Page 90 of A Bloom in Winter

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 newglymera-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.”

CHAPTER THIRTY–ONE

Apex held Callum until the flames in the hearth were so low, there was nothing to them, just a glow under all the ash. The wolven had fallen still a while ago, but he hadn’t retreated. They’d just stretched out together on the floor, the other male lying on Apex’s chest with his head tucked in.

It was nice not to have to talk.

In words.

Feeling someone else’s body heat against your own was a kind of conversation, an exchange that amplified the warmth and kept you cozy even after the real fire had died down. And, yes, he had to go back to the big house and make sure Mayhem was doing what he was supposed to. But he wasn’t leaving. Not quite yet.

He wished it was not ever—

Callum shifted his shoulders so they could look into each other’s eyes. And when the gaze of the wolven moved down to Apex’s mouth, it was clear what was coming. Or at least what was being considered.

“Whatever you want,” Apex whispered. “And it can be nothing at all.”

The wolven sat up and hovered his hand over Apex’s pecs—in a way that reminded him of what he himself had done outside with the other half of the male.

When that palm finally lowered, it landed on his sternum, right over his heart. Apex’s breath caught—and stayed in his throat—as the hand slowly moved down onto his belly. There it stayed, going up and down, as he started to pant.

Of course he hardened; there was no hiding the thick length that made a bulge in the front of his leathers.

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