Page 85 of The Brotherhood

“I believe it’s your husband,” he decided to say, connecting the call and handing her the phone.

She gasped and snatched it from him. “Hello?”

Sinrik saw himself out, right as the waterworks started.

He made his way past his sleeping friends and locked himself in the cockpit. “Not scraps,” he muttered. “Necessary ingredients.”

CHAPTER 18

Whose Blood?

Beth couldn’t breathe.

She stood right behind Sinrik, fisting his jacket in both hands as instructed so as not to slip on the ramp.

Her pulse jumped with her gasp when the door hissed open and began to lower.

“Ready Swampy?” Sinrik barely asked.

“Yes,” she whispered, nodding. “I’m so nervous.”

He took a step and she followed, careful not to step on his heels. The baby gave a big kick to her ribs as a gust of winter air stole her breath. Oh God, it was happening. Bishop was out there, waiting for her. He had things to tell her and wanted to wait to do it in person. It had her nauseated with fear and worry of what it might be. Him being angry for what she did being the top fear.

Her first step on land, she released Sinrik and searched the darkness. Her heart lurched at seeing him. She gasped on half a sob, her legs frozen as he came toward her, dressed exactly like he was the first night she’d ever laid eyes on him. Her breaths came faster as he hurried toward her, his pace unstoppable. Finally, her legs unlocked and she shot out toward him.

The distance between them disappeared, his face getting clearer, raw and intense. A sob tore from her as he swooped in with perfection, his hand locking onto the back of her neck as he covered her mouth with his. She gasped as he kissed her, fistingher fingers in leather, his lips crushed against hers like they were the only thing keeping him grounded, like the taste of her confirmed reality.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, a deep, fractured exhale as he pulled up with a ragged, “Merci Dieu, merci Dieu,” right in her mouth as he kissed her.

Beth choked on a sob, knees weak as she pressed as close as she could, needing more, needing everything.

He broke the kiss, breathing heavily with his forehead on hers, holding her to him. His chest rose hard as he let go another ragged exhale and, “Merci, Dieu.”

Beth’s heart ached. “This is real,” she whispered, voice breaking.

His eyes locked on hers and her breath froze at seeing one of them oddly bright before it roamed over her face. “I’m a little different,” he whispered, diving for her mouth again with a groan. Then he lifted her.

Beth’s breath caught as he cradled her in his arms and pulled her against his chest like she weighed nothing. Her gasps stuttered into a cry and she buried her face in his neck, fingers clenching his silky thick hair. “God, you smell like heaven.” She pressed her mouth against his skin, sucking and tasting the scent of smoke and mint. “I missed you so much. I’m so sorry. I love you, I love you so much.”

****

The boat drifted smoothly over the dark water, the soft hum of the motor the only sound beneath the night. Three boats like theirs followed behind them, one holding the kings, the other carrying the apprentices. Beth didn’t know which boat Sinrik was on and she felt a pang of guilt for just leaving him without a word.

Spook drove their boat and she vaguely wondered who drove the other two. She hadn’t seen anybody but Bishop. And right now, she was still cradled in his lap, feeling so safe, so whole as he pressed his lips constantly on some part of her. He had her hand on his mouth, and she loved the feel of his perfect, full lips, letting her fingers explore his face. It was so smooth, like he’d shaved really close. His lips pressed on her forehead now and every half minute he whispered thank you God in French, bringing fresh tears to her eyes.

Her breath hitched as his hand slid slowly over her stomach, his palm broad and warm, fingers splaying just enough to feel. He exhaled against her ear. “How is our son?” His voice was low, rough, intimate. A quiet rasp against her skin that sent heat wrapping her spine.

“I think he’s good,” she whispered back.

His fingers moved along her neck, feeling, touching. Almost seeking. His mouth moved along her jaw with soft kisses, his pace erotically slow. At her ear, he murmured, “I’m so fucking hungry for you.”

Sharp heat pounced right on her clit at the hot shake in his breath.

He hummed low in approval, his fingers turning firm along her jaw before forcing her mouth to his and stabbing his tongue in deep.

“Oh God,” she gasped when he eased off, his fingers touching her lips now in that curious, learning way.

“You’re strong. Healthy. Perfect,” he murmured at her ear. “But tired.”

---