Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
She looked at Rhamp. “You need to say goodbye—”
He shook his head once more.
“No,” she intoned. “Come here. Sit with me. And talk to her.”
Rhamp took yet another step back, and she thought of their youth. He was the one who had always protected her, even before his change, when he’d been small. And then after his transition, when he’d come through things, he’d been so big, big enough not just to fight, but to win against the enemy.
Whereas she had been… a Barbie.
She was still pissed at him for that crack. Except that wasn’t what was on her mind now. The only thing she was remembering… was what he would do when they’d been young and the thunderstorms had come during the day, and the rumbling had been so loud and deep, that it had vibrated down even into the underground.
He had always turned to her then, and been the one to seek her comfort when he’d been scared.
For all his courage in the field, he was scared now.
“Rhamp,” she said with force. “You’re going to regret this for the rest of your life. Come and sit with me, and tell her you love her.”
Extending her arm, she kept their eyes locked. “It’s going to be okay. Come here, brother mine.”
There was stillness all in the room, her fathers and grandfather watching them in silence. And she could positively feel the emotion weaving through the air that was tainted with the harbinger of death—
That’s what he is frightened of, she thought. The scent.
“It’s still her,” she commanded. “Breathe through your mouth, not your nose. Forget the smell, and join me here. There’s not much time left.”
His Adam’s apple—so prominent in his thick throat—undulated. And then he finally stepped forward.
Rearranging herself so there was room for him, she pulled him down beside her.
“We’re all here,” Lyric said as she stroked her granmahmen’s wrist.
The skin was dry and cool, too cool.
“Tell her,” she prompted her brother.
It was a while before Rhamp responded, and as the moments ticked by, she got more and more anxious.
But then he cleared his throat, and in the voice of the young he hadn’t been for so many years, Rhamp said, “I love you, Nana.”
Lyric brushed a tear from her eye at the old name, the one he’d called their granmahmen because when he’d been young, he’d had a little speech impediment, and hadn’t been able to handle the big word.
“Everyone’s here, Granmahmen,” she whispered as she took a deep breath. “We’re all with you. It’s okay… for you to go.”
She braced herself for the last breath, just as everybody else did. And when that didn’t come, she glanced around at the males surrounding the bed. They were all staring at the person who had kept them together, these many years.
“It’s all right, Granmahmen,” she repeated. “You can… go. It’s okay.”
The chest continued to haltingly go up and down.
Lyric frowned, and thought of how she and her granmahmen had always been the only females in the household here, and how the elder Lyric had always been in charge: Four strong males, who were loved so dearly by so many, three of whom fought for the species, were sustained—had always been sustained—by the female who had run everything.
And that was when Lyric realized…
“I’ll take care of them,” she said hoarsely. “Granmahmen, don’t worry. I will take care of the family, of all of them, in your absence—”
A deep breath was sucked in. And then the exhale came, long and slow… ending on a quiet catch.
And with that very characteristic lack of fuss, with her message having been received, their matriarch was gone.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
As soon as Shuli passed out, L.W. left the aristocrat’s mansion. To avoid the fucking party, he snuck out the back, and to get off the property, he borrowed one of the Range Rovers in the four-car garage. The fucker had two of them—because of course he did. He had to make sure his butler could get out in style, and there were the other staff to think of.
Or maybe one was just for backup. Who the hell knew.
It had been a while since L.W. had been behind the wheel, and it sure as shit hadn’t been during the winter. He supposed that was another reason to have Range Rovers. The traction was outstanding, even with all the ice.
His Samsung provided the route. All he had to do was sit back and steer—which wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Part of that was because he’d had to borrow some of Shuli’s duds, so everything was too tight: the track bottoms, the nylon shirt, the Vuitton parka.
Like LV made fucking parkas.
The thing that really irritated him? The guy’s running shoes had fit him. He was taller than Shuli by almost a head. He should have been busting the Sauconys at the seams.