The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(29)

“I won’t tell anyone,” she said, hoping to make things better.

“Thank you,” the Chosen replied after a moment. “I would be ever grateful for that.”

Forcing herself into a refocus, Beth found that, yup, Patti Stanger was chewing some greasy-haired lothario a new one.

They’d probably violated her “Nothing in here, here, or here” rule. Either that or he’d jackassed out big-time on the date.

Beth tried to get into the blow up, but the vibe was off in the room, sure as if there were someone else in with them, a specter or a ghost, and not in the Doc Jane sense.

No, a weight had settled in the very air itself.

As the episode concluded, Beth checked her watch even though the TV flashed the time. “I think I’ll go see how Wrath is. Maybe it’s break time.”

“Oh, yes, and I’m tired. Mayhap I’ll sleep.”

Beth got off the bed and collected the empty bowl and carton, returning them to Fritz’s tray. Over at the door, she glanced back.

Layla was sitting against those pillows, eyes staring at the television as if she were mesmerized. But Beth didn’t buy it. The female was a chatterer when it came to viewing, prone to lively discussion about everything from what people were wearing to how they expressed themselves to whatever drama she found shocking.

In this moment, however, she was pulling a Wrath—here but not here, present and disappeared at the same time.

“Sleep well,” Beth said.

There was no response. And there would be no sleep for the female.

Beth slipped out into the hall of statues … and stalled.

In fact, she wasn’t going to go see Wrath. She didn’t trust herself at the moment. She was too up and down and back and forth emotionally—and she wasn’t entirely sure she could not bring up the baby thing with him the second they were alone.

No, before she saw him, she needed some equilibrium.

It was in her best interests.

And everybody else’s.





SEVEN


Assail killed his fourth human a moment after he dropped number three.

And the Scribe Virgin help him, he was itching to off the last of the trio who had arrived with such alacrity. He wanted to discharge a bullet into the man’s gut and watch him writhe and suffer on the driveway. He wanted to stand over the dying and breathe in the scent of the fresh blood and the pain. Then he wanted to kick the corpse when it was over. Maybe light it on fire.

But Ehric was right. Whom would he question then?

“Retain him,” he ordered, nodding to the remaining human male.

Ehric’s brother was more than happy to oblige, stepping in and craning an arm around that thick neck. With a vicious crank, he bent the man backward.

Assail closed the distance to his prey, taking a puff from his Cuban and exhaling it into the bodyguard’s face. “I should like to gain entrance into that garage.” He pointed to the outbuilding, thinking mayhap they had her in there. “You are going to make that happen. Either because you supply the key or because my associate uses your head as a battering ram.”

“I don’t f*cking know! What the f*ck! Fuck!” Or something to that effect. The words were strangled.

Such crude language. Then again, given the Cro-Magnon cast of that brow ridge, one could assume one was dealing with very little in terms of higher reasoning.

It was easy to ignore all the babbling. “Now, will we be using a key or garage opener … or some portion of your anatomy?”

“I don’t f*cking know!”

Well, I have the answer to that, Assail thought.

Turning his cigar around, he regarded its glowing orange tip for a moment. Then he moved closer and put that hot spot a thin inch away from the man’s cheek.

Assail smiled. “’Tis a good thing my associate is holding you so tight. One jerk the wrong way and…”

He pressed the embers into the man’s skin. Immediately, a scream pealed into the night, flushing an animal from the undergrowth, ringing in Assail’s ears until they stung.

Assail retracted his cigar. “Shall we attempt a reply again? Do you wish to use a key? Or something else?”

The muffled answer was as unintelligible as the scent of burned meat upon the air was clear. “More oxygen,” Assail murmured to his cousin. “So he may communicate, please.”

When Ehric’s brother relented, the man’s answer exploded out of his mouth. “Opener. Visor. Passenger side.”

“Help this man retrieve it for me, would you.”

Ehric’s brother was as gentle as a hammer to a nail head, dragging his captive around with no regard as to where the contours of the car were—in fact, it appeared as though he were using the man’s body to test the structural integrity of the hood and engine block.

But the opener was procured and offered by a shaking hand—and Assail knew better than to put the thing to use. Booby traps were something he was very familiar with, and far better for someone other than him to do the triggering.

“Oblige for me, will you?”

Ehric’s twin shoved the man toward the garage, keeping his gun within inches of the side of his head. There was rather a lot of tripping and falling, but missteps aside, the bodyguard did manage to get within range.

The man’s hands were trembling so badly it took him several tries to depress the correct button, but soon enough two of the four doors were rising up. And what do you know, that sedan’s headlights were flashing right into them.