Текст книги "The King"

Автор книги: J. R. Ward

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FIVE

When John Matthew had hit the mansion’s magnificent staircase, the last thing on his mind had been the past.

As he’d ascended, he’d been focused on, in order of importance: getting his shellan naked before Last Meal; getting her naked in their bedroom; annnnnd getting his shellan naked and underneath him in their bedroom before Last Meal.

Whether or not he was fully clothed? Not a big concern except for the below-the-waist stuff. And if push came to shove, he could totally punt on the bedroom part—provided wherever they ended up offered even a semblance of privacy.

So, yup, on his way to the second floor, he was very much plugged into the present and the presence of Xhex—who, if everything had gone to plan, had left the Iron Mask about fifteen minutes ago and was now covering the “naked” and “bedroom” part of his preoccupation.

Fate offered a diversion, however.

As he arrived on the upper landing, the double doors to Wrath’s study were open, and through them he saw a familiar tableau: the King seated behind his ornate desk; the queen in his lap; George, the golden retriever, at their feet; Saxton, Blay’s former flame and Wrath’s current solicitor, sitting off to the side on a sofa. As usual, the acre-size desktop was littered with paperwork, and Wrath’s mood was in the shitter.

In fact, that grim expression was part and parcel of the room, just like the antique French furniture that struggled to support the Brothers during meetings and the pale blue walls that seemed better suited to the boudoir of some chick named Lisette or Louisa.

But what did he know from Extreme Home Makeover.

Pausing to offer the four of them a wave, he intended to carry on to his room, find his mate, take her in a variety of positions—and then go down freshly showered to the final meal of the day.

Instead … just before he turned away … he met the eyes of his half sister, Beth.

The instant the connection was made, some combination of neurons fired in his brain, and the electrical load was too much for his motherboard: Without warning, he went into a free fall, his weight listing backward as the seizure took over his muscles, rendering them at first spastic and then utterly rigid.

He blacked out before he hit the ground …

… and when he regained consciousness, the first thing that registered was the ow-ow-ow of his head and his ass.

Blinking slowly, he discovered that at least he could see, the ceiling above coming into clear focus first before a lineup of concerned faces registered. Xhex was right by his side, his dagger hand in between her palms, her brows down as if she’d wanted to come into the midnight of his pass-out and drag him back to her.

As half-symphath, maybe she could do that. Maybe that was the reason he’d returned so quickly? Or had he lost consciousness for hours?

Doc Jane was next to her, and on his other side were Qhuinn and Blay. Wrath was down at his feet with Beth—

The moment his sister’s presence registered, the electrical activity started up again, and as a second go-around with the nightie-nights threatened, all he could think was, Damn it, this hadn’t happened for so long.

He’d assumed this shit was over with.

Seizures had never been a problem for him until he’d met Beth for the first time—and after that there had been other episodes, always out of the blue, never with any kind of pattern he could discern. The only good news? They hadn’t ever happened during fighting and had not endangered his life—

Unbidden, his body drew upward, his torso lifting itself off the carpet sure as if there were a rope tied to his rib cage and somebody far above was hauling him up.

“John?” Xhex said. “John, lie back.”

Something welled inside his chest, some kind of cresting emotion that was both out of his reach and utterly visceral. Reaching for Beth, he willed her to take his hand—and as she crouched down and did, his mouth started moving, his lips and tongue finding unfamiliar patterns over and over again … even as no sound broke through his muteness.

“What is he trying to say?” Beth demanded. “Xhex? Blay?”

Xhex’s expression became impassible. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

John frowned and thought, Bullshit. And yet he didn’t know what it was any more than Beth did—and he certainly couldn’t seem to stop the communicating.

“John, whatever it is, it’s all right.” His sister squeezed his hand. “You’re okay.”

Looming above his shellan, Wrath’s face shifted into an implacable mask—as if he’d picked up on some vibe and didn’t like it.

Suddenly, John could feel his mouth moving in a different pattern, other things getting expressed now; although damned if he had a clue what they were. Meanwhile, Beth was frowning … so was Wrath …

And that was it.

As his brain began to short out again, his vision closed in on Beth until all he saw was her face.

For no good reason, he felt like he hadn’t seen her in a year or two. And the significance of her features, the big blue eyes, the dark lashes, the long dark hair … resonated in his chest.

Not romantically, no.

This was something else entirely—and yet just as powerful.

