She was … on her own.
SEVENTY
And so it went, the weeks and months passing, seasons changing from the bitter cold of winter to the wet, bracing winds of spring to the sweet-scented nights that promised an early summer.
By May, Wrath was used to measuring the time not by the calendar, or the up-and-down of the shutters of the mansion, or the meals at his own home.
It was by the nights that he spent hearing the stories of his people.
The real ones. The ones about life and death. And matings and divorces. And sicknesses and health. It was funny: As important as the vampire mating ceremony was to him, the human one he’d gone through with Beth got the metronome of existence better.
His audiences with the commoners were all set up thanks to quiet, steady Abe, a.k.a. Abalone, but Wrath’s responses to things were his own. And there was so much to do, mediating disagreements in families, blessing the sons and daughters who were born, sharing grief with those who had suffered losses and joy with those who had had good fortune.
As always, Beth was by his side, sitting with Abe during the audiences, checking the paperwork with Saxton when it was required … growing bigger in the belly every moment.
“We are here, my lord,” Fritz said from the front of the Mercedes. “At Master Darius’s.”
“Thanks, my man.”
As he and George got out of the back, he paused and leaned in. “Hey, can you go and get more of those strawberries? She’s got a craving for carrots again, too. And pickles. You better grab two of those jars with those tart motherfuckers.”
“I shall be back right away, my lord! And I think I will get some of the frozen yogurt for her? She takes it with the chocolate chips?”
“Oh, shit. Yeah. And don’t forget the beets. Or the beef.”
“I shan’t.”
“Hurry, okay? iAm’s bringing her in from Pottery Barn.”
Wrath shut the door. “Let’s do it,” he said to George.
And the dog knew right where to go, leading him to the entrance—which Wrath opened with his mind. “Hi, honey, I’m home!” he hollered.
“Did you bring flowers?” Lassiter shouted back.
“Not for you.”
“Damn it. Well, I’m on deck tonight with Tohr, so can we get moving? There’s a full list of appointments, but I want to get back for Hell’s Kitchen.”
“Don’t you DVR that shit?” Wrath groused as he and George went into the old dining room.
“Yeah, but I have poor impulse control. It was on at nine, okay? And I hate waiting. I put George’s fresh water down by your chair, b.t.dub.”
“At least you’re a dog lover. That’s the only thing that saves you.”
“Ha! I have wings and a halo, you cranky son of a bitch. I’m already perma-saved.”
“Just our luck.”
“Hey, my brother,” V said as he came through the archway and lit a hand-rolled. “Where’s your girl?”
Lassiter cut in, “She’s got to be coming back soon, right?”
Wrath had to smile as he took his seat. About the only time that annoying SOB got serious was when it came to Beth—and he had to admit, that was kinda endearing.
“She back yet?” Rhage asked as he walked into the room.
“How long can it take to order baby furniture?” Butch demanded while making his appearance.
“Weeks,” Z answered. “You have no idea.”
And so it went, everyone arriving with the same question, from Blay and Qhuinn to Phury and Rehvenge.
The only one who didn’t ask it out loud was John—but he didn’t have to. Beth’s brother had been a quiet, worried presence since they’d made the announcement of the surprise pregnancy. And Wrath loved the guy for it. John never got in the way, but he was always there, listening to Beth, being supportive, talking with her, bringing her movies.
Funny, the gravity with which he treated the situation made Wrath think of Darius.
God, he wished the brother had survived to see what was coming in … was it only four weeks?
Jesus …
Every time Wrath thought about the impending event, he found he couldn’t breathe. But he forced himself to remember all the checkups iAm had been taking his wife to. Beth was having a perfect pregnancy. She was healthy, happy, eating and drinking, and feeding well—not that Dr. Sam, the human physician she went to, knew about that. And the heart rate was great. And his son was great.
It was almost too easy.
Four weeks to go—
“Leelan,” Wrath barked as he exploded up from his chair.
There were all kinds of deep-voiced greetings, but his brothers got out of the way so that she had a clear shot into his arms. And as he lifted her up, he was careful to put no pressure on her belly.