Текст книги "The King"

Автор книги: J. R. Ward

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Текущая страница: 29 (всего у книги 39 страниц)

Closing her lids, she moaned.

“Selena? Selena.”

There was curious lethargy now, one so intense she could feel her energy being sucked down into a vortex she feared it would never be free of. Dimly, she was aware that she’d had the disease wrong. She’d always assumed it was in the joints, but in fact, it felt as though her muscles were the problem.

Out of superstition, none of her sisters had spoken of the particulars. All that she had ever been told of was the final stage.

Now she wished she had questioned those who had suffered. Especially when the slightest of stiffness had started up in her how long ago?

Quite a while.

She was definitely embarking on the final stage now—

Something brushed against her mouth. Something wet, warm … blood.

“Drink,” Trez commanded. “Drink, goddamn it, drink…”

Her tongue came out and tested the flavor, and the taste of him made her groan with thirst. She didn’t think she could swallow, however—

Yes, yes, actually, she could.

Pursing her lips, she formed a seal around the cut he had made in his wrist, and oh, the glorious nourishment. With each draw, she felt a strength come to her, filling her up where the lethargy had left her hollow.

And the more she had, the more she wanted, greed growing instead of satiation.

But Trez didn’t seem to mind. At all.

With gentle hands, he repositioned her so that she was lying in his lap, her legs stretched out, her arms over her head. And as she drank of him, he was all she saw, his beautiful almond-shaped eyes, his perfectly molded lips, his dark skin and cropped-tight hair.

Just as she had before in his presence, she could feel her priorities shifting back to that place of desperation, to the sexual drive that had wiped out her proper thinking to such a degree that it didn’t exist at all.

Indeed, in the deep recesses of her consciousness, she knew that any action taken in this state of hers was more than likely to be regretted, but she didn’t care. If anything, her first true episode of the sickness made her want to follow through with him more as opposed to less.

And maybe she could not fall in love.

Maybe … she could steel herself against that.

Rigidity, after all, was her future.

FIFTY

Standing in the doorway of his bedroom, John Matthew could feel a seizure threatening to break through.

As his sister continued to speak, and he felt his head nod, he retreated into that place where the epilepsy was birthed, some kind of tangle of electrical impulses threatening to take over everything—except he was done with that shit. Just as the hum started to rise, he cut it off by force of will.

Not. Gonna. Do. It—

Unbelievable to be channeling Dana Carvey from SNL. But there you go.

Plus it worked. Not right away, but gradually, that sizzle and burn started to fade, its lights-out crescendo receding.

“So … will you?” Beth asked, her eyes wide. “It’s, like, in an hour. Lassiter needs that much time to get ready.”

Refocusing, he strung together some semblance of what she’d been talking about, his brain linking the nouns and verbs until …

Oh, my God, he thought.

Man, for once, he was glad he was mute. Because if he’d had to speak, she’d know he was in some strange place emotionally. As it was, his hands were steadier than his voice would have been.

Something about her request was getting to him big-time.

It would be an honor, he signed.

Before he could drop his arms, his sister pitched herself at him, hugging him so tightly she nearly snapped his head off. And as he closed his eyes and held her in return, time stopped—

A vision struck from out of nowhere. One minute, he was standing outside his and Xhex’s bedroom. The next?

All he could see was tears … except, no, it was rain. Rain on the windshield of a car—a car he’d loved. And then he was reaching forward for the ignition and—

Beth pulled back and he watched from a vast distance as her mouth moved and she told him more things. He nodded in the right places, but as soon as she left and he shut the door, all that part of it was gone.

Leaning his forehead on the panels, he had no idea why his eyes were watering up—or why his chest had swollen with such pride and happiness.

“You okay?” Xhex whispered from behind him.

Turning into the darkness, he nodded—and then realized she couldn’t see him.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “But I have to ask out loud sometimes.”

There was a click as she turned on the lamp by her side of the bed. Blinking in the illumination, he took a swipe of his face, making like he was just, you know, rubbing it or some shit. But she was a symphath—so where he was at was as clear to her as a billboard.

