by J. R. Ward
“Fine. Get your hand off my throat and let me go or I’m going to knee you where it counts.”
He laughed. Then sank his lower body into her, trapping her with his thighs and hips. She stiffened against him, but he got an ample feel of her. She was built lean, though there was no doubt she was a female. Her breasts hit his chest, her hips cushioned his, her stomach was soft.
“Keep talking,” he said in her ear. God, she smelled good. Clean. Fresh. Like lemon.
When she pushed against him, he leaned his full weight into her. Her breath came out in a rush.
“Please,” he murmured.
Her chest moved against his as if she were inhaling. “I…er, I have nothing to say. Except get off of me.”
He smiled, careful to keep his mouth closed. There was no sense showing off his fangs, especially if she didn’t know what he was.
“So say that.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Say nothing. Over and over and over again. Do it.”
She bristled, the scent of fear replaced by a sharp spice, like fresh, pungent mint from a garden. She was annoyed now.
“Say it,” he commanded, needing to feel more of what she did to him.
“Fine. Nothing. Nothing.” Abruptly she laughed, and the sound shot right through to his spine, burning him. “Nothing, nothing. No-thing. No-thing. Noooooothing. There, is that good enough for you? Will you let me go now?”
“No.”
She fought against him again, creating a delicious friction between their bodies. And he knew the moment when her anxiety and irritation turned to something hot. He smelled her arousal, a lovely sweetening in the air, and his body answered her call.
He got hard as a diamond.
“Talk to me, Mary.” He moved his hips in a slow circle against her, rubbing his erection on her belly, increasing his ache and her heat.
After a moment the tension eased out of her, softening her against the thrust of his muscles and his arousal. Her hands flattened on his waist. And then slowly slid around to the small of his back, as if she were unsure why she was responding to him the way she was.
He arched against her, to show his approval and encourage her to touch more of him. When her palms moved up his spine, he growled low in his throat and dropped his head down so his ear was closer to her mouth. He wanted to give her another word to say, something like luscious or whisper or strawberry.
Hell, antidisestablishmentarianism would do it.
The effect she had on him was druglike, a tantalizing combination of sexual need and profound ease. Like he was having an orgasm and falling into a peaceful sleep at the same time. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before.
A chill shot through him, sucking the warmth out of his body.
He snapped his head back as he thought about what Vishous had said to him.
“Are you a virgin?” Rhage demanded.
The stiffness in her body returned, like cement setting solid. She shoved hard against him, moving him not one inch.
“I beg your pardon. What kind of question is that?”
Anxiety tightened his hand on her shoulder. “Have you ever been taken by a male? Answer the question.”
Her lovely voice turned high, frightened. “Yes. Yes, I’ve had…a lover.”
Disappointment loosened his grip. But relief was right on its heels.
All things considered, he wasn’t sure he needed to meet his destiny this ten minutes.
Besides, even if she wasn’t his fate, this human female was extraordinary…something special.
Something he had to have.
Mary took a deep breath as the hold on her throat relaxed.
Be careful what you ask for, she thought, remembering how she’d wanted a man to be enthralled by her.
God, this was so not what she’d expected the experience to be like. She was utterly overwhelmed. By the male body pressing into her. By the promise of sex seething out of him. By the lethal power he could wield if he decided to squeeze her neck again.
“Tell me where you live,” the man said.
When she didn’t answer, he undulated his hips, that massive erection moving, circling, pressing into her stomach.
Mary shut her eyes. And tried not to wonder what it would feel like if he were inside of her while he was doing that.
His head came down and his lips brushed the side of her neck. Nuzzled her. “Where do you live?”
She felt a soft, moist stroke. God, his tongue. Running up her throat.
“You’re going to tell me eventually,” he murmured. “But take your time. I’m not in a big hurry right now.”
His hips left her briefly, returning as his thigh pushed between her legs and brushed against her core. The hand at the base of her neck swept down to her sternum, coming to rest between her breasts.
“Your heart is beating fast, Mary.”
“Th-that’s because I’m frightened.”
“Fear isn’t the only thing you’re feeling. Why don’t you check out what your hands are up to?”
Shoot. They were high on his biceps. And they were gripping him, pulling him closer. Her nails were digging into his skin.
When she let go of him, he frowned. “I like the way that feels. Don’t stop.”
The door opened behind them.
“Mary? Are you oka—Oh…my God.” Bella’s words trailed off.
Mary braced herself as the man twisted his torso and looked at Bella. His eyes squinted, flicked up and down, and then came back to Mary.
“Your friend’s worried about you,” he said softly. “You can tell her she shouldn’t be.”
Mary tried to get loose and wasn’t surprised when he mastered the jerky movements easily.
“I have an idea,” she muttered. “Why don’t you let me go, and then I won’t have to reassure her?”
A dry male voice cut through the hall. “Rhage, that female wasn’t brought here for your pleasure, and this isn’t One Eye, my brother. No sex in the hall.”
