The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(191)

“Nowhere, my darling.” He smiled. “Are you proceeding about your lessons—”

“Why this letter?” She tapped the opened envelope in her palm. “Where are you going.”

He thought of the proclamation that hung above the fireplace. The one that bore his father’s name. And then worried over what she held in her delicate hand.

“I was summoned unto the King,” he said tightly. “I must obey.”

His daughter paled, crossing her arms around herself. “Are you coming back.”

“I do not know.” Walking over, he reached out and pulled her close. “That is up to his majesty…”

“Do not go!”

“You shall be provided for.” Assuming the assets once given to his father by the current King’s sire remained hers. But even then, he had hidden much in secret places. “Fedricah knows all and shall care for you.” He stepped back. “I cannot shame our bloodline. Your future depends upon this.”

If he did not make good on his cowardly action, he knew she could be next. And that he would not abide.

“Be well,” he told her in a shaken voice.

“Father!” she screamed as he turned and headed to the door.

Nodding at the butler, he couldn’t watch as the doggen stepped in and held his daughter back.

Outside, he could still hear his beloved young yelling his name and wailing. And it was a while before he was able to summon the concentration to dematerialize—although eventually, it happened.

Proceeding unto the address that had been given to him, he re-formed in front of …

Well, if this was where he was to be executed, it was an elegant enough place to lose one’s life. The mansion was in the very best part of Caldwell, a Federal beauty with light glowing out of all of its windows and a cheerful lantern hanging in front of a beckoning entrance.

He could see figures moving inside. Large ones.

With fear tightening his throat and weakening his knees, he walked up to the front door. There was a button for chiming by the brass door handle, and as soon as he hit it, the broad portal was opened wide.

“Hi! You must be Abalone?”

All he could do was blink. The brunette in front of him was wearing loose clothes, her hair curling at the ends, her bright, blue eyes friendly and attentive.

“I’m Beth.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m really happy you came.”

He looked down at her hand and frowned. Was that … the Saturnine Ruby on her finger? Dearest Virgin Scribe, this was the— Abalone fell to his knees before her, bowing his head nearly to the polished floor. “Your Highness, I am not worthy of—”

Two massive black boots came into his vision. “Hey, my man. Thanks for coming.”

This had to be a dream.

Abalone lifted his eyes up, up, way up … the most tremendous male vampire he had e’er beheld. And indeed, with that long black hair and those wraparound sunglasses, he knew exactly who it was.

“Your Highness, I—”

“No offense, but could you get up? I’d like to shut this door. My wife is getting cold.”

Scrambling off the floor, he realized he’d forgotten to remove his hat. With a jerky move, he ripped it from his head and put it in front of his body.

And then all he could do was look back and forth—and then behind, as two males so huge that they had to be Brothers, moved chairs across the foyer.

“Is this him?” the splendidly handsome one asked.

“Yup,” the King replied, sweeping his arm to the right. “Let’s go in here, Abe—”

“Are you going to kill me?” Abalone blurted without moving.

The queen’s brows popped. “No. Good God, no—why would we do that?”

Wrath put a hand on Abalone’s shoulder. “I need you alive, buddy. I need your help.”

Convinced he was going to wake up at any moment, Abalone followed numbly into a lovely room that must have been for dining purposes, given its crystal chandelier and prominent fireplace. There was no long thin table, however, no row of chairs, no sideboard for serving. Instead, in front of the hearth, a pair of armchairs had been angled to face each other, and there were other comfortable sofas and seats set off to the side. A desk had been arranged in the near corner, at which there was a handsome blond male in a natty three-piece suit shuffling papers around.

“Have a seat, Abe,” the King said as he himself took one of the armchairs.

Abalone obliged—’twas far better than a guillotine, after all.

The King smiled, his harsh, aristocratic face warming some. “I don’t know how much you know about my father. But he used to do audiences with commoners. My wife read your e-mail the night of that Council meeting—and you mentioned you work with an organization of them?”

Abalone looked back and forth between the King and his mate, who had taken a seat on one of the other padded chairs—and was pouring herself a ginger ale.

The pair of them lied, he thought suddenly. They were very much together, their deference and devotion to one another obvious.

“Abe?”

“Ah…” Not at all what he had expected from this on any level—although he was o’erjoyed at the idea the glymera had been thwarted. “Yes, but it’s … it’s more of a loose affiliation, really. There are issues that need sorting, and—not that I was trying to step into your role—”