Dark Lover

by J. R. Ward

  Wrath leaned back, running a hefty arm across the top of the sofa. His knees fell out to the sides, his thighs spreading.

  He looked damn comfortable as he pushed his long black hair back.

  Sexy as hell.

  "Darius never lost his temper, no matter how nasty things got. He just stuck to the job at hand until it was finished. He died with the full respect of his brothers."

  Wrath actually seemed to miss her father. Or whatever man he was channeling for the purpose of…

  What exactly was he trying to pull here? she wondered. Where did it get him to throw out this crap?

  Well, she was in his bedroom, wasn't she?

  "And Fritz tells me he loved you very deeply."

  Beth pursed her lips. "Assuming I even buy any of this, I've got to wonder. If my father cared so much, why didn't he bother to introduce himself to me?"

  "It's complicated."

  "Yeah, it's really hard to walk up to your daughter, stick your hand out, and say your name. Real tough stuff." She walked across the room, only to find herself next to the bed. She quickly paced elsewhere. "And what's up with the warrior rhetoric? Was he in the mob, too?"

  "Mob? We're not the mob, Beth."

  "So you're just freelance killers as well as drug dealers? Hmmm… Come to think of it, diversification is probably a good business strategy. And you need a lot of cash to keep up a house like this. As well as fill it full of art that belongs in the Met."

  "Darius inherited his money and he was very good at taking care of it." Wrath leaned his head back, as if he were looking up at the house. "As his daughter, all of this is yours now."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Oh, really."

  He nodded.

  What a crock, she thought.

  "So where's the will? Where's some executor ready to pass papers? Wait, let me guess, the estate's been in probate. For the last thirty years." She rubbed her aching eyes. "You know, Wrath, you don't have to lie to get me in bed. As much as I'm ashamed of myself, all you have to do is ask."

  She took a deep, sad breath. Until now she hadn't realized that a small part of her had believed she'd get some answers. Finally.

  Then again, desperation could make a fool out of anyone.

  "Look, I'm going to take off. This was just—"

  Wrath was in front of her faster than she could blink. "I can't let you go."

  Fear licked her heart, but she put up a good front. "You can't make me stay."

  His hands lifted to her face. She jerked back, but he wouldn't let go.

  The pad of his thumb stroked her cheek. Whenever he got too close, she became spellbound and it happened again. She felt her body swaying toward his.

  "I'm not lying to you," he said. "Your father sent me to you because you're going to need my help. Trust me."

  She yanked away. "I don't want to hear that word on your lips."

  Here he was, a criminal who'd almost killed a cop in front of her, and he was expecting her to buy a line of bull that she knew was false.

  While he was stroking her face like a lover.

  He must think she was a moron.

  "Look, I've seen my records." Her voice didn't waver. "My birth certificate lists my father as unknown, but there was a note in the file. My mother told a nurse in the delivery room that he'd passed away. She was unable to disclose a name because she went into shock from blood loss thereafter and died herself."

  "I'm sorry, but that's just not what happened."

  "You're sorry. Yeah, I bet you are."

  "I'm not playing games—"

  "The hell you aren't! God, to think for even a moment that I might know one of them, even secondhand…" She stared at him with disgust. "You are so cruel."

  He swore, a nasty, frustrated sound. "I don't know how to get you to believe me."

  "Don't bother trying. You have no credibility." She grabbed her purse. "Hell, it's probably better this way. I would almost rather he'd died than know that he was a criminal. Or that we'd lived in the same town all my life but he never came to see me, wasn't even curious enough to know what I looked like."

  "He knew." Wrath's voice was very near again. "He knew you."

  She spun around. He was so close he overwhelmed her with his size.

  Beth leaped away. "Stop this right now."

  "He knew you."

  "Stop saying that!"

  "Your father knew you," Wrath shouted.

  "Then why didn't he want me?" she yelled back.

