The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(136)

Dropping his hand, he turned around slowly, afraid that it was some kind of internal misfire—

His breath left him on a long sigh as he beheld what had appeared afore him.

It was … her.

From out of the dense fog, his Chosen had materialized—and the impact of her presence leveled him even as he remained standing. Oh, lovely to behold, her gentle spirit making him feel the monster in him with great clarity.

“How are you here?” she asked in a trembling voice.

He looked around. “Where am I?”

“I—you mean you do not know?”

“The Brotherhood must not be far, but I can see or find naught in this godforsaken spell.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, she seemed to be conflicted—but why wouldn’t she be. He had to be close to where she stayed, although there was no judging whether that was in terms of meters or miles.

“How fare you?” he asked quietly. “I wish there was moonlight. I would seek to see you better.”

But he could smell her—and that scent of hers. That scent.

“I called you,” she whispered after a long moment.

He felt his brows lift. “That was you? Just the now?”

“Yes.”

For a treacherous second, his heart beat faster than if he’d run up here to her. But then … “You heard.”

“About what you did to Wrath.”

“That was the Council’s choice.”

“Do not pretend with me.”

He closed his eyes. Alas, he could not. “I told you the throne was to be mine.”

“Where are your soldiers?”

“As if I have come this night to rout the Blind King out of his home?”

Her voice grew stronger. “You have taken what you want from him, and used his beloved to do it. Why bother with him now.”

“He is not the one I came to see.”

The Chosen’s breath left her in a rush—even though the admission surely was not a surprise.

And God save him, Xcor took a step closer to her, even though by all that was right and proper, he should have run: She was more dangerous to him than any Brother, especially as the fine tremors that vibrated up through her slender body registered upon him.

He hardened fully. It was impossible not to respond.

“You know that, don’t you,” he said with a soft growl. “Were you calling me to see if you could sway mine actions? Go on, now. You can be honest—’tis just you and me out here. Alone.”

She lifted her chin. “I shall never understand your hatred for that good male.”

“Your King?” He laughed harshly. “A good male?”

“Yes,” she countered with real heat. “He is an abidingly good soul who has a true love match with his mate—a male who pledges nightly to do his best for the race—”

“Truly? And how is he accomplishing that laudable goal? No one e’er sees him, you know. He ne’er goes out to mingle with the aristocrats or the commoners. He is a recluse who has failed to deliver in a time of war. If it were not me, ’twould be another—”

“It is wrong! What you did is wrong!”

He shook his head, at once admiring the principled na?veté and saddened that she was going to have to grapple with it. “’Tis the way of the world. Strength conquers weakness. It is as universal as gravity and sunset.”

Even through her outerwear, he could tell that her breasts were pumping above her locked forearms, and his eyes dipped down before closing briefly. “I have ne’er cared for innocence,” he muttered.

“Pardon the offense, then.”

Lifting his lids, he said, “But I find that, as always when it comes to you, the revelations continue apace.”

Her long hands reached out to him, pleading across the cold air. “Please. Just stop. I’ll…”

When she could only swallow hard, he found himself going still. “You’ll do what.”

With jerky movements, she paced around before him. And as yet, he could not move a single muscle.

“What exactly,” he asked deeply, “will you do?”

She stopped. Raised that lovely chin. Challenged him with her stare and her body, even though she was two hundred pounds lighter than he and utterly untrained.

“You may have me.”

“Is it hot in here—or am I crazy?”

When no one answered her, Beth glanced across the study. Saxton, Rehv, and Wrath were all quiet as they took up space on the matched set of blue sofas. The first two were staring into the dwindling fire, and she didn’t know where Wrath had directed his eyes.

Hell, even though he was in the same room with her, she didn’t have a clue where he was.

Taking off her robe, she put it on the great carved desk and read the proclamation again. The chair she’d chosen was the one Rehv usually took, the soft-seated bergère, she thought he’d called it, off to the side of where Wrath’s throne was.

She refused, in spite of what she held in her hands, to refer to the giant chair as anything but her mate’s.

Looking back down at the parchment, she shook her head at all the symbols that had been so carefully inked. When it came to the Old Language, she was slow with the literacy thing, having to think of the definition of each character before she could string a sentence together. But what do you know—on the second trip through, everything was the same as the first.