Too bad he couldn’t hang on to consciousness any longer to figure it out.

* * *

“We are ready.”

As Assail finished his second line of cocaine, he straightened from his granite countertop and regarded his cousins: Across the kitchen of his glass house on the Hudson River, the two of them were dressed in matte black from head to foot. Even their guns and knives didn’t catch the light.

Perfect for what he had planned.

Assail screwed the top of his vial shut and tucked the stash into his black leather jacket. “Let us go, then.”

Leading them out the back door by the garage, he was reminded of why he’d brought them over from the Old World to Caldwell: Ever prepared and never questioning.

In that regard, they were exactly like the autoloaders they carried upon their able bodies night and noon.

“We’re going south,” he ordered. “Follow my signal.”

The twins nodded at him, their perfectly identical faces composed and grim, their powerful bodies prepared to uncurl and dispatch whatever was needed for any situation. In truth, they were the only ones he trusted—and even that pledge, grounded in their communal blood, wasn’t an absolute.

As Assail pulled a black mask over his face, they did the same—and then it was time to dematerialize. Closing his eyes to concentrate, he regretted the coke. He hadn’t really needed the buzz—considering where they were going, he was amped up more than enough. Lately, however, doing the powder was akin to pulling his coat on or holstering a forty under his arm.

Rote.

Focus … focus … focus …

Intent and will coalesced a heartbeat later and his physical form fragmented into a loose association of molecules. Zeroing in on his destination, he clouded toward it, sensing his cousins traveling through the night skies with him.

In the back of his mind, he recognized that this excursion was out of character. As a businessman, life for him was calculated on the basis of ROI: everything he did was predicated on a return for the investment made. Which was why he was involved in the drug trade. Hard to have better margins than selling black-market chemical products to humans.

So, no, he was not a rescuer; he was the anti– Good Samaritan. And when it came to vengeance? Any he wielded was on his own behalf, never another’s.

Exceptions were going to be made in this case, though.

His destination was an estate in West Point, New York, a venerable old stone house that was set back on acres of lawn. Assail had been on the property once before—when he’d been following a certain burglar … and watched her not only break in through a very viable security system, but traipse throughout the mansion without taking a goddamn thing.

She had, however, pivoted one of the Degas sculptures about an inch out of position.

And the consequences for her had been dire.

Things were, however, going to be reversed.

Violently.

Assuming form at the lowest corner of the vast front lawn, he masked himself in the line of trees that bordered the estate’s far edges. As the cousins materialized next to him, he recalled that first trip here, picturing Sola in the snow, her white parka blending in as she cross-country skied up toward her target.

Simply extraordinary. That was the only way he could describe every single thing about the woman—

A proprietary growl rose up deep in his throat—one more thing that wasn’t like him a’tall. He rarely cared about anything other than money … certainly not about females, and never, ever about human women.

But Sola had been different since the moment he had caught her scent as she’d trespassed on his own property—and the idea that Benloise had taken her? From her home? Where her grandmother slept?

Unacceptable.

Benloise was not going to live through this choice he had made.

Assail began to stride forward, measuring the landscape with his sharp eyes. Thanks to a bright, winter moon, it might as well have been daylight as opposed to two in the morning—everything from the eaves of the house to the contours of the terraces to the outbuilding in the back clearly visible before him.

Nothing moved. Not around the exterior nor past any of the darkened windows of the house itself.

Closing in, he proceeded around to the back, reacquainting himself with the layout of terraces and floors. So old money, he thought. So established. As un-drug wholesaler as one could get.

Mayhap Benloise was less than proud of the way he made his paper.

“We penetrate here,” Assail said softly, nodding to the plate-glass windows of a sitting porch.

Ghosting in through them, he re-formed in the interior, standing motionless as he listened for footsteps, a scream, a scramble, a closing door.

A glowing red light high up in a corner informed him that the security system was on and running—and the motion detectors hadn’t yet been triggered by their sudden appearance. The instant he moved? All hell was going to break loose.

Which was the plan.

Assail first knocked out the security cameras. Then he triggered the alarm by reaching into his pocket and pulling free a Cuban cigar—in response, that light immediately started blinking. And whilst it discoed along, he took his time lighting his smoke, fully expecting any number of thick-necked strong-arms to come racing in.

When that did not occur, he exhaled over his shoulder and strode forward, going throughout the first floor with the cousins tight on his heels. As he went along, he ashed on the Oriental rugs and the Italian marble tiles.

