The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12) - J.R. Ward Page 0,164

about her heart. Hung her head.

“Answer me,” he said gently. “Speak the truth so that we both may hear it aloud.”

“But what is done is done, and—”

He reached out and tilted her chin back up with the softest of touches. “Say it. You must hear your own truth—and I promise you I have taken harder arrows than it.”

Tears welled in her eyes, rendering them luminous, like moonlight upon the surface of a lake. “No. I would not.”

He felt his body sway, surely as if it had been struck. But as promised, he stayed standing through the agony. “Then my answer to you is no. Even if there was a way to undo all this with your King—and there is not—I will never take you against your will.”

“But I choose this. It is my choice.”

Xcor shook his head. “Only through the prompting of something else.”

He took a step back. “You should get back to…” He looked around at the mist, still totally lost. “Where’er ’tis you go.”

“You want me.” Now her voice was steady and sure. “I can sense it.”

“Of course I do. But not as a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. My fantasy … is not that.”

“Does the reasoning matter?”

“Some gifts are more painful than insults.” He went to turn away from her, and found himself immobile. “Especially when there is naught to be done about your Wrath. He has been replaced.”

“If you removed one rightful King, you can remove another. You can put Wrath back.”

“You give me too much credit.”

“Please.”

Her steadfastness angered him, even though it was a virtue, he supposed. “Why does it matter so much to you. Your life shall not change. You shall be safe here—or where’er. The Brotherhood is not dismantled—”

“They will come for you.”

“Then we will kill them. I am hoping they shall see the benefits of bowing out gracefully.”

Indeed, he couldn’t believe he was saying that. But to not disturb her, he would let them and Wrath live—provided they did not get in his way.

Layla shook her head. “Their loyalty will not allow that.” Her hands lifted to her cheeks and pressed in as if she were imagining the horror. “There will be war anew. Because of you.”

“Then hate me. ’Twill be better for the both of us if you do.”

She stared at him for the longest time. “I fear I cannot do that.”

Xcor did his best to ignore the way his heart skipped. “I shall take my leave.”

“How did you find this place?”

“I followed you home not long ago. You were in the car, returning from the clinic. I was worried over you.”

“And why … did you come tonight?”

“I must go.”

“Don’t.”

For a moment, he played out a dream whereby she said that and meant it for him personally. And not just in the hopes of persuading him over to her position.

That folly did not last. Especially as he pictured himself terrorizing that wounded human man in the deserted restaurant, for no other reason than that he could—and then remembered removing the spines of all those lessers and delivering them unto which member of the aristocracy? As if the recipient was even significant. After which he recalled decapitating slayers. Stabbing them in the gut. Breaking off their limbs …

There were so many acts of violence in his background.

As well as the depravity of what he’d been through in the Bloodletter’s war camp.

On top of which was his face.

He meant to just start walking down the incline. Unlike her, he could not dematerialize—he had tried repeatedly to expedite the ascent thusly and failed in this fog.

Yes, he meant to leave her behind. For all the reasons he’d spelled out to her and also those he kept to himself.

Instead, he heard himself say, “Meet me under the maple tree. Midnight tomorrow.”

“For what”—she pulled her parka closer as if she were to be eaten alive—“purpose?”

“Not what you are worried about.”

Now he did pivot and start walking—until his thought processes cleared enough to stop him. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “Chosen. Do you know the way home?”

“Oh, yes … of course…” Except as she glanced around, she seemed to grow confused. “Yes, it’s right over…”

She did not pause to hide her words. She honestly did not appear to know where she was.

Closing his eyes, he cursed. He should never have come herein—ever.

For what if he left her here alone, and she did not find shelter afore the sun rose? What if they were halfway to where she needed to be?

Putting his hands on his hips, he