The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(188)

“And here’s your change and receipt. You want a bag for your old stuff?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

A big white bag with a red star was passed over the console. “Thanks for coming in—my name’s Antoine, by the way. If you want to come back for shoes.”

After shoving his former clothes inside, Xcor found himself bowing at the waist. “Your assistance has been much appreciated.”

Antoine raised his palm like he was getting ready to do a clap on the shoulder again. But once more, he caught himself and smiled instead. “Knock her dead, my man.”

“Oh, no.” Xcor shook his head. “That shan’t be necessary. This one I like.”

Layla left the mansion at eleven forty-eight by sneaking out the library’s French doors. No one seemed to notice; then again, Rhage and John Matthew were keeping an eye on the workmen in the billiards room, Wrath was up in his study with Saxton, Beth was at rest, the other Brothers were fighting, and Qhuinn and Blay were enjoying some quiet time on their night-off rotation.

Oh, and the staff were busying cleaning up after a celebratory First Meal.

Not that she was keeping track of everybody in the house.

Nah.

Dematerializing off the back terrace, she traveled to the meadow she was becoming so familiar with and re-formed at the base of the maple tree.

Dressed in her traditional robing, she had an overcoat on to keep warm, in the pocket of which she had put some Mace.

Qhuinn had insisted on teaching her self-defense as well as how to drive. So in case that other male showed up, she was prepared.

Slipping her hand into the coat pocket and palming the squat cylinder, she was careful to walk all the way around the tree. And note carefully the expanse of snow-covered meadow.

She was alone.

Dearest Virgin Scribe, was she really—

Down at the base of the rise, a figure presented itself out of thin air—and as the breeze shifted directions, she caught the scent.

It was him. And … something else? Some kind of fragrance that was at once masculine … and delicious.

Xcor took a long time to approach, his strides even and unhurried as he mounted the hill and came up to her, carrying something under his arm. Her body responded instantly to his presence, her heart racing, her palms sweating, her breath going short.

She told herself it was fear. And overwhelmingly, that was true. But there was something else …

His clothes were different, she realized as he arrived before her. More refined. Attractive.

As if mayhap he had dressed for her?

Trying to relieve the burning in her lungs, she inhaled deeply and frowned. “You smell … different.”

“Bad?”

She shook her head. “No. Not at all. And your clothes … you look very well.”

He made no response and his face gave nothing away—so she could not draw any conclusion.

Silence stretched out. Until she couldn’t stand it anymore. “Well …?”

At least he didn’t pretend to misread her prompting. “I have thought over everything that you have offered me.”

And now her heart beat so loud, she could barely hear his deep voice.

“What say you?” she demanded in a hoarse voice.

“I agree to your terms.”

It was what she had expected. And yet even still, she began to shake uncontrollably.

“In exchange for the use of you, I shall call off all of my efforts with regard to the throne.”

At least there was solace to be had in that, except then she knew she had to live up to her end of the bargain.

“Worry not,” he said gruffly. “It shall not be this eve.”

Her relief came out in a very loud exhale—that made his face darken.

“Your reprieve is not indefinite.” He took what he carried out from under his arm. “You will give me what I want sooner or later.”

With a quick flap, he shook free what proved to be a blanket and laid it flat upon the ground.

Staring down at it, Layla didn’t know what to do.

“Sit,” he commanded. “And put this around you.”

As she complied and was handed another wrap, she wondered what he was going to—

Xcor sat beside her and wrapped his arms around his knees. Staring ahead, his expression was inscrutable.

Taking his cue, she did the same. Even mirroring his pose.

At least she had saved Wrath. And provided her young was safe, she would continue to do whatever she had to for her King.

No matter what it cost.





SIXTY-SEVEN


The following evening, Beth lay back in her mated bed and held an extraordinary piece of cloth in her hands. “This was made by someone?”

“Yeah, the foreman’s shellan.”

Squinting, she tried to imagine how the incredibly fine and even weave could have been done by anything other than a machine. “It’s totally amazing.”

“I told them we’d use it for our son when he’s born.”

With a wince, she tried to ignore the spear of pure terror that shot through her. Wrath, who’d been panicked about the whole birthing thing before they’d conceived, seemed to be forgetting about that part for the moment. Her, on the other hand? More than making up the slack.

“Yes, of course,” she murmured. “I love the color.”