a young with horrible injuries, for Wrath to be crazed with grief, for—
Halfway down the grand staircase, there was a tableau of off-kilter, and the great Blind King was in the center of it. L.W. was hanging from the back of his onesie in Wrath’s fist, the young screaming and red-faced—but safe from a fall that would have killed him for sure. And on the other side of the King, Beth had been caught by the arm, her whole body leaning out over the rest of the red-carpeted steps, only one foot planted, the other on a high kick to nowhere.
As for the fall? Down at the bottom of the steps . . . L.W.’s favorite toy, the nearly life-sized golden, with its beanbag paws and loosely stuffed legs, was lying in a tangled heap on the hard mosaic floor.
Wrath had saved his Queen and his son.
And beside him, George, the real-life dog, was frozen and panting in a panic, as if the animal knew that things had almost been a tragedy.
As everyone standing around exhaled in relief, the King pulled his loved ones into him, cradling both his shellan and his young close, L.W. settling down as soon as his mahmen was back in range and all was okay.
“Shit,” Qhuinn breathed. “I mean . . . just shit—”
There was a hiccup in the electricity, things faltering before surging again—and then the sconces on the walls flared back fully to life, the chandelier in the dining room reigniting and all kinds of illumination streaming from sources you only noticed when they weren’t working.
“I got you,” Wrath was saying in a soft voice. “I got both of you.”
Beth trembled as she hung on to the King’s enormous upper arm. “How did you catch us?”
“Eyes aren’t everything, leelan.” Wrath tucked her head under his chin and stared out into space, his wraparounds hiding his expression. “And I’ve got a knack for knowing where things are. It’s what keeps me on my feet.”
The feel of a hand on Blay’s waist brought his head around. As he looked into Qhuinn’s eyes, he mumbled, “I can’t even.”
“I know. Come here.”
It seemed unmanly to turn to his mate and drop his face into that strong neck and close his eyes. But like he gave a fuck? All he could see against the backs of his lids was a pile of bodies, all broken bones and blood spilled on the tiles.
Before he could think of what to do, what to say, he felt his hand get taken in that warm, solid grip he knew so well—and the next thing he was aware of was being drawn into the billiards room by Qhuinn. As the pair of them hit the layout of pool tables, he had no clue where they were going, but then—presto!—they were at the bar.
“Sit.”
Qhuinn pulled out a stool and arranged Blay like you would a potted plant: He saw a flat place and put something on it.
Blay wasn’t inclined to argue. At least not with the ass support. “I thought we weren’t drinking tonight, though.”
“We’re not drinking. This is medicinal.”
Two shot glasses were outed, and then came the I. W. Harper’s. Qhuinn’s hand wasn’t completely steady as he poured a splash in each, and that was not what you wanted to see in your mate—but when you were quaking in your own boots, it was nice to know you weren’t alone with your shimmies.
“Drink up.”
As all kinds of talk bloomed out in the foyer, they did the shot together, and Qhuinn doled out another. After the two, they stopped and put the glasses in the sink—
That was when Blay heard the whistle. Or at least . . . he thought he did.
It was hard to tell because there were so many voices in the echo chamber around that grand staircase, people burning off their adrenaline with are-you-sure-you’re-okay conversations.
Looking to the open pocket door that led into the library, Blay closed his eyes and ordered his ears to sift through the other bird-like sounds the wind was making as it winnowed through the nooks and crannies on the front of the house—as well as the big-ass hole some tree had made in the back.
“What is it?” Qhuinn asked.
Blay got off his stool and proceeded over to the pocket door—oh, shit. A pointy evergreen the size of the one the Big Apple put up for the holidays at Rockefeller Center had barged in through a set of French doors, bringing with it snow and cold and