Darius, p.10
Darius, page 10
Well, as she said, at least they were together.
As if on cue, she leaned forward and looked into the darkened guest suite, where Wrath sometimes slept.
“What an incredible place,” she murmured. “This house… is amazing.”
“Let me show you around.”
Darius led the way into the other chamber because it was the better of the two options. And though there was no indent where the King had lain across the bed, he smoothed his hand over the duvet anyway.
“Is this where your boss stays?” she asked as she walked around and looked at the landscape paintings that were supposed to take the place of windows. “It certainly seems very secure.”
“Yes, this is his room.” He cleared his throat. “Well, when he’s here. Which isn’t as often as I’d like.”
“You’re close to him, then? As a friend?”
“No one is close to him. But I’d like to earn my keep.”
With a nod, she went by the desk that was kitted out with a plume and an inkpot, as well as stationery. Not that anyone would be using any of it.
Picking up a sheet of the paper, she frowned. “What’s this?”
Crossing the room, it was no sacrifice to get close enough to peer over her shoulder. “Hmm?”
“This… it’s writing, isn’t it?”
Her thumb passed over the engraved heading that spelled out Wrath’s royal lineage in the Old Language, the listings of the father of the father of the father… going back generations, and yet the symbols were all the same because all the Kings of the species had been named Wrath.
The same sequence was tattooed on the insides of the current Wrath’s forearms, with the females of the bloodline also included—and between one blink and the next, Darius saw the flesh, rather than the paper.
Back when he’d been younger and more idealistic, he’d known with certainty that all Kings would carry that name. That the Dhestroyer prophecy would be fulfilled and the lessers and their evil master eliminated. That his generation of the Black Dagger Brotherhood would finally usher in a peaceful future, that their hard graft in the war would be rewarded with a victory earned upon the honor and the legacy of the brave dead as well as the courage and commitment of the living.
It had been a long time since he’d believed any of that fantasy.
Now, he saw not just a King who would not lead, but no more Kings, ever: There was no possibility for any offspring to come from the current Wrath because though he was promised unto a female of worth, he refused to lie with her—and with him ending the most important bloodline of them all, it was not hard to extrapolate that there was no future for the race, either. And then there were the problems within the Brotherhood. There was no cohesion among its current members, no coordination of effort, no way to get backup if you needed it. Therefore, this era of what had once been the best line of defense against the enemy wasn’t winning the war with the Lessening Society; hell, they weren’t even holding ground. They were losing.
Where exactly did anyone think all of this was heading? A King who refused to unite the species, a foe with endless inductees, and a dwindling number of brothers, as no one was bothering to develop and replenish any of the membership…
“Are you okay?” he heard Anne ask from a vast distance.
She was right, he thought. Just as she’d pointed out the night before, it had all happened so incrementally that the now-inevitable culmination wasn’t something he or anybody had noticed.
Until this precise moment.
“I think… I’m going to sit down.”
At least that’s what he thought he said. Abruptly, he couldn’t feel anything in his body, much less hear what was coming out of his mouth. All he knew was that if he walked quickly enough across the chamber, he’d make it to Wrath’s bed before he fainted.
And crushed the woman who he sensed was following him—
The mattress arrived just in time. As his legs let go, the softness came up to greet him, and on the bounce, it dawned on him that this was how Wrath must do it, just fall onto the bed face-first. A collapse. Like dead weight.
Like a corpse.
“Darius? Darius… talk to me.”
Small, strong hands rolled him over, and then Anne’s visage appeared before his own, her silken hair falling forward in dark, fragrant waves, her lips moving, though he couldn’t hear anything she was saying.
He really wanted to listen to her. His ears weren’t functioning, however—and she seemed frantic with his lack of response. To make sure she knew he was conscious, he reached up and drew his fingers through the wavy brunette lengths that trailed forward, a bridge between the two of them.
“I would always touch you thus,” he said in the Old Language. “Oh, lovely female, so full of beauty and grace… I fear thou art mine pyrocant, sent to warm me with a fire that could as easily destroy me.”
For a reason that he did not understand, her quiet gasp broke through his deafness. And then she withdrew sharply.
Shifting his eyes to the door, he saw Fritz standing in the guest chamber’s open doorway, a glass of what appeared to be orange juice in one hand… and an expression as if he had seen a ghost on his hangdog face.
Oh. Anne hadn’t been the one to gasp at what he’d said. That had been his butler.
Well, at least she didn’t understand the mother tongue.
His admission was the kind of thing that would no doubt scare her off.
* * *
“I can’t understand anything he’s saying,” Anne implored the butler. “Can you… is he okay?”
As she knelt on a bed the size of her living room—bent over a man who had gone white as a sheet in front of her and then face-planted—she was prepared to call an ambulance. Or maybe his employer had a private doctor? Meanwhile, over in the open doorway, the old man seemed so shocked, he was totally frozen.
