by J. R. Ward
He'd waited too long, he thought. Ignored the signals his body had been giving him for quite some time. And then Beth had come along, and his internal chemistry had taken another series of hits. No wonder he was crazed.
Marissa's scent drifted in from the chamber.
"My lord?" she called out.
"I need…"
Beth, he thought, hallucinating. He saw her in front of him, heard her voice in his head. He put his hand out. Touched nothing.
"My lord? Shall I come to you?" Marissa asked from the other room.
Wrath wiped the sweat from his face and came out, weaving like a drunk. He reached blindly into the air, pitching forward.
"Wrath!" Marissa rushed to him.
He let himself fall onto the bed, taking her down with him. Her body came up against his.
He felt Beth's.
And his face landed in sheets that were marked with Beth's scent. As he took a deep breath to try to stabilize himself, all he smelled was Beth.
"My lord, you need to feed." Marissa's voice came from far away, as if she were out in the stairway.
He looked to the sound and saw nothing. He was totally blind now.
Marissa's voice grew curiously strong. "My lord, here. Take my wrist. Now."
Warm skin was in his palm. He opened his mouth, but couldn't get his arms to work properly. He reached out, touched a shoulder, a collarbone, the curve of a neck.
Beth.
The hunger took over, and he reared up across the female body. With a roar he sank his teeth into the soft flesh above an artery. He drank deep and hard, seeing visions of the dark-haired woman who was his, picturing her giving herself to him, imagining it was her in his arms.
Marissa gasped.
Wrath's arms were nearly snapping her in half, his massive body a cage around hers as he drank. For the first time she felt every hard line of him.
Including what she realized must be an erection, something she'd never been anywhere near before.
The possibilities were exciting. And terrifying.
She went limp and tried to breathe. This was what she'd always wanted from him, though his passion was shocking. But what could she expect? He was a full-blooded male. A warrior.
And he'd finally realized he needed her.
Satisfaction took the place of any discomfort, and she tentatively ran her hands over his wide, bare shoulders, a liberty she'd never taken before. He made a sound deep in his throat, as if he wanted her to do more. With delicious pleasure she sank her hands into his hair. It was so soft. Who could have guessed? Such a hard male, but oh, how soft the dark waves were. Like her satin dresses.
Marissa wanted to see into his mind, an invasion she'd never risked for fear of his taking offense. But now everything was different. Maybe he would even kiss her after he finished. Make love to her. Maybe she could stay with him now. She would like to live at Darius's with him. Or wherever. It didn't matter.
She closed her eyes and reached out to his thoughts.
Only to see the female he was really thinking of. The human female.
It was a dark-haired beauty with her eyes half-closed. She was on her back, breasts exposed. His fingers were caressing her tight, pink nipples as he kissed the skin of her stomach, moving downward.
Marissa dropped the image as if it were broken glass.
Wrath wasn't here with her now. It wasn't her neck he was drinking from. It wasn't her body he was drawing hard into his.
And that erection wasn't because of her.
Wasn't for her.
As he sucked at her neck, his thick arms crushing her against him, Marissa cried out at the unfairness.
Of her hopes. Of her love. Of him.
How fitting that he was draining her. And how she wished he would finish the job. Drink her dry. Let her die.
It had taken her years and years, aeons, to realize the truth.
He never had been hers. He never would be.
God, she had nothing now that the fantasy was gone.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-one
Beth put her purse down on the hall table, said hello to Boo, and went into the bathroom. She eyed the shower, but decided against having one. Even though her stiff body could have used some time under a hot spray, she loved the lingering smell of Wrath on her skin. It was a wonderful, erotic perfume, a dark spice. Like nothing she'd ever come across before, nothing she could possibly forget.
Turning on the sink, she cleaned up, exquisitely sensitive and more than a little tender between her legs. Not that she cared about the ache. Wrath could do that to her anytime he wanted.
He was…
No words came to mind. Just an image of him releasing into her, his massive, sweat-covered shoulders and chest seizing up as he gave himself to her. As he branded her as his.
Which was what it had seemed like. She felt as though she'd been dominated and imprinted by a man. Taken.
And she wanted that again. Wanted him now.
But she shook her head, thinking that the unprotected sex had to stop. Bad enough it had been twice. Next time they were going to be safe.
On her way out of the bath, she caught her reflection in the mirror and stopped moving. She bent at the waist, bringing her face closer to the glass.
She still looked exactly as she had this morning. But she felt like a stranger.
Opening her mouth, she examined her teeth. When she probed the two canines in front, sure enough, they were sore.
Dear God, who was she? What was she?
She thought about Wrath, after they'd been together. Pushing himself away from her, his half-naked body straining, his muscles looking as if they were going to break through his skin. When he'd bared his teeth, his fangs had been longer than when she'd first seen them. As if they'd grown.
His beautiful face had been contorted with agony.
Was that what she was in for?
A rapping noise came from the other room, as though someone was knocking on a window. She heard Boo meow in welcome.
Beth put her head cautiously around the doorjamb.
