by J. R. Ward
"So if you see him again, don't kill him."
"Okay."
There was a long pause, and then he heard her shifting around on the bed. The satin sheets made a soft sound as she moved.
He pictured her thighs rubbing against each other and then saw himself opening them with his hands. Nudging them farther apart with his head. Kissing a path down to where he so desperately wanted to be.
He swallowed, his skin turning into shrink-wrap.
"Wrath?"
"Yeah."
"You really didn't mean to sleep with me last night, did you?"
Hazy images of her had him closing his eyes. "No, I didn't."
"So why did you?"
How could he not have? he thought, jaw clenching. He'd been powerless to leave her alone.
"Wrath?"
"Because I had to," he replied, stretching his arms, trying to find some ease. His heart thundered in his chest, his instincts coming alive, as if he were in battle. He could hear the breath leave her lips, her heart as it pumped, her blood as it flowed.
"Why?" she whispered.
He should go. He should leave her alone.
"Tell me why."
"You made me realize how cold I am."
More shifting on the bed.
"I liked warming you," she said huskily. "I liked the feel of you."
Dark hunger curled in his gut, cramping up his stomach.
Wrath stopped breathing. Waited to see if it would pass. The gnawing sensation grew stronger.
Shit, that sinful need wasn't just about sex. It was about blood.
Hers.
He stood up quickly and put more space between them. He definitely needed to get out of here. Hit the streets. Find a fight.
And he needed to feed.
"Look, I've got to take off. But I want you to crash here."
"Don't go."
"I have to."
"Why?"
His mouth opened, his fangs throbbing as they elongated.
And his teeth weren't the only thing demanding to be used. His erection was a painful, rigid length straining against his fly. He felt himself get stretched between the two needs. Sex. Blood.
Both hers.
"Are you running away?" she whispered. It was mostly a question. Only a little bit of a taunt.
"Be careful, Beth."
"Why?"
"I'm about to crack over here."
She got off the bed and came to him. Her hand landed squarely on his chest, right above his heart. And then her other one wrapped around his waist.
He hissed as she stepped into his body.
But at least the sexual need cut through his other hunger.
"Are you going to tell me no?" she asked.
"I don't want to take advantage of you," he said through gritted teeth. "You've been through enough tonight."
She gripped his shoulders. "I'm angry. Scared. Confused. I want you to make love to me until I don't feel, until I'm numb. If anything, I'd be using you." She looked down. "God that sounds awful."
The hell it did. He was more than willing to be used like that by her.
He tilted her chin up with his forefinger. Even though her rich scent told him exactly what her body needed from him, he wished he could see her face clearly.
"Don't leave," she whispered.
He didn't want to, but his bloodlust put her in danger. She needed to be strong for her change. And he was thirsty enough to drain her dry.
Her hand left his waist. And found his erection.
His body jerked wildly, breath slamming into his lungs. His gasp shattered the silence in the room.
"You want me," she said. "And I want you to take me."
She rubbed her palm over his length, the friction passing with aching clarity through the second skin of his leathers.
Just sex. He could do it. He could hold back the other need. He could.
But was he willing to bet her life on his control?
"Don't say no, Wrath."
And then she lifted up onto her tiptoes and put her lips to his.
Game over, he thought, crushing her to him.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth as he grabbed her hips and ground himself into her hand. Her moan of satisfaction cranked him even higher, and as her nails bit into his back, he loved the little bursts of pain he felt because they meant she was as hungry as he was.
He had her on the bed and under him in a flash of movement, and he pushed up her skirt and tore off her panties with vicious impatience. He didn't treat her blouse or bra any better. There would be time to savor later. Now was all about raw sex.
While he worked her breasts with his mouth, her hands were rough as she pulled his shirt from his chest. He left her only long enough to undo his pants and spring his erection. Then he linked his forearm behind one of her knees, stretched her leg up, and plunged himself into her body.
He heard her gasp at his powerful entry, and her slick heat grabbed onto him, pulsating as she came. He froze in place, absorbing the sensation of her release, feeling her core stroke him.
An overwhelming, possessive instinct flashed through him.
With dread, he realized he wanted to mark her. Mark her as his. He wanted that special scent all over her so no other male would come near her. So that they would know whom she belonged to. So that they would fear the repercussions of wanting to possess her for themselves.
Except he knew he had no right to do that. She wasn't his.
He felt her body go still underneath him, and he looked down.
"Wrath?" she whispered. "Wrath, what's wrong?"
He made a move to pull out of her, but she caught his face in her hands.
"Are you all right?"
The concern for him in her voice was what did it.
With an awesome surge, his body leaped out of reach of his mind. Before he could think any further, before he could stop, he propped himself up on his arms and pounded into her, taking her hard, drilling her. The bed's headboard banged against the wall to the beat of his thrusts, and she grabbed onto his straining wrists, trying to hold herself in place.
A low sound shot through the room, growing louder and louder, until he realized the growl was coming from him. As a fevered heat broke out all over his skin, his nose registered that dark fragrance of possession.
