Chapter Thirty

CHAPTER THIRTY

R ight before the aristocrat was brought into the Audience Room, Tohr positioned himself behind Wrath. Not too close, because that would be inappropriate. But he wanted to make things perfectly clear to Whestmorel as soon as the male came in. Wrath was the King, and there was muscle all around the throne.

And after Qhuinn and V were in position in the other corners, he texted Saxton to bring the male in.

“Time to go back to work,” Wrath said as he put George down at his feet.

While the golden got settled, tucking his tail in, laying his blond muzzle on his master’s shitkicker, Saxton knocked once—and after Wrath barked an “enter,” the door was opened and the solicitor stepped aside so that the interloper could pass through first.

Staring over Wrath’s shoulder, Tohr gritted his molars. He had a short temper with people who demanded special treatment, as if the fact that the guy was living and breathing was enough to velvet-rope the whole world.

But then there was his reason for coming.

“My Lord,” Whestmorel said as he inclined his head.

Tohr glanced at a low growl that percolated up. Qhuinn’s upper lip was peeled off his fangs, the brother’s blue and green peepers narrowed into slits.

Sure, a proper bow wasn’t required. But everyone did it as a measure of respect—and that nod was a mockery of the tradition.

Meanwhile, Wrath lowered his chin and stared forward as if he could see the male. As if he knew there was little regard being paid.

“So what brings you to my house,” the King said in a smooth voice. That was somehow more threatening than if he’d yelled. “At this particular hour.”

There was a pause as Whestmorel seemed to have to gather himself. Then again, the last purebred vampire on the planet was nailing him to the wall through those wraparounds, even though Wrath was blind. His ability to focus was an unexpected phenomenon, something that Tohr had seen civilians shocked by when they came in here: Somehow, the King always knew exactly where everyone was, some combination of scent and noise allowing him to triangulate bodies.

Or maybe it was as simple as the impact of Wrath’s size and strength. Sitting there, in his black leathers and muscle shirt, his black hair falling straight from a widow’s peak, the tattoos of his lineage running up the insides of his forearms?

He looked like exactly what he was. A war leader. A fighter. A killer.

“Get on with it,” Wrath said in that tone that made even the brothers stand up a little taller.

Whestmorel fiddled with a gold cufflink, like he was nervous, but he did not back down. “I am here on behalf of a number of us. We want to know what you are doing to find the killer of Broadius Rayland.”

“So he’s a relation of yours?” Wrath drawled. In a way that meant the timer on his detonator had started ticking.

“No, he’s not. Too many of my relations were killed during the raids. Which you failed to protect us from.”

Tohr put a hand up to his forehead and rubbed over his eyebrows. This was going worse than he’d thought it would.

Whestmorel continued, “You sent out all kinds of communications years ago, about how crimes were going to be handled. We’re demanding to know what you’re doing about the reality that a male was murdered. Or does the fact that it was someone of wealth and position mean you expect us to solve the crime ourselves.”

“There’s no blood between you and Broadius, then. At all.”

Whestmorel looked at the brothers who surrounded him. Then he focused on Tohr for a brief second. “No, there isn’t. But that should not matter. We have a right to know—”

“Who exactly is ‘we.’ ”

“All of us. Who are like me.”

“So you’re not going to say the word?” Wrath did not move in his chair, not a foot, not a hand. And Tohr almost wanted to warn the male who stood so defiantly before the King. “You can’t say it? You’ll claim all the rights and more than the privileges, but you won’t call the glymera what it is?”

“That would be illegal, wouldn’t it,” came the laconic reply. “But no matter the term, I am not going to apologize for my status and I refuse to buy into some kind of shame because I have it.” Whestmorel’s eyes narrowed, making him appear positively evil. “We’re thinking maybe you’re staying quiet about Broadius on purpose.”

There was a long pause, and Whestmorel did not look away. Did not mediate his attitude. Did not—

Wrath slowly rose out of his chair, and Tohr stepped forward. You know, just in case.

