The King

SIXTEEN

As Wrath took form by the race’s clinic, he sensed Vishous materializing beside him—and resented the fact that he was required to have a fucking babysitter. But at least V’s medical knowledge was going to be a value add.

“Fifteen feet straight ahead,” his brother announced. “Four feet of cleared pavement in front of you. Then it’s snow-covered ground.”

Wrath threw out one stride and hit hard asphalt. With his next step forward, the snow absorbed his shitkicker.

There was no bringing George to this. Blindness was not a virtue in times of peace for a ruler. During war? It was a critical weakness—and nothing said lights-out better than a Seeing Eye service dog.

Naturally, the retriever had been apoplectic at being left behind—but with Beth already pissed off at him, of course he’d had to alienate his damn dog. Next thing to work on? The Brotherhood. Although that set of hardheaded motherfuckers was too tenacious to be put off by anything less than an H-bomb.

“Stop,” V said.

Wrath came to a halt even though he had to grit his molars. But it was better than walking into the side of the building.

There was a pause, during which V put in the code that changed every evening, and then they entered the shallow lobby, that trademark antiseptic hospital smell announcing that they were indeed in the right place.

And shit knew he felt sick: His chest was aching, his head was pounding, and his skin felt too small for his bones.

Clearly a case of asshole-itis.

And it was probably terminal.

“Greetings, my lords,” came a tinny female voice—and even through the speaker, it was filled with awe. “We’re sending the elevator for you at this moment.”

“Thanks,” V gritted.

Yeah, the brother hated Havers for a variety of reasons. Then again, so did Wrath.

Just think, when the good doctor had tried to kill him a couple of years ago, it had seemed like such a big deal. Now? Compared to the likes of Xcor and the Band of Bastards, one white coat with a bow tie and horn-rimmed glasses coming after him was a goddamn cakewalk.

Shit, he wished he could go back to his father’s era, when people respected the throne.

There was the sound of an elevator opening and then V touched the back of Wrath’s arm. Together, they entered the compartment, and after a bing and slide of the doors, a sinking feeling confirmed they were heading underground.

When the doors reopened, Vishous got careful with the leading: He closed in so he was shoulder-to-shoulder and stayed that way, no doubt looking to casual viewers as if he were just a bodyguard doing his duty to the King of the race.

Instead of functioning as a surrogate set of eyeballs.

A sudden murmuring in the waiting area was a sure sign they’d walked into a public place. And the reception at Reception was likewise electric.

“My lord,” some female said, as a squeak broke out like a chair had been shoved back. “This way. Please.”

Wrath turned his head to the voice and nodded. “Thanks for fitting us in.”

“Of course, my lord. It is a rare honor to have your presence in our…”

Blah, blah, blah.

The good news was that he was fast-tracked to a private area with minimal interruption. And then it was a case of waiting. It wouldn’t be for long, though. He was willing to bet Havers would put his running shoes on to get to wherever they were.

Not that that tight-ass pussy would know what Nikes were necessarily.

“Do, like, all hospitals have to have Monets in them?” Vishous groused.

“Guess the posters come cheap.”

“This is an actual painting.”

Oh. Yeah. Clearly, they were in a VIP suite. “Leave it to Havers—a cliché even while at Sotheby’s.”

“He probably brought it over from the Old Country. Tasteless fool. Once you’ve seen a fucking water lily, you’ve seen them all. And I hate pink. I really hate pink. Although lavender is worse.”

As Wrath put his hands out to feel around, he thought of the Impressionist paintings he’d seen back when his eyesight had worked a little. Talk about blurred vision—nothing like a half-blind painter’s smudgey art being viewed by a half-blind ass-hat.

Surrealists with their razor-sharp edges had been much better if he’d wanted to—

Wow. His brain really didn’t want to think about why they were here.

“There’s an examination table directly in front of you.”

“I’m not getting examined,” Wrath muttered.

“Fine, someone’s grandmother’s silk sofa is to your right.”

As he rerouted and took the couch route, he thought of how much he loved having his own in-house docs. Too bad Doc Jane and Manny couldn’t answer his questions in this case. And yeah, he supposed he could have gotten the information another way—like have Fritz come here and ask things. But sometimes firsthand was the only way to go: He wanted to catch the scent of the physician when the male spoke. It was the only way to be sure it was the truth.

