The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(196)

“Is this nesting?” Wrath asked in the direction of where he’d heard Z’s voice last.

“Yeah. And wait for it. You still have Diaper Genies and bottles to get through.”

“We’re going Born Free,” Beth informed him, like he knew what that meant. “In case my milk doesn’t come in.”

Wrath just sat down in the chair and arranged her on his lap, content to ease back and let her enjoy making her report. And the brothers and the fighters? They rallied right around, asking questions like big brothers would.

Any one of them would have laid down his life for her or that young in her womb.

It was enough to make a male have to blink a little faster.

As Wrath held his female, he found his hand making a circle on her rock-hard belly and his brain reverted back to just before sunset. Once he’d gotten over his hang-up about sex, things had gone back to the way they’d been right after they’d met.

Hormonal surges being what they were and all.

This late in the game, they had to do it with her on top, and that was more than fine with him. He loved palming her now-heavy breasts with his hands and feeling her core take him in a new way because of the way her body had changed shape.

Matter of fact, maybe there was time for a quickie before—

“Hey, Abes.”

“Yo, Ab.”

“Whassup, Albacore?”

Naturally, Lassiter was the one who refused to get that name right.

As Abalone stuttered through his greetings, you had to smile. The guy still couldn’t quite get used to the brothers, but they were used to him. And so was Wrath.

“My lord, my lady, good evening.”

“Abalone, how’s your daughter,” Beth said.

“Yeah, Abe, how’d that date go last night?”

Pin-drop time. The Brotherhood had adopted the male and his only young, and woe was the young Turk who took the girl out and didn’t treat her right.

“Well, I don’t believe it was a love match. But she was returned a full thirty minutes before curfew.”

“Good.” Wrath nodded. “That means he can keep his legs. So what have we got on deck for us tonight?”

“It’s a full roster,” the aristocrat reported. “The first couple we’ll see have just had a grandyoung, and they want to ask you if they may bring the mother in with the wee one. Their daughter is not married to the father, however, and they are concerned it will offend you.”

“Absolutely not.”

Abalone’s tone remained calm. “But it’s important to them that they ask permission and acknowledge this in person with you.”

“Fine. Cool. When do I get to meet the kid?”

Abalone laughed. “Tomorrow evening?”

“I’ll be here. And who’s after that?”

“A cousin of mine, actually. He’s seeking permission to…”

As the gentlemale went on and on, detailing the family interrelationships, Wrath was once again in awe. Abe was so low-key and respectful, never once stepping out of place, and yet every single f*cking night he provided this wellspring of knowledge and compassion.

It was damn impressive.

And as Wrath sat back and listened to all the preamble, he was struck by how he could do this for f*cking ever. He really could.

Especially with his shellan front and center, his dog next to him, and his brothers surrounding them all.

With a feeling of great dread, Anha put her hand upon her swelling belly, and watched her mate gird himself for the night ahead.

In the flickering light from the hearth and the candles, everything was different about him. She had noticed the change coming over the last number of months, but on this eve, all that had been subtle appeared to have coalesced at once, the culmination having arrived.

His body was different now, harder, more defined. Larger.

And his expression was not the same. At least, not when this new mood of his settled upon his shoulders.

As if sensing her regard, he looked over at her.

“How long will you be gone?” she asked. “And do not lie. I know for what purpose you are leaving.”

He turned away from her, to the oak table on which clothing she had never seen before had materialized, brought in by the Brotherhood. Everything was black.

“I shall return at dawn.”

His voice was lower than normal, colder than normal. And then she realized that he was putting on a leather strapping o’er his chest. Just as the Brothers wore.

“You are going to fight?” she whispered through a closed throat.

When he finally answered her, it was after he’d put two black daggers, handle down, over his heart. “I shall return at dawn.”

“You’re going to kill them, aren’t you.”

“Do you want me to answer that?”

“Yes.”

Wrath, her mate, her love, the father of her nascent young, approached her where she sat afore her vanity mirror. When he got down upon his knees, it was a relief, because he was almost familiar that way. Especially as he looked into her eyes.

“I shall do what needs doing,” he said.

She put her hands on his face, tracing the features, thinking back to all the dawns he’d come home bloodied and limping, swollen and stiff. But lately he had kept to his schedule with the males, and not returned injured.