Fortunately, he snapped into action.
“Here,” he said as he rushed forward with the juice. “Perhaps this shall revive him.”
Refocusing on Darius, she was relieved to find his eyes open and locked on her. The pupils seemed okay, but what did she know? And was he babbling or speaking in that other language?
“I think we need a doctor—”
“Lift him, mistress,” the butler said. “I shall offer this unto his mouth.”
Shifting her position, she tucked her legs under her and propped Darius’s head in her lap, making sure his chin was tilted so he could drink. Then the butler put the glass up to those lips, and when a sloppy hand tried to bat it away, she captured the palm.
“Please,” she said, “drink.”
Instantly, Darius complied, as if he had been taking orders from her his whole life, and as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple undulated under the tight, high collar of his turtleneck. She quickly glanced down his body. His slacks were of a fine material that draped his thighs and calves, and the belt he wore was of good leather locked by what appeared to be a polished gold buckle. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised he was dressed in all black. It seemed to be his wardrobe staple, and he did look good in it.
Still, things seemed funereal given his current state.
“He hasn’t been eating enough,” the butler said as he backed off with the glass. “He has been very tense of late.”
She glanced at the elderly servant. “It sounds like he has a stressful job.”
“Very, mistress.”
“So his boss is difficult?”
The butler put the glass back to Darius’s mouth, and when nothing happened, Anne commanded, “Drink.”
Orders were followed again, his lips drawing in for a sip once. Twice. A third time. Until the glass was more than halfway consumed.
“So his boss is hard to work for?” Anne prompted as she looked into the deep blue eyes that stared back at her, the dark lashes setting off the resonant hue.
Yet she wasn’t sure what he was seeing.
The butler released a long, slow breath. “His… boss, as you say… has broken his heart. There is nothing sadder than a leader who refuses to lead, especially if he is sought by his… well, by those in his employ, as it were.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmured.
She and the butler both fell silent—just in time for the man between them to announce, “I’m not dead, you know.”
The voice was strong, the syllables forceful, and Anne had to smile a little. “I figured that, given you’ve had half my OJ.”
“Well, you told me to drink.”
Without thinking, she stroked Darius’s face, her fingertips running from his cheek to his jaw. “Yes, I did.”
As his eyes drifted to her mouth, a flush warmed her body. And then the butler was saying something about bringing dinner down here on trays. And Darius was saying something back, like yes, please.
And then they were alone.
“I think you need a doctor, not dinner,” she said.
“Let’s start with the latter, and then we’ll debate about the former, deal?”
“I’m not sure I agree.”
“Fritz can set us up over there,” Darius countered. “At the desk. And you can monitor me the whole time.”
“Or… maybe I can just feed you right where we are.” When his eyes flared, she shook her head. “No offense, but I don’t want to have to try to pick you up off the floor. At least if we’re here, you’re safe because gravity already owns you.”
“I’m fine—”
“Sure you are.”
“No, really—”
As he went to sit up, she settled him back down just by putting a hand on his chest. “Stay.”
When he complied, it wasn’t lost on her that they had done this the night before last, just with the roles reversed. It was also very clear that he was choosing to stay where he was, because he was more than strong enough to get up off the bed if he wanted to.
“I like the idea of paying you back.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “It feels fair, even though I don’t…”
“Don’t what.”
“I don’t want you to suffer.”
“I’m not.”
She wasn’t sure that was true. Not eating well? Because of stress? Still, sometimes the kindest thing you could do for someone was let them keep the illusion they were presenting—
Wait a minute. Was she stroking his hair? Why, yes, she was.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she flushed and took her hand away.
“Don’t stop,” he whispered. “You’re healing me every time you touch me.”
Instantly, the two of them seemed to lock into place with each other, the connection invisible, but powerful enough to make her feel like nothing else existed. And given what had been going on in her own life lately, what a relief to take a break from the chaos. The fear.
“Anne…”
Riding a wave of undefined emotion, she had to look away, her eyes traveling over to those landscape paintings that hung on the black stone walls, and the old-fashioned wardrobe that was no doubt full of suits, and the formal desk where that stationery with the beautiful writing was.
“This is like another world,” she said hoarsely. “Down here.”
When she felt her hand get squeezed, she realized she was still holding his palm in her own. And maybe she should have been shy or embarrassed about the contact, but as with when she’d smoothed his hair, she wasn’t. This house, the butler, the whole thing was so far out of her normal life… that it made her feel like she was in a dream.
And she could use a good fantasy right about now.
“Just you and me.” He squeezed her hand again. “Tonight, let’s just be… you and me.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Positive. I missed a meal… or two. That’s all. Don’t worry about it.”
The next thing she knew, the butler was coming back into the room, with what appeared to be a sterling silver tray layered up with a dozen sterling silver serving dishes. Somehow, the old man kept the load steady.
