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)
It was a metaphor for what her life without him had been like.
And now that the color had come back, he wanted to take it away from her by doing something fucking stupid to get back at Lash?
If Wrath hadn’t already been dead for three centuries—okay, fine, decades—she’d be inclined to kill him all over again.
“You can lead in different ways,” she pointed out as she stared at the bedroom door. On the far side of it? The hell of the war. “You don’t have to be on the front lines.”
“I was a killer before I was a King.”
“What about L.W.” What about me? “You know nothing of him, and maybe he’s just needed you all this time.”
There was a long pause. “The Scribe Virgin let me see him,” Wrath said softly.
Beth pivoted back toward the bed. “What?”
“She met me at the front doors of the mansion. As I went inside, I could… see it all. The empty rooms, the furniture covered with sheets… the fact that there was no dust on anything even though it was uninhabited.”
“Fritz goes back there. To clean.”
“Of course he does.” Wrath’s smile was brief. His frown stuck around. “There was a glow up on the second-floor landing—and that’s where I found L.W. in my study. He was sitting on one of the sofas, facing the throne. He was looking at that old carved wood like he hated it. He was not… what I expected.”
“He’s a lot like you used to be,” she said sadly.
“That is not what I want to hear.”
“We used to be so close, he and I. But after his transition… the anger came, and I lost him.”
“We’ll fix that.”
“Not easily. I’ve tried with him, I really have. But kids are not like cars, Wrath. You don’t give ’em a tune-up, and send them back out onto the road. Especially if they’re nearly seven feet tall and fighting in the field every night.”
Her hellren let out a soft growl, like he was facing off at someone in his head—whether it was L.W. or a lesser? No way of knowing, and neither was good news.
“Wrath.” She waited until his eyes swung back in her direction, even though he could not see her. “Do you know why Fritz goes back to the mansion?”
“Because that doggen has a cleaning compulsion that probably needs to be medicated?”
“He goes there because he blames himself for your death and it has nearly destroyed him. He cleans those floors and polishes those bannisters and wipes off all the crystal fixtures with tears rolling down his face, until his fingers bleed and his palms are like leather, because he cannot bear what he believes he did to all of us.” As her hellren squeezed his lids shut, she spoke with an anger that shocked herself. “Do not make us go through what we have barely survived. If you love me, if you love your Brothers and the family here, you will not turn a tragedy into a personal vendetta that gets you fucking killed again. You were saved by a stroke of luck. You’re not goddamn immortal. And next time, Rahvyn may not be there with her magic.”
The deflation in her mate was immediate, his chest seeming to cave in, and she told herself she’d been unfair.
But the war was unfair. Life was unfair.
And reality was ignored at everyone’s peril—
Knock-knock-knock.
The sharp impact of knuckles on the locked door made her jump and whirl around.
“Beth,” came a familiar voice. “We’ve got a problem—”
“Tohr?” Wrath said as he sat up in a rush.
As she glanced back at her mate, he was fixated on what was only twelve feet away, the star scar on his left pectoral going up and down as he started to breathe heavily.
“There’s nothing in between you and the door,” she whispered. “It’s a clear shot. And George is still in the bathroom, asleep by the shower.”
“Wrap yourself up.”
“I already am,” she said as she reached for a throw blanket.
Her hellren moved with banked power, his thighs contracting in ropes of muscle as he jumped up with a bounce that was all about his coordination—and then extended an arm out in front of himself. The way he walked across the shallow space, so strong and yet so vulnerable, made her feel protective.
As well as furious at him.
“Beth?” came the deep voice on the far side of the entry. “I’ve been trying to call you—I think your phone’s on silent—”
Wrath opened the door. Standing on the threshold, Tohrment, son of Hharm, went silent as his navy blue eyes focused on what was before him—and then that stare shifted over to Beth. As all the color drained out of his face, she nodded once: Yes, it’s really him.
Like George wanted to make the point as well, he trotted out of the bathroom and went to sit at the dagger hand of his master, leaning into Wrath’s thigh.