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“That isnotwhat 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.”
Herhellrenlet out a soft growl, like he was facing off at someone in his head—whether it was L.W. or alesser? 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 thatdoggenhas 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 herhellrensqueezed his lidsshut, she spoke with an anger that shocked herself. “Donotmake 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.
Herhellrenmoved 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 beforehim—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.
Time seemed to stand still. Then again, the two warriors had shared too many experiences to count—and they appeared to be reliving each and every one of them as they faced each other.
Tohr cleared his throat. Then croaked, “My Lord…”
The two words came out on a strangled breath. And though the syllables of respect, which acknowledged the difference in station between a ruler and a member of the King’s private guard, were what was spoken, they were not what was meant.
What they really said was:My friend… my old, dear friend…
Wrath held his arms out and Tohr fell into him like an oak tree whose roots had been severed.
Watching from behind, she rubbed the sting out of her eyes as the two males held on tight to each other. But the emotion wasn’t just about the happy reunion. She was going to need Tohr in the coming weeks. Months.
