The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12) - J.R. Ward Page 0,163

mean, as leahdyre, you can’t—I don’t know, get a new roster of people?”

“I’ll let our good lawyer friend over here chime in if I get it wrong, but it’s my understanding that membership on the Council is determined by family. So even if I did find grounds to boot the fuckers, they’d just be replaced by members of those bloodlines—who’d likely have the same opinion of things. But more to the point, what’s done is done. Even if they were all turned over with new people? The action still stands.”

“I just keep thinking there’s something—”

“Can we stop this now,” Wrath cut in. “I mean, can we just give this bullshit a rest? No offense, but the angles have been looked at, you’ve read the thing they sent over—what’s done is done.”

“I just can’t believe it was so easy.” She stared at the throne. “I mean, one piece of paper and it’s over.”

“I fear for the future,” Saxton murmured. “That value system of theirs is not good for people like me. Or for females. We’d made such progress over the past two years—bringing the race out of the Stone Age. Now? That’s going to be wiped clean—mark my words.”

Wrath burst up. “Listen, I gotta go.”

With long strides, he came over to her, one hand out into the thin air for her to grab onto and pilot him in the last couple of inches.

As she took his palm and pulled him down to her, she leaned her head to one side so he could kiss her jugular, leaned to the other so he could do the same on the left, and then put her lips in the way of his mouth so he could brush her there, too.

And then he and George left.

Watching him go, she hated how drawn he was, how weak, how wasted—although physically speaking that was more what she had done to him during the needing. Mentally and emotionally? Long line of people responsible for that.

Although she was one of those, too.

“There has to be a way,” she said to no one in particular.

God, she prayed her hellren wasn’t heading for the gym. The last thing he needed was more exercise—rest and food was what his body required right now.

But she knew that look on his face all too well.

FORTY-FIVE

Xcor had never been a male of letters. Not merely untutored in literature, he was, in fact, illiterate—and on a regular basis, Throe used words either in English or the mother tongue that he did not understand.

And yet one would suppose, even at his lowest level of ability, that the four one-syllable words just spoken to him—at least, if taken individually—offered no challenge to comprehension.

His brain, however, was refusing to process them.

“Whate’er did you speak?” he asked roughly.

As Layla repeated what she had uttered, her scent was infused with the sharp spice of fear: “You may have me.”

Xcor closed his eyes and fisted his hands. His body had already translated her speech and answered of its own volition, his muscles twitching to get at her, take her down unto the cold ground, mount her to mark her as his.

“You know not what you say,” he heard himself mutter.

“I do.”

“You are with young.”

“I…” Even with his lids down, he could picture her swallowing hard. “Does that mean you do not want me?”

He took a moment to breathe, his lungs burning. “No,” he groaned. “It does not.”

Indeed, as he imagined her with another, the lance of pain that went through his chest was sufficient to make him pale. And yet, in spite of the seed of another planted within her body, he would take her, have her, keep her …

Except for one thing.

Opening his eyes, he reviewed all manner of detail about her, from her beautiful upswept hair to her fine, delicate features to that slender neck he wanted under his mouth. There was more to see, of course—but it was her face most of all that he needed foremost in his mind’s eye.

It had been a kind of madness since the beginning with her—e’er since he had been brought to her under the maple in that meadow, e’er since he had been given her wrist and taken from her wellspring, he had been infected with an illness.

“Answer me one thing.” His eyes continued to roam, measuring each nuance of her frightened, frozen expression.

“What?” she prompted when he did not immediately speak.

“But for the events that have transpired, would you have e’er offered yourself unto me?”

She dropped her stare. Tightened her arms