Ever Night

by Gena Showalter

  “What’s her name?” Jasha asked, refusing to be baited. “The one you were with today?”

  He saw no harm in answering. “Rose.”

  “Rose?” His brother choked on a gurgling laugh of his own. “Rose?”

  “What? It’s a fine name,” he growled, unsure why currents of fury blew through him. Rose was the enemy. Anyone could make fun of her. Especially his brother.

  “Yes, but Rose? Like the tattoo you had inked into your arm last year?”

  His jaw clenched so painfully he feared the bone would snap. “No. Not like that,” he managed, the words so raw they sounded as if they’d been pushed through a meat grinder. “Not like that at all.”

  He didn’t know why he’d gotten the tattoo. He hadn’t wanted to analyze the desire then, and he didn’t want to analyze the desire now. He knew only that when he looked at the night rose, he wanted to smile.

  “You’ve known her all this time?” Grigori tsked, just as Vasili liked to do to Rose. Surely he wasn’t that irritating. “And yet you never breathed a word about her.”

  “He must have feared one of us would steal her away,” Jasha said with a mystery-solved nod.

  Before Vasili could form a reply, not that he knew what to say, they turned to each other, cutting him from the conversation.

  “No wonder he raced from the warm, dry palace to get here. He missed his woman,” Grigori said, then cooed mockingly. “The poor baby.”

  Jasha stroked his stubbled chin with two fingers. “She must be hideous if he feels he must hide her away like this. Or perhaps she’s too precious for our poor baby to share.”

  Vasili felt privileged. No one else ever saw them like this, relaxed and teasing. To the rest of the world, Grigori was a snarling beast, too savage to handle, and Jasha was quiet and withdrawn. They saved their charm for him, as if he were special to them, and he was glad. They were the most important part of his life. Therefore, he didn’t mind their teasing. Much.

  “So, what are you doing here?” he asked, inserting himself back into their chatter.

  They chortled.

  “We must find him someone new,” Grigori continued to Jasha. “This one obviously didn’t work him from his yearlong temper.”

  More stroking of that chin. “We’ve tried, placing female after female in front of him. He sends them away in tears.”

  “I asked you a question,” he said on a sigh.

  And still they continued.

  “Perhaps we should ask around,” Jasha said. “Find out what others know about this Rose. Where she lives, why she leaves her man in a bad mood.”

  Grigori massaged the back of his neck. “And we should instruct her on the proper way to treat a king. I do my best instructing naked.”

  Oh, no, no, no. He couldn’t have them asking others about her. And he couldn’t even contemplate Rose and Grigori in bed. Not without foaming at the mouth. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

  Finally. They focused on him. To his irritation, both flashed him unrepentant grins.

  “We heard of the ambush,” his brother said, slapping him on the back now. “We came to offer you our aid.”

  “As if I can’t handle a few enemy soldiers on my own.” Greer, the king of the neighboring realm, wanted possession of Vasili’s, and constantly struck at random times, in random ways, before scattering with the wind. “I sent the men back to their leader. Minus their heads.”

  “Perhaps that’s why he failed to satisfy his Rose,” Grigori said to Jasha. “She was too frightened of him to enjoy him.”

  “Surely not. That would mean she rejected him, and my brother will be the first to tell you how irresistible he is.”

  Enough. “Let’s return to the palace. I’m in need of dinner and a bath.” And a woman, damn his always aching body, but he couldn’t have one of those. Unless Rose returned.

  Too young, damn it! She’d lived nineteen years. He’d lived thirty-three. Until twelve months ago, she’d been his fearful little mouse. He’d been a lion his entire life.

  Part of him wished he could have followed her to her world, though, where he could have her without (much) worry. No one to disturb them, no one to threaten her, no painful past to remember. He hated that part of himself. This was his home. He wouldn’t leave for any reason.

  “Look at you. So serious all of a sudden,” Jasha said. “You’re right, Vash. It’s time to return to the palace and feed you. I want my impious, pain-in-the-ass brother back.”

