The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(27)

She’d never been an emotional eater before, but lately? She was chomping down when she wasn’t hungry, and it was beginning to show.

On that note, she lifted up her shirt and popped the button and the zipper on her jeans.

Sagging against the pillows, she wondered how it was possible to go from the heights of passion and connection to this morose depression so fast: At the moment, she was convinced she was never going to go into her needing, much less conceive … and that she was married to a guy who was a serious lunkhead.

Resuming her digging, she managed to excavate the mother lode of chunk veins and told herself to get a grip. Or … at the very least wait for all the chocolate to kick in and elevate her mood.

Better living through Ben & Jerry’s.

Should be the company’s tagline.

Eventually, there was the flush of a toilet followed by a course of running water. When the Chosen came out, Layla’s face was as white as the loose robing she wore—and her smile was as resplendent as the sun.

“Sorry about that!” the female said cheerfully. “How are you?”

“More important, how are—”

“I’m fantastic!” she said as she went over to the ice cream. “Oh, this is beautiful. Just what I need to ease things down there.”

“I had to weed out the straw—”

Layla threw a hand up. Brought her other one to her mouth. Shook her head.

On a choked breath, she muttered, “I can’t even hear that word.”

Beth waved things away. “Not to worry, not to worry. We don’t even have the Flavor That Shall Not Be Named in the house.”

“I’m sure that’s a lie, but I will go with it, thank you rather much.”

As the Chosen got in bed with her bowl, she glanced over. “You are so kind to me.”

Beth smiled. “After everything you’ve been through, it doesn’t feel like nearly enough.”

Almost losing the baby—then the miscarriage stopping like magic. No one really knew what had been wrong or how it had resolved itself, but—

“Beth? Is anything troubling you?”

“No, why?”

“You don’t look right.”

Beth exhaled and wondered if she could get away with lying. Probably not.

“I’m sorry.” She scraped the inside of the carton, digging out the last of the mint ice cream. “I’m all … up in my head right now.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“I’m just overwhelmed by everything.” She put the carton aside and let her head fall back. “I feel like there’s this weight hanging over me.”

“With Wrath where he is, I don’t know how you get through the nights—”

There was a knock at the door, and when Layla answered, it was not a surprise that Blay and Qhuinn came in. The two fighters looked awkward, though—and not because of the Chosen.

Beth cursed herself. “Can I just get my apology to you two over with now?”

As Blay went across and sat next to Layla, Qhuinn planted his shitkickers and shook his head. “You got nothing to sorry us about.”

“So I was the only one who thought I jumped down your throats? Come on.” And now that she’d cooled off and was properly chocolatized, she needed to apologize to her husband—as well as get him to talk. “I didn’t mean to come across like a bitch.”

“Rough times.” Qhuinn shrugged. “And I’m not interested in saints.”

“Really? You’re in love with one,” Layla chimed in.

As Qhuinn glanced over at Blay, his mismatched eyes narrowed. “Damn straight I am,” he said softly.

As the redhead turned red—natch—that connection between the two males became positively tangible.

Love was such a beautiful thing.

Beth rubbed the center of her chest, and had to redirect things before she started tearing up. “I only wanted to know what John was saying.”

Qhuinn’s face closed down. “Talk to your hubs.”

“I will.” And there was a part of her that wanted to finish up here with the Chosen and go directly to Wrath’s study. But then she thought of all those petitions he and Saxton were working on. It seemed too selfish to barge in there and interrupt the pair.

Besides, she was two inches away from crying—and not even as in telephone-commercial tears. More like what happened to her at the end of Marley & Me.

Closing her eyes, she sifted through the last two years and remembered how it had been between her and Wrath back in the beginning. Knock-your-socks-off passionate. Heart and soul connected. Nothing but the two of them even when they were in a crowd.

All that was still there, she told herself. Life, however, had a way of clouding things. Now, if she wanted to be with her man, she had to get in line and that was okay—she understood jobs and stress. The problem was, so often lately, when they were finally alone together, Wrath would get that look on his face.

The one that meant he was only with her in body. Not in mind. Maybe not in soul.

That trip to Manhattan had reminded her of the way things had been. But it was only a vacation, a break from the real nature of their lives.

Placing her hands on her rounded stomach, she wished she were loosening her clothes for the same reason Layla was.