The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(170)

“Yes.”

“Then that is right and proper.”

As his eyes flared, she shook her head. “I have no issue with your defense of our race.”

“That is refreshing.”

She tried to imagine him fighting—and found it was not difficult in the slightest. With his thick neck and his gigantic shoulders, he was indeed bred for violence. And yet even with the stench of slayers upon his person, she had no fear.

“I waited in the snow for you,” she whispered.

“I worried that you had.”

“It is done then. The Council knows about Wrath, that is.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So that is why you followed through to see me here? To gloat?”

“No, not at all. I’m simply hoping…”

When she didn’t finish, he crossed his arms, his chest appearing larger than ever. “Put it into words.”

“You know exactly that of which I speak.”

“I desire to hear the words.”

“Leave Wrath alone.”

Xcor broke away from her, walking back and forth. “Answer me something.”

“Anything.”

“That is not a safe reply for you, Chosen.” He glanced over, his eyes glittering in the darkness. “In fact, this meeting is not safe for you.”

“You will not hurt me.”

“Such faith you put in a monster.”

“You’re not a monster. If you were, you would have killed me that night in the car.”

“My question is this,” he evaded. “Did Wrath honestly forsake that female of his? And you can attempt to lie to me, but I will know the truth.”

Mayhap not, Layla thought. For she had practiced her response to just that inquiry. For hours.

Meeting his eyes steadily, she said without any change of affect: “Yes, he did. The proclamation was predated, but it is true. He has given up his only love to keep that which you endeavor to steal from him.”

Hours in front of the mirror. She had sat in her bathroom, on the little padded bench, in the full glare of as many lights as she could turn on, repeating those words over and over again. Until they were rote—until their meaning was lost and they became only syllables. Until she could speak the lie with no hesitation or stumble.

And she knew that giving the partial truth provided her more credibility.

“Such a sacrifice,” he murmured.

He, too, gave nothing away.

There was a long, long silence—filled by the pounding of her heart.

“Leave this unholy quest behind,” she said. “Please.”

“And what of your previous offer. Does that still stand.”

She swallowed hard. On so many levels, she couldn’t imagine having sex with him. He was an enemy sure as the Lessening Society was—and there was, in fact, a side to him that was monstrous. Moreover, she had never imagined bartering her body for something.

And she was not naive. Yes, she had felt an attraction to him when he had come to her and found her in that car. But this was a deal of business-like proportions.

Layla kicked her chin up. “Yes. It does.”

“And if I agreed to your terms, would I have to wait for the birth of the young? Or could I take you immediately.”

At that, the scenting upon the air changed, a dark spice flaring up and overtaking the stench that had made her ill.

Her hands went to her womb, a sudden terror seizing her. What if she endangered the young growing within her? Except the other Chosen had continued relations with the previous Primale, hadn’t they. To no ill effect.

“You may have me whenever you wish,” she said thinly.

“What if I wanted it here, and now. In the cold. Standing up, fully clothed.”

Her heart thundered, her chest growing tight as she recognized his arousal—and feared it. Still, she held her ground, staying in touch with the fact that she had something he wanted, and with that reality, there was a chance Wrath and Beth and any young they might have could be safe.

“I would do as you asked,” she heard herself say.

“All this for your King.”

“Yes. For him.”

Xcor smiled, but it was without warmth or humor. “I shall consider your terms. See me here on the morrow, midnight—and I shall give you mine answer.”

“I thought that was why you called me here tonight?”

“I have changed my mind.”

She expected him to dematerialize. Instead, he gave her his back and walked down the way he had come up, his heavy strides creating distance between them.

Closing her eyes, she—

“What did you say to him?” a male voice demanded from behind her.





FIFTY-NINE


Trez decided enough with the bullshit.

As he dematerialized back up to Rehv’s great camp, he was ready to come clean, lay down the talk, set things straight with his Chosen. He and Selena had been circling each other for long enough, and now that he had some breathing room—for however long it lasted—he needed to make the situation with that female his priority.

Along with s’Ex’s appetites, of course.

Fuck. Apparently that executioner had used the girls so hard that they’d been unable to work tonight. He’d gotten texts from all three of them—and the good news was at least they didn’t seem to regret a damn thing: Each one of them asked if they could see the executioner again.