  He snorted, but allowed the men to lead him outside, puddles splashing at his feet. As the rain continued to pour from the darkened sky, he mounted his horse. Many Monstrea and human guards waited nearby, acting as his protection as he’d ordered, ensuring that no one entered—or left—his tent without his permission. Except for Jasha and Grigori. They always did what they wanted.

  “Leave the tent,” he told them, “and go home.” No reason to have them out in the rain. Not that the rain ever stopped this time of year. And the command had nothing to do with maintaining a hideaway for Rose in case she visited without warning. Of course.

  Everything taken care of, he spurred his animal into motion. He almost hoped someone else ambushed him tonight. He itched for another fight. Something, anything to release some of the tension coiled inside him.

  Yet, deep down he suspected only one thing would release that tension—and he might not see her for another year.

  Chapter Four

  She didn’t visit.

  For the next year, Vasili looked for her in every shadow, waiting. Hopeful, damn him, for a glimpse of her. He spent more time in “their” tent than he did in his palace. Or training. Or hunting.

  Because of Rose, he was distracted, on edge, and too fucking needy. His people were now leery of him, afraid he’d snap their heads off. And he just might. Damn her!

  He liked women, and he liked sex, but the two had a place in his life—and that was right after everything important. Doing without shouldn’t have bothered him. But he kept thinking about Rose, and his body kept reacting. He wanted her. Badly.

  In one week and twenty-three hours, she would be twenty years old. No longer too young for him. And despite her origins, he could finally have her. But only after he punished her for reducing him to this. A grumpy king, a disgruntled suitor, and a terrible brother.

  She owed him, and he would collect. You didn’t ask someone how to reach them, and then never try to reach them. It was rude. And Vasili had always believed in the power of civility. Fine. He was a recent convert. But because she’d made him wait—and wait and wait—he was having one of his night-rose tattoos removed.

  Yeah, he’d gotten another one. Stupid wine. He hadn’t meant to consume so much last week, but his mind had wandered—about Rose, of course—and he’d thought a second tattoo would look amazing on his other arm.

  Jasha hadn’t stopped teasing him since.

  He would punish Rose for that, as well.

  After he tasted her. By now he’d realized that she was nearly too lovely to resist. Too stubborn, too. Which, despite everything, made him proud of her. Hell, these days he was always proud of her.

  She was resisting him with a strength he himself did not possess, and he was proud.

  Last time, she’d armed herself, and every time he remembered it, he was proud. She’d fought him with more skill than he would have guessed, and he was proud. She’d asked him how she could return, and he was fucking proud. It was disgusting. Next he’d be claiming his husbandly rights. Not just sex, because that was on the menu no matter what, but everything. Her presence, her constant attendance to his needs. Her heart.

  Rights that belonged to him. No one else. Any man who touched her would— Nothing. His shoulders slumped against his throne. He couldn’t reach them. Which was frustrating and damned irritating. He was a king. He could control people with his mind. Their action
s, their words—even rip their skin open with only a thought. Yet he couldn’t cross a stupid threshold of shimmering air and check on his property.

  Yes. Property. That was what she was, he decided with a smile, already imagining how she would react when he informed her of her new status. Most likely, she’d finish the introduction of her knee to his balls.

  “You’re scaring the guests.” Jasha’s deep voice drew him from his dark musings. “Honestly, that smile is evil. You look ready to torture someone.”

  They were seated side by side on their royal dais, a party in full swing around them. Soft music played, every note perfect. It should be; the orchestra was comprised of the best of the best.

  “They don’t like the look of me, they can leave.” But even as he spoke, he gentled his expression. He needed a distraction, damn it. Otherwise, he’d never survive the next seven days, twenty-two hours, and forty-three minutes until Rose’s birthday.

  He scanned the room. Gold filigree lined the walls in circling patterns, gleaming in the light cast by the many chandeliers. Windows arched under each golden circle, rain pattering against the glass. There were too many lords, ladies, and Monstrea dancing and laughing to see the gold-veined marble floors he wanted to lay Rose upon, stripping her, touching her, finally tasting her.

