The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(135)
Author: J.R. Ward

Doc Jane laughed as she got to her feet. “Your wife’s good to go right now. But she’s promised me she’ll call—and I have the feeling, if she doesn’t, you will.”

Wrath nodded. “You can bet your ass on that one.”

Beth rolled her eyes, but inside, she didn’t mind him being pushy at all. Her husband was going to take excellent care of her—whether or not she was carrying his child.

And that was love right there.

FIFTY-SIX

After Wrath showed Doc Jane out, he went right back to the bed. As he sat down, Beth took his hand and squeezed it.

“I’m going to be fine,” she said.

God, he hoped so. “Are you yawning?”

“Yes. I’m suddenly exhausted.”

“Let me get a ginger ale—”

“No. No, thank you … I just want to rest for a minute or two. Then I’ll tackle the idea of putting something in there.”

“Are you still sick?”

“No. I just don’t want to be.” Her thumb stroked back and forth over his palm. “We can do this, Wrath. All of it.”

As he didn’t want to let his paranoia out, he nodded. “Yeah. It’s gonna be fine.”

Except inside, he wasn’t feeling that. At all.

“You should go downstairs and work,” she mumbled, like she was already falling asleep. “Saxton stayed over. He could help you check e-mail and stuff.”

As if the glymera were going to have anything to say to him tonight?

When he’d gone down to get the grub with Fritz, he’d run into Rehvenge, who was more than happy to report on Ichan’s thwarted throning ceremony. Talk about your swagga—Rehv had been high as a kite with victory: The aristocrats had been shanked a good one, the leg they’d been standing on sliced off at the knee.

But there was no reason to be naive and assume they wouldn’t get all up in his ass again.

They were just going to find another way to come at him.

Thanks to Xcor.

Man, if he could just get his hands on that son of a bitch …

“I can’t sleep like this,” Beth said. “With you hovering.”

“I want to stay.”

“There’s nothing to be done here. We’re in hurry-up-and-wait mode until we know one way or another.”

“Who will feed you when you’re ready?”

Her tone became gentle. “I did a pretty good job of that before you came around.”

Well … crap.

In the end, he figured she needed the rest more than he needed to babysit a grown-ass female. After dropping a kiss or two on her mouth, he let George escort him out of the suite and down the stairs. Emerging on the second-floor landing, he stalled out. The last place he wanted to be was in that study—

The sound of hammering down below got his attention. What the…?

“Stairs,” he told his dog.

As George led him down to the first floor, the noises got louder, but they were still muffled—and his nose caught a whiff of concrete powder in the air. And something else …

“Hey,” Rhage said. “What’s doing?”

Wrath put out his hand and let his brother clap palms. “Nada. How’s it going in there?”

“Taking up the floor. We’ve got some heavy-duty plastic sheeting in the doorway to keep the dust down—Fritz was hoping we’d leave it open so he could clean up every morning after they leave. We kiboshed that.”

“Good call.”

On the far side of that sheeting, male voices bantered back and forth against the din of hammers cracking into stone, the chatter casual and clearly born of great familiarity. “How many workmen?”

“Seven. We want ’em in and out as fast as possible ’cuz we’re all a little twitchy—John’s here with me.”

“Hey, JM,” Wrath said, nodding in the direction of the male’s scent.

“He says hey—and wants to know how Beth is?”

“She’s good. Real good—thanks for everything, son.”

“He says, yeah, it was his pleasure.”

Good kid. Turning into a great male, Wrath thought.

“So I want to go in and meet them,” he blurted for no particular reason.

There was a long period of quiet—during which he was willing to bet Rhage and John were locking eyes and no-going each other.

“Good, glad you agree,” Wrath muttered as he cued George.

The dog signaled that they’d come up to a barrier by halting, and Wrath reached out, his palm finding a sheet that was stiff and thick. Dropping his hold on the halter, he used two hands to pull it aside so he didn’t tear it from its tethers above.

The voices stopped immediately.

Except for one that breathed, “Holy … shit.”

All at once there was a clattering, as if tools were being dropped to the floor—and then a rustling.

Like seven males of some size had just gone down on their knees.

For a moment, Wrath’s eyes teared up behind his wraparounds. “Evening,” he said, trying to be all casual. “How’s the work going?”

No answer. And he could smell the stunned disbelief—it was like sautéed onions, not entirely unpleasant.

“My lord,” came a low greeting. “It is a great honor to be in your presence.”

He opened his mouth to blow that off … except as he inhaled, he realized that was the truth. For each and every one of them. They were honestly in awe and overcome.

In a hoarse voice, he said, “Welcome to my home.”

As John ducked under the sheet and stood behind Wrath, all he could think was, About f**king time.

The seven workmen were all kneeling on one knee, their heads bowed, their eyes flipping up and down as if Wrath were the sun and they couldn’t stare at him for very long.

Then the King spoke, and the four simple words that came out of his mouth were transformative, the workmen looking up on a oner with … a kind of love.

Wrath made like he was glancing around. “So, how do you think this is going to go?”

The males glanced back and forth, and then the foreman, the guy who’d introduced the workers one by one while they were patted down, spoke.

“We’re going to take up the floor. And put down a new one.”

More looking back and forth—while Wrath just continued to swing his wraparounds left and right as if he were taking in the view.

“Are you…” The foreman cleared his throat as if he were pained. “Would you prefer another team?”