by J. R. Ward
Flushing, she covered her eyes with her hand.
Oh, sure. Now he wants to get sexy, she thought.
As she took a deep breath, she caught the erotic, dark fragrance he threw off whenever he wanted to be inside her. She lifted her hand and peeked at him.
He was staring at her with total absorption. And the centers of his eyes were as white and gleaming as fresh snow.
Mary stopped breathing.
Something else is in there, she thought. There was… something else looking through his stare at her.
Phury came up, smiling. "Go get a room, Hollywood, if you're going to be like this. The rest of us don't need to be reminded of all you have."
He clapped his palm on Rhage's shoulder.
Rhage wheeled around and snapped at his brother's hand with his teeth. The sound of his jaws clamping shut was loud enough to suck the conversation out of the room.
Phury leaped back, yanking his arm away. "Jesus Christ, Rhage! What's your—Shit. Your eyes, man. They've turned."
Rhage paled and then stumbled away, squinting and blinking. "I'm sorry. Hell, Phury, I didn't even know I was—"
All around the room, the men put down whatever was in their hands and came at him, circling him.
"How close are you to the change?" Phury asked.
"Clear the females out," someone commanded, "Get them upstairs."
As the sound of people leaving filled the air, Vishous squeezed Mary's arm. "Come with me."
"No." She struggled. "Stop it. I want to stay with him."
Rhage glanced over at her, and immediately that odd, fixated look came back. Then his white eyes shifted to Vishous. Rhage's lips pared off his teeth and he growled, loud as a lion.
"V, man, let go of her. Right now," Phury said.
Vishous dropped his hold, but whispered to her, "You need to get out of here."
Screw that, she thought.
"Rhage?" she said softly. "Rhage, what's going on?"
He shook his head and broke their eye contact, backing himself up against the marble fireplace. Sweat gleamed on his face as he grabbed on to the stone, and he strained as if he were trying to lift the whole damn mantelpiece off the wall.
Time slowed to a crawl as he battled with himself, chest pumping, arms and legs trembling. It was a long while before he sagged and the tension left his body. Whatever the fight had been, he'd won. But not by much.
As he looked up, his eyes were back to normal, but he was pasty as hell.
"I'm sorry, my brothers," he mumbled. Then he glanced at her and opened his mouth. Instead of speaking, he hung his head as if ashamed.
Mary walked through the barrier of male bodies and put her hands on his face.
As he gasped in surprise, she kissed him on the mouth. "Let's see the cherry thing. Come on."
The men standing around them were stunned; she could feel it in their stares. Rhage was shaken, too. But when she just looked at him pointedly, he started chewing, working the stem over with his teeth.
She glanced back at the warriors. "He's tine. We're fine. Go back to doing whatever, okay? He needs a minute, and all you guys staring at him like this isn't helping."
Phury laughed a little and walked over to the pool table. "You know, she's fabulous."
V picked up his cue and his glass. "Yeah. True."
As the party resumed, and Bella and Wellsie came back, Mary stroked Rhage's face and neck. He seemed to have trouble looking her in the eye.
"Are you okay?" she said softly.
"I'm so sorry—"
"Cut out the sorry bit. Whatever that is, you can't help it, right?"
He nodded.
"So there's no sorry."
She wanted to know what had just happened, but not here, not now. Sometimes, pretending to be normal was the very best antidote to weirdness. Fake-it-until-you-make-it was more than psychobabble bullshit.
"Mary, I don't want you to fear me."
For a moment, she watched his mouth and jaw work the stem.
"I'm not afraid. V and Phury might have been in a little trouble, but you wouldn't have hurt me. No way. I'm not sure how I know that, I just do."
He took a deep breath. "God, I love you. I really, really love you."
And then he smiled.
She laughed in a loud crack that brought every head in the room around.
The cherry stem was tied neatly around one of his fangs.
CHAPTER 40
Bella was staring, and it had to stop. Except she couldn't help herself. Zsadist was the only thing she could see.