“You going to tell me what this is about,” V demanded.

A flicking sound was followed by a scratch, and a moment later, the scent of Turkish tobacco did away with most, if not all, of the bleachy ferment of oh, so many Lysol moppings.

When Wrath didn’t say shit, V cursed. “You know, Jane can do this, whatever it is.”

“She know about vampire needings? No? Didn’t think so.”

That shut the brother up for a minute.

In the silence, Wrath had an overwhelming need to pace—but that was a no-go, assuming he didn’t want to run over all of Havers’s fancy furniture.

“Talk to me.”

Wrath shook his head. “Got nothing good to say.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before, true?”

Fortunately, Havers picked that moment to come in—only to immediately stop short just inside the exam room.

“Forgive me…” he said to Vishous. “But there is no smoking here.”

V’s tone was bored. “Our species doesn’t get cancer—or is that a newsflash to you.”

“It’s because of the oxygen tanks.”

“Is there one in here?”

“Ah … no.”

“Well, then I won’t go looking for one.”

Wrath cut off any further debate. “Will you shut the door.” You fucking idiot. “I just have to ask you a couple of questions. And tell your nurse to leave, would you.”

“Of … course.”

Fear spiked the air as the nurse departed and the door was shut, and Wrath didn’t blame the guy for being nervous.

“How may I be of service, my lord?”

Wrath pictured the male from memory, imaging that Havers still had those glasses on his Ivy League–looking face, and that white coat with his name stitched next to the lapel. As if there might be some confusion around his clinic as to who he was.

“I want to know what you can do to stop a female’s needing.”

Crickets. Whole lot of crickets.

Well, except for V muttering something that probably started with F and ended in U-C-K.

After a moment, there was a creak, as if the good doctor had sat down next to Wrath’s sofa. “I, ah, I am unsure how to answer that, my lord.”

“Give it a shot,” Wrath said dryly. “And quick. I don’t have all night.”

Quiet sounds suggested the male was fiddling with things. A pen? Maybe a stethoscope? “Has she … has the, ah, female … has it commenced?”

“No.”

The silence that followed made him wish he hadn’t come here. He wasn’t walking out now, though, and not just because he’d lost track of where the door was already. “It’s not my shellan, by the way. It’s a friend of mine.”

Jesus Christ, like he had an STD or some shit.

But at least that loosened up the doctor. Instantly, the male’s vibe calmed and his mouth got to flapping. “I have no good answer for you, unfortunately. Thus far, I have found no way to halt the time’s commencement. I have tried various drugs, even those available on the human market—the issue is that vampire females have an extra hormone that, when triggered, creates an overwhelming, system-wide response. As a result, human contraceptive pills or shots don’t have any effect on our females.”

Wrath shook his head. He should have known—nothing about the reproductive cycle of a female vampire was easy.

Dumb-ass Scribe Virgin. Oh, sure, go ahead and create a race of people—and while you’re at it, why don’t you saddle them with some really tough shit. Perfect.

Havers continued, his seat creaking again as if he were changing positions. “Easing the female during her suffering is the only method I’ve had success with. Would you require a kit for your associate, my lord?”

“Kit, as in…”

“For treatment of the needing.”

He thought of Beth sitting in that room with Layla. God only knew how long that had been going on—but more to the point, he was afraid it had worked: He’d totally gotten sprung in his shellan’s presence. And yeah, that was not unusual, except for the fact that they’d been arguing and sex had been the last fucking thing on his mind.

Her hormones might well be in flux already.

Either that or he was paranoid.

Also a possibility.

“Yeah,” he heard himself say. “I want one.”

There was the sound of something being written down. “Now, I will need the male in charge of her to sign for this, either her hellren, her father, or the oldest male of her household. I don’t feel comfortable sending these levels of narcotics out into the world unaccounted for—and of course, there will have to be someone there to administer them to her. Not only will she in all likelihood be compromised by the needing, but let us be honest. Females don’t have the best heads for these things anyway.”

For some reason, Wrath thought of Payne accusing him of being a misogynist.

At least Havers totally lapped him on that one—

Oh shit, how was he going to sign anything? Back home at his desk, Saxton always marked the signature line with a series of raised—

“I’ll sign for it,” V interjected sharply. “And my shellan, who’s a doctor just like you, will take care of everything else.”