A little calling card in the unlikely event they didn’t meet up with anyone: Considering the retaliation the man thought appropriate for a statue’s reorientation, cigar debris was going to send the bastard right over the edge.

When he found nothing in the public rooms of the house, he headed for the servant wing and discovered an empty kitchen that was modern and utterly uninspiring. God, how boring—the gray-and-chrome color scheme was like the pallor of the elderly, and the sparse furnishings suggested decor was not a priority in spaces Benloise did not frequent himself. But more to the point, and as with the reception rooms, there was no scent from Sola’s presence nor that of gunpowder or fresh blood. There were also no dishes in any of the three deep-bellied sinks, and when he opened the refrigerator just because he could, he found six green Perrier bottles on the top shelf and nothing else—

A set of headlights washed across the windows, flaring in his face, casting sharp shadows among table legs and chair backs and stands of cooking utensils.

Assail puffed out a mushroom cloud of smoke and smiled. “Let us go out and welcome them home.”

Except the vehicle passed by the house and zeroed in on the outbuilding—suggesting that whoever it was had not come in response to the alarm being set off.

“Sola…” he whispered as he dematerialized onto the snow-covered lawn.

Emotions riding high, he nonetheless made sure to disable the monitoring cameras on the rear exterior—and then he ripped off his mask so he could breathe better.

The non-descript sedan stopped grille-first into the garage, and two white human men got out of the front, clamping the doors shut and going around to the—

“Greetings, my friends,” Assail announced as he leveled his forty at them.

Ah, look. They were such good little listeners, each going statue as they jerked in the direction of his voice.

Walking over, Assail trained his muzzle on the man on the right, knowing that the twins would judge correctly his focus and concentrate on the other one. When he’d closed the distance, he leaned in and peered through the windows of the backseat, bracing himself to see Sola in some form of compromise …

Nothing. There was no one back there, nobody bound and gagged, knocked out, or cowering in submission against the beating that would surely come.

“Open the trunk,” Assail ordered. “Only one of you—you. You do it.”

As Assail followed the man around, he kept his gun right at the back of the fucker’s head, his finger twitching at the trigger, ready to squeeze.

Pop!

The trunk latch released and the panel lifted soundlessly, inner lights coming on …

To illuminate two duffel bags. That was it. Nothing but two black nylon duffel bags.

Assail puffed his cigar. “Goddamn it—where is she?”

“Where is who?” the man asked. “Who are you—”

On a surge of pure hatred, his anger leaped ahead of his mind, taking over, taking control.

Pop! number two was the sound of a bullet leaving Assail’s gun and blasting right through the guy’s frontal lobe. And the impact sent a spackle of blood all over those nylon carry-ons, and the car, and the driveway.

“Jesus Christ!” the other guy barked. “What the—”

Rage, undiluted by any semblance of rational thinking, made Assail roar some horrible, ugly sound—as his trigger jumped the gun again. So to speak.

Pop! number three dropped the driver, the bullet entering right between his eyebrows, the body falling backward in a narcoleptic free fall.

As loose arms and legs flopped on the snow, Ehric’s dry voice drifted over. “You realize we could have questioned them.”

Assail bit into his cigar, taking a long puff just so he didn’t do something to his own bloodline that he’d regret. “Take the bags and hide them where can we find them on the property—”

Down at the base of the drive, a car turned off the main road and came forward at a tear. “Finally,” Assail bitched. “One would expect a faster response.”

Brakes were hit at the house—at least until whoever was behind the wheel saw Assail and the sedan and the cousins. Then tires grabbed at the snow pack as the gas was hit once again.

“Take the duffels,” he hissed to the twins. “Go.”

Spotlit by the headlights, Assail lowered his gun down to his thigh so that it became lost in the folds of his three-quarter leather coat—and he ordered his arm to stay there. Much as it infuriated him further, Ehric was right. He’d just murdered two mouthpieces.

Further evidence that he was out of his mind in all this. And he could not make that uncharacteristic mistake again.

As the sedan slid to a halt, three men got out, and indeed, they had come prepared. Multiple muzzles pointed in his direction, and they were steady: These boys had done this before, and in fact, he recognized two of them.

The bodyguard in front actually lowered his autoloader. “Assail?”

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“What?”

In truth, he was getting so bored with these frowns of confusion.

Assail’s trigger finger started twitching again. “Your boss has something I want back.”