Not that he was really involved in the party. Except for when that episode with Rhage had happened, Zsadist stayed away from them all. He talked to no one. Drank nothing. Ate nothing. He was a statue over by one of the long windows, and the stillness in him was fascinating. He didn't even seem to be breathing. Only his eyes moved.
And always to get away from hers.
Bella gave them both a break by heading over for some more wine. The billiard room was a dark, luxurious space, covered in forest-green silk wallpaper and festooned with black-and-gold satin drapes. Over in the corner where the bar was set up, the shadows were even thicker, and she took shelter in them.
Maybe she could be more discreet if she watched him from here.
Over the past few days she'd asked around and heard every Zsadist story there was. The rumors were downright gruesome, especially the ones about him and females. People said he killed her sex for sport, but it was hard not to wonder how much of that was lore. A male who looked as dangerous as he did, people were bound to talk. Her brother was the same way. She'd heard whispers about Rehvenge for years, and God knew, all of them were false.
There was just no way all the chatter about Zsadist was accurate. For heaven's sake, folks maintained he lived off the blood of human prostitutes. That wasn't even physiologically possible, not unless he drank every other night. And even then, how could he be as strong as he was with that weak sustenance?
Bella turned from the bar and scanned the room. Zsadist was gone.
She glanced out into the foyer. She hadn't even seen him leave. Perhaps he'd dematerialized—
"Looking for me?"
She jumped and twisted her head around. Zsadist was right behind her, rubbing a Granny Smith apple on his shirt. As he lifted it to his mouth, he eyed her throat.
"Zsadist…"
"You know, for a female of the aristocracy, you're pretty damn rude." He bared his fangs and bit through the bright green flesh with a crack. "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's not polite to stare?"
She watched him chew, his jaw working in circles. God, just looking at his lips made her breathless. "I don't mean to offend you."
"Well, you are. And I think you're upsetting my dear twin while you're at it."
"What?"
Zsadist's eyes lingered on her face, then drifted over her hair. He took another hunk out of the apple. "Phury likes you. I think he might even be attracted to you, which is a first, at least since I've known him. He doesn't get distracted by females."
Funny, she hadn't gotten that vibe at all. Then again, she'd been focused on Zsadist.
"I don't think Phury's—"
"He keeps watching you. While you're looking at me, he's staring at you. And it's not because he's worried about you. His eyes are on your body, female." Zsadist tilted his head to the side. "You know, maybe I was wrong. Maybe you are the one who'll shake him out of his celibacy. Shit, you're beautiful enough, and he ain't dead."
She flushed. "Zsadist, you should know that I, ah, I find you—"
"Revolting, right? Kind of like a good car accident." He bit off some more apple. "I can understand the fascination, but you need to be taking those eyes elsewhere. Look at Phury from now on, we clear?"
"I want to look at you. I like to look at you."
His eyes narrowed. "No, you don't."
"Yes. I do."
"No one likes to look at me. Not even I do."
"You're not ugly, Zsadist."
He laughed, deliberately running a fingertip down his scar. "Now, there's a ringing endorsement. As well as a blatant fucking lie."
"I find you mesmerizing. I can't get you out of my mind. I want to be with you."
Zsadist frowned, falling still. "Be with me exactly how?"
"You know. Be with you." She blushed a brilliant red, but figured she had nothing to lose. "I want to… lay with you."
Zsadist backed up so fast he hit the bar. And as the liquor bottles rattled, she knew for certain the stories about him were false. This was no female-killer. If anything, he seemed petrified by the thought that she was sexually attracted to him.
She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.
"You stay away from me, female," he said, pitching the half-eaten apple into the trash. "If you don't, there's no telling what I might do to defend myself."
"From what? I'm no threat to you."
"No, but I can goddamn guarantee I'm hazardous to your health. There's a very good reason why people stay away from me."
He walked out of the room.
Bella looked at the all the people around the pool table. Everyone was focused on the game. Which was perfect. She didn't want any of them to talk her out of what she was about to do.