I don’t get it, he signed. Why am I so fucked in the head about her?

His mate’s gunmetal-gray eyes locked on him, and he did nothing to avoid that laser stare: If he wanted more information on all this, she was his best bet.

“Your grid has that shadow,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen one like it. It’s as if—I don’t know, you’re parallel-processing life? Or that…”

What, he demanded.

“There are two of you in there.”

That’s how it feels. He rubbed his already messy hair. Especially around her.

“She is your sister.”

But there was more than that to it, he thought. Not romantically or anything. Still …

“Come on,” Xhex said as she got out of bed. “We need to get ready. Goddamn brilliant idea of hers.”

As his female walked up to him naked, her tight, muscular body had a way of clarifying things—suddenly he had sex on the brain and what a relief. At least that he could do something about.

“Let me help you in the shower,” she said, reaching in between the folds of his robe and finding his hard cock. “You should be very, very clean for this.”

John was more than happy to be led by the dumb handle into the bathroom, and when they emerged forty-five minutes later, he was more relaxed—and clean as a motherfucking whistle.

“Yes, the tux,” his female said as he stood in front of their closet, staring at the stuff hanging from the rods. “No question.”

Nodding, he went for the starched white shirt, popping it off its hanger and pulling it onto his shoulders. Xhex had to do up the buttons—for some reason his hands were jumping all around now like he was nervous. He got the slacks on just fine, though—not the suspenders, however. She had to take care of them. And forget about the cummerbund and the bow tie—he just stood there like a dairy cow as she made quick work of it all.

The nice thing was that he got to stare at her.

“Now the jacket.” She held the thing out for him like she was the man, guiding the fine wool into place on his back, then turning him around and smoothing the lapels. “Damn…”

What? he signed.

Her stare was gleaming as she pulled a head-to-toe on him. “You make that look hot as hell.”

John puffed his pecs, going all robin-breasted. Hard not to when your female was eating you up with her eyes like that.

And you’re still naked. He smiled. Your birthday suit is my favorite.

Except she wasn’t completely unadorned. Reaching out, he touched the necklace he’d given to her, the one with the big square-cut diamond in the center.

Xhex wasn’t normally down for the sap, but she covered his hand with hers and brought his palm to her mouth. Kissing it, she murmured, “I know. I love you, too. Forever.”

He leaned into her and brushed his lips against hers.

A couple minutes later they headed out, with her dressed in slacks and a black silk shirt. Which, next to the aforementioned birthday suit, was a pretty fine little outfit. Especially because for once, she’d put her feet into a spectacular pair of fuck-me pumps.

Something he planned to follow through on whenever they could catch a minute alone.

Other people were coming out of bedroom doors: Blay and Qhuinn, also in suits. Z and Bella, with little Nalla dressed in yet another pink confection of silk and tulle … which made her pretty much the most adorable thing he’d seen.

And he didn’t even like kids.

As the group walked down the hall of statues and hit the stairs, there wasn’t a lot of talking. Hadn’t been since Rehv had put that proclamation on the dining room table. Wasn’t going to be for a while.

This was going to help, however.

Down below in the foyer, still more from the household had gathered, but not Wrath or Beth yet, and John joined the crowd—which again was very quiet. Hell, even Rhage put the kibosh on his usual antics—although with that mouthy fallen angel yet to show—

“What the fuck is that?”

At the sound of V’s voice, John turned with the rest of them … and when he saw what was up at the head of the grand staircase, he blinked once. Twice. Twelve times.

Lassiter was standing at the top of the carpeted steps, his blond-and-black hair styled in a pompadour, a heavy Bible under his armpit, piercings catching the light …

But none of that was the real shocker.

The fallen angel was dressed in a sparkling white Elvis costume. Complete with bell-bottoms, balloon sleeves, and lapels big enough to tent up the backyard. Oh, and rainbow wings that revealed themselves as he held his arms out, preacher style.

“Time to get the party started,” he said as he jogged down, sequins winking and flashing. “And where the hell’s my pulpit?”