The enforcer’s sharp eyes shifted to the first sedan with its open trunk—and given the immediate brow pop, it appeared he noticed the soles of his predecessors’ shoes upon the asphalt.

“Neither of them could give me an answer,” Assail drawled. “Perhaps you should like to give it a try?”

Instantly, that gun was back up into position. “What the fuck are you—”

From out of thin air, the twins made an appearance and flanked the trio—and they had far more firepower, what with all four of their palms locked on a quartet of Smith & Wessons.

Assail kept his gun where it was, out of the action temporarily. “I would suggest you drop your weapons. If you do not, they will kill you.”

There was a heartbeat of a pause—which proved too long for Assail’s liking.

In the blink of an eye, his arm shot up and pop! He shot the closest guard, putting a bullet through his ear at a trajectory that left the remaining two men still standing.

As yet another dead weight fell to the ground, he thought, See? There was still plenty of living and breathing left to work with.

Assail lowered his arm and released another plume of smoke that drifted into the headlights, tinting the illumination blue. Addressing the pair who remained vertical, he said levelly, “I shall ask you again. Where is she.”

Rather a lot of talk sprang up, but none of it included the words woman, held, or captive.

“You’re boring me,” he said, lifting his muzzle once more. “I’d suggest one of the two of you start getting to the point now.”

SIX

“Is he alive?”

Beth heard the words come out of her mouth, but was only half aware of having spoken them. It was just too terrifying when a guy as strong as John Matthew went over like that—and worse? He’d surfaced for a minute and a half, tried to communicate something to her, and passed out cold again.

“Good,” Doc Jane said as she pressed a stethoscope to his heart. “Okay, I need my blood pressure—”

Blay pressed the floppy cuff into the doctor’s hands and the woman worked fast, wrapping it around John’s bulging biceps and puffing up its inner tube. There was a long hiss that was too loud, and Beth leaned back against her hellren as they waited for the results.

It seemed to take forever. Meanwhile, Xhex was cradling John’s head in her lap—and God, that was a hard spot: Someone you love down and out, no clue what was going to happen next.

“A little on the low side,” Jane muttered as she ripped the Velcro free of itself. “But nothing catastrophic—”

John’s eyes began to open, the lids flipping up and down.

“John?” Xhex said roughly. “Are you coming back to me?”

Apparently he was. He turned to his mate’s voice and lifted a shaking hand, clasping her palm and staring into her eyes. Some kind of energy exchange seemed to take place, and a moment later, John sat up. Stood up. Was only a little on the wobbly side as the pair embraced and stood soul to soul for a long while.

When her brother finally turned to her, Beth broke free of Wrath and hugged the younger male fiercely. “I’m so sorry.”

John pulled back and signed, What for?

“I don’t know. I just don’t want– I don’t know.”

As she threw her hands up, he shook his head. You didn’t do anything wrong. Beth—seriously. I’m okay and it’s cool.

Meeting his blue eyes, she searched them as if the answer to what had happened and what he’d been saying could be read there. “What were you trying to tell me?” she whispered aloud.

The instant she heard what she’d said, she cursed. Now was hardly the time. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ask that—”

Was I saying something? he signed.

“Let’s give him some space,” Wrath said. “Xhex, you wanna take your man to your room.”

“Amen to that.” The broad-shouldered female stepped in, hooking a hold around John’s waist and marching him off down the hall of statues.

Doc Jane put her equipment back in her little black bag. “It’s time to find out what’s causing those.”

Wrath cursed softly. “Does he have medical clearance to fight?”

She got to her feet, her smart eyes narrowing. “He’s going to hate me, but no. I want to do an MRI on him first. Unfortunately, for that, we’re going to have to make some arrangements.”

“How can I help?” Beth asked.

“I’ll go talk to Manny now. Havers doesn’t have that kind of equipment and neither do we.” Doc Jane dragged a hand through her short blond hair. “I have no clue how we’re going to get him into St. Francis, but that’s where we need to go.”

“What do you think could be wrong?” Beth interjected.

“No offense, but you don’t want to know. Right now, let me start pulling strings and—”

“I’m going to go with him.” Beth stared so hard at V’s shellan, it was a wonder she didn’t burn a hole in the woman’s head. “If he has to get that test done, I’m going with.”

“Fine, but we’ll keep the team to an absolute minimum. This is going to be hard enough to pull off without taking an army with us.”