Mary tried to turn her head, but the hand between her breasts slid up her throat and took her chin, stopping her. Teal blue eyes bored into hers.
“I’m going to ignore them both. If you do the same, we can make them disappear.”
“Rhage, let her go.” A sharp torrent of words followed, spoken in a language she didn’t understand.
While the tirade went on, the blond’s brilliant gaze stayed on her, his thumb running gently back and forth along her jaw. He was lazy, affectionate, but when he replied to the other man, his voice was hard and aggressive, as powerful as his body. Another series of words came back, this time less combative. Like the other guy was trying to reason with him.
Abruptly the blond let her go and stepped back. The absence of his warm, heavy body was a curious shock.
“See you later, Mary.” He brushed her cheek with his forefinger and then turned from her.
Feeling weak in the knees, she sagged against the wall as he staggered away, steadying himself by throwing his arm out to the side.
God, when he’d had her at his mercy, she’d forgotten he was ill.
“Where’s the boy?” the other male voice demanded.
Mary looked to her left. The guy was big and dressed in black leather, with a military haircut and a shrewd pair of navy-blue eyes.
A soldier, she thought, somehow put at ease by him.
“The boy?” he prompted.
“John’s in there,” Bella replied.
“Then let’s get to it.”
The man opened the door and leaned against it so she and Bella had to squeeze past him. He paid no attention to them as they went by, but stared at John instead. John looked right back at him, eyes narrowed as if he were trying to place the soldier.
When they were all sitting at the table, the man nodded to Bella. “You were the one who called.”
“Yes. And this is Mary Luce. And John. John Matthew.”
“I’m Tohrment.” He refocused on John. “How you doing
, son?”
John signed, and Mary had to clear her throat before translating. “He says, ‘Fine, sir. How are you?’”
“I’m all right.” The man smiled a little and then glanced at Bella. “I want you to wait in the hall. I’ll talk to you after I speak with him.”
Bella hesitated.
“That isn’t a request,” he said in a level voice.
After Bella left, the guy turned his chair toward John, leaned back in it, and kicked his long legs out. “So tell me, son, where did you grow up?”
John moved his hands, and Mary said, “Here in town. First in an orphanage, then with a couple sets of foster parents.”
“You know anything about your mom or dad?”
John shook his head.
“Bella told me you had a bracelet with some designs on it. Would you show it to me?”
John pulled up his sleeve and extended his arm. The man’s hand engulfed the boy’s wrist.
“That’s real nice, son. You make it?”
John nodded.
“And where’d you get the idea for the design?”
John extracted himself from the soldier’s grip and started to sign. When he stopped, Mary said, “He dreams of the pattern.”
“Yeah? Mind if I ask what your dreams are like?” The man returned to his casual pose in the chair, but his eyes were narrow.
Screw martial-arts training, Mary thought. This wasn’t about some karate lessons. This was an interrogation.
As John hesitated, she wanted to grab the kid and march out, but she had a feeling the boy would fight her. He was utterly absorbed by the man, intense and intent.
“It’s all right, son. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”
John lifted his hands, and Mary spoke as he signed.
“Er…he’s in a dark place. Kneeling in front of an altar. Behind it, he sees writing on the wall, hundreds of lines of writing in black stone—John, wait, slow down. I can’t translate when you go so fast.” Mary concentrated on the boy’s hands. “He says in the dream he keeps going over and touching a strip of writing that looks like this.”
The man frowned.
When John looked down, as if embarrassed, the soldier said, “Don’t you worry, son, we’re cool. Is there anything else you can think of about yourself that strikes you as odd? Things that maybe make you different from other folks?”
Mary shifted in her chair, really uncomfortable with the way things were going. John was clearly going to answer any question put to him, but for God’s sake, they didn’t know who this man was. And Bella, though she’d made the introduction, had been obviously uncomfortable.
Mary lifted her hands, about to sign a warning to John, when the kid unbuttoned his shirt. He opened one side, flashing a circular scar above his left pectoral.
The man leaned forward, studied the marking, and then moved back. “Where did you get that?”
The boy’s hands flew around in front of him.
“He says he was born with it.”
“Is there anything else?” the man asked.
John glanced over at Mary. He took a deep breath and signed, I dream of blood. Of fangs. Of…biting.
Mary felt her eyes widen before she could stop herself.
John looked at her anxiously. Don’t worry, Mary. I’m not a sicko or anything. I was terrified when the dreams first came to me, and it’s not like I can control what my brain does, you know.
“Yeah, I know,” she said, reaching out and squeezing his hand.
“What did he say?” the man asked.
“That last part was meant for me.”
She inhaled deeply. And went back to translating.
Chapter Nine
Bella leaned back against the wall in the corridor and started braiding pieces of her hair, something she did when she was nervous.
She’d heard members of the Brotherhood were almost a separate species, but she’d never thought that was true. Until now. Those two males were not just colossal on a physical scale; they radiated dominance and aggression. Hell, they made her brother look like an amateur in the hard-ass department, and Rehvenge was the toughest thing she’d ever come across.