V coughed out the smoke he’d just inhaled. “She’s having you do the service?”

The angel popped his already mile-high collar. “She said she wanted the holiest thing in the house to do it.”

“She got holey, all right,” somebody muttered.

“Is that Butch’s Bible?” V asked.

The angel flashed the goods. “Yup. And his BoC, he called it? I also got a sermon I did myself.”

“Saints preserve us,” came from the opposite side of the crowd.

“Wait, wait, wait.” V waved his hand-rolled around. “I’m the son of a deity and she picked you?”

“You can call me Pastor—and before Mr. Sox Fan gets his panties in a wad, I want everyone to know I’m legit. I went online, took a minister’s course in under an hour, and I’m ordained, baby.”

Rhage raised his hand. “Pastor Ass-hat, I have a question.”

“Yes, my son, you are going to hell.” Lassiter made the sign of the cross and then looked around. “So where’s our bride? The groom? I’m ready to marry somebody.”

“I didn’t bring enough tobacco for this,” V bitched.

Rhage sighed. “There’s Goose in the bar, my brother—oh, wait. We don’t have a bar anymore.”

“I think I’ll just run an IV of morphine.”

“Can I put it in?” Lassiter asked.

“That’s what she said,” somebody shot back—

“Oh … wow. That’s, ah, quite a getup.”

Everybody looked over their shoulders as Beth spoke up. She was coming in from the library, Saxton beside her, Rehv behind them. The latter had a parchment rolled up under his arm, and a bemused expression on his face.

“I know, right?” Lassiter said, pulling a pirouette, that cape thing splaying out.

Not that John Matthew paid any attention to the male. Or anybody else.

Without conscious thought, he walked forward toward his sister. She was wearing a simple white sheath dress, one that covered her shoulders and went below her knees. And as he came closer, he recognized it as something he’d seen the Chosen in the house wear when they wanted to be comfortable. Unlike them, however, her hair was loose and spilling down her back in black waves.

She looked innocent. And lovely. And perfect.

You are beautiful, he signed.

“Oh, thanks.” She flounced the dress. “Layla lent this to me. So are you ready to walk me down the aisle?”

It was a long time before John could make his hands work right. And as he signed his reply, he thought that for all the bullshit the glymera was throwing out, and the stress in the household, and the sadness over Wrath … this was something he felt as though he had waited a lifetime for. Something that he had crossed a vast distance to do. Some kind of goal that he’d wanted to meet while not being aware it was out there.

Yes, I am, he signed with pride.

* * *

Beth had never loved her brother more. As John Matthew stepped in beside her, she could sense his quiet strength resonating out to her—and she needed it.

Even though she had arranged everything, she had no idea how Wrath was going to react to this.

Glancing around her brother’s big shoulders, she popped her brows again at Lassiter. At least her hellren would be spared the sight of the angel in that rig.

“You love it, right?” Lassiter asked, holding his Bible high. “I mean, you told me to go onto the Internet. I did. I even printed out my diploma or whatever the hell it’s called.”

Opening the cover of the King James version, he took out a piece of paper and wave it around. “See? Nice and legal-like.”

Beth leaned in. “Wow.”

“I know, right? Just like Harvard.”

“Impressive.”

“I’m totally framing that shit, wha-what.” He put the thing away. “And after I was done, I researched human weddings. I knew I was going to need some ceremonial robes, and these were the ones I liked best. I found them at Gould’s Costumes and More—boom! I’m nothing but a hound dog.”

Beth rubbed her temples. Vishous. She should have asked Vishous to do this. “How’d you manage the hair?”

“Aqua Net. Hairpins. Cosmo December issue—for the holidays. Again, thank you, Internet.”

Rhage shook his head. “Do you have balls? Or are angels born sac-less?”

Lassiter smiled slyly. “I do all right. Back in the Old Country, I used to chime noon and midnight.”

Really, really, really should have asked Vishous. “Well, I appreciate everything you—”

As everyone went silent, she looked up to the head of the stairs. Wrath had appeared and was standing tall and proud, George by his side. Unlike John, he wasn’t in a tux, but he had put on a certain suit she remembered.

