The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood, #13)(109)

Nobody noticed as she stepped through into the garage. Or rushed to the locked door on the far side. Once she entered the code on the keypad, there was a brief beeping sound as the dead bolt was released.

Moments later, she was behind the wheel of her car and speeding off.

As she proceeded down the mountain, the mhis slowed her, and the delay made her heart pound even harder. But she made it to the foot of the mountain, and as she turned onto the rural highway, she really hit the gas.

There was not a lot of time.

God, this had to be what an addiction felt like, she thought numbly as she gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make her knuckles burn.

The pull to the drug or drink … or in her case, Xcor … was irresistible. And there was no pleasure in giving in, just an aching guilt and a resonant self-loathing over the fact that you had once again overridden your better impulses and succumbed to what might very well kill you.

Or at the least, ruin your life.

But the Scribe Virgin save her soul, she was incapable of not going to make sure Xcor was okay.

At the King’s audience house, Paradise smiled at the elderly male in front of her desk. “Oh, you’re welcome. I’m glad that we got you in tonight.”

“You have been most helpful.” He bowed to her, his cap in hand. “Be of well hour unto the dawn.”

“Yourself also.”

As he walked out of the parlor, she sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. Last appointment of the night. Wrath had seen between two and four people an hour for eight hours, so that was at least sixteen, maybe up to thirty people. And for each of them, she had followed the protocol her father had set up: the checkin, the registration if they had never been to see the King before, the offer of food and drink before they were summoned. Then afterward, she had bid them good-day and entered into the database the notes her father gave her about the discussion and any decisions that had been made or permissions granted.

She wasn’t just exhausted. She was wrung-out. So much to learn, so many names and issues, family trees and bloodlines, and there was no room for error.

Plus, she had had to be welcoming to everyone and engage them in conversation while they waited, especially if they came alone.

Not that that had been a requirement of the job set out by her father. But she had felt like it was important.

Maybe because of her stewardess outfit.

More likely because of her glymera training.

“Lot of empty chairs here.”

Her lids popped open and she jumped. “Peyton! Jesus, can’t you knock?”

“I did. And one of the Brothers let me in—which nearly made me lose bladder control.” He glanced back at the open archway. “And you don’t have a door in front of your desk or I woulda done the knuckle thing. Sorry I scared you.”

Jogging her mouse to the side, she cleared the computer screen of multicolored, transparent bubbles. “What do you want.”

“You haven’t answered any of my texts. Or calls.”

“I’m pissed off at you.”

“Parry, come on. Don’t be like this.”

“I’ve got a question for you.” She shifted her glare from the Excel spreadsheet she’d been working on to his blue eyes. “How’d you like it if you were denied making a choice because you have blond hair.”

He threw up his hands. “Whatever, we’re not talking about hair color—”

“I’m serious. Stop arguing with me and answer the question.”

“I would go to CVS and buy some black hair dye.”

Shaking her head, Paradise picked up the notebook with her punch list on it and checked off a couple of things she’d already done.

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal,” Peyton muttered. “Why do you want to be in the war anyway? Aristocrats are going to get killed out there, too, you know. Why don’t you want to be safe—”

“Behind a desk, right? Or more likely in a dress in a big house. Right?”

“It’s not wrong to look out for the fairer sex.”

“Don’t you have to get back to your bong.”

She could feel him glaring at her from his greater height. “Don’t you remember the raids, Parry? Don’t you remember what that was like? People were slaughtered in their own homes. They had pieces of their bodies hacked off of them while they were alive. They found Lash’s parents sitting around their dining room table, the dead bodies arranged so they were upright in those chairs like they were having dinner. Why do you want to be a part of that?”

Paradise met that hard stare again. “I don’t!”

“So why are we having this fight!”

“Because I want to choose. I want to be able to assume the risk if I want—and don’t hit me with the recap on those deaths like I don’t recall every single thing that happened. Members of my bloodline were murdered, too. Am I not allowed to want revenge? Or is that a dick-only thing as well?”

He planted his hands on the desk and leaned into her. “Males can’t give birth.”

She stood up out of her chair and met him jaw-to-jaw. “You got that right. I’d like to see even one of you try to go through that experience. You’d be crying like a little bitch in ten minutes.”

Peyton’s stare dropped to her mouth for a split second, and the distraction surprised her.