by J. R. Ward
Butch saw double, his heart kicked so hard. As he blew out a lungful of hot air, he was sure his head was going to explode.
“Do you feel anything?” she asked.
“You better believe it.”
His voice sounded Scotch-raw. Which is what desperation will do to a guy.
Marissa crossed the porch, coming toward him. “I would kiss you now. If you wouldn’t mind.”
Wouldn’t mind? He was willing to beg just to keep looking at her.
He uncrossed his legs and sat up, thinking that the fact someone could walk in on them at any time would help keep him in check. He was about to get to his feet when she knelt in front of him.
And moved her body right between his legs.
“Whoa. Easy there.” He stopped her before she came in contact with his erection. He wasn’t sure she was ready for that. Hell, he wasn’t sure he was ready for that. “If we’re going to…We need to take this slow. I want it to be good for you.”
She smiled, and he caught sight of the tips of her fangs. His erection throbbed.
Now who’d have thought that’d be a turn-on?
“I dreamt of doing this last night,” she murmured.
Butch cleared his throat. “Did you?”
“I imagined that you came to my bed. You bent over me.”
Oh, God, he could just picture that. Except in his fantasy they were both naked.
“You were naked,” she whispered, leaning into him. “And so was I. Your mouth was hard on mine. You tasted tangy, like Scotch. I liked it.” Her lips hovered mere inches from his. “I liked you.”
Holy heaven. He was actually about to come. And they hadn’t even kissed yet.
She moved to close the distance, but he held her off at the last moment. She was too much for him. Too lovely. Too sexy. Way, way too innocent.
God, he’d let down so many people over the course of his life. He didn’t want to add her to the list.
And she deserved a prince for her first. Not some washed-up ex-cop, wearing someone else’s gigolo armor. He had no idea how vampires ran their private lives. But he was damn sure she could do a hell of a lot better than him.
“Marissa?”
“Hmmm?” Her eyes didn’t stray from his lips. In spite of her inexperience, she looked like she was ready to devour him.
And he wanted to be eaten.
“Do you not desire to?” she whispered, pulling back. Looking worried. “Butch?”
“Oh, no, baby. Not that. Never that.”
He shifted his hands from her shoulders up to her neck, holding her head steady. Then he tilted his to one side and put his lips right on her mouth.
She gasped, drawing his breath into her lungs, taking something of him inside of her. He rumbled in satisfaction, but kept control, stroking her mouth gently, caressing her softly. When she swayed toward him, he traced the outside of her lips with his tongue.
She was going to taste so sweet, he thought, preparing to go deeper while still keeping a chain on himself.
But Marissa jumped the gun. She captured his tongue with her mouth and sucked on it.
Butch groaned, his hips jerking up from the chair.
She broke off the kiss. “You didn’t like that? I liked it when you did that to my finger last night.”
He yanked at his collar. Where the hell was all the air in this part of North America?
“Butch?”
“I liked it,” he said in a guttural croak. “Trust me. I really liked it.”
“Then I would do it again.”
She lunged forward and took his mouth in a blazing kiss, pressing him back into the wicker, hitting him like a ton of bricks. He was in such shock, all he could do was grip the chair’s arms. Her onslaught was powerful. Erotic. Hotter than Hades. She practically crawled onto his chest as she explored his mouth, and he braced his body, throwing his weight into his palms.
Suddenly, there was a loud snapping sound.
And then he rolled onto the floor with her.
“What the f—” Butch lifted his left hand. And up came the wicker arm he’d taken hold of.
He’d ripped the side off the chair.
“You okay?” he said breathlessly, tossing the thing away.
“Oh, yes.” She smiled up at him. Her dress was caught in his legs. And her body was tight against him. Almost where he needed it to be.
As he looked at her, he was ready for it all, ready to get under that dress, part her thighs with his hips, and bury himself in her heat until they were both totally lost.
Except in his current state, he was liable to take her hard, not make love to her properly. And he was crazed enough to do it here, on the porch, in the open.
So it was way time for a break.
“Let’s get you off the floor,” he said roughly.
Marissa moved faster than he did, practically springing to her feet. When she held her hand out to help him up, he took it to humor her. Only to find himself plucked from the floor as if he weighed no more than a newspaper.
He smiled as he brushed off his jacket. “You’re stronger than you look.”
She seemed embarrassed and took care to check her dress. “Not really.”
“That’s not a bad thing, Marissa.”
Her eyes came back to his and then slowly drifted down his body.
With a shot of embarrassment, he realized his raging erection made a tent out of his pants. He turned away so he could rearrange himself.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” He faced her, wondering if his pulse was ever going to slow down.
Man, he wasn’t going to need a stress test anytime soon. If his heart could get through a kiss from her, he could probably run a marathon.
While dragging a car behind him.
Sideways to the road.
“I liked that,” she said.
He had to laugh. “So did I. But it’s hard to believe you’re a vir—”
Butch slammed his mouth closed. Rubbed his thumb over his eyebrows.
No wonder he didn’t date. He had the social skills of a chimp.
