The King(177)
With that prospect hanging over his head? He should be hand-washing himself in the sink and using a lady’s fan to dry off—
At first he wasn’t sure what he was hearing. But then, over the drone of the shower, he recognized it as retching.
He jumped out of the marble stall so fast, he nearly yard-saled on the slippery floor. “Beth! Beth—”
“I’m fine,” she said from around the corner.
Rushing over to the toilet’s separate little room, he threw out his palms and felt around, finding his mate on her knees in front of the bowl, one hand holding back her hair, the other braced on the seat.
“I’ll get Doc Jane.”
“No, you won’t—”
She was cut off by a series of heaves, and as he stood over her, he wanted to be the one going through the gasping and the straining.
“Screw this,” he muttered, stumbling forward as he went for the house phone—
Except it rang before he could pick the thing up to dial the clinic’s extension. Shit, maybe V’s wife was reading minds, too, now.
“Jane?”
“Ah, no, sire, ’tis Fritz.”
“Oh, listen—could you get me—”
“Wrath, stop it. I’m fine,” Beth said from directly behind him.
He wheeled around. His wife’s scent certainly didn’t suggest a health emergency—and that tone of hers was annoyed, not panicked. “Ah…”
“Whom may I bring for you?” the butler asked over the connection.
Beth cut in again: “Wrath, seriously. Don’t bother the woman, okay? There’s nothing going on.”
“Then why were you throwing up?”
“I’m sorry?” Fritz said. “Sire?”
“Not you,” Wrath muttered. “And either she comes here or—”
“Fine, fine, I’ll go down to the clinic,” Beth murmured. “Just let me get dressed.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“I had a feeling you were.”
Exhaling a curse, he wondered how in the hell he was going to make it through this—either she was pregnant, in which case he was going to be scared shitless for how long? Eighteen months? Or she wasn’t, in which case he was going to have to help her through her disappointment.
Or … shit, she could lose the young, too.
That was the third option—oh, God, now he felt like throwing up.
“Thanks, Fritz,” he said, “I’ll be down—”
“Sire, I just wanted you to know that there will be workmen in the house this evening.”
“Workmen?”
“For the billiards room? The damage … was rather extensive. The floor needs to be entirely replaced, although the good news is that the original craftsmen are available. I hired them to come, and coordinated with Tohr. He was going to discuss this with you?”
“There’s been a lot going on.”
“But do not worry, sire. We have proper security measures in place. The workers have been background-checked by Vishous, and the Brothers will be on hand to supervise. I’m afraid there was no other option, assuming we wish to use the space again.”
“That’s cool. Don’t worry about it.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
As Wrath hung up, he refocused on the issue of his female. Marching over to the closet, he yanked on his leathers and a muscle shirt.
“Let’s go,” he announced as he put George’s halter on.
“Wrath, I’m going to be just fine…” There was a pause. “Oh, shit.”
Her footfalls hurried by him, and headed back for the toilet.
Calmly, Wrath returned to the phone—and got the butler to connect him to Doc Jane.
It was a little difficult to argue with the hubs about a doctor’s visit when Beth couldn’t get her head out of the bowl. Every time she thought the nausea was over, she’d get to her feet, go back out into the bedroom—and two minutes later, she’d be on her knees again on the marble floor, heaving up absolutely nothing.
“I don’t need to lie down,” she groused as she stared at the ceiling over their bed.
When Wrath didn’t reply, she turned her head on the pillow and shot a glare in his direction. He was sitting at the foot of the mattress, shoulders set, jaw locked, huge body still as stone.
“I’m fine,” she tacked on.
“Uh-huh.”
“This is going to be a really long couple of months if we worry about every little twinge.”
“You just tried to throw up your liver.”
“I did not.”
“So you were working on your pancreas?”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I can feel you glaring at me,” Wrath said.