Vishous’s mate turned away and jogged down the stairs, and as she went, she gradually lost her form, her body’s weight and presence dissipating until she was a ghostly apparition floating down the carpet.

Spook or solid, it didn’t matter, Beth thought. She’d rather be treated by that woman than anyone else on the planet.

Oh, God … John.

Beth turned to Blay and Qhuinn. “Do either of you know what he was trying to communicate?”

Both of them glanced over at Wrath. And then promptly shook their heads.

“Liars,” she muttered. “Why won’t you tell me—”

Wrath started to massage her shoulders, like he wanted to calm the little woman down—and didn’t that suggest that even if the particulars were unknown because of his blindness, he had read the emotions. He was like that. He knew something.

“Just let it go, leelan.”

“Do not play boys’ club with me,” she said, pulling away and glaring at the cock-and-balls brigade. “That’s my brother—and he was trying to talk to me. I deserve to be in on this.”

Blay and Qhuinn got busy looking at the carpet. The mirror over the side table next to the study’s open doors. Their fingernails.

Clearly, they were hoping a wormhole would open up under their shitkickers.

Well, too bad, boys—life wasn’t an epi of Doctor Who. And you know what? The idea that pair—as well as every other male in the house—would always defer to Wrath made her even more pissed off. But short of stamping her feet and looking like a total ass, she had no choice but to shelve the fight for later when she and her mate had some privacy.

“Leelan—”

“My ice cream is melting,” she muttered as she went over and picked up the tray. “It would make my night if any of you three would get real with me. But I shouldn’t hold my breath for that, should I.”

As she marched off, the sense of foreboding that followed her was nothing new—ever since Wrath had been shot, she’d felt like another shoe was going to drop at any moment, and gee, seeing her brother on the carpet did so much to improve that paranoia.

Not.

Coming up to the door that had been Blay’s before he’d moved in with Qhuinn, she pulled herself together.

It didn’t work, but she knocked anyway. “Layla?”

“Come in,” was the muffled reply.

Balancing the tray awkwardly on her hip, it was hard to get a good hold on the knob—

Payne, V’s sister, opened things up with a smile. And man, she was an impressive presence, especially in all that black leather: She was the only female on rotation to fight in the field with the Brothers—and she must have just come home from a shift.

“Good evening, my queen.”

“Oh, thanks.” Beth hitched her load up and entered the lavender bedroom. “I’m bringing provisions.”

Payne shook her head. “I rather think it’s going to be necessary. I can’t imagine there’s anything left in her stomach—in fact, I believe she’s evacuated all the food she ate last week, too.”

As retching sounds drifted out of the bathroom, they both winced.

Beth eyed the bowl of Breyers. “Maybe I should come back later—”

“Don’t you dare,” the Chosen called out. “I feel great!”

“Doesn’t sound that way—”

“I’m hungry! Don’t you dare leave.”

Payne shrugged. “She has an amazing attitude. I come in here to get inspired—although not to go into my needing, which is why I need to leave now.”

While V’s sister shuddered again, like a female’s cycle and the whole baby thing was nothing she was interested in, Beth put the tray on top of an antique bureau. “Well, actually … that’s what I’m hoping for.”

Payne’s poleaxed expression made her curse. “What I mean is … um…”

Yeah, how to dig her way out of this one.

“You and Wrath are going to have a young?”

“No, no, no—hold on.” As she put her palms up, she tried to develop a bailout plan. “Ah…”

Payne’s embrace was fast as a gust and as strong as a male’s, crushing the breath out of Beth’s lungs. “This is wonderful news—”

Beth pushed her way out of those iron bars. “Actually, we’re not there yet. I’m just … look, don’t tell Wrath I’m in here, okay?”

“So you want to surprise him! How romantic!”

“Yeah, he’ll be surprised, all right.” As Payne gave her a strange look, Beth shook her head. “Look, to be honest, I don’t know that my needing will necessarily be good news.”

“An heir to the throne could really help him, though. If you’re thinking politically.”

“I’m not and I never will.” Beth put her hand on her stomach and tried to imagine something other than three squares and a couple of desserts in it. “I just … really want a baby, and I’m not sure he’s on board. If it happens, though … well, maybe it’ll be a good thing.”

Actually, he’d told her once he didn’t see children in their future. But that had been a while ago and …

Payne gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. “I’m happy for you—and I hope this works. But as I said, I better go, because if that old superstition is true, I don’t want to find myself in trouble.” She turned to the bathroom’s partially closed door. “Layla! I have to head out!”