  His fingers curled around the arms of his throne, and if those arms hadn’t been made of onyx, he was certain he would have bent them. As it was, his fingers cracked the stone.

  Distraction. What to do, what to do. He continued his study until his gaze caught Grigori’s. The Monstrea stood in the far corner of the ballroom, armed for war.

  His friend nodded, silently telling him all was well. A surprise. Half of the attendees were from the neighboring kingdom—and his enemies—so he’d expected a fight to break out. But they were here to make nice, to offer him a peace settlement, as well as one of their princesses, so they were on their best behavior.

  Relax. He returned the nod.

  Grigori’s glowing red eyes shifted back to the dance floor, and for a second, only a second, Vasili would have sworn utter longing claimed the man’s expression. Interesting. Now, there was another surprise. Vasili followed the line of his friend’s gaze, but couldn’t pinpoint a specific female. Just a group. What he did notice, however, was that everyone in that group was human—and all four of the visiting princesses were there. Twice as interesting. One, Monstrea usually mated only with other Monstrea, and two, King Greer was especially prejudiced against the warriors.

  In fact, the king had threatened to leave if Vasili didn’t send them away. After Vasili showed the king to the door, the man had grudgingly withdrawn his ultimatum.

  “Is Grigori seeing anyone?” he asked his brother.

  Jasha’s head tilted to the side as he considered. “Not that I know of. Why?”

  “Just curious.” If the warrior hadn’t talked about his love life with Jasha, Vasili wouldn’t do it for him. “How about you? Anyone special?”

  “No.” Hard tone, no room for discussion.

  Hint taken. And discarded. “I’ve been wondering something. Are you still a virgin?”

  His brother sputtered, cheeks red. “I’m not answering that.”

  So yes, yes, he was. Unbelievable! “Let me pay for—”

  “But you . . .” his brother interjected loudly, as if Vasili hadn’t spoken; then he lowered his voice. “You’re still seeing your Rose.” Wouldn’t do if one of the princesses overheard. They were currently walking to the dance floor, all four of them, though each continually cast hopeful glances his way.

  Peace he would give. Marriage, no.

  “Yes. I’m still seeing my Rose.” No reason to deny it. Not when she would be here in one week, twenty-two hours, and thirty-seven minutes.

  “Two years, and there’s been no one else for you.”

  He wanted to say, That you’ve seen, but the words refused to form. They would disrespect Rose. Stupid! When she arrived, he planned to disrespect her plenty. In a bed. In a tub. On the floor, as he’d already imagined.

  “I want to meet her.”

  “No,” he rushed out. Jasha wouldn’t recognize what she was. Not on sight. But if Rose were to accidentally reveal the secret of her origins . . . Not just no, but hell, no. Change the subject. “Think Greer truly wishes peace with us?” Excellent. Bloodshed and mayhem. A much safer topic.

  “Hardly. He’s wily, always planning, and, as you know, his offer of alliance makes me uneasy.”

  Vasili sought the man in question. He stood at the back of the ballroom, three lovely ladies surrounding him. They fed him tiny pieces of fruit, caressed him, doted on him, laughed at his coarse teasing. He was older than Vasili by at least twenty years, yet no less muscled and honed.

  “But I hate the danger you are continually in,” Jasha went on. Then he sighed. “Perhaps you should take him up on his offer and wed one of his daughters. Perhaps that will finally mellow him.”

  “And be stabbed while sleeping for my efforts? Please.” But to be honest, Vasili might have risked such a union had he not already bound himself to Rose. Like Greer, he now wanted peace. His people deserved it, he would be able to hunt other Walkers on a permanent basis, and, well, he didn’t want Rose in danger when she visited—and eventually moved here.

  Which he wanted her to do. Desperately. But only because he could not bed another female. Not because he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Not because she intrigued him and made him laugh. Not because the scent of a night rose now caused his cock to stand at attention.

