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Timothy
“This is demeaning,” I grumble, trying not to trip over the tube running from the bag of fluids to the needle jammed in the crook of my arm. Instead of the stone floors of the House of Night, I’m circling the shiny laminate hospital floor, with my ass hanging out of a flimsy cotton gown.
“This is how you get out of here,” Graves reminds me with a roll of his eyes. “One lap at a time.”
Fuck my life.
At least I’m not pissing in a bag anymore.
For someone who has always taken pride in my body–in its strength and discipline, its control–the last week has been thoroughly humbling. When I finally woke up, expelled from that gray purgatory between life and death, it was to a different body. A weaker one, no longer suitable, and a life that no longer belongs only to me.
Suddenly, people know who I am. Who I really am.
Timothy Maddox. The Baron King. One and the same.
“Looking good, Mr. Maddox,” the nurse calls from her station. “Get a few of those in a day, and you’ll be back home soon.”
“Thank you, Doreen.”
Graves snorts next to me, hand positioned to grab me in case I stumble. “Remember your junior year when you had to spend a week in the campus clinic after the fall Equinox?”
“Don’t remind me,” I grumble, thinking back to how I’d woken up to sharp pains in my lower belly and blood in my urine. We’d had a fan-fucking-tastic time at the after party, enjoying the pleasures of that year’s crypt chasers. Unfortunately, it was also the spread of the clap. “I thought my dick was going to fall off.”
“Nothing that a mega dose of antibiotics couldn’t fix.” He laughs, apparently spared because his distaste for pussy and penchant for safe sex kept him clean. “At least your dick is fine this time.”
Voices drift down the hall. The soft, feminine lilt only confirms his thoughts when my cock rises to semi-erection just from the sound. I wish it was only my cock, because it also hits me like a punch to the chest, which already hurts like hell. I’ve managed to keep her at bay this whole time, using the ICU restrictions as a convenient shield. But she rounds the corner, and my reaction is visceral.
“Graves,” I say quietly.
“It’s time,” he replies, eyebrow lifting. “Stop being a pussy.”
I almost snap my neck looking at him. “Did you just—”
“Timothy!” Arianette rushes toward me, eyes wide with relief.
Hunter, bless his dark little heart, catches her by the back of her shirt before she can barrel into me and reopen everything.
“Nettie,” he warns, voice low.
I don’t react to the term of affection, but it’s new. Things have changed while I’ve been tied to these machines and not just to me. Things are changing between them, too.
“You’re walking,” she says, her face lighting up as she looks me over with those wide brown eyes. Even from a distance I can smell the coconut from her lotion. My stomach flips. “You’re okay.”
“I’m better,” I reply curtly, already turning back toward my room. It feels like it takes ages. My legs don’t fully cooperate with my body, and my body doesn’t want to cooperate with my mind. Every step sends a dull throb through the stitched-up wound. By the time I ease myself back into the bed that has permanently molded to the shape of my ass, I’m sweating.
“Update,” I demand, eyes flicking immediately to DK.
I notice the difference in how he carries himself now that he’s wearing my ring. Shoulders squared. Chin lifted. There’s no doubt in my mind that he fits in perfectly with the other young Kings. My own cohorts had been picked off one by one. Now this–a street-raised criminal sitting on my throne, and there’s no one to blame but myself.
Well, maybe one other.
“Mateo gave us nothing,” DK says, leaning against the closet door, arms crossed over his chest. The tattoo my son gave him, a permanent reminder of who he is over his eyebrow. “But I’m pretty sure it’s because he knew nothing. He’s been…” He pauses, his eyes meeting Arianette’s for a brief second, “... eliminated.”
“He’s dead,” she says quietly, finger slashing over his throat. “Liars don’t get to live.”
I study their exchange, the way Arinette’s pupils dilate. The smallest shift in DK’s stance, confirming to me that Mateo’s death happened when they were together. Did he do it or did she? Doesn’t matter. Death bonds us.