“Thanks for coming by! Beth? You’re staying, yes?”

“Yup. I’m here for the duration.”

As Payne took off, Beth had too much energy to sit down, the idea that she was keeping something from Wrath not sitting well. Bottom line, they needed to talk this out; it was just a question of finding a good “when” for that.

And the whole needing/kid thing wasn’t the only thing hanging over her. That confron with Wrath and the boys still stung. Men. She loved the Brotherhood—each one of them would lay down his life for her and had always put their flesh and blood where it counted with Wrath. But sometimes the all-for-one, one-for-all stuff drove her nuts—

More heaving. To the point where Beth winced and put her face in her hands.

Get ready for this, she told herself. It’s all well and good to have delusions of dollies and plush toys, cooing and cuddles, but there was a ground level to parenting—and pregnancy—that she’d better be prepared to handle.

Although at this rate, her needing didn’t seem to be in a big hurry to show up. She’d been in here every night for how long? And yeah, she was feeling hormonal—or it could be that life was just really hard right now.

Yeah, ’cuz that’s exactly when you start trying for a kid.

She must be insane.

Hitting the bed and stretching out her legs, she reached for her pint of Ben & Jerry’s and attacked it with her spoon. Stabbing into the carton, she dug out the chocolate chunks and ground them between her molars, not particularly tasting anything.

She’d never been an emotional eater before, but lately? She was chomping down when she wasn’t hungry, and it was beginning to show.

On that note, she lifted up her shirt and popped the button and the zipper on her jeans.

Sagging against the pillows, she wondered how it was possible to go from the heights of passion and connection to this morose depression so fast: At the moment, she was convinced she was never going to go into her needing, much less conceive … and that she was married to a guy who was a serious lunkhead.

Resuming her digging, she managed to excavate the mother lode of chunk veins and told herself to get a grip. Or … at the very least wait for all the chocolate to kick in and elevate her mood.

Better living through Ben & Jerry’s.

Should be the company’s tagline.

Eventually, there was the flush of a toilet followed by a course of running water. When the Chosen came out, Layla’s face was as white as the loose robing she wore—and her smile was as resplendent as the sun.

“Sorry about that!” the female said cheerfully. “How are you?”

“More important, how are—”

“I’m fantastic!” she said as she went over to the ice cream. “Oh, this is beautiful. Just what I need to ease things down there.”

“I had to weed out the straw—”

Layla threw a hand up. Brought her other one to her mouth. Shook her head.

On a choked breath, she muttered, “I can’t even hear that word.”

Beth waved things away. “Not to worry, not to worry. We don’t even have the Flavor That Shall Not Be Named in the house.”

“I’m sure that’s a lie, but I will go with it, thank you rather much.”

As the Chosen got in bed with her bowl, she glanced over. “You are so kind to me.”

Beth smiled. “After everything you’ve been through, it doesn’t feel like nearly enough.”

Almost losing the baby—then the miscarriage stopping like magic. No one really knew what had been wrong or how it had resolved itself, but—

“Beth? Is anything troubling you?”

“No, why?”

“You don’t look right.”

Beth exhaled and wondered if she could get away with lying. Probably not.

“I’m sorry.” She scraped the inside of the carton, digging out the last of the mint ice cream. “I’m all … up in my head right now.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“I’m just overwhelmed by everything.” She put the carton aside and let her head fall back. “I feel like there’s this weight hanging over me.”

“With Wrath where he is, I don’t know how you get through the nights—”

There was a knock at the door, and when Layla answered, it was not a surprise that Blay and Qhuinn came in. The two fighters looked awkward, though—and not because of the Chosen.

Beth cursed herself. “Can I just get my apology to you two over with now?”

As Blay went across and sat next to Layla, Qhuinn planted his shitkickers and shook his head. “You got nothing to sorry us about.”

“So I was the only one who thought I jumped down your throats? Come on.” And now that she’d cooled off and was properly chocolatized, she needed to apologize to her husband—as well as get him to talk. “I didn’t mean to come across like a bitch.”

“Rough times.” Qhuinn shrugged. “And I’m not interested in saints.”

“Really? You’re in love with one,” Layla chimed in.

As Qhuinn glanced over at Blay, his mismatched eyes narrowed. “Damn straight I am,” he said softly.