The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(124)
Author: J.R. Ward

Lassiter smiled slyly. “I do all right. Back in the Old Country, I used to chime noon and midnight.”

Really, really, really should have asked Vishous. “Well, I appreciate everything you—”

As everyone went silent, she looked up to the head of the stairs. Wrath had appeared and was standing tall and proud, George by his side. Unlike John, he wasn’t in a tux, but he had put on a certain suit she remembered.

It was the one he’d worn on their first official “date” at Darius’.

“What’s the crowd for?” he said.

“Just come on down,” she replied.

As he started his descent, her palms went sweaty—and then an instant later, the mother of all hot flashes hit, the heat searing through her.

Man, she couldn’t wait until she was either pregnant or fully over the needing. Her inner microwave was driving her crazy.

As Wrath’s only pair of non-shitkickers hit the mosaic floor, she thought that he couldn’t have looked more magnificent. His hair was fanned all over his massive shoulders, the ends coming down to his hips, and with that tie at his neck … he looked like a powerful businessman. Who could kill if he were so inclined.

And didn’t that get the hormones cranking.

“What are we doing here, Beth,” he demanded.

“We’re getting married.”

As he recoiled, she rushed in before he could go on any kind of tirade. “You said my human customs matter—that they’re equally important. So we’re getting married. Right now. In my way.”

He shook his head. “But we’re already mated. Why—”

“So you can divorce me and keep the throne.” As his jaw dropped, she cut him off. “In front of our family here. With a real live minister.”

Lassiter raised his hand. “Happy to be of service. I also do christenings. Just sayin’.”

Wrath shook his head again. “This is—”

“Are you saying my human side is of lesser value?”

“Well, no. But—”

“So then if we do the ceremony here and now, we haven’t lost anything, have we. You can divorce me according to vampire law, we’re still mated, and we’ve managed to keep the throne.” She kicked up her chin even though he couldn’t see her. “Pretty good math, don’t you think?”

There was a beat of hushed silence. And then one of the Brothers said, “I f**king love this female. I really totally f**king love her.”

FIFTY-ONE

As Wrath allowed himself to get maneuvered around the foyer, George, as always, went with him.

Frankly, even if he’d had his sight, he would have had to be led around.

He kept waiting for an inner NFW to sound out. But Beth had boxed him in, in the best possible way—she was right: If her cultural norms were as important to them as a couple? Well … if they were “married” in the human way, then they were mated. Period.

And yet, he wasn’t sure how he felt. Then again, they’d done things according to his race’s traditions originally—and although none of that had any resonance for her, she’d gone right along with it.

Seemed only fair that he do the same for her.

“You ready?” Lassiter asked him softly.

People were still shuffling about, moving around the great space of the foyer. “What are they doing?” Wrath whispered back.

“Forming two lines so there’s an aisle that starts at the dining room and runs right to us. We’re about five yards in front of the billiards room. She’s disappeared—they’ve shut the doors so we can’t see her.”

Wrath thought back to when they’d been mated. The Scribe Virgin had been around then. Beth had worn Wellsie’s red gown—and had nearly fainted as his brothers had carved her nine-letter name into his shoulders. John Matthew, Blay, and Qhuinn hadn’t been in the picture then. Neither had Rehv and Xhex, Payne, Manny, the Shadow brothers, and others.

Or Xcor and the Bastards.

And since then, they’d lost Wellsie. No one else, however.

From out of nowhere, music flooded the foyer, a classical ditty he’d heard before, usually in chick flicks that involved … weddings, natch.

“Ready?” Lassiter asked.

“Yeah.” Jesus, this was not what he’d expected to be doing.

“I just nodded to Fritz,” the angel whispered. “And he’s opening the doors.”

Wrath cleared his throat and leaned in. “What … what is she wearing?”

“White. Calf-length. Loose. She’s escorted by her brother and carrying a pink rose that Rhage took from a bouquet on the mantlepiece.” There was a pause. “Her eyes are right on you, and that smile of hers? Million bucks, my friend. Million f**king bucks.”

All at once, the shit about the throne and the other reasons they were doing this went away: As he caught the scent of his leelan, all he thought of was that she was everything to him—and not just because she might well be saving his throne, right here and now.

Oh, and holy shit, she might be pregnant, too.

“Dearly beloved,” Lassiter began, “we are gathered here to witness the joining of Elizabeth, daughter of Darius, and Wrath, son of Wrath.”

So they were leaving the formal vampire names out. Cool. Made it seem more human.

“Who gives this female—ah, woman’s—hand in marriage?”

Wrath expected one of the brothers to translate John’s response. Instead, the male communicated his reply loud and clear: He whistled an ascending note that declaratively announced he was the guy presenting his sister.

On instinct, and because he had no idea what the ceremony entailed, Wrath thrust out his palm. As it was clasped by John Matthew, the two of them squeezed hard, a vow given and acknowledged in the shake, an I’ll-take-good-care-of-her exchanged with a You’d-better-fucking-do-that.

Cue the throat clearing. Like maybe a couple of the brothers were getting emotional.

Lassiter coughed a little and there was the sound of pages being flipped back and forth. “Ah … okay, look, I’m just going to wing it, all right? Is there any reason you two can’t do this? No? Awesome.”

Beth laughed. “I think you’re supposed to wait for us to answer.”

“All together then, shall we? And you guys in the peanut gallery, too—any reason this won’t fly?”

The entire household as well as his shellan and himself shouted, “No!”