

“Wake up, Wrath. Wake up right now.” Abruptly, that voice changed, becoming urgent. “Call the healer—you must call the healer if you wish to save her life.”

“Save her—Beth’s life?”

“Wake up, Wrath. Right away, call the healer.”

“What are you—”

“Wrath, wake up.”

In a sudden rush, like he’d been catapulted out of REM sleep, Wrath shot upright. “Beth!” he screamed.

“What-what-what-what—”

As he twisted around to his wife, he cursed at the blackness all around him. Goddamn f**king dream, teasing him with what he didn’t have.

“What?” Beth cried.

“Shit, sorry, I’m sorry.” He reached out and soothed her, soothed himself. “Sorry, f**ked-up dream.”

“Oh, jeez, you scared me.” She laughed and he heard her hit the pillow as if she’d let herself collapse. “Good thing we sleep with the bathroom light on.”

Frowning, he turned to the side of the bed where his mother had stood and … “No, she wasn’t really here.”

“Who?”

“Sorry.” Cracking his neck, he threw his leg over the side of the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

He gave things a good stretch, and as his spine let out a snap, crackle, pop, he thought fondly of the conversation he’d had with Payne as soon as he’d gotten home. They were going to start sparring again—and not because she was a female.

It was because she was a helluva good fighter and he wanted to get back in the game now.

In the bathroom, he petted George, who was curled up on the Orvis dog bed Butch had given him for Christmas—and then took a piss and had a face wash.

When he got back in bed, he intended to return to lights-out land. Except as he lay flat, he frowned. “Ah, listen … are you feeling okay?”

His Beth yawned. “Yeah, absolutely. But I’m glad I headed back here when I did—the sleep helped. And lying down feels better—I’ve got a stiff back from that mall crawl still.”

Trying to sound causal, he asked, “When’s your next appointment with the doctor?”

“Not till Friday. We’re going weekly now. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

As he fell silent, she curled in against him and let out a sigh like she was re-settling for the duration. He lasted about a minute and a half.

“What do you think about calling the doctor?”

“Calling as in—wait, you mean right now?”

“Well, yeah.”

He could feel her recoil. “But why?”

Yeah, like he could tell her anything along the lines of, My dead mom said so. “I dunno. Just, maybe she could give you a checkup or something.”

“Wrath, that’s not appropriate. Especially considering there’s nothing wrong.” He felt her playing with his hair. “Is this about that civilian? Who lost his wife and baby?”

“It wasn’t during childbirth.”

“Oh. I thought that—”

“Maybe we could just call her.”

“There’s no reason to.”

“What’s her number?” He reached for his phone. “I’m calling her.”

“Wrath, have you lost your mind?”

Fuck it, he’d just do 411.

Beth kept talking at him as he waited for the operator to come on. “Yeah, hi, in Caldwell, New York. The number of Dr. Sam—what’s her last name?”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“I’m going to pay for the visit—no, not you, Operator.” As the last name came back to him, he said it and spelled it twice. “Yeah, connect me to the office, thanks.”

“Wrath, this is—”

Just as the call went through, Beth went quiet. “Beth?” he asked with a frown.

“Sorry,” she said. “My back let out a twinge. You know what? I’m wearing running shoes next time I go walking like that. Now will you hang up and—”

“Yeah, hi, this is a medical emergency. I need Dr. Sam to come to our home, my wife’s a patient of hers … thirty-six weeks … Symptoms? My wife’s pregnant, how much time have you got?”

“Wrath?” Beth said in a small voice.

“What do you mean, you can’t—”

“Wrath.”

And that was when he shut up … and knew his mother had been right. Cranking his head toward his wife, he said with dread, “What?”

“I’m bleeding.”

The definition of terror changed when things weren’t just about you. And nothing was less about yourself than when you were thirty-six weeks pregnant, you felt a welling between your legs … and it was not your water breaking.

At first, Beth thought she’d lost control of her bladder, but as she moved the blankets aside and shifted positions, she saw something on the sheets.

She’d never seen blood so bright before.

And shit, her lower back was suddenly killing her.

“What’s going on?” Wrath demanded.

“I’m bleeding,” she repeated.

Things happened so fast at that point. It was almost like being in the back of a speeding car, everything whirring by too quick to catch: Wrath shouting into the phone, another call being made, Doc Jane and V arriving at a dead run. And then faster still, moving, moving, moving, everyone around her, while she felt curiously still and muffled.

When she was transferred onto the gurney, she looked over at where she’d been on the bed and shuddered at the neon stain. It was huge, like someone had poured out a gallon of paint underneath her.

“Is the baby going to be okay?” she mumbled, some kind of shock taking over everything. “Is he—is Wrath going to be all right?”

People offered her compassion, but no real answers.

But Wrath, the big one, was right by her side, holding her hand, orienting himself with the help of the side of the gurney.

John appeared as they hit the second-story landing. He was wearing only boxers, his hair all messed up, his eyes alert. He took her other palm.

She didn’t remember much about the rush, rush, rush down into the tunnel—except for the fact that the pain was getting severe. Oh, and the ceiling lights were whipping by as she lay back, the rhythmic pulsing like she was in a Star Wars movie about to go into warp speed.

Why couldn’t she hear anything?

As she looked at the people around her, their mouths were all going, their eyes meeting urgently over her.

“Is little Wrath going to be all right?” Even her own voice was on a fader, the volume turned way down. She tried to make it louder. “Is he going to be all right?”

And then they were dusting past the usual entrance into the training center, and going farther down—to an emergency door that had been created just for her, just for this situation.

Except this was not her birth plan. She was supposed to go into the human world, where there were people to take care of her and little Wrath, see to any problems he might have, be there for her and iAm if it was daylight, and big Wrath and John if it was night.

Little Wrath, she thought.

Guessed she’d just named their son.

As she arrived in the clinic, she just kept thinking she was not supposed to be here. Especially as she looked up at that massive operating chandelier in the main OR.

For some reason, she thought of all the times she had been down here, supporting a Brother injured in the field, or going to a checkup with Layla, or—

Doc Jane put her face in the way. Her lips moved slowly.

“…eth? Can you hear me, Beth?”

Ah, good, someone had cranked up the volume on the world.

But her response didn’t register. She couldn’t hear her own voice.

“Okay, good.” Doc Jane enunciated everything clearly. “I want to do an ultrasound to rule out placenta previa—which is a complication where the placenta ends up in the lower part of the uterus. But I’m worried you have an abruption.”

“What … that?” Beth mumbled.

“Are you having pain?”

“Lower back.”

Doc Jane nodded and put her hands on Beth’s belly. “If I press—”

Beth moaned. “Just make sure Wrath is okay.”

They wheeled the ultrasound machine over and her nightgown was cut away. As that gel was squirted onto her stomach and the lights dimmed, she didn’t look at the monitor. She stared at her husband’s face.

That wonderful, masculine face was utterly terrified.

He wasn’t wearing his son glasses—sunglasses, rather. And his pale green, unfocused eyes were roaming around the room as if he were desperate to see something, anything.

“How did you know?” she whispered. “That I was in trouble…”