  He shouldn’t have married her, he thought darkly. Look what she’d reduced him to. An obsessive, frustrated, pathetic bag of hormones. After he tasted her, he should kill her rather than convince her to move here with him. Finally give her what she deserved. That way, he would stop craving, stop waiting. He was so sick of waiting. He was—

  Seeing things. Rose had just appeared in front of him. Not on the dais, but just below, dancers twirling behind her. She shook her head, pale hair waving around her shoulders, and blinked, gaze roving, searching. . . .

  Vasili leaped to his feet, blood heating in his veins. He should be worrying that someone had seen her simply appear out of nowhere. But all he could think was, She’s here. At least she wore clothes similar to what his people usually wore. Black shirt, black pants. Though right now his followers were dressed in gowns and formal attire.

  Still. His woman was lovely. The loveliest in the room. And she was here.

  “Brother?” Jasha said. “Everything all right?”

  “Better than all right.” Touch . . . He had to touch her.

  He pounded down the steps, hands clenching and unclenching.

  Rose spotted him, raked that silver gaze over him, and her jaw dropped. She’d never seen him in the royal uniform before. White shirt, dark breeches. Knee-high boots.

  Did she like?

  When he reached her, he grabbed her by the forearm and ushered her into the nearest hallway, away from the crowd. Such small bones, easily breakable. He gentled his hold. He was thankful she didn’t struggle.

  That lack of struggle could mean only one thing: She liked.

  “I warned you of the dangers of coming unannounced, Rose.” But thank you for ignoring me.

  “I can’t believe it worked.” She spoke in Drakish, his language, halting and stilted, but understandable. “I can’t believe I’m here.”

  Her voice . . . richer than before. Huskier. His shaft twitched, thickening, hardening. And he’d thought his body desperate before. Now that she was here . . . “So you thought to test my claim?”

  “No. I had a question for you. But before you interrupt me, no one has contacted me, and no one has asked me to hurt you. I know you always want that information first.”

  He believed her because he wanted to, he was stupid, and his cock was thinking for
him, but he didn’t care. “What’s your question?” Any chance it would be, Will you strip me?

  Silence.

  Guess not. He glanced at her, just a quick look. One he hoped would not affect him. Fail. His blood heated another degree, and his cock filled the rest of the way. Soft lamplight caressed her, highlighting the delicacy of her skin, the frosted pink of her cheeks.

  She was studying the murals on the walls with wide eyes and awe, her lush lips parted, just begging for a kiss.

  He hardly noticed those murals anymore, but just then he studied them through new eyes. Armies marched, human and Monstrea, attacking a neighboring kingdom. Blood spilled, and victory awaited.

  She should have been disgusted, not awed. That she wasn’t . . . Damn it. He was proud of her. Again. She must appreciate strength as much as he did. He guessed he’d have to take her against the wall, as well. For her. Since she liked them. Would be a favor to her. Of course.

  “Beautiful,” she said on a wispy catch of breath.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice breaking.

  Her gaze flittered to him. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To my chamber. The walls are just as lovely there.”

  “Why does that matter? No, wait. Stop.” Finally she tugged from his clasp, forcing him to come to a halt. There were guards posted at every door in the hallway—all Monstrea—but she paid them no heed. Or perhaps she hadn’t noticed them, too focused on the scenery and then Vasili. “My question.”

  His jaw tightened as he turned to her completely, allowing only a whisper of air between them. He motioned to the closest guard with a tilt of his head. Her gaze followed, and she gasped. She even scrambled backward several steps before realizing what she’d done; she rooted her feet in place and withdrew a semiautomatic.

  The guards reacted instantly, jolting into motion, meaning to take down the threat to their king. Vasili froze them in place with only a thought, swiped the gun from Rose, and sheathed it at the back of his waist.

  “She means no harm,” he told the men. Then he released them from his mental hold and they stumbled over themselves in their efforts to slow their sudden, renewed momentum.