Lover Avenged (Black Dagger Brotherhood #7)(180)

Wrath frowned. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Says here mental incompetence. She’s his legal guardian and caretaker, and that must be hard. I don’t think they have much money. Saxton, the lawyer, has written a personal—Oh, this is interesting….”

“Saxton? I met him the other night. What did he say?”

“He said he feels very certain that her father’s and her bloodline certificates are authentic, and he’s willing to put his reputation on the line to vouch for them. He’s hoping you will expedite the distribution of the estate, as he’s worried about the poor conditions they’re living in. He says…he says they are worthy of the windfall that has unexpectedly presented itself. The ‘unexpectedly’ is underlined. Then he adds…they hadn’t seen Montrag in a century.”

Saxton hadn’t struck him as a stupid guy. Far from it. Even though the whole assassination thing hadn’t been confirmed back at Sal’s, that handwritten note sure as hell seemed like a subtle way of urging Wrath not to exercise his vested rights as monarch…in favor of relatives who were shocked to find out they were on the next-of-kin list, in need of the money—and had nothing to do with the plot.

“What are you going to do?” Beth asked, drawing his hair back from his brow.

“Montrag deserved what happened to him, but it would be cool if something good came out of it. We don’t need the assets, and if that nurse and her father—”

Beth pressed her mouth to his. “I love you so much.”

He laughed and held her to his lips. “You want to show me?”

“After you seal this approval? You got it.”

To process the will, they got to play around with the flame and the wax and his royal seal again, but he was in a rush this time, unable to wait a second longer than he had to before getting into his female. His signature was still drying and the seal still cooling when he took Beth’s mouth again—

The knock on the doors made him growl as he glared at the sound. “Go. Away.”

“I got news.” Vishous’s muffled voice was low and tight. Which added the modifier bad to what he’d said.

Wrath opened the panels with his mind. “Talk to me. But make it quick.”

Beth’s shocked inhale gave him an idea of V’s expression. “What’s happened?” she murmured.

“Rehvenge is dead.”

“What?” they both said at the same time.

“I just got the call from iAm. ZeroSum’s been bombed into dust, and according to the Moor, Rehv was in it when it went. No way there was a survivor.”

There was a dead zone as the implications set in.

“Does Bella know?” Wrath said grimly.

“Not yet.”





SIXTY




John Matthew rolled over in his bed and woke up when something hard poked against his cheek. With a curse, he lifted his head. Oh, right, he and Jack Daniel’s had gone a couple rounds, and the aftermath of the whiskey’s fists lingered: He was too hot even though he was naked, his mouth was dry as tree bark, and he needed to hit the bathroom before his bladder exploded.

Sitting up, he rubbed his hair and eyes…and succeeded in waking a hangover.

As his head started to pound, he grabbed for the bottle he’d been using as a pillow. There was only an inch of booze left in the bottom, but that was enough to pull a dog-that-bitcha. Ready for relief, he went to unscrew the cap to the Jack and found that he hadn’t put it on. Good thing he’d passed out with the bottle upright.

Drinking hard, he pulled the shit down into his belly and told himself to just breathe through the shock waves of nausea that fired up in his gut. When there were only fumes left in the bottle, he let the dead soldier sit on the mattress and looked down his body. His cock was asleep against his thigh, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up without an erection. Then again, he’d been with…three? four? How many women had there been? God, he had no idea.

He’d used a condom once. With the prostitute. The rest had been bareback pullouts.

In shady images, he saw Qhuinn and him two-timing some of the women, then going solo on others. He couldn’t remember what it had all felt like, remembered nothing of the orgasms he’d had, knew none of their faces, barely recalled their hair colors. What he did know was that as soon as he’d come back to this room, he’d had a long, hot shower.

All that shit he couldn’t recollect had left a stain on his skin.

With a groan, he shifted his legs off the bed and let the bottle fall on the floor next to his feet. The trip to the bathroom was a real party, his balance so far off that he weaved…well, like a drunk, as a matter of fact. And walking wasn’t the only problem he had. Standing over the toilet, he had to brace himself against the wall and concentrate on his aim.

Back in bed, he pulled a sheet over his lower body, in spite of the fact that he felt like he had a fever: Even though he was alone, he didn’t want to lie around like some porn star looking for a supporting actress.

Shit…his head was killing him.

As he closed his eyes, he wished he’d turned the light off in the bathroom.

Abruptly he stopped caring about the hangover, though. With terrible clarity, he remembered Xhex straddling his hips and riding him in a fluid, powerful rhythm. Oh, God, it was so vivid, so much more than a just a memory. As the pictures played out, he felt the tight hold of her body on his sex and the hard way she held his shoulders down, reliving that sense of being mastered.