Over Jane's shoulder, Blay happened to notice the way Saxton's hand passed through the thick blond waves that were sculpted up off his forehead.
It was the strangest thing. . . Sax may have been related by blood to Qhuinn, but at the moment,
he looked a lot like Blay had for years.
Then again, unrequited was the same, no matter the features that reflected the emotion.
Crap.
Chapter Forty-Four
Down the hall, Tohr sat in a chair across from the hospital bed Wrath had been laid out in. It was probably time to go.
Had been a while ago.
For God's sake, even the queen had fallen asleep next to her mate on the bed.
Guess it was a good thing Beth didn't mind his kibitzing. Then again, they had come to an accord years ago, proving just what a Godzilla marathon would do for a relationship.
Over in the corner, on a huge round Orvis bed the color of oatmeal, George stretched out of the curl he'd been in and glanced up at his master. Getting no response, he put his head down and sighed.
"He's gonna be okay," Tohr said.
The dog's ears pricked and he gave two thumps of his feathered tail.
"Yup. I promise. "
Taking a cue from the canine, Tohr repositioned himself, and then rubbed his eyes. Man, he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was dog-bed it like George and sleep for a day.
The problem was, even though the drama was over, his adrenal gland still piped up every time he thought of that bullet. Two inches to the right and it would have hit the jugular, turning Wrath's light out for good. In fact, according to Doc Jane and Manny, where that lead had been lodged by pure chance had been the only "safe" place - assuming the guy was with someone who could, oh, say, do a tracheotomy in a moving van with nothing but a section of hollow tubing and a black dagger.
Jesus Christ. . . what a night.
And thank the Scribe Virgin for that angel. Without Lassiter showing up to drive? He shuddered -
"Waiting for Godot?"
Tohr's eyes snapped over to the bed. The king's lids were low but open, his mouth cracked in a half smile.
Emotion came on thick and quick, flooding Tohr's neurotransmitters, stealing his voice from him.
And Wrath seemed to understand. Opening his free hand, he beckoned, even though he couldn't lift up his arm.
Tohr's feet felt sloppy as he stood up and approached the bed. As soon as he was in range, he knelt by his king and took that big palm, turned it over. . . and kissed the gigantic black diamond that flashed on Wrath's finger.
Then, like a pussy, he laid his head down on the ring, on his brother's knuckles.
All could have been lost tonight. If Wrath had not lived. . . everything would have changed.
As the king squeezed his hand back, Tohr thought about Wellsie's dying, and felt nothing but fresh dread. To realize that there were as yet others to lose was not reassuring in the slightest. If anything, it made the churning, ambient anxiety in his gut swirl faster.
You'd think after his shellan's passing he'd be exempt from the grief pool.
Instead, it appeared that he just had a deeper bottom to look forward to.
"Thank you," Wrath whispered hoarsely. "For saving my life. "
Tohr lifted his head and shook it. "It wasn't just me. "