“Just so you know,” he muttered, “I put my foot in it sometimes. But I’ll work on this for you.”
“Foot in it?”
“Blurt shit out. Stuff. I mean…Hell.” He looked to the door. “Listen, how about we head down and see what’s doing with the party?”
Because if he stayed up here one minute longer, he was going to be all over her.
“Butch?”
He glanced back at her. “Yeah, baby?”
Her eyes flashed, and she licked her lips. “I want more of you.”
Butch stopped breathing. And wondered if she was thinking about his blood.
Looking into her beautiful face, he relived what it felt like to get pushed back into that chair. And he imagined that instead of kissing him, she was sinking those pearly white fangs of hers deep into his neck.
He could think of no better way to go than in her arms.
“Whatever you want of me,” he murmured, “you can have.”
Chapter Forty-four
Wrath watched as Billy Riddle walked out of the mansion and struck a pose against the columns in front. The guy put down a duffel bag and looked up at the sky.
“Perfect,” Wrath said to Vishous. “Enough time to kill him and get back.”
But before he and V stepped out of the shadows, a black Hummer came up the circular drive. As it passed them, the sweet smell of baby powder floated out one of its windows.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Wrath murmured.
“That’s a lesser, my brother.”
“And what do you want to bet he’s doing some recruiting?”
“Good candidate.”
Billy hopped inside, and the SUV began to move.
“We should have taken my car,” V hissed. “Then we could have followed them.”
“There’s no time for a trail. The Scribe Virgin’s showing up at midnight. We do this now
. Here.”
Wrath leaped in front of the Hummer, planting his hands on the hood and pushing the SUV to a stop. He glared through the front windshield while Vishous approached from the lateral, sidling up to the driver’s door.
Wrath smiled as the engine was put in park. Inside, he could detect both fear and anticipation. He knew which one was Billy Riddle’s. The guy was edgy. The lesser, on the other hand, was ready to fight.
But there was something else. Something that didn’t feel quite right.
Wrath quickly glanced around. “Watch yourself, V.”
The roar of a car engine broke through the night, and the whole lot of them got blasted with headlights.
A nondescript American sedan heaved to a stop, and two men jumped out with guns drawn.
“State police. Put your hands up. You in the car. Get out.”
Wrath watched the driver’s-side door. What emerged was big and intense. And under the scent of baby powder, the lesser stank of evil.
As the society member lifted his hands, it stared at the insignia on Wrath’s jacket. “My God. I thought you were a myth. The Blind King.”
Wrath bared his fangs. “Nothing you’ve heard about me is a myth.”
The lesser’s eyes flashed. “I’m positively inspired.”
“And I’m heartbroken that we gotta split now. But we’ll be seeing you and that new recruit again. Soon.”
Wrath nodded to Vishous, swept clean the memories of the humans, and dematerialized.
Mr. X was in awe.
The Blind King lived.
There had been stories circulating for centuries about him, legends really, but there hadn’t been a confirmed sighting since Mr. X had joined the society. In fact, rumors had even abounded that the regal warrior had died, extrapolations based primarily on the disintegration of vampire society.
But no, the king was alive.
Good God. Now that would be a prize to lay at the Omega’s altar.
“I told you he was coming,” Billy was saying to the staties. “He’s my martial-arts teacher. Why did you pull us over?”
The officers holstered their guns, focusing on Mr. X.
“May I see some identification, sir?” one of them asked.
Mr. X smiled and handed over his driver’s license. “Billy and I are just going out for dinner. Maybe a movie.”
The man studied the picture and then his face. “Mr. Xavier, here’s your license back. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Not a problem, Officer.”
Mr. X and Billy got back into the Hummer.
Riddle cursed. “They’re such idiots. Why did they stop us?”
Because we got jumped by two vampires, Mr. X thought. You just don’t remember it, and neither do those two guys with the badges.
Tricky mind games. Tricky, tricky.
“What are the state police doing here?” Mr. X asked as he put the SUV in gear.
“My dad got another terrorist threat, and he’s decided to leave D.C. for a little while. He’s coming home tonight, and they’ll be crawling all over the place until he goes back to the capital.”
“Did you talk with your father?”
“Yeah. He actually seemed relieved.”
“I’m sure he is.”
Billy reached into his duffel bag. “I got what you said I needed.”
He held up a wide-necked ceramic jar with a lid.
“That’s good, Billy. Perfect size.”
“What’s going in it?”
Mr. X smiled. “You’ll find out. Are you hungry?”
“Naw. Too pumped for food.” Billy clapped his palms together and squeezed, flexing his muscles. “Just so you know, I don’t crack easy. Whatever goes down tonight, I’ll stay tight.”
We’ll just see about that, Mr. X thought as he headed for his house. They were going to do the ceremony in the barn, and the torture table was going to be a big help. He could tie Billy down easier that way.
As the city dissolved and the farm country eased up around the road, Mr. X found himself smiling.
The Blind King.
In Caldwell.
Mr. X glanced over at Riddle.
In Caldwell and looking for Billy.
Now why would that be?