“You are mated?” the physician sputtered. As if there were a greater chance of a meteor dropping on his clinic. “I mean—”

“Give me the paper,” Vishous said. “And your pen.”

Cue more scribbling in an even more awkward silence.

“What is her weight?” Havers asked, as there was a shuffling like he was putting something in a file.

“I don’t know,” Wrath said.

“Would you like me to see the female in question, my lord? She may come here at any time that is convenient, or I could provide a home visit—”

“One thirty-six,” V said. “And enough with the conversation. Get us the drugs so we can get the hell out of here.”

As Havers tripped over his own loafers to leave the room, Wrath leaned back until his head hit the plaster wall he’d been unaware of being behind him.

“You want to tell me what the fuck this is about now?” his brother bit out. “Because I’m jumping to a lot of conclusions at the moment, and neither one of us needs that—when you could just answer the cocksucking question.”

“Beth has been hanging out with Layla.”

“Because she wants…”

“A young.”

A fresh influx of Turkish tobacco hit Wrath’s nose, suggesting the brother had just taken a deep drag. “So you’re serious about not wanting a kid?”

“Never. How’s ‘never’ sound?”

“Amen to that.” Abruptly, V’s shitkickers made tracks around the room, and man, that pacing stuff was something to envy. “It’s not that I don’t respect Z and his little slice of nuclear. Thanks to those two females of his, he seems almost normal—which is a miracle in and of itself. So power to him, true? But that shit ain’t for me. Thank God Jane feels the same.”

“Yeah. Thank God.”

“Beth’s not on that train?”

“Nope. She’s not even in that station, that town, or that part of whatever country your metaphor lives in.”

Wrath rubbed his forehead. On the one hand, it was great to have someone agree with him about the no-young issue—it made him feel less like he was doing something wrong or being cruel to his Beth. On the other, that accord Vishous had with Jane? It wasn’t that you wished the shit you were going through on your brother. Not at all. But damn, he could have walked a marathon in those comfortable shoes, thank you very much.

As his brother paced and smoked, and they both waited for Havers to return with the knockout drops … for some reason, he thought back to his parents.

The memories that he had of his mother and father were all about the Norman Rockwell—well, dub in the Old Country language and change the stage set to a medieval castle theme. But yeah, those two had had the perfect relationship. No arguments, no anger, just love.

Nothing had ever come between them. Not his father’s job, not the court they lived in, not the citizenry they served.

Perfect harmony.

It was yet another standard set in the past that he was failing to live up to—

V let out a strange sound, part gasp, part curse.

“Swallow your smoke wrong?” Wrath said dryly.

Right next to him, the chair where Havers had been sitting didn’t creak so much as curse—like V had thrown all of his weight into the thing.

“V?”

When the brother finally answered, his voice was low, too low. “I see you…”

“No, no, no.” Wrath burst up. “I don’t want know, V. If you’re having one of your visions, do not tell me what it—”

“…standing in a field of white. White, white is all around you…”

The Fade? Oh, fucking hell. “Vishous—”

“…and you are talking to—”

“Hey! Asshole! I’ve told you all along, I don’t want to know when I’m going to die. Do you hear me? I don’t want to know.”

“—the face in the heavens.”

“Your mother?” Christ knew the Scribe Virgin had been MIA and then some lately. “Is it your mother?”

Shit, he didn’t want to encourage this. “Listen, V, you gotta pull back. I can’t handle it, man.”

There was a low curse, as if the brother were collecting himself. “Sorry, when it hits in a rush like that, it’s hard to stop.”

“That’s cool.” Even though it wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

Because the problem with Vishous’s premonitions—aside from the fact that they were always about people dying? No timeline. That stuff could be about Wrath keeling over next week. Next year. Seven hundred centuries from now.

If Beth died … he wouldn’t want to live—

“All I can say is”—V exhaled again—“I see that the future is in your hands.”

Well, at least that was generic and obvious, like an astrology report in a magazine—the kind of thing anybody could read into and feel as though it applied to them.

“Do me a favor, V.”

“What.”

“Don’t see anything else about me.”

“Not up to me, true?”

Too right. Just like his own future.

But the good news was … he wasn’t going to have to worry about Beth’s needing. Thanks to this miserable little visit, he was going to be able to take care of her when it came.

Without running the risk of pregnancy.