He was powerless to stop himself.
His lips peeled off his teeth as his muscles churned and his hips thrashed against her. Drenched in sweat, head spinning, mindless, breathless, he took everything she was offering him. Took it and demanded more, becoming an animal as she became one, too, until they were nothing but wildness.
He came violently, filling her up, pumping into her, his orgasm going on and on and on, until he realized she was climaxing right along with him, the two of them holding on to each other for dear life against shattering waves of passion.
It was the most perfect union he'd ever known.
And then everything turned into a nightmare.
As the last shudder left his body and went into hers, at that moment when he was finally spent, the balance of his desires was thrown. His bloodlust surged forward in a wicked, consuming rush, as powerful as the lust had been.
He bared his teeth and went for her neck, for the vein deliciously close to the surface of her pale skin. His fangs were about to sink deep, his throat dry with thirst for her, his gut spasming with a starvation that cut to his soul, when he pulled himself up short, horrified by what he was about to do.
He pushed himself away from her, scrambling across the bed until he fell to the floor, landing on his ass.
"Wrath?" In alarm she started for him.
"No!"
The hunger for her blood was too strong, the instinct undeniable. If she got too close…
He moaned, trying to swallow. His throat was like sandpaper. Sweat broke out all over him again, but this time it was in a sickening flush.
"What happened? What did I do?"
Wrath crawled back
ward, his body aching, his skin on fire. The smell of her sex on him was like a whip against his self-control.
"Beth, leave me. I've got to…"
But she was still coming at him. His body slammed into the couch.
"Get the fuck back!" He bared his fangs and hissed loudly. "You get any closer and I'm going to bite you, got it?"
She stopped immediately. Terror clouded the air between them, but then she shook her head.
"You wouldn't hurt me," she said with a conviction that struck him as dangerously naive.
He struggled to speak. "Get dressed. Go upstairs. Ask Fritz to take you home. I'll send someone to watch over you."
He was panting now, the pain ripping through his stomach, almost as bad as it had been that first night of his transition. He'd never needed Marissa like this.
Jesus. What was happening to him?
"I don't want to leave."
"You have to. I'll send someone to keep you safe until I can get back to you."
His thighs shook, the muscles straining against the hold he'd clamped down on his body. His mind and his physical needs had declared war, had marched onto the battlefield with swords drawn. And he knew which one was going to win if she didn't get away from him.
"Beth, please. It hurts. And I don't know how long I can hold myself back."
She hesitated. And then yanked her clothes on. She went to the door and looked back at him. "Go." And she did.
* * *
Chapter Twenty
It was a little after nine when Mr. X hit the drive-through at McDonald's. "I'm glad you both liked the movie. And I have in mind something else tonight, although we'll have to be quick about it. One of you needs to be home by eleven."
Billy cursed under his breath as they pulled up in front of the lit menu. He ordered twice as much as Loser did. Loser offered to pay for his share.
"That's all right. My treat," Mr. X said. "Just don't spill anything."
While Billy ate and Loser played with his food, Mr. X drove them over to the War Zone. The laser-tag place was pickup central for the under-eighteen crowd, its dim interior perfect for obscuring both acne as well as pathetic adolescent yearning. The sprawling one-story was hopping tonight, filled with twitchy teenage boys and the bored, overdressed girls they were trying to impress.
Mr. X got three guns and target halters, passing one to each of the guys. Billy was ready to go in under a minute, his weapon resting in his hands easily as if it were an extension of his arms.
Mr. X eyed Loser, who was still trying to get the halter straps to fit his shoulders. The guy looked miserable, his lower lip slack as his fingers worked the plastic catches. Billy watched him, too. As if Loser were food.
"So I thought we'd have a little friendly competition," Mr. X said when they finally stepped through the turnstiles. "See which one of you can hit the other the most."
As they entered the fighting arena, Mr. X's eyes quickly adjusted to the velvet blackness and the neon flashes from other players. The space was large enough for the thirty or so who were dancing around the obstacles, laughing and shouting as they fired beams of light.
"Let's split up," Mr. X said.
While Loser blinked myopically, Billy took off, moving with the swiftness of an animal. A moment later the sensor in the middle of Loser's chest went off. The guy looked down at it as if he didn't know what had happened.
Billy retreated into the darkness.
"Better take cover, son," Mr. X murmured.
Mr. X stayed out of their way while watching everything they did. Billy hit Loser over and over again from countless angles, shifting in and out of the obstacles, coming fast, now slow, then shooting from far away. Loser's confusion and anxiety ratcheted up every time the light on his chest flashed, and desperation made him move with childlike un-coordination. He dropped his gun. Tripped over his own feet. Knocked his shoulder into a barrier.
Billy was resplendent. Though his target was failing, weakening, he showed no mercy. Even when Loser dropped his gun to his side and leaned up against a wall with exhaustion, Billy hit him again.
And then took off into the shadows.
