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)
The grim expression on his face terrified her.
It really did.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Back in Caldwell, in the rural outskirts far from the city’s gritty center, Qhuinn walked through the various security doors at the rear of the Audience House. When he got to the one with the little pinpricks in the ceiling—that were just like the teeny fuckers at the training center—he refused to look up. Goddamn Rhage. The queasy tension as he stood under them was worse now than before whatever the hell he had had a name.
Tinyholephobia. Or whatever the fuck the brother’d called it.
As the last door opened and he burst into the kitchen, all he smelled was fresh baked goods, and his stomach came to attention. He didn’t know what it was, but he couldn’t eat when he was out at Blay’s parents’ house anymore.
Ah, fuck that. He knew why. Food there made him think of his mahmen-in-law—
The instant his presence registered on the cooking staff, all kinds of doggen chefs turned to him.
“Sire, may we get you aught—”
“—may we do for you—”
“—anything, at all?”
Faced with such earnest pleading, he glanced over at some pastries that were fresh out of the oven and frosted to perfection.
“Actually, yeah, please.” He nodded in their direction. “I’d like the whole nine yards, if it isn’t too much trouble, but in the meantime, mind if I take one of those?”
“Oh, sire, indeed!” The silver platter of Danish was brought over to him like it was life support. “Take them all—”
“Just one, thanks.” He picked a cherry—though he did have to admit the lemons looked very tempting. “I have to watch my girlish figure.”
Over at the stove, a doggen already had a pan out. “Would you care for scrambled eggs and toast with bacon?”
“And coffee, of course,” another one said by the industrial-sized pot.
“That all sounds perfect.” He took a bite of the Danish and holy shit it was good. “I have to be in on a meeting in the—”
“We shall bring it to you directly!” A travel mug was put in his hand. “With just a little sugar.”
Qhuinn glanced around at all of their hopeful, happy faces. “Thank you,” he said roughly. “This is going to hit the spot.”
They all but gave him a round of applause for gracing them with his presence, while the only thing he’d done was add to their duties. Amazing.
Shaking his head and munching along, he stepped into the vacant central core of the building. The fact that no one was in the lockdown area gave him the opportunity to pull his shit together. His work really was his salvation, and after a day spent staring at Blay as the male stared at the black-and-white picture on the baby monitor out in the family room, he was ready to think about anything other than when someone was going to die.
Well, treasonous plots aside, that was—
The panel that permitted access to the Audience Room opened and V stuck his head in. “You good to go?” the brother with the goatee asked in a quiet voice.
Qhuinn snapped to attention. “I’m not late.” He jacked up his wrist and double-checked his watch. “I have two minutes—”
“Didn’t say you were late.” The brother exhaled a stream of smoke and immediately took another drag of his hand-rolled. “I asked if you’re okay.”
“Right as rain.” He toasted V with his travel mug full of wakie-wakie. “Glad to be here.”
“You sure about that? You’re only on the schedule because you asked to be and—”
“I’m here”—he indicated himself with the mug—“so Blay doesn’t feel as bad not being on the schedule himself, and anything that makes him feel less shitty is what I need to be doing right now.”
V stepped to the side and held the door open, his diamond eyes grave. “You let me know if you need to pull out, true.”
All he could do was nod at that. And the choked-up shit got worse as he went into the Audience Room. All of the Brotherhood was there, and the Band of Bastards had also squeezed into the space.
Every single eyeball trained in his direction as he entered, and fuck him very much, but they each knew him too well: Even though he took an exaggerated pull off the traveler, and swallowed the last of the cherry Danish in spite of the burn on his tongue, there was no hiding how fucking awful he felt.
No one else asked him how he was, however. Which was exactly what he needed.
No chinks in this armor tonight. Nope—
“Qhuinn,” the King said from up at his armchair. “What’s going on at your mate’s parents’.”
Ohhhh, great. But he wasn’t about to duck a direct question from his King.
He had to clear his throat. “She’s still with us.”
That autocratic head nodded, the long black hair shifting over Wrath’s shoulder as the male leaned down to stroke his dog’s boxy blond head. “You’ll keep us informed. Do any of you need anything?”