The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(43)

Wrath strode off down the hall of statues, going past John and Xhex’s room, and Blay and Qhuinn’s.

They stopped before they got to Zsadist and Bella’s suite.

He didn’t need his dog to tell him he’d reached their destination—and he knew exactly whose room they were in front of: Even out in the corridor, the pregnancy hormones thickened the air to such an extent, it was like hitting a velvet curtain.

Which was why his Beth was in there, wasn’t it.

Females don’t keep secrets from males who respect them.

Goddamn it. Do not tell him his mate wanted a kid and was doing something about it without even talking to him.

Gritting his teeth, he raised his knuckles to knock—but ended up pounding on that door. Once. Twice.

“Come in,” the Chosen Layla said.

Wrath swung things wide and knew exactly when his shellan saw him: The smoky smell of guilt and deceit flowed across the room at him.

“We need to talk,” he snapped. And then he nodded in what he hoped was Layla’s direction. “Please excuse us, Chosen.”

There was some conversating between the females, stilted on Beth’s side, nervous on Layla’s. And then his mate was off the bed and crossing over to him.

They didn’t say a word to each other. Not when she closed the door behind them. Not as they walked back down the hall side by side. And when they got to the entrance of his office, he told George to stay outside before shutting the pair of them in together.

Even though he was intimately familiar with the arrangement of the pansy-ass French furniture, he put his hands out, touching the backs of the silk-covered chairs and a delicate sofa … and then the corner of his father’s desk.

As he went around and sat upon his throne, he locked his hands on the great carved arms—and gripped them so hard the wood creaked in protest. “How long have you been sitting with her.”

“With who.”

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”

The air stirred in the room, and he heard her footfalls on the Aubusson carpet. As she paced, he could just picture her, her brows down hard, her mouth tight, her arms crossed over her chest.

The guilt was gone now. And in its wake, she was as pissed off as he was.

“Why the hell do you care,” she muttered.

“It is my every right to know where you are.”

“Excuse me?”

He jabbed a finger in her general direction. “She is pregnant.”

“So I noticed.”

His fist slammed down so hard the phone disconnected itself. “Do you want to go into your needing!”

“Yes!” she yelled back. “I do! Is that such a goddamn crime?”

Wrath exhaled, feeling like he’d just gotten hit by a car. Again.

Amazing how hearing his greatest fear spoken aloud was so devastating.

Taking a couple of deep breaths, he knew he had to choose his words carefully—in spite of the fact that his adrenal gland had opened up full-bore and was pumping enough OMG into his system that he was drowning in terror.

In the silence, the phone’s dial tone and then meep-meep-meep-reconnect-me was loud as the curses running through both their heads.

With a shaking hand, he patted around until he found the receiver. Replacing it in the cradle took him a couple of tries, but he got there without smashing anything.

Dear God, it was quiet in the room. And for some reason, he became preternaturally aware of the chair he was sitting in, everything from its hard leather seat, to the carved symbols under his forearms, to the way his lower back was scratched by the relief that rose up behind him.

“I need you to hear this,” he said in a dead voice, “and know that it’s the God’s honest. I will not service you in your needing. Ever.”

Now it was her turn to breathe out like she’d been socked in the gut. “I can’t … I can’t believe you just said that.”

“It is never, ever going to happen. I will never get you pregnant.”

There were few things in life that he knew with greater certainty. The only other that came to mind was how much he loved her.

“Won’t,” she said roughly. “Or can’t.”

“Won’t. As in, will not.”

“Wrath, that’s not fair. You can’t just put that in stone like it’s one of your proclamations.”

“So I’m supposed to lie about how I feel?”

“No, but you can talk about it, for God’s sake. We’re partners and this affects us both.”

“Discussion is not going to change where I’m at. If you want to keep wasting time with the Chosen, that’s your decision. But if the gossip is true, and it does bring on your needing, know that you’ll be drugged to get you through it. I’m not going to service you.”

“Jesus … like I’m some kind of animal who needs to go to the vet?”

“You have no idea what those hormones are like.”

“This. Coming from a male.”

He shrugged. “It’s a verifiable fact of biology. When Layla was in hers, we all felt it throughout the house—even a night and a half after she was over it. Marissa was drugged for years. It’s what’s done.’”

“Yeah, maybe when a female isn’t married. But last time I checked, my name was in your back.”