She put her glass of wine down and slipped from the billiard room. As she came into the lobby, Zsadist was going upstairs. After giving him some time to get ahead of her, she took the steps quickly, moving silently up to the second floor. When she got to the top, she caught sight of the heel of his shitkicker disappearing around a corner. She jogged swiftly over the carpet, keeping a distance as he headed down a corridor that led away from the balcony and the foyer below.
Zsadist paused. She ducked behind a marble sculpture.
When she leaned out, he was gone. She walked to where she'd seen him and found a door slightly ajar. She stuck her head in. The room was pitch-dark, the light from the hall making little headway into the blackness. And it was freezing cold, as if the heat wasn't just off for the night, but hadn't been turned on since summer's warmth had faded.
Her eyes adjusted. There was a broad, sumptuous bed, dripping with heavy crimson velvet. The other furniture was equally lavish, although there was something odd in the corner on the floor. A pallet of blankets. And a skull.
Bella was yanked inside by the arm.
The door slammed shut and the room plunged into total darkness. Quick as a gasp, she was spun around and pushed face-first into the wall. Candles flared.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
She tried to catch her breath, but with Zsadist's forearm pressed into the middle of her back, she couldn't squeeze much air into her lungs.
"I, ah, I… thought we could talk."
"Really. Is that what you want to do up here? Talk."
"Yes, I thought—"
His hand clamped on the back of her neck. "I don't talk with females who are dumb enough to come after me. But I'll show you what I am willing to do to them."
His put a thick arm around her stomach, popped her hips out from the wall, and pushed her head down. Off balance, she braced herself by holding on to a piece of molding.
His arousal came against her core. Breath exploded out of her lungs.
As heat licked between her legs, his chest brushed her back. He pulled her blouse out from her skirt and slipped his hand onto her belly, spanning it with his long fingers and wide palm.
"A female like you should be with another aristocrat. Or are the scars and the reputation part of my appeal?" When she didn't answer, because she was breathless, he muttered, "Yeah, of course that's it."
In one swift movement he shoved her bra up and captured her breast. Caught in an onslaught of raw lust, she hissed and jerked. He laughed a little.
"Too fast?" He took her nipple between his fingers and rolled it, pleasure and pain combining. She cried out. "This too rough for you? I'll try to control myself better, but, you know, I'm a savage. Which is why you want this, right?"
But it wasn't too fast or too rough. God help her, she liked it. She wanted it hard and now, and she wanted it with him. She wanted to break the rules, wanted the danger and thrill, wanted the wild heat and the power of him. And she was so ready, especially as he pushed her skirt over her hips. All he had to do was move her thong over and he could sink in deep.
Except she wanted to see him when he penetrated her and she wanted to touch his body, too. She started to stand up, but he kept her down, leaning on her neck, holding her in place.
"Sorry, I'm a one-trick pony. I only do it this way."
She struggled, dying to kiss him. "Zsadist—"
"It's a little late to have second thoughts." His voice was a sensuous growl in her ear. "For some reason, I want to fuck you. Badly. So do us both a favor and grit your teeth. I won't take long."
His hand left her breast, shot between her legs, and found her core.
Zsadist froze.
Instinctively she moved her hips, rubbing herself against his fingers, feeling a wonderful friction—
He leaped back. "Get out of here."
Disorientated, fiercely aroused, she swayed as she righted herself. "What?"
Zsadist went over to the door, threw it open and stared at the floor. When she didn't move, he roared, "Get out!"
"Why—"
"God, you make me sick."
Bella felt all the blood leave her face. She pulled her skirt down and fumbled with the blouse and bra. Then she bolted out of the room.
Zsadist slammed the door shut and ran for the bathroom. Popping the toilet seat, he bent over and threw up the apple he'd eaten.