There was someone at the slider. Someone big.
"Wrath?" She rushed over and opened the door before she really looked.
When she saw what was on the other side, she wished she'd checked more carefully first.
It wasn't Wrath, although the man looked a little like him. Black hair was cut short. Harsh face. Intense dark blue eyes. A whole lot of leather.
His nostrils flared and he frowned, staring at her hard. But then he seemed to catch himself.
"Beth?" His voice was deep, but friendly. And as the man smiled, fangs were revealed.
She didn't even jump.
Damn, she was getting used to the weirdness already.
"I'm Tohrment, a friend of Wrath's." The guy stuck his hand out. "You can call me Tohr."
She shook it, not sure what to say.
"I'm here to hang for a while. I'll just be outside if you need anything."
The man… vampire—shit, whatever he was—turned away and headed for the picnic table.
"Wait," she said. "Why don't you… Please come in."
He shrugged. "Okay."
As he stepped through the door, Boo meowed loudly and pawed at the man's shitkickers. The two greeted each other like long-lost friends, and when the vampire straightened, his leather jacket fell open. Daggers. Just like Wrath's. And she had a feeling that the kind of weapons Butch had peeled off Wrath were hiding in this man's pockets, too.
"Would you like something to drink?" She winced. Not blood. Please don't say blood.
He grinned at her, as if he knew what she was thinking. "You got any beer?"
Beer? He drank beer?
"Ah, yeah. Actually, I think I do." She disappeared into the kitchen. Brought back two Sam Adamses. She needed a belt right about now, too.
After all, she was playing hostess to a vampire. Her father had been a vampire.
Her lover was a vampire.
She tilted the beer back and drank hard.
Tohrment laughed softly. "Long night?"
"You have no idea," she replied, wiping her mouth.
"Oh, I might." The vampire sat down in her wing chair, his big body overflowing the arms and dwarfing the high back. "I'm glad I finally met you. Your father talked about you a lot."
"He did?"
"He was so damn proud of you. And you've got to know—he stayed away to protect you, not because he didn't love you."
"That's what Fritz said. Wrath, too."
"How're you getting along with him?"
"Wrath?"
"Yeah."
She felt a blush hit her cheeks and headed to the kitchen so he didn't catch her reaction. She grabbed a bag of cookies from the top of the fridge and put some on a plate.
"He's… he's… How do I put it?" She tried to think of a good answer.
"Actually, I think I know."
She came back and held out the plate. "Would you like some?"
"Oatmeal raisin," he said, taking three. "My favorite."
"You know, I thought vampires only drank blood."
"Nah. Necessary nutrients in it, but we need food, too."
"How about garlic?"
"Bring it on." He leaned back in the chair, munching happily. "I love the stuff roasted with a little olive oil."
Jeez. The guy was almost easygoing, she thought.
No, that wasn't right. His sharp eyes kept scanning the windows and the glass door, as if he were monitoring the periphery. She knew without a doubt that if he didn't like something he saw, he was going to be out of that chair in a heartbeat. And it wouldn't be to check locks. It'd be to attack.
He put another cookie in his mouth.
But at least he was relaxing to be around. Relatively speaking.
"You're not like Wrath," she blurted.
"No one's like Wrath."
"Yeah." She bit into her own cookie and sat down on the futon.
"He's a force of nature," Tohr said, tilting back his beer. "And he's deadly, no mistaking that. But there's no one who will take better care of you, assuming he chooses to do so. Which he has with you."
"How do you know?" she whispered, wondering what Wrath had told him.
Tohr cleared his throat, a flush hitting his cheeks. "He's marked you."
She frowned, looking down at herself.
"I can smell it," Tohr said. "The warning's all over you."
"Warning?"
"As if you were his shellan."
"His what?"
"His mate. That scent on your skin sends a powerful message to other males."
So she'd been right. About the sex they'd had and what it meant.
That really shouldn't please me as much as it does, she thought.
"You don't mind it, do you?" Tohr said. "Being his."
She didn't want to answer that. On one level she wanted to be Wrath's. On another, she felt much safer being as she had always been. On her own.
"Do you have one?" she asked. "A mate?"
The vampire's face lit with devotion. "Her name's Wellsie. We were promised to each other before our transitions. It was dumb luck that we fell in love. Truth is, if I'd met her on the street, I would have chosen her. How's that for fate?"
"Occasionally it works for us," she murmured.
"Yeah. Some males take more than one shellan, but I can't imagine ever being with another female. Which is evidently why Wrath called me."
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Sorry?"
"The other brothers, they have females they drink from, but they don't have any emotional ties. There'd be nothing to prevent them—" He stopped and bit into another cookie. "Well, given that you're…"
"I'm what?" She felt as though she hardly knew herself. And she was willing to even take hints from strangers at this point.
"Beautiful. Wrath wouldn't have wanted to put you in any of the others' care, because if they'd been tempted to make a move on you, there would be serious trouble." Tohr shrugged. "Well, and a couple of the brothers are just flat-out dangerous. You wouldn't want to leave any female alone with them, at least not one you cared about."
