"Lover At Last" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ward, J.R.)

He spun around so fast, hot coffee went flying and landed on his thigh. He ignored the sting. тАЬIt should. It fucking should. IтАЩm not some inanimate object that can be given to somebody. That whole thing is bullshit.тАЭ

тАЬSome would find it an honor.тАЭ

тАЬWell, I donтАЩt. IтАЩm not getting mated to that female. I donтАЩt care who she is or who set it up or how тАШimportantтАЩ it is to the sтАЩHisbe.тАЭ

Trez braced himself for a barrage of oh-yeah-you-do. Instead, his brother looked sad, as if he wouldnтАЩt have wanted the curse, either.

тАЬIтАЩll say it again, Trez. This is not just magically going to disappear. And trying to fuck your way out of it? ThatтАЩs not only futile, itтАЩs potentially dangerous.тАЭ

Trez rubbed his face. тАЬThe women are just humans. They donтАЩt matter.тАЭ He turned back to the river again. тАЬAnd frankly, if I donтАЩt do something, IтАЩm going to go insane. A couple of orgasms has to be better than that, right?тАЭ

As silence resumed, he knew his brother disagreed with him. But proof positive that his life was in the shitter was the fact that the conversation dried up at that point.

iAm apparently wasnтАЩt into kicking a guy when he was down.

Whatever. He didnтАЩt care what was expected of himтАФhe was not going back and being condemned to a life of service.

He didnтАЩt care if it was to the queenтАЩs daughter.





TWELVE


It was late in the afternoon when Wrath hit the wall. He was at his desk, ass on his fatherтАЩs throne, fingers running over a report written in Braille, when all of a sudden he couldnтАЩt take one more damn word of text.

Shoving the papers aside, he cursed and ripped his wraparounds off his face. Just as he was about to throw them at a wall, a muzzle kicked his elbow.

Putting an arm around his golden retriever, he tightened his hand on the soft fur that grew along the dogтАЩs flanks. тАЬYou always know, donтАЩt you.тАЭ

George burrowed in deep, pressing his chest into WrathтАЩs legтАФwhich was the cue that someone wanted to be up and over.

Wrath leaned down and gathered all ninety pounds up in his arms. As he settled the four paws, lionтАЩs mane, and flowing tail so that everything fit, he supposed it was a good thing he was so fucking tall. Big thighs offered a bigger lap.

And the act of stroking all that fur calmed him, even though it didnтАЩt ease his mind.

His father had been a great king, capable of withstanding countless hours of ceremony, endless nights filled with the drafting of proclamations and summonses, whole months and years of protocol and tradition. And that was before you layered on the perennial stream of bitching that came at you from every corner: letters, phone calls, e-mailsтАФalthough of course the latters hadnтАЩt been an issue in his popтАЩs era.

Wrath had been a fighter once. A damn good one.

Putting his hand up, he felt along the side of his neck, to the place where that bullet had entered himтАФ

The knock on the door was sharp and to the point, a demand more than a respectful request for entrance.

тАЬCome in, V,тАЭ he called out.