  Wrath winced. "He did. He watched over you. All your life he was never far away."

  She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself. She couldn't believe she was tempted to fall under his spell again.

  "Beth, look at me. Please."

  She lifted her lids.

  "Give me your hand," he said. "Give it to me."

  When she didn't respond, he placed her palm on his chest, over his heart.

  "On my honor. I have not lied to you."

  He became utterly still, as if giving her a chance to read every nuance of his face and his body.

  Could this be the truth? she wondered.

  "He loved you, Beth."

  Don't believe this. Don't believe this. Don't—

  "Then why didn't he come for me?" she whispered.

  "He hoped you wouldn't have to know him. That you'd be spared the kind of life he lived." Wrath stared down at her. "And he ran out of time."

  There was a long silence.

  "Who was my father?" she breathed.

  "He was as I am."

  And then Wrath opened his mouth.

  Fangs. He had fangs.

  Her skin shrank in horror. She shoved him away. "You bastard!"

  "Beth, listen to me—"

  "So you can tell me you're a fucking vampire?" She lunged at him, punching his chest with her hands. "You sick bastard! You sick… bastard! If you want to role-play your fantasies, do it with someone else."

  "Your father—"

  She slapped him, hard. Right across the face.

  "Do not go there. Don't even try it." Her hand stung, and she tucked it in against her belly. She wanted to cry. Because she was hurting. Because she'd tried to hurt him back and he seemed utterly unaffected by the fact that she'd hit him.

  "God, you almost had me, you really did," she moaned. "But then you had to take it one step too far and flash those fake teeth."

  "They're real. Look closely."

  More candles came on in the room, lit by no one.

  Her breath left her in a rush. Abruptly, she had the sense that nothing was as it seemed. The rules were off. Reality was sliding into a different realm.

  She raced across the room.

  He met her at the door and she crouched, as if she had a prayer of keeping him away from her.

  "Don't come near me." She grabbed for the handle. Threw her whole body into it. The thing wouldn't budge.

  Panic ran like gasoline through her veins.

  "Beth—"

  "Let me go!" The door handle cut into the skin of her palms as she wrenched it.

  When his hand came down on her shoulder, she screamed. "Don't touch me!"

  She leaped away from him. Careened around the room. He tracked her, coming at her slowly, inexorably.

  "I'm going to help you."

  "Leave me alone!"

  She dashed around him and dove for the door. This time it opened before she even got to the handle.

  As if he'd willed it so.

  She looked back at him in horror. "This isn't real."

  She bolted up the stairs, tripping only once. When she tried to work the latch on the painting, she broke a nail, but eventually got it open. She ran through the drawing room. Burst out of the house and—

  Wrath was there, standing on the front lawn.

  Beth skidded to a halt.

  Terror flooded her body, fright and disbelief seizing her heart in a fist. Her mind slipped into madness.

  "No!" She took off, running in any direct
ion as long as it was away from him.

  She felt him following her, and she threw her legs out harder and faster. She ran until she couldn't breathe, until she was blinded by exhaustion and her thighs were screaming. She ran flat-out and still he followed.

  She fell down onto grass, sobbing.

  Curling into a ball, as if to shield herself from blows, she wept.

  When he picked her up she didn't fight him.

  What was the use? If this was a dream, she would wake up eventually. And if it was the truth…

  She was going to need him to explain a hell of a lot more than just her father's life.

  As Wrath carried Beth back down to the chamber, fear and confusion poured out of her in waves of distress. He laid her down on the bed and yanked the top sheet free so he could wrap her up. Then he went to the couch and sat down, thinking she'd appreciate the space.

  Eventually she shifted around, and he felt her eyes on him.

  "I'm waiting to wake up. To have the alarm go off," she said hoarsely. "But it's not going to, is it?"

  He shook his head.

  "How is this possible? How…" She cleared her throat. "Vampires?"

  "We're just a different species."

