" As he and Beth hit the stairs, he called out to his brothers, “Thanks for having my back once again.”
The group stopped and turned to face him.
After a beat of silence, they formed a half circle around the foot of the grand staircase, each making a thick fist with his weapon hand. With a great whoop! of a war cry, they went down on their right knee and slammed their heavy knuckles into the mosaic floor.
The sound was thunder and bass drums and bomb explosions, ricocheting outward, filling all the rooms of the mansion.
Wrath stared at them, seeing their heads bent, their broad backs curled, their powerful arms planted. They had each gone to that meeting prepared to take a bullet for him, and that would ever be true.
Behind Tohr’s smaller form, Lassiter, the fallen angel, stood with a straight spine, but he wasn’t cracking any jokes at this reaffirmation of allegiance. Instead, he was back to staring at the damn ceiling.
Wrath glanced up at the mural of warriors silhouetted against a blue sky and could see nothing much of the pictures that he’d been told were there.
Getting back with the program, he said in the Old Language, “No stronger allies, no greater friends, no better fighters of honor could a king behold than these assembled afore me, mine brothers, mine blood.”
A rolling growl of ascent lifted as the warriors got to their feet again, and Wrath nodded to each one of them.
He had no more words to offer as his throat had abruptly choked, but they didn’t seem to need anything else.
They stared at him with respect and gratitude and purpose, and he accepted their enormous gifts with grave appreciation and resolve.
This was the ages-old covenant between king and subjects, the pledges on both sides made with the heart and carried out by the sharp mind and the strong body.
“God, I love you guys,” Beth said.
There was a lot of deep laughter, and then Hollywood said, “You want us to stab the floor for you again? Fists are for kings, but the queen gets the daggers.”
“I wouldn’t want you to take chips out of this beautiful floor. Thank you, though.”
“Say the word and it’s nothing but rubble.”
Beth laughed. “Be still, my heart.”
The Brothers came over and kissed the Saturnine Ruby that rode on her finger, and as each paid his honor, she gave him a gentle stroke of the hair. Except for Zsadist, who she smiled tenderly at.
“Excuse us, boys,” Wrath said. “Little quiet time, feel me?”
There was a ripple of male approval, which Beth took in stride—and with a blush—and then it was time for some privacy. "

― J.R. Ward , Lover Avenged (Black Dagger Brotherhood, #7)