She wasn't sure she wanted to meet any of the brothers.
Wait a minute, she thought.
"Does Wrath have a shellan already?" she asked.
Tohr finished his beer. "I think you'd better talk to him about that."
Which was not a no.
A sick feeling of disappointment set up shop in the middle of her chest, and she went back into the kitchen.
Damn. She was getting emotional over Wrath. They'd had sex twice, and already her head was a mess.
This one is going to hurt, she thought as she cracked open another beer. When things went sour between them, it was going to hurt like hell.
Notwithstanding the whole turning-into-a-vampire thing.
Oh, God.
"More munchies?" she called out.
"That would be great."
"Beer?"
"Naw. I'm good."
She brought the bag in from the kitchen, and they were silent as they polished off the cookies. Even the broken ones at the bottom.
"You got anything else around here to eat?" he asked.
She stood, feeling peckish herself. "I'll see what I can dig up."
"You have cable?" He nodded toward her TV.
She tossed him the clicker. "Sure do. And if I remember, there's a Godzilla marathon on TBS tonight."
"Sweet," the vampire said, kicking his legs out. "I always root for the monster."
She smiled at him. "Me, too."
* * *
Chapter Twenty-two
Butch woke up because someone was driving a gutter spike into his head.
He cracked open one eye.
No, that was the phone ringing.
He picked up the receiver and put it in the vicinity of his ear. "Yeah?"
"Good morning, sunshine." Jose's voice brought back the spike.
"Time?" he croaked.
"Eleven o'clock. Thought you'd want to know that Beth just called here looking for you. She sounded okay."
Butch's body went limp with relief. "Guy?"
"Didn't mention him. But she did say she wanted to talk with you sometime today. I canceled the APB on her because she was calling from home."
Butch sat up.
And then lay right back down.
He wasn't going anywhere for a while.
"Not feeling too good," he muttered.
"I figured that. Which is why I told her you'd be tied up until this afternoon. Just so you know, I left your place at seven this morning."
Ah, Christ.
Butch tried the whole vertical thing again, forcing himself to stay upright. The room swam. He was still drunk as shit. And he had a hangover.
Talk about multitasking.
"Coming in now."
"I wouldn't do that. The captain's gunning for your ass. Internal Affairs showed up here asking about you and Billy Riddle."
"Riddle? Why?"
"Come on, Detective."
Yeah, he knew why.
"Listen, you're in no condition to run into the captain." Josh's voice was even, pragmatic. "You need to sober up. Get your shit together. Come in later. I'll cover for you."
"Thanks."
"And I left the aspirin next to the phone with a tall glass of water. Figured you weren't going to be able to make it to the coffeepot. Take three, turn your ringer off, and sleep. If anything exciting happens, I'll come and get you."
"I love you, honey."
"So buy me a mink and a nice pair of earrings for our anniversary."
"You got it."
He hung up the phone after two tries and closed his eyes. Just a little more sleep. And then he might feel like a human again.
Beth scribbled her last edit on a piece about a rash of identity thefts. The article looked like it was bleeding, it had so many corrections and she saw a trend setting in. Dick's big bo
ys were getting sloppier and sloppier as they relied on her. And it wasn't just background mistakes; now they were making grammatical and structural errors. As if they'd never heard of the Chicago Manual of Style.
She didn't mind line editing when she was collaborating. As long as the person who'd drafted the article had done even a modest amount of proofreading.
Beth put the article in her out box and focused on her computer screen. She called up a file she'd been in and out of all day long.
Okay, what else did she want to know?
She reviewed her list of questions.
Will I be able to go outside during the day? How often will I have to feed? How long will I live?
Her fingers flew over the keyboard.
Who are you fighting?
And then, Do you have a.
What was that word? Shellan?
She typed wife instead.
God, she cringed at what Wrath's answer might be. And even if he didn't have one, who did he feed from?
And what would that feel like? To have him unleash his hunger on her?
She knew instinctively it would be the same as the sex. Half-savage. All-consuming. Probably leaving her bruised and weak.
As well as in a state of total bliss.
"Hard at work, Randall?" Dick drawled.
She changed screens so her e-mail account showed. "Always."
"You know, I heard a rumor about you."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Heard you went out with that homicide detective, O'Neal. Twice."
"So?"
Dick leaned over her desk. She was wearing a loose crew-neck shirt, so there was little for him to see. He straightened.
"So good job. Work a little magic on him. See what you can get. We could do a cover story on police brutality with him as the poster child. Keep this up, Randall, and I might be persuaded to promote you."
Dick sauntered off, obviously enjoying his role as dispenser of patronage.
What an ass.
Her phone rang, and she barked her name into the receiver.
There was a pause. "Mistress? Are you all right?"
The butler.
"Sorry—and yes, I'm fine." She put her head down on her free hand. After dealing with the likes of Wrath and Tohr, Dick's pasty version of male arrogance seemed absurd.
