The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood, #13)(34)

This residence was now as fortified as Fort Knox.

He was not afraid of the Band of Bastards here. Or the Lessening Society.

Besides, Throe had merely retired to a guest room and slept as if recovering from a vital injury. As aggression went, he had been no more trouble than any other guest could have been.

Yet.

As minutes continued to pass, Abalone paced around the audience room—

“You all right?”

Abalone wheeled around so fast, his Bally loafers squeaked on the polished floor. “My lord…!”

Wrath had somehow managed to make it not just into the house, but into the very room, without making a sound—and not for the first time, Abalone found himself in awe of the male. The King was nearly seven feet tall, and so broadly muscled, his warrior nature was a physical presence that made one want to put one’s hands over one’s head and submit just to get that out of the way. With his black hair falling from a widow’s peak down to his hips, and black wraparounds hiding his blind eyes from everyone but his beloved Queen, he was both aristocratically handsome and brutally overbearing. And then there were the tangible representations of his exalted station: the black diamond ring on the middle finger of his dagger hand, and the dense tattoos of his lineage that ran up his inner forearms.

The male was always a bit of a shock, no matter how many hours Abalone spent in his presence. But that seemed especially true on a night like tonight.

The King bent down and released his Seeing Eye dog, George, from his halter, and then he looked over his shoulder. “Butch? Give me a minute in here, will ya?”

“You got it.”

The Brother with the Boston accent pulled closed the sliding doors, and as the panels locked into place, Abalone could honestly say that he never thought he himself would seek an audience with his ruler.

Wrath’s nostrils flared. “You got something on your mind.”

For some reason, Abalone felt like getting down on his knees. “I attempted to reach you, my lord.”

“Yeah, I know. I was having a rare day down in Manhattan with my shellan. I didn’t get the messages until about five minutes ago. Figured whatever it was, we could do it face-to-face.”

“Yes. Indeed.”

“So what’s doing?”

Dearest Virgin Scribe, this must be what it was like to be unfaithful to a mate, Abalone thought. “I…”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. And we’ll deal with it.”

“I, ah, I received a visit this morning just before sunrise. From a cousin of mine.”

“And that’s not good news?”

“It is … Throe.”

Instead of a recoil or a curse, the King laughed softly—rather like a great feline would purr when presented with the prospect of a meal. “Wheels within wheels. You didn’t tell me he was a relation of yours.”

“I did not know. I received a phone call from my third cousin once removed. I believe the tie is through marriage. If I had had any idea—”

“Don’t worry about it. You can’t help what’s in your family tree.” Again those nostrils flared. “Guess he wasn’t welcome at your house, was he.”

“No, my lord. I let him in only because he offered information on the Band of Bastards. He states that he has left them and is prepared to reveal their location, strategy, positions.”

The King smiled, revealing fangs as long as daggers. “Then by all means, I want to meet with him.”

Abalone gave in to his instinct, walked over and lowered himself onto the bald wooden floor. “My lord, you must know that—”

The King laid his hand on Abalone’s shoulder, and that palm was so great, it seemed to engulf Abalone’s entire torso. “Your loyalty is to me and me alone. I can smell it. I can feel it. Ditch the guilt. He at your house now?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll go to him.”

“Would you not rather send an emissary?”

“I got nothing to hide, and I’m not scurred of him or Xcor’s little band of girls. They tried to kill me once, remember? Didn’t work. Tried to dethrone me? Still here. They can’t f*cking touch me.”

As if Wrath could read minds, he held out the black diamond, and Abalone clasped what was offered, pressing his lips to the sacred stone that had been warmed by the great male’s flesh.

“Butch,” Wrath called out. “Call the Brotherhood. We gotta make a social call.”

The Brother hollered back on the far side of the door as the King moved his face downward as if he could look into Abalone’s eyes. “Now, First Adviser, I want you to reschedule the first two hours of my audiences.”

“Aye, my lord. Right away.”

“And then we’re going to your house.”

“Whate’er you command, my lord. Whate’er you command.”





THIRTEEN


Trez’s savior from his captivity turned out not to be a person. It wasn’t even an object, really.

His freedom, when it came, was courtesy of an unassuming vent located in the upper right corner of the vast suite he was imprisoned in.

Three nights before his eventual escape, he had been lying flat, contemplating absolutely nothing, when a flush of cool air hit the jewels on his robing and chilled his skin. Frowning, he looked up and saw the grate screwed into the smooth white wall.