Dear God, what had she done in bringing Mary and John here? She was a little less concerned for the boy, but what about Mary? The way that blond warrior had acted around her was flat-out trouble. You could have boiled an ocean with the kind of lust he’d thrown off, and members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood were not used to being denied. From what she’d heard, when they wanted a female, they took her.
Thankfully, they weren’t known to rape, although going by what she’d seen just now, they wouldn’t have to. Those warrior’s bodies were made for sex. Mating with one of them, being possessed by all that strength, would be an extraordinary experience.
Although Mary, as a human, might very well not feel that way.
Bella looked up and down the hall, restless, tense. There was no one around, and if she had to stand still any longer she was going to have a headful of cornrows. She shook out her hair, picked a random direction, and meandered. When she caught the sound of a rhythmic pounding in the distance, she followed the thumping to a pair of metal doors. She opened one side and walked through.
The gymnasium was the size of a pro-basketball court, its wooden floor varnished to a high gloss. Bright blue mats were laid out here and there and caged fluorescent lights dangled from the high ceiling. A balcony with stadium seating jutted out on the left, and beneath the overhang, a series of punching bags was strung up.
A magnificent male was beating the crap out of one of them, his back to her. Dancing on the balls of his feet, light as a breeze, he threw punch after punch, ducking, hitting, driving the heavy bag forward with his force so the thing hung at an angle.
She couldn’t see his face, but he had to be attractive. His skull-trimmed hair was light brown, and he wore a skintight black turtleneck and a pair of loose black nylon workout pants. A holster crisscrossed over his broad back.
The door clicked shut behind her.
With a swipe of his arm, the male whipped a black-bladed dagger out and buried it into the bag. He ripped the thing open, sand and padding pouring down in a rush onto the mat. And then he spun around.
Bella clapped a hand over her mouth. His face was scarred, as if someone had tried to cut it in half with a knife. The thick line started at his forehead, went down the bridge of his nose, and curved over his cheek. It ended at the side of his mouth, distorting his upper lip.
Narrowed eyes, black and cold as night, took her in and then widened ever so slightly. He seemed nonplussed, his big body unmoving save for the deep breaths he took.
The male wanted her, she thought. And was unsure what to do about it.
Except just like that, the speculation and odd confusion were buried. What took their place was an icy anger that scared the hell out of her. Keeping her eyes on him, she backed into the door and pumped the release bar. When she got nowhere, she had a feeling he was trapping her inside.
The male watched her struggle for a moment and then came after her. As he stalked across the mats, he flipped his dagger into the air and caught it by the handle. Flipped it up, snatched it back. Up and down.
“Don’t know what you’re doing here,” he said in a low voice. “Other than fucking up my workout.”
As those eyes went over her face and body, his hostility was palpable, but he was also throwing off raw heat, a kind of sexual menace she really shouldn’t have been captivated by.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”
“Didn’t know what, female?”
God, he was so close now. And he was so much bigger than her.
She flattened herself against the door. “I’m sorry—”
The male punched his hands into the metal on either side of her head. She eyed the knife he was holding, but then forgot all about the weapon as he leaned into her. He stopped just before their bodies touched.
Bella took a deep breath, smellin
g him. His scent was more like a fire in her nose than anything she could name. And she responded to it, warming, wanting.
“You’re sorry,” he said, titling his head to the side and focusing on her neck. When he smiled, his fangs were long and very white. “Yeah, I bet you are.”
“I am very sorry.”
“So prove it.”
“How?” she croaked.
“Get on your hands and knees. I’ll take your apology from there.”
A door on the other side of the gymnasium burst open.
“Oh, Christ…Let her go!” Another male, this one with a long head of hair, jogged across the vast floor. “Hands off, Z. Right now.”
The scarred male leaned down to her, putting that misshapen mouth close to her ear. Something pressed into her sternum, over her heart. His fingertip.
“You just got saved, female.”
He stepped around her and went out the door, just as the other male came up to her.
“Are you okay?”
Bella eyed the decimated punching bag. She couldn’t seem to breathe, although whether that was from fear or something altogether sexual, she wasn’t sure. Probably a combination of both.
“Yes, I think so. Who was that?”
The male opened the door and led her back to the interrogation room without answering her question. “Do yourself a favor and stay here, okay?”
Good advice, she thought, as she was left by herself.
Chapter Ten
Rhage came awake with a jolt. As he looked at the clock on his bedside table, he was psyched when he could focus his eyes and read the thing. Then pissed off when he saw what time it was.
Where the hell was Tohr? He’d promised to call as soon as he was done with the human female, but that had been more than six hours ago.
Rhage reached for the phone and dialed Tohr’s cell. When he got voice mail, he cursed and hung up.
As he got out of bed, he stretched carefully. He was sore and sick to his stomach, but able to move a lot better. A quick shower and a fresh set of leathers had him feeling even more himself, and he headed for Wrath’s study. Dawn was coming soon, and if Tohr wasn’t answering his phone, he was probably doing a download to the king before he went home.