Page 89 of A Bloom in Winter

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 theglymerawhat 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—”

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