It was the one he’d worn on their first official “date” at Darius’.

“What’s the crowd for?” he said.

“Just come on down,” she replied.

As he started his descent, her palms went sweaty—and then an instant later, the mother of all hot flashes hit, the heat searing through her.

Man, she couldn’t wait until she was either pregnant or fully over the needing. Her inner microwave was driving her crazy.

As Wrath’s only pair of non-shitkickers hit the mosaic floor, she thought that he couldn’t have looked more magnificent. His hair was fanned all over his massive shoulders, the ends coming down to his hips, and with that tie at his neck … he looked like a powerful businessman. Who could kill if he were so inclined.

And didn’t that get the hormones cranking.

“What are we doing here, Beth,” he demanded.

“We’re getting married.”

As he recoiled, she rushed in before he could go on any kind of tirade. “You said my human customs matter—that they’re equally important. So we’re getting married. Right now. In my way.”

He shook his head. “But we’re already mated. Why—”

“So you can divorce me and keep the throne.” As his jaw dropped, she cut him off. “In front of our family here. With a real live minister.”

Lassiter raised his hand. “Happy to be of service. I also do christenings. Just sayin’.”

Wrath shook his head again. “This is—”

“Are you saying my human side is of lesser value?”

“Well, no. But—”

“So then if we do the ceremony here and now, we haven’t lost anything, have we. You can divorce me according to vampire law, we’re still mated, and we’ve managed to keep the throne.” She kicked up her chin even though he couldn’t see her. “Pretty good math, don’t you think?”

There was a beat of hushed silence. And then one of the Brothers said, “I fucking love this female. I really totally fucking love her.”

FIFTY-ONE

As Wrath allowed himself to get maneuvered around the foyer, George, as always, went with him.

Frankly, even if he’d had his sight, he would have had to be led around.

He kept waiting for an inner NFW to sound out. But Beth had boxed him in, in the best possible way—she was right: If her cultural norms were as important to them as a couple? Well … if they were “married” in the human way, then they were mated. Period.

And yet, he wasn’t sure how he felt. Then again, they’d done things according to his race’s traditions originally—and although none of that had any resonance for her, she’d gone right along with it.

Seemed only fair that he do the same for her.

“You ready?” Lassiter asked him softly.

People were still shuffling about, moving around the great space of the foyer. “What are they doing?” Wrath whispered back.

“Forming two lines so there’s an aisle that starts at the dining room and runs right to us. We’re about five yards in front of the billiards room. She’s disappeared—they’ve shut the doors so we can’t see her.”

Wrath thought back to when they’d been mated. The Scribe Virgin had been around then. Beth had worn Wellsie’s red gown—and had nearly fainted as his brothers had carved her nine-letter name into his shoulders. John Matthew, Blay, and Qhuinn hadn’t been in the picture then. Neither had Rehv and Xhex, Payne, Manny, the Shadow brothers, and others.

Or Xcor and the Bastards.

And since then, they’d lost Wellsie. No one else, however.

From out of nowhere, music flooded the foyer, a classical ditty he’d heard before, usually in chick flicks that involved … weddings, natch.

“Ready?” Lassiter asked.

“Yeah.” Jesus, this was not what he’d expected to be doing.

“I just nodded to Fritz,” the angel whispered. “And he’s opening the doors.”

Wrath cleared his throat and leaned in. “What … what is she wearing?”

“White. Calf-length. Loose. She’s escorted by her brother and carrying a pink rose that Rhage took from a bouquet on the mantlepiece.” There was a pause. “Her eyes are right on you, and that smile of hers? Million bucks, my friend. Million fucking bucks.”

All at once, the shit about the throne and the other reasons they were doing this went away: As he caught the scent of his leelan, all he thought of was that she was everything to him—and not just because she might well be saving his throne, right here and now.

Oh, and holy shit, she might be pregnant, too.

“Dearly beloved,” Lassiter began, “we are gathered here to witness the joining of Elizabeth, daughter of Darius, and Wrath, son of Wrath.”

