that shit. Vishous, apparently coming to the conclusion that his status as resident smart-ass was being challenged by Syn’s show of attitude, had decided to bumrush the hospital bed.
Butch lunged forward and caught his best friend before shit went total chaos.
“Not helpful,” Butch hissed in V’s ear as he dragged his roomie back. “You’ve got to chill.”
“Listen to your bestie, V,” Wrath muttered. “And stay out of this.”
There was a long period of quiet, during which Syn refused to meet his King’s blind eyes—and Butch passed the time making sure his tight hold around V’s chest didn’t lose tension. Knowing V, the brother was in danger of trying to beat a confession out of the Bastard.
And not only was that coercive, Butch had the sense it was what Syn wanted.
“I’m going to be perfectly clear here,” Wrath said in a sharp voice. “We are not going to play suicide-by-cop with you. If you want off this planet on a technicality, that’s fine, but I am not going to let my males help you do it. You’re either going to have to kill yourself or wait for the Grim Reaper to serve you your walking papers. But what you are not going to do is use us and that situation down at Pyre to help you get into the Fade.”
Syn crossed his arms over his naked chest and clenched his jaw.
“So,” Wrath continued, “I’m going to ask you again. Did you kill those two females at Pyre?”
The silence that followed was so dense and so long-lasting that Butch nearly screamed. Except then Syn opened his mouth.
“Yes, I killed them. Both of them.”
The King’s nostrils flared, and nobody in the room moved. In fact, Butch was pretty sure everything in Caldwell stopped dead.
“Why are you lying to me,” the King said grimly.
* * *
Given the blizzard-like conditions, Boone made better time getting back to the house than he thought he would, although even the Bentley’s all-wheel drive struggled to get them up the hill to his former neighborhood. When they pulled into the drive, he went right to the front door so that bringing his things out would be easier.
As he shut off the engine, he looked over at Helania. “We’ll go out again. Tomorrow night.”
She nodded. “Yes, please.”
They both got out of the car, and she waited for him to come around, the heavy falling snow making a picture out of her as it collected in her beautiful hair. Stepping up to her, he captured her face in his hands and stared down into her eyes. There were things he wanted to say, but he kept them to himself, mindful of the news they were waiting to hear. Whether or not she was pregnant didn’t change anything for him, and to prove that, he felt as though he had to wait until they knew one way or the other before he could tell her he loved her.
If she wasn’t with his young, he would be disappointed, but it would be his best shot at reassuring her his feelings and commitment were real. And if she was?
Well, as Doc Jane had said, they’d just have to cross that bridge if they got to it.
Boone brushed his thumb over her cheek. “I want you to know that the fact you’re here makes it easier for me to be here.”
Helania linked her hands over his forearms. “I’m really glad.” Dropping his head, he kissed a snowflake off her lower lip. “Come on, it’s cold.”
Approaching the front door, a gust pushed at their backs and he had to catch her and help her up the steps. Entering the foyer, it was a relief to get out of the storm, but when the lights dimmed and then flickered, he shook his head.
“I think it’s getting worse,” he said as he muscled the heavy door closed against the wind. “If that’s possible.”
Helania looked down at her boots. “I’m covered in snow.”
“This carpet can take it.” He stomped his feet to make her feel better. “Not to worry.”
She insisted on taking her footwear off, and then she was careful with her parka. “Do you have a ladies’ room? And maybe a cup of tea—”
“Welcome home, my Lord.” Thomat came out from the back. “Would you all care for some coffee? Hot chocolate?”
“Oh, hot cocoa, please.” Helania smiled at the chef. “And I’ll help you get it ready.”
As the chef recoiled, she cursed. “Oh, no. I did it again. I’m not supposed to help, am I?”