  "Bloodsuckers. Killers."

  "Try persecuted minority. Which was why your father was hoping you wouldn't go through the change."

  "Change?"

  He nodded grimly.

  "Oh, God." She clamped her hand over her mouth as if she were going to be sick. "Don't tell me I'm going to…"

  A shock wave of panic came out of her, creating a breeze through the room that reached him in a cool rush. He couldn't bear her anguish and wanted to do something to ease her. Except compassion wasn't among his strengths.

  If only there were something he could fight for her.

  Yeah, well, there was nothing at the moment. Nothing. The truth wasn't a target he could eliminate. And it wasn't her enemy, even though it hurt her. It just… was.

  He stood up and approached the bed. When she didn't shrink away from him, he sat down. The tears she shed smelled like spring rain.

  "What's going to happen to me?" she murmured.

  The desperation in her voice suggested she was talking to God, not him. But he answered anyway.

  "Your change is coming fast. It hits all of us sometime around our twenty-fifth birthday. I'll teach you how to take care of yourself. I'll show you what to do."

  "Good God…"

  "After you go through it, you're going to need to drink."

  She choked and jerked upright. "I'm not killing anyone!"

  "It's not like that. You need the blood of a male vampire. That's all."

  "That's all," she repeated in a dead tone.

  "We don't prey on humans. That's an old wives' tale."

  "You've never taken a… human?"

  "Not to drink from them," he hedged. "There are some vampires who do, but the strength doesn't last long. To thrive, we need to feed off our own race."

  "You make it all sound so normal."

  "It is."

  She fell silent. And then, as if it just dawned on her, "You're going to let me—"

  "You're going to drink from me. When it's time."

  She let out a strangled sound, like she'd wanted to cry out, but her gag reflex had kicked in.

  "Beth, I know this is hard—"

  "You do not."

  "—because I had to go through it, too."

  She looked at him. "Did you learn you were one out of the blue also?"

  It wasn't a challenge. More like she was hoping she had common ground with someone. Anyone.

  "I knew who my parents were," he said, "but they were dead by the time my transition hit. I was alone. I didn't know what to expect. So I know what the confusion feels like."

  Her body fell back against the pillows. "Was my mother one, too?"

  "She was human, from what Darius told me. Vampires have been known to breed with them, although it's rare for the infants to survive."

  "Can I stop the change? Can I stop this from happening?"

  He shook his head.

  "Does it hurt?"

  "You're going to feel—"

  "Not me. Will I hurt you?"

  Wrath swallowed his surprise. No one worried about him. Vampires and humans alike feared him. His race worshiped him. But none were ever concerned for him. He didn't know how to handle the sentiment.

  "No. It won't hurt me."

  "Could I kill you?"

  "I won't let you."

  "Promise?" she said urgently, sitting up and gripping his forearm.

  He couldn't believe he was taking a vow to protect himself. At her request.

  "I promise you." He reached his hand out to cover hers, but stopped before he made contact.

  "When will it happen?"

  "I can't tell you that for sure. But soon."

  She let go, settling against the pillows. Then she curled on her side away from him.

  "Maybe I'll wake up," she murmured. "Maybe I'll still wake up."

  * * *

  Chapter Nineteen

  Butch drank his first Scotch in one swallow. Big mistake. His throat was raw, and it felt like he'd French-kissed a blowtorch. As soon as he stopped coughing, he ordered another from Abby.

  "We're going to find her," José said, putting his beer down.

  The other detective was sticking to the light stuff, but then José had to go home to his family. Butch, on the other hand, was free to behave as badly as he wished.

  José played with his mug, twisting it around in circles on the bar. "You shouldn't blame yourself, Detective."

  Butch laughed and threw back Scotch number two. "Yeah, there's a huge list of people who were in my car with that suspect." He lifted his finger to get Abby's attention. "I'm dry again."