“Here,” she said, “let me help—”
Pressure on her hand kept her in place, and Darius said in a hiss, “Oh, God, no, don’t. He doesn’t like to be helped.”
“But—”
When Darius shook his head like he was trying to keep her from volunteering for a quicksand bathtub, all she could do was sit back as the butler placed the tray on the desk and made quick work transferring things onto the nearest bedside table.
And for some reason, the man was apologizing as fast as he moved: “I’m afraid that there are portions of the full meal not ready yet. I am so sorry, dinner was to be at eight—”
“It’s all right.” Darius sat up, his nostrils flaring. “Do I smell hors d’oeuvres?”
“Yes, sire.” Lids were lifted. “Roasted brie with almonds. Fresh crackers. Pâté that I made this afternoon. And, at your request, beef franks in puff pastries. Now, with your permission, I shall go attend unto the roast beef and the potatoes?”
“Yes, please do.”
As the butler bowed and bolted for the stairwell, she asked, “Why doesn’t he accept a little help?”
“He would view it as a failure on a mortal scale. He’s just like that. Very old fashioned and formal about his duties—and if you push the point, you’ll get the look.”
“Oh, so he’ll get angry?”
“No, worse. He’ll tear up.” Darius put a hand on his heart and closed his eyes like someone had died. “You don’t want that. I’d sit on a nuclear bomb before I have to pass that doggen another tissue.”
“Doggen?”
“Butler, I mean.” Darius shook his head. “I’m telling you. The last time I tried to do a load of my own laundry was in the seventies and I’m still not over it. Because neither is he.”
She laughed a little. “How intense. And I see he also speaks that language. What exactly is it?”
“Just a European dialect.”
When there was an awkward pause, she glanced toward the bits and bites, and her stomach growled. “Are those really pigs in a blanket?”
He smiled. “I believe that’s the vernacular term, yes.”
“You know what?” She scooted forward toward the side table and its display of goodies. “Forget the entrée. This is what heaven looks like to me.”
As she popped one into her mouth, she heard Darius say softly, “I couldn’t agree more.”
When she glanced over at him to make another joke…
… he was staring at her, not the food.
CHAPTER TEN
I feel like our roles need to be reversed.”
As Darius tossed the statement over the conversational threshold, he was nonetheless powerless to change the dynamic that had been so firmly established. Anne had installed him up against the pillows, which she herself had stacked, and now she was putting a plate together at the bedside table for him. Next up, she was going to feed him from her hand—which was something that tantalized him.
And also frustrated the crap out of him. He needed to wait on her—
Under her breath, she started humming something, and he closed his eyes so he could put all his senses into listening to her.
“What’s that song?” he asked roughly.
“You’ll laugh.”
“Tell me.”
“Grover Washington Jr.”
She turned to him with the plate. “Just the twoooo of us… we can make it if we try… just the twoooo of ussss… you and I…”
“I love it,” he murmured as she settled on the edge of the bed next to him, tucking her legs under herself. “I’m claiming it as my new theme song.”
As she blushed, she seemed to try and cover up her reaction. “What do you fancy first?”
“Whatever you choose to give me.”
“Pig in a blanket it is. I highly recommend them.”
As she picked up one of the bundles with her delicate fingers, he took her wrist. “No, first you.” When she went to argue that she’d already had one, he shook his head. “It’s a thing for me. You have to come first from the plate. I am second, after you.”
He gently redirected the hors d’oeuvre to her lips, and when he nodded, she opened her mouth and took a bite. Watching her chew, he felt his blood stirring, and tried to keep a lid on all that stuff.
For now.
“You finish it,” she said as she took what remained and presented it to his lips.
The morsel was the best thing he had ever tasted, outside of her tomato soup and her toast. And that was the way they played the plate: One bite for her first, then one for him second. In the silence, in the quiet stillness of the bedchamber the King slept in only from time to time, Darius and his woman formed an accord, proof that words were not needed when energy flowed between two people.
When everything had been consumed, she turned back to Fritz’s display on the bedside table. “I’m going to save some room for dinner. So this next plate is all for you, and that is that. I don’t want any arguments.”
Her dominance made him tingle in places that were usually dormant—and even though he was inclined to push back, submitting to her had its own rewards, didn’t it.
When she was satisfied with her choices, Anne pivoted around again. “So how long have you been working for your boss?”
As he debated how to answer that, she fortunately put a cracker with brie on it into his mouth, and he took his time chewing.
“I’ve been under him for… well, it feels like ever since I’ve been alive.”
She laughed a little. “So he’s that hard to work for.”
“Yes.” Darius frowned. “But he’s had a hard life. So hard, and right from the beginning, too. His parents were… they were killed in front of him when he was a young—a child.”
As Anne gasped, he wondered what the hell was coming out of his mouth.
“Oh… God,” she said. “That’s terrible.”
“It was brutal. And he’s never been right since, you know?”