As he hit the flusher, he sank to the floor, shaky and queased out. He tried taking some deep breaths, but all he could smell was Bella. Her lovely, inexplicable arousal was on his fingers. He whipped off his turtleneck and wrapped it around his hand, needing to dim the scent.
God, the satin perfection of her. The gorgeous fragrance of her passion. All that luscious rain.
No female had been wet for him for a hundred years. Not since his time as a blood slave. And back then… he hadn't wanted it, had learned to fear that very arousal.
He tried to focus his mind on the present, tried to keep himself in his bathroom, but the past sucked him down…
He was back in the cell, shackled, his body not his own. He felt the Mistress's hands, smelled the salve she had to put on him before she could get the erection she needed. And then she was riding him, pumping until she got off. After that, the biting and the drinking assaulted him as she fed from his veins.
It all came back. The rapes. The humiliation. The decades of abuse until he lost any conception of time, until he was nothing, all but dead except for the incessant beating of his heart and the rote suck and push of his lungs.
He heard a weird sound. Realized he was moaning.
Oh… Bella.
He wiped his forehead on his biceps. Bella. God, she made him so ashamed of his scars and his ugliness, his ruined appearance and his black, nasty nature.
At the party she'd effortlessly talked to his brothers and the females, smiling, laughing. She had a charm and an easiness about her that spoke of the comfortable life she'd led. She'd probably never known a mean word or an unkind deed. She'd certainly never shown cruelty or harshness to another. She was a female of worth, not at all like the trashy, angry humans he'd been drinking from.
He hadn't believed her when she'd told him she wanted to lie with him, but she had. That was what all her silky wetness had meant. Females could lie about a lot of things, but not that. Never that.
Zsadist shuddered. When he'd had her bent over and was touching her breasts, he'd planned on stopping in spite of what he'd said. He'd figured he'd scare her into leaving him alone, overwhelm her a little before sending her along her way.
Except she actually had wanted him.
He replayed what it had been like to dive in between her thighs. She'd been so… soft
. So incredibly warm and smooth and slick. The first he had touched who had been like that for him. He'd had no idea what to do, but then from out of his confusion, the Mistress had come back to him. He'd seen her face and felt her body on top of his.
The Mistress had always been turned-on when she'd come to him, and she'd taken great pains to make sure he knew it, though she'd never made him touch her with his hands. She'd been smart. After everything she'd done to him, if he'd been able to get at her, he'd have torn her apart like a rabid animal, and they'd both known it. The caged danger he'd represented had thrilled her.
He thought of Bella's attraction to him. It was based on the same thing, wasn't it? Power-trip sex. The shackled savage used for pleasure.
Or in Bella's case, the dangerous male used for adventure.
His stomach heaved again and he lurched over the toilet.
"I thought you were just being cruel," Bella said from behind him. "I didn't know I actually made you sick."
Fuck. He hadn't locked the door.
It had never dawned on him she'd come back.
Bella wrapped her arms around herself. Of all the things she could have dreamed up, this pushed the fiction envelope. Zsadist was sprawled half-naked in front of a toilet, his shirt wrapped around his hand, the dry heaves making him twitch.
While he cursed, she stared at his body. Dear lord, his back. The broad expanse was streaked with scars, evidence of a past whipping that, like his face, had somehow not healed smoothly. Although how that had happened she couldn't guess.
"Why are you in my room again?" he asked, voice echoing around the porcelain rim.
"I, ah, I wanted to yell at you."
"Mind if I finish throwing up first?" Water rushed and gurgled as he flushed.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, this is just loads of fun."
She came into the bathroom and had a brief impression that it was very clean, very white, and totally impersonal.
In the blink of an eye, Zsadist was up on his feet and facing her.
She swallowed a gasp.
Though clearly powerful, his muscles stood out in stark relief, the individual fibers striated and visible. For a warrior, for any male, he was thin, too thin. Frankly he was close to starving. And he was scarred on the front, though only in two places; over his left pectoral and on his right shoulder. Both his nipples were pierced, silver hoops with little balls catching the light as he breathed in and out.