The one thing nobody needed in this situation . . . was another dead aristocrat.

“Message received,” the King said. “You can go now.”

Whestmorel’s smile was chilling. “On the contrary. I did not come here to deliver a—”

“The hell you didn’t. If you’d actually read the crime procedures, you’d know I’m not going to comment on an active investigation to a non-family member. So this is a flex that you are the representative of a faction of powerful, wealthy individuals who are meeting in secret behind my back—and you all think I had a member of the aristocracy killed.”

“I did not say that, and I shall not let you put words in my mouth—”

Wrath’s head jerked to the left, and V, who was clearly having trouble holding his temper, threw up his hands—as he was obviously being warned to continue keeping his yap shut.

The King then refocused his attention on the aristocrat. “I’ll meet with any of you, anytime, anywhere. I’m not worried about what you are doing in the background. The throne is mine. Try to take it. G’head.”

“You think because you’ve got an heir, you’re invincible,” Whestmorel said in a low tone. “But kings only rule upon the consent of their subjects. I wouldn’t take that for granted if I were you.”

With a quick shift, Tohr got in between the two of them before he was aware of moving.

“You’re leaving,” he growled at the male. “Right now—”

The aristocrat just kept staring at Wrath. “You need your guard to speak for you? Is he going to tell me that you didn’t have Broadius killed?”

“No,” Wrath said calmly. “He’s getting in between us because he’s worried I’m going to hurt you. But I’m not going to do that. A male like you doesn’t get to pull my levers, no matter what words he throws around. The reality is this, if you were a threat to me, a real threat, you wouldn’t come here to tip your hand like this.”

The King lifted his dagger hand and made a gun out of his thumb and forefinger. Pointing it at Whestmorel’s head, he bared his fangs.

“You’d just . . .” Wrath nicked his thumb down. “ Bang . Drop me where I stand.”

Tohr was very aware of his heart skipping and then going full-tilt boogie in his chest. Especially when Whestmorel continued to hold his ground.

“I’m not hearing you deny anything,” the male said. “And that’s fine. Keep targeting people like us. It makes conversion very, very easy. It’s a favor to us, really.”

“News flash, you’re not that important. I know this comes as a shock, but none of you matter. The only list you’re on is your own.”

“We survived the Lessening Society.” Whestmorel’s voice started to tremble with anger. “And we will survive you and the Brotherhood—”

“Nobody’s coming after any of you. But if you’re looking to change that, keep knocking on my door with bullshit accusations. I’ll answer it, I promise you.”

On that note, the meeting was over. As Whestmorel wheeled away and headed for the door, V and Qhuinn stepped out with him, and Tohr shut himself in with Wrath and the dog.

When he looked at the King, he found himself surprised. Instead of the out-of-control fury of the past, Wrath remained deadly calm. Hell, he didn’t even seem surprised.

“In the last thirty years,” Wrath murmured, “have they organized at any other time?”

“No, not that we were aware. They were just re-adjusting their standards from bloodlines to bank accounts.”

Wrath nodded as he sat back down. “So now they’ve got a critical mass. That’s why they’re coming forward.”

“I know we didn’t kill Broadius.” Tohr paced back and forth. “And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that people who deal with people who deal in guns can wake up dead in their own bed at any minute.”

“You got that right.” Wrath leaned to the side and stroked his dog’s head. “We need to find that killer. Fast.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Tohr bowed to his King. “We’re doing everything we can. We’re going to find the supplier of those guns, and when we do, I have a feeling we’ll be looking the murderer in the face.”

“Maybe. Or maybe not. Whestmorel and his group could have killed him themselves—or, even more likely, had someone do it.” Wrath shook his head and eased back. “These new glymera -types are just bound and determined to follow in the footsteps of their predecessors, aren’t they. Right into their own fucking graves.”

The great Blind King smiled coldly. “But like I said, if they want a try at the throne? I welcome the challenge.”