Syn took Jo’s hand and led her down the formal room, whispering in her ear about how to handle the meet-and-greet of the male who was her blooded relation.
“Do I call you Your Majesty?” she asked with respect.
“Nah.” Wrath put out his hand. “Just my name. I don’t stand on all that bullshit cult of position stuff.”
Jo took his palm in her own and, just as Syn had coached her, bent down to kiss the massive black diamond that every King had always worn, from Wrath’s sire, all the way back to the first ruler.
“I know you’ve already met my shellan when she gave you the clothes, but this is my son, L.W.,” the King explained. “And this is George.”
“He’s beautiful.”
“And the kid’s not bad, either, right?”
Jo laughed. Then she said, “Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”
Wrath’s nostrils flared. And then he smiled that fierce smile of his.
Putting his huge hand on her shoulder, he said in his commanding voice. “You’re family. Where else would you live?”
Jo ducked her eyes and seemed to have to blink away the tears. As Syn slipped an arm around her waist, so she knew he was there for her, she said, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment.”
“Blood is thicker than water,” the King said gently. “And your blood, your place, is here with us.”
As Wrath nodded, like everything was settled and that was that, Syn folded Jo up against his chest. Over the top of his beloved, he inclined his head once to the King.
It was a vow. Freely given, and forevermore.
He would ever fight to protect the King and the people in this house—not because of what Xcor had sworn to sometime ago, or because fighting served a perverted inner need, but because he would always protect those who were his family.
And all of them were in this room.
Wrath lifted the sacred ring of the ruler, and nodded back, accepting the pledge. After which . . . it was time to eat.
As Syn took Jo over to the two seats that had been saved for them, he said, “Bacon and chocolate, right?”
“Oh, my God.” Jo took his hand and squeezed it urgently. “Yes. Please. How did you know?”
As Syn and his female, Jo, made their way to their places at the meal, Wrath stepped to the side and found himself still grappling with his new reality. The war was over. Finally.
Holding his son in his arms, he imagined the faces of the people sitting around his table. He could tell who was seated where by the sounds of the voices, and also the scents. But it wasn’t the same as being able to see.
Still, he would take what he had and be grateful.
Whispering a command to George, he let his dog lead him where he wanted to go, the pair of them making steady progress to the base of the grand staircase. The ascension was an easy one, and at the top, Wrath continued straight ahead, entering his study.
With a deep breath, he pictured from memory what was across the space.
The chair.
The ancient, carved throne, that his father had sat upon.
As Wrath crossed over toward it, he went back into his past and recalled being in that crawl space in the Old Country’s palace, watching as the lessers streamed in and slaughtered his parents. So helpless he had been, a weak pretrans, hidden by his mahmen and his sire, protected by those he should have protected.
When George signaled he’d arrived at his destination, Wrath reached out into thin air, moving his hand around until he found the throne’s high back. It seemed apt that the King’s ring made contact with the old wood with a clonk.
Holding L.W. extra close, he gripped the carvings that had been made so long ago.
“It’s over, Father,” he said in a voice that cracked. “It’s done. We won.”
As a wave of emotion overtook him, he sat down and arranged his blooded son in his lap, holding his precious one close.
That was when he heard the meow.
Angling his head to the sound, he frowned. And then . . . “Analisse?”
The Scribe Virgin’s presence registered as a weight in the room. He wasn’t sure he could describe it better than that.
“Yes,” she said in that voice of hers. “’Tis I.”
To cover his emotion, he chuckled. “I asked you a question, did I. Such a no-no.”
“Those nights are past, my old friend.”
Wrath sensed her moving closer to the desk. “We won. But you