“It was a joke, my man.” Vishous put a hand-rolled between his lips and talked around it as he got out his lighter. “At least I hope it was.”

“Anything for you both! Oh, and my Lord, I took the liberty of allowing George to relieve himself about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Thanks, Fritz. Did you—”

“And I fed him, as well. I gave him the tenderloin left over from last night, but I warmed it up and served it with fresh whole carrots, pumpkin mash, and green beans. Everything was organic, of course.”

“You love that dog, don’t you.”

The doggen bowed so low it was a wonder his bushy gray eyebrows didn’t Swiffer the mosaic floor. “I do. Oh, I do.”

“Good male, you’re a good male.”

Wrath seemed like he wanted to clap the butler on the shoulder, or maybe offer his palm for a high five, but he didn’t follow through. Even though he was King, there were some things you didn’t do, and that was make contact with an old-school servant like Fritz.

The poor guy was liable to mushroom cloud out of embarrassment.

Instead, Wrath strode forward like he owned the place, and V fell in line.

“Three feet,” V said when it was time.

The Blind King stepped up onto the bottom of the great staircase with the coordination of a tap dancer, hitting the mark perfectly, and he knew when he got to the top, as well. First stop was his study, where he opened the double doors and got attacked by George, who had clearly never expected to see his master again.

“Come on, boy, back to work. Lead.”

George trotted off to the desk and came back with his halter, which Wrath put on so quick, you’d swear he could see what he was doing. And then dog and master were reunited and heading in the direction of the hall of statues.

With V pulling up the rear. No doubt looking like the bad guy in a Disney movie.

Hell, even he didn’t want to be anywhere near this black mood he was sporting. But of course, everywhere you went, there you were, and all that bullshit.

When they got to the room that the young were in, Wrath knocked once and then opened things up. In the glow of a night-light that was in the shape of the moon and the stars, it was easy to pick out Qhuinn on the bed, his two kids tucked in tight and sound asleep on either side of him.

But the brother wasn’t at rest.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Time to talk,” the King announced as George parked it in a sit at his side.

“You mind if we go out in the hall?”

“Nope.”

Qhuinn nodded and slowly sat up. Then he looked back and forth between the two sleeping babies … like he couldn’t decide which one to take to the bassinets first.

“V, can you give me a hand?”

For a moment, Vishous couldn’t comprehend who the guy was talking to, even though his name was in the mix. But then Wrath’s head turned in his direction, like the King was waiting for an answer, too.

Okay, why couldn’t he just be drinking right now? Still, bassinet jockeying one of these pooping machines had to be better than dodging bullets.

Right?

V glanced at the matched set of milk addicts. Fine, maybe the goo-goo, gaga/Glock assessment was more of a fifty-fifty.

“V?” Qhuinn prompted.

“Yeah. Sure.” I’d fucking looooooove to manhandle your DNA. And maybe afterward, we can take turns doing each other’s hair. “What do I do?”

Qhuinn’s brows popped as V approached the bed. “You pick Rhamp up and carry him over here.”

The head. Support the head—

“You need to support the head,” Qhuinn tacked on.

See? V told himself. This was going to be fine.

Except then Vishous realized that he had a lit cigarette in his hand.

“Gimme your hand-rolled,” Wrath announced in a bored tone. “What the hell, V—you can’t bring that around a young.”

As Qhuinn got to his feet with Lyric, V gave the cig over like it was his last heartbeat. And then he was extending his good hand, as well as the one wrapped in black leather, to the brother’s son. Man … outside of a medical situation, it felt all wrong to pick up anything more precious than a bag of dog food with his curse, but he knew intellectually nothing was going to happen to the kid.

Hell, it wasn’t like the heat source was going to turn Rhamp into the infant equivalent of a pig-in-a-blanket or something. No, really. True?

Fuck—

Small. Warm. Strong.

That was what it felt like. And it was utterly bizarre to realize … that he was picking up a young outside of a clinical setting for the first time in his life. It wasn’t that he had avoided them; he’d just never been interested in the stinky, whiny little bastards.

In the slightest—

Without warning, Rhamp opened his lids just as V was settling him down in the crib-thing next to his sister.

V recoiled. Okay, wow, those eyes were really fucking intense, very direct, and slightly hostile—like the kid knew this happy little transfer was waaaaaaaaaaaaay above Vishous’s pay grade and not something that should have been sanctioned by any kind of self-respecting parental unit.

“Chill, my man,” V murmured as he checked on what Pops was doing over at the other bassinet—and then V followed suit, pulling up the blanket just like Qhuinn was. “S’all good. You good, true?”

Qhuinn looked over. “He’s a fighter, all right. You can already tell.”

V sat back on his heels, crossed his arms, and continued to look down at the little bag of vampire. And what do you know. That infant sonofabitch glared right back at him.

Vishous started to smile. He couldn’t help it. You had to admire that kind of strength—and it obviously came from breeding. How else could you explain why something that was barely more than a month old was ready to take on a grown-ass male who was heavily armed and really fucking cranky.

“My man,” V said as he put his good hand out. “Gimme five.”

Rhamp didn’t know from high-fiving anything, but he did grab onto what was right in front of his face, and oh, how he squeezed.

V laughed deep in his throat. “Yeah, you can fight with me in the field when you’re grown. And soon as you’re big enough to hold a dagger … I’ll make one for you. Forge it myself. You’re gonna be just like your dad, one helluva a fighter. Just like him …”

As Vishous seemed to find a partner in surly crime with Rhamp, Qhuinn found himself staring at the brother. For a lot of reasons.

One, the fact that V seemed to be falling all kinds of enchanted over Rhamp was … well, a person was more likely to see God up close and in person before a male like V was ever going to ohhh and ahhh over a kid. Second, Rhamp was starting to warm up in return, the little guy’s initially hostile response easing, his body relaxing its tension, his expression and those myopic baby-eyes assuming a kind of fondness.

Sort of like if one tiger met another in the wilderness and the pair decided to hang out instead of try to eat each other in a bid for dominance.

But the main reason Qhuinn couldn’t look away?

Shifting his head, he glanced up to the far corner. To those bullet holes in the ceiling.

You’re gonna be just like your dad.

Just like him.

With a wince, Qhuinn rubbed his temples. “We ready?”

Wrath and George turned themselves around. “Door.”

As they left, Qhuinn wondered whether V was going to stay behind and hang with the kids. You know, maybe read some Goodnight Moon. Chill with a little Pat the Bunny.

That kind of shit.

But Vishous came along, so that the three of them and the King’s golden gathered together in the hall.

Right before anyone said anything, Zsadist came out of his door down at the end of the corridor. The brother took one look at them, shook his head, and went riiiiight back into his suite.

Yeah, everyone knew what this was about.

“So here’s the way it’s going to be,” Wrath said without preamble. “Half and half. And she takes ’em to the Sanctuary for her time. Starts tomorrow after sundown when you leave to go out in the field. This is not subject to negotiation, nor is it up for your consideration. This is royal edict and I expect you to behave like a male and not a mental patient about it.”