  "Not for long." She jiggled right over with the single-malt, smiling at him while she tipped the bottle into his glass.

  José shifted in his bar stool as if he didn't approve of Butch's Scotch velocity and the effort of keeping his lip zipped was making him squirm.

  As Abby went over to another customer, Butch glanced at José.

  "I'm going to get ugly wasted tonight. You shouldn't stick around."

  José popped some peanuts into his mouth. "I'm not leaving you here."

  "I'll cab it home."

  "Naw. I'll hang until you're through. Then I'll drag you back to your apartment. Watch you throw up for an hour. Push you into bed. Before I leave I'll get the coffee machine set up. Aspirin will be right next to the sugar bowl."

  "I don't have a sugar bowl."

  "So it'll be next to the bag."

  Butch smiled. "You'd have made a great wife, José."

  "That's what mine tells me."

  They were silent until Abby poured number four.

  "The throwing stars I peeled off that suspect," Butch said. "Where do we stand with them?"

  "Same as the ones we found at the car bomb and around Cherry's body. Typhoons. Three-point-one ounces of four-forty stainless steel. Four-inch diameter. Removable center weight. You can get 'em off the Internet for about twelve bucks a pop or buy them through martial-arts academies. And no, there were no prints."

  "The other weapons?"

  "Flashy set of knives. The boys in the lab got a real hard-on for them. Composite metal, diamond hard, beautifully made by hand. No identifying manufacturer. Gun was your standard nine-millimeter Beretta, model 92G-SD. Real well cared for, and naturally the serial number had been etched off. The freaky thing was the bullets. Never seen anything like 'em. Hollow, filled with some kind of liquid. The boys think it's just water. But why would someone do that?"

  "You gotta be kidding me."

  "Uh-huh."

  "And no prints."

  "Nope."

  "On anything."

  "Nope." José finished the bowl of peanuts and trolled his hand to get Abby's eye for more. "That suspect's slick. Neat as a pin. A real professional. Wanna bet he'
s moved up north from the Big Apple? He doesn't sound Caldwell homegrown."

  "Tell me that while I was wasting time with those damn EMTs we checked with the NYPD."

  Abby came over with more nuts and more Scotch.

  "We're doing ballistics on the gun, just to see if there are any unusual characteristics," José said evenly. "Checking the money to see if it's hot. First thing in the morning we'll give the New York boys everything we got, but it's not going to be much."

  Butch cursed as he watched the bowl get refilled.

  "If anything happens to Beth…" He didn't finish the sentence.

  "We'll find them." José paused. "And God help him if he hurts her."

  Yeah, Butch would personally go after the guy.

  "God help him," he vowed, making room in his glass for another shot.

  Wrath was exhausted as he sat on the couch and waited for Beth to speak again. His body felt as though it were sinking in on itself, his bones weakening under their burden of flesh and muscle.

  As he replayed the scene in the station house's alley, he realized he hadn't stripped the cop of his memory. Which meant the police were going to be looking for him with an accurate description.

  Damn it. He'd been so caught up in the fricking drama, he'd forgotten to protect himself.

  He was getting sloppy. And sloppy was dangerous.

  "How did you know about the orgasms?" Beth asked abruptly.

  He stiffened. And so did his cock, just at hearing the word leave her lips.

  Moving his body around to make some room in his pants, he wondered if he could avoid answering her. He didn't want to talk right now about the sex they'd had. Not with her lying in that bed. Mere feet away from him.

  He thought of her skin. Soft. Smooth. Warm.

  "How did you know?" she prompted.

  "It's the truth, isn't it?"

  "Yes," she whispered. "Was it different with you because you're not… you're a… Hell, I can't even say the word."

  "Maybe." He brought his palms together, linking his fingers tight. "I don't know."

  Because it had been different for him, too, even though technically she was still a human.

  "He's not my lover. Butch. The cop. He's not."

  Wrath felt his breath ease out of him. "I'm glad."