Lover At Last(146)

“Many of you knew my father well, and remember his time in the Old Country. My sire was a wise and temperate leader, a gentlemale of logical thinking and regal bearing who occupied himself solely with the betterment of this race and its citizenry.” Wrath paused, those wraparounds making a circle of the room. “I share a few of my father’s characteristics…but not all. In fact, I am not temperate. I am not forgiving. I am a male of war, not of peace.”

At this, Wrath unsheathed one of his black daggers, the dark blade flashing in the light of the crystal chandelier overhead. Out in front of the king, the crowd of highfliers reacted with a collective shiver.

“I am very comfortable with conflict, be it of the legal or mortal kind. My father was a mediator, a bridge maker. I am a grave maker. My father was a persuader. I am a taker. My father was a king who would willingly sit at your dinner tables and converse with you about minutiae. I am not that male.”

Yeah, whoa. The Council had no doubt never been addressed like this. But Blay couldn’t disagree with the approach. Weakness was not respected. Moreover, with this group, law alone probably wasn’t going to keep Wrath’s throne stable anymore.

Fear, on the other hand?

Much better chance.

“My father and I do have one thing in common, however.” Wrath angled his head down, as if he were staring at the black blade. “My father caused the deaths of eight of your relations.”

There was a collective gasp. But Wrath didn’t let that slow him up.

“Over the course of my father’s reign, there were eight attempts on his life, and no matter how long it took, whether it was days, weeks, or even months, he made it his business to find out who was behind each…and he hunted the individuals down personally, and killed them. You may not have heard the true stories, but you will know of the deaths—the perpetrators were beheaded with the tongues removed. Surely, as you cast your mind back, you can recall members of your bloodlines who were interred that way?”

Fidgeting. Lot of fidgeting. Which suggested memories had been jogged.

“You will further recall that those deaths were attributed to the Lessening Society. I say unto you now, I know the names, and I know where the graves are, because my father made sure I memorized them. It was the first lesson in kingship he ever taught me. My citizenry is to be honored, protected, and served well. Traitors, on the other hand, are a disease to any lawful society and need to be eradicated.” Wrath smiled in a purely evil way. “Say what you will about me, I studied well at the foot of my father. And let us be clear—my father, not the Brotherhood, was the one who attended those deaths. I know because he beheaded four of them in front of me. That was how important the lesson was.”

Several of the females moved closer to whatever male happened to be seated beside them.

Wrath continued. “I will not hesitate to follow my father’s lead in this. I recognize that you all have suffered. I respect your trials and I want to lead you. I will not, however, hesitate to treat any insurgency against me and mine as the act of a traitor.”

The king lowered his chin, and appeared to glare out from behind the wraparounds, to the point that even Blay felt a frisson of adrenaline.

“And if you think what my father did was violent, you haven’t seen a goddamn thing yet. I will make those deaths look merciful. I swear on my lineage.”





FIFTY-TWO


On some level, Assail could not believe he was walking into a restaurant. For one, he didn’t frequent human haunts as a rule, and two, he had no interest in eating in the dive: The air smelled like fried food and beer, and from what he saw on the trays of the waitresses, he was uncertain whether the entrées were graded safe for non-animal consumption.

Oh, look. Across the way, there was a stage that had a wall of chicken wire in front of it.

Classy.

“Well, hello, there,” someone purred at him.

Assail cocked an eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder. The human woman was dressed in a tight shirt and a pair of blue jeans that had clearly been stitched onto her legs. Hair was blond and stick straight. Makeup was heavy, with the lipstick shiny enough to qualify as an exterior oil paint.

He’d rather spoon his own eyes out then engage in any fashion with the likes of her.

He willed her to forget she’d seen him and turned back around. There was a heavy crowd, with more people than there were tables and chairs, so he had good cover as he went over to a corner and scanned….

And there she was.

His little burglar.

Cursing under his breath, he dimly recognized the waste of time this all was—especially given that the cousins were, at this very moment, making a deal with that lesser again. Unfortunately, however, as soon as he’d gotten an alert that that black Audi of hers had gone on the move, he’d been compelled to find the thing and follow it.