“Only to violate the very rules that ensure our safety here. Again, I submit to you, how do you know the Brothers did not get to your mate?You do not.” Whestmorel narrowed his stare. “What, pray tell, was the subject of discussion.”
“My son, he seeks to mate a female who has proven to be unworthy of him.”
“Unworthy how.”
“She has found herself pregnant.” Thermon cleared his throat. “We understand that she went unto her needing, and demanded that he service her. Worse, it appears as if he is following through with the engagement we had previously approved of. Myshellansought my urgent help as they were going for the blessing from the King last night.”
A wash of fury went through Whestmorel, but he banked the emotion. “And did they go unto Wrath?”
“Now do you understand why I called her—”
“Did they see Wrath.”
Thermon seemed shocked by the tone. Which suggested he was stupid, rather than merely malleable. “That was their plan, but I was counseling her as to how to stop them. You cannot seriously be worried they went unto the Audience House? The pair of them believe I am in the Old Country, as I often travel back to our ancestral estate there. There is no reason to worry they said anything.”
When Whestmorel did not respond, the male threw up his hands. “Verily, you are paranoid—”
Whestmorel shot over to the male, moving so fast, there was a possibility he dematerialized for a second. Putting his face into Thermon’s, he said, “I am trying to kill the great Blind King. Paranoia is a virtue when one is standing in my shoes.”
As he eased back, Thermon released a defeated exhale. “So where does that leave us. Shall I go pack my bags—”
The male gasped and grabbed for his neck.
As a clicking sound registered between them and those eyes bulged with shock, the collar of the gentlemale’s white shirt bloomed with bright red.
“Worry not,” Whestmorel said levelly as he retracted the Montblanc’s pen nib out of the male’s jugular vein. “We shall pack and dispose of them for you.”
Thermon slapped both hands over the wound in his neck, his blood pulsing through his fingers. He lasted only a moment longer on the vertical before he fell to his knees.
“Help me, will you?” Whestmorel inquired of Conrahd, who instantly approached. “No, not him. Let us roll up the edge of this carpeting so it does not stain. I am very fond of this weave and it was specially made for this room.”
Whestmorel kicked Thermon’s torso, which caused the male to fall back in a sprawl. “Come. The carpet, please.”
He picked up Thermon’s ankles and dragged him a couple of feet over to where the varnished oak flooring was exposed, and Conrahd was right upon the rug, the aristocrat promptly taking a corner and walking backwards, pulling half the expanse over until it was folded in on itself and well away from the growing red pool.
After which, he and his second-in-command just stood over the slowly writhing male, that navy blue cashmere blazer smudging everything to hell and gone on the varnished floor.
“How inconvenient,” Whestmorel muttered.
Then again, neither of them had ever cleaned up so much as the condensation ring from a cocktail glass. This much blood?
Thankfully, he’d brought his most-trusted butler with him.
“What do you wish to do with the body?” Conrahd inquired.
“That is what the sun is for.” Whestmorel knelt and grabbed the dying male’s right hand. “In the meantime, you have other things to be concerned with.”
“Worry not, I shall present you with what you require.”
Grabbing the gold signet ring on Thermon’s middle finger, he pulled the representation of lineage off quite readily. Thanks to the blood.
As he pocketed the heavy weight, he glared up at the other male. “Best you do that. For your own sake.”
There was a pause. Then Conrahd, in his rather inscrutable way, bowed.
And took his leave.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
