“I’m surprised.”
“About?”
“How much I want him to. I want him to be just like you.”
There was a long pause and Wrath had to clear his throat. “That’s just about the best compliment anyone’s ever paid me.”
“I don’t know … I just feel like you’re the perfect man.”
“Now you’re making me blush.”
She laughed in a rush. “It’s true.”
“I curse. Constantly. I have a short temper. I order people around—including you.”
“You’re also a great fighter. Great lover—although my son will never, ever have sex—nope, not going there, and if we have grandchildren, they will be immaculately conceived. Wait, where was I—oh, yeah, so you’re also very loyal. You’ve never looked at another woman.”
Wrath put his index finger up. “And that would be true even if I could see.”
“And you’re smart. Great-looking—”
He leaned in. “Are you trying to butter me up so I’ll have sex with you?”
“Is it working?”
“Maybe.” He kissed her lips softly. “Just give me a little time. Only yesterday you were rushed to the doc’s because you were throwing up.”
She ran her hand down his cheek and his hard jaw. “I’ll wait for you. Always.”
“I’m glad.” He sat back. “So how’s the stomach? You want food? The doctor said we need to put some weight on you, right?”
“Nothing appeals. But I will try some of those saltines and ginger ale in a bit. Layla swore by them.”
“Good deal. When do you go back to the doc again?”
“Well, that was the other part of the appointment. iAm had to work a little magic on the poor woman—naturally, my bloodwork was nothing they’d ever seen before, although the pregnancy hormone numbers turned out to be right enough. She wanted me back in a month, unless anything changes. Doc Jane said she was going to try to get an ultrasound machine for the clinic—they have some portable equipment for ortho stuff, but there isn’t one specifically for pregnancy that does three-D imaging. Unfortunately, that stuff’s going to be hella expensive—”
“Whatever they need, they get.”
Beth nodded and fell into silence.
After a moment, she picked up her husband’s big hand and rubbed her thumb up and over that black diamond of his.
“What are you going to do tonight?” Even though she knew the answer.
“I’m going to hit my desk.”
She smiled. “I love when you say that now.”
“You know … me too.” He shrugged. “It’s funny, I felt really inadequate in that job. You know, when compared to my father, blah, blah, blah. But I was the one who didn’t approve of me, not him. And I don’t know, I’ve kinda let that bullshit go.”
“I’m glad.”
“Yeah, it’s a good thing.” He frowned. “I just wish there was some way to—I don’t know, I liked helping that foreman. And there are more like him out there—there have to be. I don’t know how to get to them, though. My father used to be all in with that shit, talking to people—real people, not that glymera bullshit—”
Beth sat up in a rush. “I have an idea. I know exactly what to do.”
He glanced over at her—and the slow smile that hit his face was the sexiest thing about him. “You know what?” he said. “I love your mind. I totally do.”
Wrath swung his leg out and around, bringing it in a full circle. And contact was made exactly where he wanted it—high up, and in the face.
Tohrture went with the impact, swinging in a circle, wielding his sword in concert so that the blade flashed right up close to Wrath’s chest. Except it didn’t quite make the distance. No blood was drawn, no clothing cut.
But Wrath knew better than to enjoy the small victory. Flipping backward off his feet, he somersaulted in midair and landed solidly, setting his fighting stance, raising both his daggers—
“Drop both blades,” Ahgony barked.
Without missing a beat, he threw them away, confronting his opponent barehanded.
Tohrture came at him holding nothing back, neither speed nor strength, and Wrath became very still. At the last second, as the Brother’s war cry was sounded out and echoed in the torchlit cave, Wrath flattened to the ground and caught the fighter at the ankles with an explosive lunge.
Tohrture fell forward—and as Wrath had learned, the last thing you wanted was a Brother with a sword in his hands on top of you. Scrambling himself out of the way, he jumped back to his feet. This was critical. Always back to your feet.