So they were leaving the formal vampire names out. Cool. Made it seem more human.

“Who gives this female—ah, woman’s—hand in marriage?”

Wrath expected one of the brothers to translate John’s response. Instead, the male communicated his reply loud and clear: He whistled an ascending note that declaratively announced he was the guy presenting his sister.

On instinct, and because he had no idea what the ceremony entailed, Wrath thrust out his palm. As it was clasped by John Matthew, the two of them squeezed hard, a vow given and acknowledged in the shake, an I’ll-take-good-care-of-her exchanged with a You’d-better-fucking-do-that.

Cue the throat clearing. Like maybe a couple of the brothers were getting emotional.

Lassiter coughed a little and there was the sound of pages being flipped back and forth. “Ah … okay, look, I’m just going to wing it, all right? Is there any reason you two can’t do this? No? Awesome.”

Beth laughed. “I think you’re supposed to wait for us to answer.”

“All together then, shall we? And you guys in the peanut gallery, too—any reason this won’t fly?”

The entire household as well as his shellan and himself shouted, “No!”

“Man, we’re doing great.” More flipping. “Yeah, they go on and on here. Wrath?”

For some insane reason, he started to smile. “Yeah?”

“Do you take this incredible woman who’s just saved your ass as your wife? Will you love and comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live– crap, I was supposed to do you before him, Beth. How about you answer?”

“No,” Wrath cut in with a big grin. “I’ll go first. Yeah, I do.”

There was a sniffle from the crowd. At which point, Rhage’s voice hissed, “What. This is beautiful, ’kay? Fuck all y’all.”

“Now, Beth, do you take this hotheaded PITA as your husband? Will you love and comfort him, honor and keep him in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” his Beth said. “Absolutely.”

“Niiiice.” Lassiter flipped some more pages. “Okay, rings? We got rings here, people?”

“Put my ring on her thumb,” Wrath said, taking off the massive black diamond his father had worn. “Here.”

“And he can use mine,” Beth chimed in. “It’s his mother’s.”

“Aww, that’s some sweetness right here.” Lassiter took Wrath’s ring. “Okay, let’s rock this out. I hereby bless these rings. Beth, take yours back and place it on any finger you can fit it on. Or, like, the upper knuckle—there ya go.

“Okay, repeat after me. Oh, shi—I mean, crap. I was supposed to do this with Wrath first, I guess.”

“No,” Beth said with another laugh. “Actually this is perfect.”

“Perfect,” Wrath agreed.

It was all just so … right. It was natural and real—and the lack of formality so worked, especially in light of the aristocracy’s ridiculous value system.

Hell, Lassiter was a living, breathing antidote to all that.

“Okay, so, Beth, follow me. ‘I, Beth, a totally awesome chick…’”

Beth barked out a giggle. “I, Beth…”

“Where’s the ‘awesome chick’ part? What? Come on, I have a license from the Internet. I know what I’m doing.”

Wrath nodded at his leelan. “He’s right. You are, in fact, awesome. I think we need to hear it.”

“Can I get an amen!” Lassiter shouted.

“Ammmmmmmmmen!” echoed throughout the mansion.

“Fine, fine, fine,” she said. “I, Beth, a totally awesome chick…”

“‘…take this meathead, Wrath…’”

“…take this meathead, Wrath…”

“‘…as my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward…’”

“…as my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward…”

“‘…for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer…’”

And suddenly it wasn’t a joke. The further she went, the more serious Lassiter got, and the shakier Wrath’s shellan became, as if the words she were speaking were ones of great value and meaning.

This was tradition for her, he realized.

She continued in a rough way, “…in sickness and in health…”

“‘…to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.’”

“…to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

Lassiter turned another page. “‘I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.’”

Suddenly, Wrath gritted his molars to keep his own emotions in check as she repeated the words, and slid the ruby on his pinkie.

“And now, my lord,” Lassiter said smoothly. “Recite after me…”

Beth had never been one of those girls who’d imagined her wedding. Acted it out with Barbies. Bought Bride magazine as soon as she hit her twenties.