Chapter Forty-five
Beth was back in The Dress. And loving it.
“I don’t have shoes,” she said.
Wellsie took another hairpin out of her mouth and slid it into Beth’s chignon.
“You’re not supposed to be wearing any. Okay, let me see how you look.” Wellsie smiled as Beth danced around her father’s bedroom, red satin skirting flaring like fire around her.
“I’m going to cry.” Wellsie covered her mouth with her hand. “I know it. As soon as he sees you, I’m going to start crying. You’re just too beautiful, and this is the first happy thing since…I don’t know when.”
Beth stopped, the gown fluttering to rest. “Thank you. For everything.”
Wellsie shook her head. “Don’t be nice to me, or I’ll start with the tears right now.”
“I mean it. I feel like…I don’t know, I’m marrying into a family. And I’ve never really had one before.”
Wellsie’s nose reddened. “We are your family. You’re one of us. Now stop it, will you? Before you get me going.”
Someone pounded on the door.
“Is everything okay in there?” came a male voice from the other side.
Wellsie went over and put her head out, keeping the door mostly shut. “Yes, Tohr. Are the brothers all lined up?”
“What the—Have you been crying?” Tohrment demanded. “Are you all right? Dear God, is it the baby?”
“Tohr, relax. I’m a female, I cry at matings. It’s in the job description.”
There was the sound of a kiss.
“I just don’t want anything to upset you, leelan.”
“Then tell me the brothers are ready.”
“We are.”
“Good. I’ll bring her out.”
“Leelan?”
“What?”
There were low words spoken in their beautiful language.
“Yes, Tohr,” Wellsie whispered. “And after two hundred years, I’d mate you again. In spite of the fact that you snore and you leave your weapons all over our bedroom.”
The door shut, and Wellsie turned around. “They’re ready for you. Shall we?”
Beth tugged at the bodice. Looked down at her ruby ring. “I never thought I’d do this.”
“Life is full of wonderful surprises, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is.”
They walked out of her father’s bedroom and into Wrath’s chamber.
All the furniture had been emptied out, and where the bed had been, Wrath’s brothers were lined up against the wall. They were a magnificent sight, wearing identical black satin jackets and loose pants with jeweled daggers hanging on their hips.
There was a collective inhale as the assembly noticed her. The brothers shifted, looked down. Looked back at her. Bashful smiles actually broke out across those harsh faces.
Well, except for Zsadist’s. He glanced at her once and then just stared at the floor.
Butch, Marissa, and Fritz stood to one side. She gave them a little wave. Fritz took out a handkerchief.
And there was someone else in the room.
A tiny person draped in black from head to toe. Even the face was covered.
Beth frowned. Under the folds of black, there was a pool of light on the floor. As if the figure were glowing.
But where was Wrath?
Wellsie led her over until she was standing in front of the men. The one with the gorgeous hair, Phury, stepped forward.
Beth glanced down, trying to collect herself, and noticed that he had a prosthesis where one foot should have been.
She looked up into his yellow eyes, not wanting to stare. When he smiled, she found herself calming a little.
His voice was rich, his words evenly spoken. “We’r
e going to do as much of this in English as we can, so you’ll understand. Are you ready to start?”
She nodded.
“My lord, come forward,” he called out.
Beth looked over her shoulder.
Wrath materialized in the hall doorway, and she put her hand to her mouth. He was resplendent, wearing a sashed black robe that was embroidered with dark thread. A long, gold-handled dagger hung at his side, and there was a circle of rubies set in some kind of matte-finished metal on his head.
As he strode forward, moving with the grace she loved, his hair flared in waves that fell past his thick shoulders.
He looked at no one but her.
When he was standing before her, he whispered, “You take my breath away.”
She started to cry.
Wrath’s face was worried as he reached out. “Leelan, what’s the matter?”
Beth shook her head and felt Wellsie tuck a Kleenex into her hand.
“She’s fine,” the woman said. “Trust me, she’s fine. Aren’t you?”
Beth nodded and blotted under her eyes. “Yes.”
Wrath touched her cheek. “We can stop this.”
“No!” she shot back. “I love you, and we’re going to get married. Right now.”
Some of the brothers laughed softly. “Guess we’re straight on that,” one of them said with respect in his voice.
When she was under control again, Wrath looked over at Phury and nodded.
“We’re going to make the presentation to the Scribe Virgin first,” the brother said.
Wrath took her hand and led her over to the robed figure. “Scribe Virgin, this is Elizabeth, daughter of the Black Dagger warrior Darius, granddaughter of the princeps Marklon, great-granddaughter of the princeps Horusman….”
The list went on for a while. When Wrath fell silent, Beth impulsively reached out to the figure, offering her hand.
There was a shout of alarm and Wrath grabbed her arm, hauling her back. Several of the brothers leaped forward.
“That’s my fault,” Wrath said, splaying his arms out as if to protect her. “I didn’t adequately prepare her. She meant no offense.”
A laugh—low, warm, and feminine—came out of the robes. “Fear not, warrior. She’s fine. Come here, female.”