Marked (Dark Ties Book 1)

by A. Vers

  Her head bobs and her heart is loud in my ears.

  Pulling back, I lead her out of VIP to the dance floor, and spin her around until her back is tight to my chest. She gasps.

  My fingers clench into her hips, fitting them against mine as we sway to the beat. It takes her a second and she seems to melt. Her rear grinds into me. Every dip and push back with her hips is torture over my length. My body stirs to life, lust roaring through my veins until my fangs drop against my lip.

  Her arm winds up behind my neck, holding me. Those little fingers dip into my hair. A rumble spills from my lips and chest.

  As she dances before me, I can’t help but take in the curve of her throat. The way her tank top molds to the upper half of her body. Or the way her back bends and arches.

  She’s hot against me. And that damn little skirt is doing all kinds of things to my sex drive. I glide my fingers over the smooth skin between her top and the waistband of the shockingly soft material. She shivers.

  Could she want this?

  Her rejection that first night at Carnage roars back to me. Her flinching. Turning away.

  I step back. My breathing is labored, and I can’t stop my grimace.

  Of course she doesn’t.

  And I shouldn’t.

  She spins in place, eyes heavy-lidded. “Ruin?”

  “Want another drink?”

  She nods, but the motion is stilted now. There is a wealth of confusion on her face, and I can’t sort it. Can’t decide if it’s real or not.

  I turn on my heel and lead the way back to the booth. I’ve downed two shots before it dawns that Lilah isn’t with me. I look around.

  She hovers just outside VIP, two lean males speaking animatedly to her. One can’t keep his eyes away from her breasts. The other reaches for her. Lilah frowns up at them, and she shakes her head. When she tries to walk around them, they move, blocking her path with wide, fang-filled leers and too grabby hands. She swats at them.

  Prisma starts forward.

  I flit past him and step between Lilah and the two twerps as rage darkens my vision. There is a fine undercurrent of pepper in my nose, and I know it’s Lilah’s fear.

  The tow younger vamps stare up at me, and I catch the momentary lapse in their fucking sanity that they think they are a match for me.

  Gold light bounces off their tan faces, and my fangs bare as I hiss. “Scram.”

  They hightail it without further prompting.

  I turn to Lilah. “What happened?” I demand.

  She frowns. “They grabbed my arm on the way back. I couldn’t get past ...”

  I scrub my face with a harsh exhale. Damn woman is a beacon for assholes. Myself included. “Okay,” I say. “Give me your hand.”

  She raises it slowly. I clasp her fingers again and pull her with me past Prisma, through VIP, and down the hall for the donor stalls and private shows.

  At the first empty door, I urge her inside. “Sit.”

  She collapses on the leather couch. “Am I in time-out or something?”

  My eyes roll. “Or something. Just hang here for a minute.”

  Though her bright blue eyes seem more puzzled than angry, I point at her. “Stay.”

  She snorts, but folds her arms and leans back. I flit back to VIP and put in an order for more drinks to be brought to us. Davin grins, but I ignore him and head back.

  Lilah studies me as I walk inside and close the door. “Ruin, what are we doing in here?”

  I shrug. “Figured you could use a minute of quiet.”

  She watches me. “Oh.”

  When she looks away, I can breathe easy again. Her gaze is soul piercing. Hot. And just because my soul was stained a long time ago, it’s still not something I want her to see.

  The lights dim and the wall across the room rolls up to reveal one-way glass and a scantily clad woman in white lace.

  My head whips over to the green light above the door.

  Shit.

  Wrong type of room.

  Lilah looks at me. “Ruin...”

  I lean back against the wall. Far from her and the couch. “It’s a short show, Lilah. This was the only empty room. You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.”

  Her dark head darts back as the woman begins to sashay to synthesized rap. I ignore the almost naked woman for the one on the couch.

  Lilah shifts. Her legs cross and uncross at the knee, the long line of her thigh peeking from under her skirt. The woman behind the glass reaches for the lace covering her smaller breasts and Lilah makes a sound. “Ruin. We can’t watch this.”

  I walk across the room and drop next to her on the sofa. “Why?” I ask. “Underground staffs on a volunteer basis. She used to work as a stripper at a dive three counties over, but a stalker customer set her on the run. She wound up here, bleeding and broken in more ways than one.”

  “Raina offered her a job, Markus offered her protection. Now she dances four nights a week and is happily married to Prisma.” At Lilah’s look, I smile. “The big guy at the rope.”

  Her eyes widen, but she peers shyly back at the woman behind the glass. “Does she know we’re here?”

