The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12) - J.R. Ward Page 0,108

as the kind of deadly focus that had gone straight into the center of her chest.

Now? He was like a brother to her … except when it came to Wrath. Wrath would always come first for him.

It was true for all the Brothers. And considering what Wrath had done to the game room, that was not a bad thing.

“I thought maybe it would help.” God, that seemed lame. “What I mean is—”

“He’s gone to find Tohr.”

Beth closed her eyes. After a moment, she said, “I don’t want any of this, you know. Just so we’re clear.”

“I believe that. And I don’t want this for the two of you, either.”

“Maybe we’ll figure it out.” As she turned to the stairs, a wave of exhaustion hit her like a ton of bricks. “Listen, if you see him … tell him I’ve gone up to have a shower. It was a long day for me, too.”

“You got it.”

As she passed by the Brother, she was shocked when his hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed in support.

Good Lord, if you’d told her a couple of years ago that the fighter would be offering anyone anything other than a gun to the head? NFW. And the fact that he was currently holding a total Gerber baby in his heavily muscled arm, said daughter staring up at his scarred face with absolute and total adoration?

Pigs flying. Hell freezing over. Miley Cyrus keeping some clothes on.

“I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely, knowing that the flip side to the Brotherhood’s closeness was that they all truly worried about each other.

The problems of one were the problems of all.

“I’ll let him know you’re home safe,” Z said. “Go have a rest. You look wiped.”

She nodded and hit the stairs, dragging her tired body up one step at a time. As she came to the second floor, she stared through the open double doors into the study.

The throne and the huge desk it sat behind loomed like monsters, the old wood and ancient carvings a tangible representation of the lines of succession that had served the race for how long? She didn’t know. She couldn’t guess.

So many couples sacrificing their firstborn sons to a position that, from all she’d seen, was not just thankless, but downright dangerous.

Could she put her own flesh and blood there? she wondered. Could she sentence something she herself had had a hand in creating to where her husband sat and suffered?

Stepping over the threshold, she crossed the Aubusson rug and stood before just two of the symbols of the monarchy. She pictured Wrath there, with the paperwork and the grind, like a tiger trapped in a zoo, fed well, cared for relentlessly … nonetheless caged.

She thought back to working at the Caldwell Courier Journal, for Dick the Prick as a copyeditor for his boys’ club while he tried to look down her shirt. She’d wanted to get out so badly, and her transition and meeting Wrath had been her saviors.

What was Wrath’s?

How would he ever get out of this?

Short of abdicating, his only saving grace … was getting killed by Xcor and the Band of Bastards.

Wow. Great future there.

And her solution was to threaten her own life by trying to get pregnant. No wonder he’d lost his shit.

Running her fingertips across the complicated edging of the desk, she discovered that the curlicues actually formed a vine. And there were dates inscribed along the leaves …

The Kings and the queens. Their children.

A long legacy of which Wrath was the current manifestation.

He wasn’t going to give this up. No way. If he felt impotent now, walking away from the throne was going to send him right over the edge. He’d already lost his parents too soon—to release their legacy over to another? That would be a blow he’d never get past.

She still wanted to have a child.

But the longer she stood there, the more she wondered whether it was worth it if she had to sacrifice the man she loved. And that was going to be the result—plus, assuming she could get pregnant and deliver a healthy baby, if they had a son, he was going to end up here.

And if she had a daughter? Whoever she married was going to take over—and then her daughter would have the pleasure of watching her man go insane from the pressure.

Great inheritance either way.

“Damn it,” she breathed.

She’d known Wrath was the King when she mated him—but for her, by then, it had already been too late. She’d been head