The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12) - J.R. Ward Page 0,52

a new dimension in their relationship—and not a good one. But there was no going back.

Cursing under his breath, he shook his head. “Do yourself a favor and stop sitting with that female for hours every night. If you’re lucky, it hasn’t worked and we can just forget about all this—”

“Forget about—wait. Are you—are you—have you lost your fucking mind?”

Shit. His shellan didn’t stutter or stumble, and she rarely swore. What a trifecta.

But it didn’t change anything. “When were you going to tell me?” he demanded.

“Tell you what? That you can be a real asshole? How about right now.”

“No, that you were deliberately trying to start your needing. Talk about things that affect us both.”

What would have happened if she’d suddenly gone into her time when they’d been alone together during the day? He might have given in and then …

Not good. Especially if he later found out she’d been marking time with the Chosen for specifically that purpose.

He glared at her. “Yeah, when exactly was that going to come up in conversation? It wasn’t going to tonight, right? Were you saving it for tomorrow? No?” He leaned into his desk. “You knew I didn’t want this. I told you so.”

More pacing: He could hear her every footfall. It was a while before they stopped.

“You know what, I’m going to leave right now,” she said, “and not just because I have to go out tonight. I need to not be around you for a while. And then, when I come back, we’re going to talk this through—both sides of the issue—no!” she ordered as he went to open his mouth. “You don’t say another goddamn word. If you do, I have a feeling I’ll be packing my bags and taking off permanently.”

“Where are you going?”

“Contrary to popular belief, you do not have a right to know where I am every second of the day and night. Especially after this diatribe.”

Cursing again, he popped his wraparounds off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Beth, listen, I’m just—”

“Oh, I’ve listened to you quite enough for the time being. So do us both a favor and stay right where you are. At the rate you’re going, that desk and that hard chair are all you’re going to have, anyway. You might as well get used to them.”

He closed his mouth. Listened to her walk off. Heard the doors slam shut in her wake.

He was about to jump up and go after her, but then he remembered Doc Jane saying something about John Matthew’s MRI at that human hospital. Had to be where she was going—she’d said it was important for her to go with him.

Abruptly, he remembered the seizure, and what had gone down in the middle of it. He’d confronted Qhuinn afterward about what John had tried to communicate to Beth—if something was being said to his shellan, he was going to know the details, thank you very much.

I will keep you safe. I will take care of you.

Okay, file that under WTF. Normally, Wrath had no beef with John Matthew. In fact, he’d always liked the kid—to the point where it was kind of creepy how easily the mute fighter had entered all their lives—and stayed there.

Great solider. Good head on those shoulders. And the lack of a voice wasn’t a problem except for with Wrath because obviously he couldn’t see to read ASL.

Oh, and as for the blood test that said he was Darius’s son? The more time you spent around the kid, the more obvious the connection was there.

But he drew the motherfucking line when any male tried to come between him and his mate, blooded brother or not. He was the one who was going to keep Beth safe and cared for. Nobody else. And he would have confronted John afterward … except the oddest thing was, the kid didn’t seem to know what he’d said either: John wasn’t well versed in the Old Language enough to hold a conversation in it, and yet Blay and Qhuinn had both confirmed that that was what he’d appeared to be mouthing.

But whatever. John was going for some treatment, and on the Beth front, he was ultimately not going to be a problem. This baby stuff, however …

It was a long while before Wrath peeled his clawed hands free of the throne’s armrests, and as he fanned them out, the joints burned.

At the rate you’re going, that desk and that hard chair are all you’re going to have.

What a mess.