“Beth-”
She cut him off. “Remember that night you went out at the beginning of the summer? When you stepped in to save Z and then stayed downtown and fought with the others?”
He sure as hell did. When he’d come back home, he’d chased her up the stairs and they’d had sex on the rug in the second-floor sitting room. A number of times. He’d kept the cutoffs he’d ripped from her hips as a souvenir.
Jesus…come to think of it…that was the last time they had been together.
“You told me only for one night,” she said. “One night. Only. You swore to it, and I trusted you.”
“Shit…I’m sorry.”
“Four months.” She shook her head, her gorgeous dark hair swinging around her shoulders, catching the light so beautifully even his piss-poor eyes registered its glory. “You know what hurts the most? That the Brothers knew and I didn’t. I’ve always accepted this secret-society stuff, understood that there are things I can’t know-”
“They didn’t have a clue either.” Okay, Butch had known, but there was no reason to throw him under the bus. “V only found out tonight.”
She wobbled, steadying herself against the pale blue walls. “You’ve been going out alone?”
“Yes.” He reached out for her arm, but she tore it away from him. “Beth-”
She yanked open the door. “Don’t touch me.”
The thing clapped shut behind her.
Rage at himself had Wrath spinning toward his desk, and the instant he saw all the papers, all the requests, all the complaints, all the problems, it was like someone hooked jumper cables up to his shoulder blades and hit him with a charge. He shot forward, swept his arms across the top, and sent the shit flying everywhere.
As papers fluttered down like snow, he took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, a headache spearing into his frontal lobe. Robbed of breath, he stumbled around, finding his chair by feel and collapsing into the damn thing. With a ragged grunt, he let his head fall back. These stress headaches were becoming a daily occurrence lately, wiping him out and lingering like a flu that refused to be cured.
Beth. His Beth…
When he heard a knock, he gave the f-word a workout.
The knock came again.
“What,” he barked.
Rhage put his head around the jamb, then froze. “Ah…”
“What.”
“Yeah, well…Ah, going by the door slamming-and, wow, the stiff wind that clearly just blew by your desk-do you still want to meet with us?”
Oh, God…how was he going to get through another one of these conversations.
Then again, maybe he should have thought about that before he’d decided to lie to his nearest and dearest.
“My lord?” Rhage’s voice became gentle. “Do you want to see the Brotherhood?”
No. “Yes.”
“You need Phury on speakerphone?”
“Yeah. Listen, I don’t want the boys in this meeting. Blay, John, Qhuinn…they’re not invited.”
“Figured. Hey, how about I help you clean up?”
Wrath looked down at the carpet of paperwork. “I’ll deal with it.”
Hollywood proved he had half a brain by not offering again or pulling an are-you-sure. He just ducked out and shut the door.
Across the way, the grandfather clock in the corner tolled. It was yet another familiar sound Wrath didn’t hear on a regular basis, but now, as he sat alone in the study, the chimes rang out as if they were broadcast over concert speakers.
He dropped his hands onto the arms of the spindly, fragile chair, and they dwarfed the supports. The piece of furniture was more on the scale of something a female would perch on to take off her stockings at the end of the night.
It was not a throne. Which was why he used it.
He hadn’t wanted to accept the crown on many levels, having been king by birthright but not inclination or actuality for three hundred years. But then Beth had come along and things had changed and he’d finally gone to the Scribe Virgin.
That had been two years ago. Two springs and two summers and two autumns and two winters.
He’d had great plans back then, in the beginning. Great, wonderful plans for bringing the Brotherhood together, getting everyone under one roof, consolidating forces, shoring up against the Lessening Society. Winning.
Saving.
Reclaiming.
Instead, the glymera had been slaughtered. More civilians were dead. And there were even fewer Brothers.
They hadn’t made progress. They’d lost ground.
Rhage poked his head in again. “We’re all still out here.”
“Goddamn it, I told you I needed some-”
The grandfather clock chimed again, and as Wrath listened to the number of beats, he realized he’d been sitting by himself for an hour.