This time Mr. X followed Billy, tracking the guy's movements with a purpose other than measuring performance. Riddle was fast, shifting around the foam obstacles, doubling back to where Loser was so he could ambush from behind.
Mr. X anticipated where Billy was headed. With a quick shift to the right, he put himself in Riddle's path.
And shot Billy at point-blank range.
Billy looked down in shock at his chest. It was the first time his receptor had gone off.
"Pretty good job tonight, " Mr. X said. "You played the game well, son. Until just now."
Billy's eyes lifted, his hand coming to rest over the blinking target. Over his heart.
"Sensei." The word was spoken like a lover, with a lover's awe and adoration.
Beth wasn't about to ask the butler for a ride, because she was too shaken to carry on a polite conversation with anyone. As she walked down to the street, she took out her cell phone to call a cab. She was dialing when the purr of a car engine brought her head up.
The butler got out of the Mercedes and bowed his head. "Master called me. He would like me to take you home, mistress. And I… I would like to drive you."
He was so earnest, almost hopeful, as if she'd be doing him a favor if she let him take care of her. But she needed some space. After everything that had happened, she was rattling around in her own head.
"Thank you, but no." She forced a smile. "I'm just going to…"
The man's face fell. He looked like a dog who'd been whipped.
Where good manners failed her, guilt stepped up to the plate.
"Ah, okay."
Before he could come around the car, she opened the passenger-side door and slid into the front seat. The butler seemed flustered at her initiative, but recovered quickly, that beaming smile back on his wrinkled face.
As he got behind the wheel and put the engine in gear, she said, "I live at—"
"Oh, I know where you live. We've always known where you were. First at St. Francis Hospital in the neonatal intensive-care unit. Then you went home with the nurse. We had hoped she would keep you, but the hospital made her give you back. Then you went into the system. We didn't like that. First you were assigned to the McWilliamses on Elmwood Avenue, but you became ill and went back into the hospital with pneumonia."
He put the blinker on and turned left at a stop sign.
She could barely breathe, she was listening so hard.
"After that you were sent to the Ryans, but there were too many children. And then you went to the Goldrichs, who lived in that split-level off Raleigh Street. We thought the Goldrichs were going to keep you, but then she got pregnant. Finally to that orphanage. We hated when you were there, because they didn't let you out to play enough."
"You keep saying 'we'," she whispered, afraid to believe. Wanting to.
"Yes. Your father and I."
Beth covered her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes capturing the butler's profile as if it were something she could keep.
"He knew me?"
"Oh, yes, mistress. All along. Kindergarten and elementary school and high school." His eyes met hers. "We were so proud of you when you went to college on that academic scholarship. I was there when you graduated. I took pictures so your father could see."
"He knew me." She tried the words out, feeling like she must be talking about someone else's parent.
The butler looked across the seat and smiled. "We have every column you've ever written. Even the ones you wrote in high school and college. When you started at the Caldwell Courier Journal, your father refused to go to sleep in the morning until after I brought the paper to him. No matter how hard his night had been, he wouldn't rest until he read what you wrote. He was so proud of you."
She fumbled through her bag, trying to find a Kleenex.
"Here," the butler said, han
ding her a small package of tissues.
Beth blew her nose as delicately as she could.
"Mistress, you must understand how hard it was for him to stay away from you. It was just that he knew it would be dangerous to get too close. Families of warriors need to be guarded carefully, and you were unprotected because you were raised human. He'd also hoped you'd be spared the transition."
"Did you know my mother?"
"Not well. They weren't together long. She disappeared shortly after they started seeing each other because she found out he was not a human. She didn't tell him she was pregnant, and it wasn't until she was about to give birth that she reached out to him. I think she was scared of what she was bringing into the world. Unfortunately she went into labor and was taken to a human hospital before we could get to her. But you should know that he loved her. Very deeply."
Beth absorbed the information, her mind soaking it up, filling in holes.
"My father and Wrath, they were close?"
The butler hesitated. "Your father loved Wrath. We all do. He is our lord. Our king. That is why your father sent him to you. And you mustn't fear him. He will not hurt you."
"I know that."
When her apartment building came into view, she wished she had more time with the butler.
"And here we are," he said. "Eleven eighty-eight Redd Avenue, apartment one-B. Although I have to say, neither your father nor I approved of the fact that you're living in a ground-floor unit."
The car came to a stop. She didn't want to get out.
"May I ask you more? Later?" she said.
"Oh, mistress, yes. Please. There is so much I want to tell you." He got out of the car, but she was already shutting her door by the time he came around to her.
She thought about putting out her hand and thanking him formally.
Instead she threw her arms around the little old man and hugged him.
After Beth left the chamber, Wrath's thirst called out for her and then stung him hard, as if it knew he was the one who had sent her away.
He pulled up his pants and dragged himself to the phone, calling Fritz, then Tohrment. His voice kept cracking, and he had to repeat himself to be understood.
As soon as he hung up with Tohr, the dry heaves started. He staggered to the bathroom, calling out for Marissa with his mind. He lurched over the toilet, but there was nothing much in his stomach.
