The King(169)

“I didn’t bring enough tobacco for this,” V bitched.
Rhage sighed. “There’s Goose in the bar, my brother—oh, wait. We don’t have a bar anymore.”
“I think I’ll just run an IV of morphine.”
“Can I put it in?” Lassiter asked.
“That’s what she said,” somebody shot back—
“Oh … wow. That’s, ah, quite a getup.”
Everybody looked over their shoulders as Beth spoke up. She was coming in from the library, Saxton beside her, Rehv behind them. The latter had a parchment rolled up under his arm, and a bemused expression on his face.
“I know, right?” Lassiter said, pulling a pirouette, that cape thing splaying out.
Not that John Matthew paid any attention to the male. Or anybody else.
Without conscious thought, he walked forward toward his sister. She was wearing a simple white sheath dress, one that covered her shoulders and went below her knees. And as he came closer, he recognized it as something he’d seen the Chosen in the house wear when they wanted to be comfortable. Unlike them, however, her hair was loose and spilling down her back in black waves.
She looked innocent. And lovely. And perfect.
You are beautiful, he signed.
“Oh, thanks.” She flounced the dress. “Layla lent this to me. So are you ready to walk me down the aisle?”
It was a long time before John could make his hands work right. And as he signed his reply, he thought that for all the bullshit the glymera was throwing out, and the stress in the household, and the sadness over Wrath … this was something he felt as though he had waited a lifetime for. Something that he had crossed a vast distance to do. Some kind of goal that he’d wanted to meet while not being aware it was out there.
Yes, I am, he signed with pride.
Beth had never loved her brother more. As John Matthew stepped in beside her, she could sense his quiet strength resonating out to her—and she needed it.
Even though she had arranged everything, she had no idea how Wrath was going to react to this.
Glancing around her brother’s big shoulders, she popped her brows again at Lassiter. At least her hellren would be spared the sight of the angel in that rig.
“You love it, right?” Lassiter asked, holding his Bible high. “I mean, you told me to go onto the Internet. I did. I even printed out my diploma or whatever the hell it’s called.”
Opening the cover of the King James version, he took out a piece of paper and wave it around. “See? Nice and legal-like.”
Beth leaned in. “Wow.”
“I know, right? Just like Harvard.”
“Impressive.”
“I’m totally framing that shit, wha-what.” He put the thing away. “And after I was done, I researched human weddings. I knew I was going to need some ceremonial robes, and these were the ones I liked best. I found them at Gould’s Costumes and More—boom! I’m nothing but a hound dog.”
Beth rubbed her temples. Vishous. She should have asked Vishous to do this. “How’d you manage the hair?”
“Aqua Net. Hairpins. Cosmo December issue—for the holidays. Again, thank you, Internet.”
Rhage shook his head. “Do you have balls? Or are angels born sac-less?”
Lassiter smiled slyly. “I do all right. Back in the Old Country, I used to chime noon and midnight.”
Really, really, really should have asked Vishous. “Well, I appreciate everything you—”
As everyone went silent, she looked up to the head of the stairs. Wrath had appeared and was standing tall and proud, George by his side. Unlike John, he wasn’t in a tux, but he had put on a certain suit she remembered.
It was the one he’d worn on their first official “date” at Darius’.
“What’s the crowd for?” he said.
“Just come on down,” she replied.
As he started his descent, her palms went sweaty—and then an instant later, the mother of all hot flashes hit, the heat searing through her.
Man, she couldn’t wait until she was either pregnant or fully over the needing. Her inner microwave was driving her crazy.
As Wrath’s only pair of non-shitkickers hit the mosaic floor, she thought that he couldn’t have looked more magnificent. His hair was fanned all over his massive shoulders, the ends coming down to his hips, and with that tie at his neck … he looked like a powerful businessman. Who could kill if he were so inclined.
And didn’t that get the hormones cranking.
“What are we doing here, Beth,” he demanded.
“We’re getting married.”
As he recoiled, she rushed in before he could go on any kind of tirade. “You said my human customs matter—that they’re equally important. So we’re getting married. Right now. In my way.”