Errant guest, indeed: Rehvenge, the Council’s titular leahdyre, strode in like he owned the place, his full-length mink coat sweeping after him, a red cane that was not an umbrella, helping him along.

He was smiling, purple eyes showing a calculation that was a warning.

“Am I late?” he shouted out. As he came up to Xcor, those eyes stared directly into his own. “I’d hate to miss this.”

Who the hell had invited him, Xcor wondered. The male was solidly on the former King’s side, a mole who was more like a jaguar in their midst.

From inside the library, Ichan turned in mid-gesture, a cigarette in an old-fashioned ebony holder waving about—only to freeze when he saw who had arrived.

Rehvenge lifted his cane in lieu of greeting. “Surprise,” the male said as he barged into the crowd. “Oh, did you not expect me? I was on the list of invitees.”

As Throe stepped forward, Xcor grabbed a hold of the male and dragged him back to heel. “No. He may not be alone.”

At once, all of his soldiers’ hands disappeared into their clothes. As did his.

And yet no Brothers showed up.

So this was a message, Xcor thought.

Ichan glanced across as if he expected Xcor to deal with the intrusion, but when nobody from the group of fighters budged, the aristocrat cleared his throat and approached Rehvenge.

“A word, if you will,” Ichan said. “In private.”

Rehvenge smiled as if he already had his fangs in the idiot’s throat. “No, not private. Not for this.”

“You are not welcome herein.”

“You want to try to remove me?” Rehvenge shifted forward on his hips. “You want to try it and see how that goes? Or maybe ask those thugs over there to do it for you?”

Ichan gaped like a fish, his bravado gone.

“I didn’t think so.”

As Rehvenge reached into his coat, Ichan squeaked in alarm and the aristocrats in the room milled around like cattle about to be slaughtered.

Xcor just glanced over his shoulder again. The door had been left open, the staff having become too distracted to close it—or mayhap they had just up and disappeared.

Rehvenge had left the thing wide on purpose, hadn’t he. The male was already planning his exit.

“I bring greetings from Wrath, son of Wrath,” the male said, still with that shit-eating grin on his face. “And I have a document he’d like to share with you all.”

As he took a cardboard tube out from under his arm and popped the lid free, the aristocrats gasped—like they expected a bomb to go off.

And mayhap there was a kind of one in there.

Rehvenge unfurled a parchment that had red and black ribbons hanging off its end. Instead of reading what had been inked upon it, he merely turned the thing around.

“I think you should do the honors,” he said to Ichan.

“Whatever have you…” The words dried up as the male closed in on what was displayed before him. After a moment, he said,“Tyhm. Tyhm!”

“Yeah, I think you’ll find that it’s all nice and legal. Wrath isn’t mated to her. He divorced her about three weeks ago—and I’m not a lawyer, but I’m pretty sure you can’t base a vote of no confidence on an issue that doesn’t exist.”

The tall, thin solicitor stumbled over and tilted in, as if ocular proximity would increase his comprehension of whate’er was on there.

And indeed, the expression on his face was all the translation that the crowd required: Disbelief turned to a kind of horror, as if an explosive had in fact been detonated right in front of him.

“This is a forgery!” Ichan declared.

“It has proper witnesses—and I’m one of them. Maybe you’d like Wrath and the Brotherhood to come over here and testify to its validity? No? Oh, and don’t worry. We’re not expecting a response from you all. There is none.”

“We leave now,” Xcor whispered.

If he were Wrath, the next move would be to attack the house—and there was not enough cover inside here, that dreadful art and the large open spaces offering little for use as shields.

As the voices of the aristocrats mixed and grew louder, he and his soldiers dematerialized out onto the front lawn. Bracing for engagement, they outed their guns.

Except there was no one there.

No Brothers. No attack. No … anything.

The silence was deafening.

FIFTY-FIVE

As with all great shifts in life, the sun and the moon paid no attention to the drama on the planet, their schedules unaffected by the changing destinies down below.

It was well past midnight when Wrath woke up next to his shellan in their mated bed, his arm around her waist, his hand cupping her breast. And for a moment, he wondered whether any of it had happened—the needing, that shit from the Council, the response.

Maybe it had all just been a f**ked-up nightmare.

Cozying in closer, he kept his arousal back. He was going to leave the sexual instigation to his leelan, at least until they knew whether she was pregnant. And if she was … well, then he wasn’t sure what he was going to do—

Holy f**k, was he really thinking like this?

“You’re awake,” Beth said.

“How did you know?” he murmured into her hair.

She turned in his arms. “I just do.”

They lay there for the longest time, and f**king hell, he wished he could see her properly. Instead, he settled for running his fingertips over her features.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Victorious.” He could hear the smile on her face. “God, I love Rehvenge. He really took it to the Council.”

When he didn’t say anything, she sighed. “This is a good thing, Wrath. I promise you.”

“Yeah, it is.” He kissed her on the mouth, and then pulled away. “I’m starved. You want to eat?”

“Actually—no. I’m not hungry, but it’s got to be time for First Meal. Unless we slept through it?”

“I think that time is past. And you guys call it breakfast, right?” He got out of bed and went over to let George in from the bathroom. “I doubt anyone else is up. That party went till five in the afternoon.”

As he popped the door, the golden tackled him with the hellos, collar jangling, tail whapping into the doorjambs, Wrath’s leg, the wall as he circled, circled, circled, and sneezed from smiling.

“Wrath?”

“Hey, my man,” he said as he knelt down. “What’s up, big man? Who’s the big man—”

“Wrath.”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go to work after you eat.”

“You trying to get me back on the horse?” He stroked that smooth head as the dog sneezed again.

“Yes. I am.”

He rubbed his own face. “Shower. Food. Then we’ll talk.”

“Work, you mean.”

The good news, he supposed, was that no one was going to want anything from him in the loo. And as he stepped under the spray before it went warm, he didn’t know why he was hurrying. That wife of his was going to snap his chain until he was back on the throne, pushing papers.

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.

“Well, I am. This is ridiculous.”

The knock on the door was quiet. So was the “Hello?”

“Come in,” Wrath said as he got up. Sticking his hand straight out, he waited for Doc Jane to come to him.

“Hey, you two,” the female said as she entered … and slowed down to look around at the suite. “Dear God, check out this place.”

“Over the top, right?” Beth said.

“Is it real?” Jane breathed as she shook Wrath’s hand. “I mean, like … the rubies and the emeralds. On the walls?”

“Yeah, they’re real.” Wrath shrugged as if it were no big deal. “They were part of the treasury from back in the Old Country. Darius had them installed here.”

“Pretty fancy wallpaper.” Doc Jane focused on Beth and smiled as she came over, all business. “So I understand you’ve been sick.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, she isn’t,” Wrath cut in.

“Yes. I am.”

Doc Jane put her old-fashioned bag down on the bedside table and cleared her throat. “Well, maybe we can just see how you’re doing anyway. Can you tell me what happened?”

Beth shrugged. “I threw up—”

“Like two dozen times,” Wrath interjected.

“It was not two dozen times!”

“Fine, three dozen—”

Doc Jane put up both of her palms and looked back and forth. “Um … you know what I’d like to do if it’s okay with you, Wrath? How about I talk to your mate one-on-one—I’m not kicking you out. I just think maybe things will go a little better if she and I had a second alone?”