The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood #13) - J. R. Ward Page 0,128

killed out there, too, you know. Why don’t you want to be safe—”

“Behind a desk, right? Or more likely in a dress in a big house. Right?”

“It’s not wrong to look out for the fairer sex.”

“Don’t you have to get back to your bong.”

She could feel him glaring at her from his greater height. “Don’t you remember the raids, Parry? Don’t you remember what that was like? People were slaughtered in their own homes. They had pieces of their bodies hacked off of them while they were alive. They found Lash’s parents sitting around their dining room table, the dead bodies arranged so they were upright in those chairs like they were having dinner. Why do you want to be a part of that?”

Paradise met that hard stare again. “I don’t!”

“So why are we having this fight!”

“Because I want to choose. I want to be able to assume the risk if I want—and don’t hit me with the recap on those deaths like I don’t recall every single thing that happened. Members of my bloodline were murdered, too. Am I not allowed to want revenge? Or is that a dick-only thing as well?”

He planted his hands on the desk and leaned into her. “Males can’t give birth.”

She stood up out of her chair and met him jaw-to-jaw. “You got that right. I’d like to see even one of you try to go through that experience. You’d be crying like a little bitch in ten minutes.”

Peyton’s stare dropped to her mouth for a split second, and the distraction surprised her.

In all the years of friendship, that was something that had never happened.

It hadn’t even been approached, actually.

“Fine,” he said grimly. “Put your money where your mouth is.”

“Excuse me?”

“Join the program.” He swept his hand over the desk. “Come out from behind here, put your application in, and try to pass the physical test.”

“Maybe I will—”

At that moment, her father walked in. “Oh, hello, Peyton. How are you, son?”

Immediately, Peyton disengaged. “Sir, I’m well, sir. Thank you.”

As the two shook hands, she was pretty sure her father was clueless as to the undercurrents in the parlor—and very sure Peyton was not. His shoulders were still set tightly, as if he were arguing with her in his head.

“…kind of you to come and support Paradise.” Her father smiled at her. “Especially on this first night. I must say, you have exceeded my expectations, my dearest one. This is going to be a wonderful way for you to keep busy before your presentation.”

“Thank you, Father,” she said, bowing.

“Well, I must needs depart. Peyton, perhaps you will keep her company until the dawn?”

Those sharp blues shot back over to her. “You’re not at home anymore?”

“Do not be alarmed,” her father interjected smoothly. “She is fully accompanied and properly chaperoned. Now, if you will excuse me, I must depart.”

To check on their “visitor,” no doubt.

“The Brothers have escorted the King off the property,” her father said as he came around the desk and embraced her. “The doggen shall be cleaning for an hour, at least. Call upon me if you need aught?”

“I will.”

And then he was gone.

“I can’t believe he’s letting you stay here,” Peyton said.

“It’s not necessarily his choice.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.” She pulled a hand through her hair, shaking out the waves. “You don’t have to stay. As a matter of fact, I wish you wouldn’t.”

She could feel him staring at her, and when he didn’t reply, she glared at him. “What.”

Those eyes of his were heavy lidded in a way she’d never seen before. “You’ve never been so…”

“Obnoxious?”

“No,” he muttered. “Not that.”

“Well, what, then.” When he didn’t answer her, she shook her head. “Go home, Peyton. Just go home and light up and get ready to big-man all over the campus at the training center. It’s the role you were born to play.”

With that, she walked around him and left the parlor. She didn’t care what he did, whether he left … or kept standing there at her desk until the doggen Swiffered him out with the dust bunnies.

She was done.

For the night. And with males, in general.

FORTY-ONE

“No. Here. Put him by the fire—”

Xcor broke himself loose of the holds upon his arms. “I am not an invalid.”

As he limped across the shallow room of the cottage he had bought for Layla, he kept to himself the fact that he was cold to the bone, and he did, in fact, appreciate the warmth of the flames that boiled around the logs at the hearth.

“Your