I don’t want to do this anymore, he thought.
As the conviction struck, he told himself the ennui concerned merely the month of January—which, in upstate New York, was a miserable season unto itself, cold, dark, and dangerous if you got stuck outdoors for long. He feared, however, there was more than the dead zone between December and February in play.
“You going to try for home?”
He glanced through the archway of the billiards room. Wrath, son of Wrath, the great Blind King, had arrived in the foyer, and the male was just so huge, harsh, and aristocratic, a straight-up killer in black leather—with a beautiful, kind-faced golden retriever by his side.
Saxton cleared his throat. “I’m not sure, my Lord.”
“You got a bedroom here.”
“You are most gracious.” Saxton lifted up his briefcase even though the King could not see it. “But I have work to do.”
“When was the last night or day you took time off?”
“I have no need to.”
“Bullshit. And I know the answer and don’t like it.”
In truth, it had been forever. The King’s nightly audiences with members of the race required much follow-up and paperwork—and on top of all that valid work, there might also be a little self-medicating, distraction-seeking going on.
As if on cue, a pair of voices echoed throughout the grand open space and Saxton took a deep breath. Blay and Qhuinn were coming down the gracious staircase, each of them carrying an infant, the bonded couple laughing. When they got to the bottom step, Qhuinn put his hand on the small of Blay’s back and Blay looked over at the Brother, his eyes lingering as if he could have stared at that handsome face forever.
The shaft of pain that went through Saxton’s sternum was as familiar as the sinking feeling in his gut, the one–two punch of Blay’s no-it’s-him-I-want-not-you choice making the idea of battling the Nor’easter very appealing. After all, the other option was to take advantage of his unused room there and try to sleep under the same roof as the happy pair and their two beautiful young.
Sometimes, nothing made you feel older and more worn out than the happiness of others. And yes, that was uncharitable—but that was why it was good that inner thoughts were things one shared only with oneself.
“My Lord, do enjoy Last Meal.” Saxton pinned a smile to his face even though, again, the Blind King would not know it. “I believe I will—”
“Join us for Last Meal? Fucking awesome. Come on, we’ll go in together.”
Saxton cleared his throat and began to construct a false engagement, an imperative that could not be denied, an overriding principle—
“I’m waiting,” Wrath muttered. “And you know how much I love that shit.”
With a sag, Saxton recognized this was an argument lost before it began. And he also was more than aware that the King’s patience was as short as his temper.
After that little warning shot across the bow, Wrath’s next move could well be a draw-and-quarter out back in the snow.
“But of course, my Lord.” Saxton bowed and started to remove his favorite Marc Jacobs coat. “It will be my pleasure.”
Falling in line with his King, he walked across the foyer and entered the vast dining room, depositing his briefcase, scarf, and all that fine cashmere on a chair next to one of the sideboards. With any luck, one of the doggen wouldn’t “help” by putting his things away. In a mansion this size? They could end up a mile off in some closet.