She was pretty sure that if she had been, though, none of the hypotheticals would have resembled this in the slightest: surrounded by vampires, possibly pregnant, with a fallen angel in an Elvis costume mangling the ceremony from the Book of Common Prayer.

And yet as she stared up at her soon-to-be husband, she couldn’t have pictured anything she would have liked more. Then again, when you were facing the right person? None of the things they talked about on television, no Vera Wang dress, no champagne waterfall, no DJ or place setting or party favor mattered.

“‘I, Wrath, take you, Beth,’” Lassiter started.

“I got this,” her husband said in his booming voice. “I, Wrath, take you, Beth, as my beloved wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part. This is my solemn vow.”

Cue a serious case of the misties.

As Beth sniffled and smiled at the same time, Wrath placed the gigantic King’s ring on the top of her thumb. With grave sincerity, he said, “I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you in the name of your Father, and your Son, and your Holy Spirit.”

There was a round of applause, spontaneous and loud. And Lassiter had to shout to be heard over it, “By the power vested in me thanks to Google, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride!”

The clapping got louder as Wrath put his arms around her and bent her backward so far, the only thing keeping her from the ground was his strength.

It was a move he did on a regular basis, an unconscious way of asserting and proving his physical ability to take care of her.

“Take my sunglasses off,” he whispered as the curtain of his hair fell all around, giving them privacy. “I want you to see my eyes even if they can’t see you.”

Beth’s hands were shaking as she reached up to his face. Sliding the wraparounds from his temples, his extraordinary stare was revealed, and she thought of the first time she had seen it: in the underground guest suite at her father’s house.

They were exactly as they had been. Brilliant pale green, they glowed from within to the point where she had to blink, and not just from the tears in her vision.

“Beautiful,” she breathed.

“Useless,” he countered with a smile—as if he were remembering the same exchange.

“No, they show me all the love in your heart.” She touched his face. “And that is very useful.”

Wrath’s mouth came down on hers, brushing once, twice. And then he kissed her deeply and slowly.

When he finally started to right her, she put his sunglasses back into place, and facing the household, she flushed as she looked at them all. So much love all around.

It made her feel invincible against whatever came at them.

Over the din, Lassiter shouted, “A-thank you, a-thank-you-vera-much.”

Wrath bent to the side, flubbled George’s ears and took hold of the dog’s harness; then the three of them were walking down the aisle toward the dining room.

Somehow Fritz had managed to pull a banquet of food out of thin air, the table magically set during the ceremony with a simple but ample spread.

But first there was business.

As Rehv came in past the arches, he nodded to Beth and she leaned into her husband.

“It’s time to sign,” she said.

It was painful to watch her husband’s unrestrained happiness tighten right up.

“Just the same, right?” she whispered. “We’re married. We’re covered.”

“Yeah…” There was a long pause. “Yeah, I can do this.”

Except he took his time going over to where Rehv was unrolling a parchment that had red and black ribbons streaming off its lower half.

“I have a blue pen for the signature line,” Rehv said, taking the thing out of his mink coat. “This document has been prepared by Saxton, and it’s been predated to three weeks ago. He’s assured me that the wording is ironclad and nothing that they can dispute in any way.”

“Ironclad,” Wrath muttered.

Rehv put out the pen. “Sign it and I’ll take care of the delivery—with pleasure.”

Beth dropped his hand to give her man some space—but he didn’t want that, clearly. Gathering her palm back, he stood over the parchment.

“What does it say?” he demanded roughly.

Beth looked over the symbols and saw nothing but patterns of blue ink.

“It says…” Rehv leaned in. “That the union is annulled.”

“Like it never existed?” Wrath muttered.

Rehv tapped the parchment. “This is a political statement. A political function. This is not about the two of you.”

“My signature’s supposed to be on it. And her name’s on there. So it is about us.”

Rehv backed off, too. Then it was just Wrath and the writing he couldn’t see.

All the Brothers and the members of the household hung in the periphery, everyone quiet.

He wasn’t going to do it, she thought. He just wasn’t going to be able to do it …