  I shake my head. “One way glass. When the light comes on in her office, she can choose to dance or not.”

  Lilah shifts again, and I glance down as her plump thighs clenched together.

  “Does it bother you that she’s dancing, or does your reaction to it bother you?” I whisper.

  She licks her lips. “I don’t know.”

  I draw my knee up and gaze at her. She is focused on the other woman, her chest heaving slightly and her pulse pounding. That delicious lilac scent pours from her skin, hardening me into stone.

  Once again, I curse Raina and Markus for this. But I curse by body for its reaction more.

  Her excitement fuels mine. Blood pools in my groin and I fight to remain in place. To keep from asking to taste her while she watches. Veronica’s fingers dip to the band of her thong out of my peripheral.

  Lilah turns to me. “Bathroom?”

  It’s such an abrupt question, that I’m left staring. “Umm... End of the hall—”

  She’s up and moving to the door before I can finish. Davin pushes in right behind her, his lascivious smile disappearing as he takes in the otherwise empty room.

  He tuts. “Damn, Cap. What’d you do to the girl?”

  I stand and take the tray before shoving him back out into the hall. “Go.”

  He does with another sad expression my way, and a hell of a lot of muttering. “Hell, if Captain Wade can’t get the girl, what hope is there for the rest of us?”

  As the door closes behind him and I sit back down, just the rap music, dancing shifter, and an empty room, I am forced to ask myself the same damn question.

  20

  Lilah

  I STARE AT MYSELF IN the mirror, cheeks hot and my eyes almost glassy. Bright. Too bright.

  It wasn’t the woman. Not really. It was wanting to do what she was doing. For Ruin. A slow, sensual dance. Knowing he is on the other side of the glass, watching ...

  My hands clamp harder over the cool porcelain of the sink. Everything tingles. And it’s more than the alcohol, more than the thump of the music, or the sights and smells.

  It’s Ruin.

  The man is like a damn whirlwind of power. He blows into your life and leaves you in a limp, panting mess when he goes.

  Raina said to find something or someone I want and go for it. To do something for me. And holy hell do I want him.

  Ruin is what I want. However I can get him.

  Despite my determination, it takes a lot of cool water splashed on my face and neck to get me back in the room with Ruin. He is nursing a drink when I walk inside, and, thankfully, the half-naked woman is gone.

  “Veronica is off for the rest of the night,” he says.

  I nod. Scrubbing my damp hands on my skirt, I walk back to the couch and sit down. He offers me a glass, but I shake my head. “I should
probably slow down.”

  His lips curve. “Afraid I’ll take advantage of you?” He presses the glass to his lip.

  I huff. “Only if I’m lucky,” I mutter, forgetting he has heightened hearing.

  He inhales liquor and chokes. My face flames and I scramble for some of the bar napkins as he coughs and sputters. I hand the stack to him. He dabs at his chin and throat, eyes wild. “What?”

  Oh god. Oh god.

  I look at him, mind racing. “What do you like about being a supernatural?” I ask quickly.

  He peers at me, eyes still a little too wide. “Wait...” Then, his head shakes with a masculine sigh. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it, I guess.” Still, his dark eyes are wary now.

  “Really?” I tease, trying to cover my slip. “Fine. What is the best part about being a vampire?”

  His head tilts. “Well ... The speed is nice. The strength too.”

  I snicker. “That’s such a guy answer.”

  He glowers. “Okay, smart-ass, if you were a vampire, what would be your favorite part?” He raises the glass.

  I take in the full bottom swell of his mouth. “The sex.” My palms slam over my mouth.

  Oh god.

  Where the fuck is my damn brain to mouth filter tonight?

  He chokes again and whiskey sprays all over the floor. His head whips around, onyx irises hot and searing.

  They move over me. “I don’t understand.”

  My face burns. “Raina said her and Markus go at it like rabbits,” I breathe. “Something about them being more than husband and wife. What is it she called it?”

  “Consorts,” he says, searching face. “They’re Consorts.”

  I nod. “Yeah. That.”

  “So, all the kick-ass powers in the world ... and you would just want the sex?”

  “Well, the healing takes care of the aches, right? And vampire men are super strong. So, think of all the positions.”

  He mutters under his breath.

  “Huh?”

  His head shakes. “I said yeah. The positions.”

  My heart pounds in the quiet that follows, but there is something about the dark and the spicy scent of his skin that leaves me on edge. Bold.

  “What about you, Ruin?” I ask, taking the napkin from him to dab at a few drops of liquor on his chest.

  He watches me out of the corner of his eye. “What about me?” His voice is deeper, rasping. It seems to rub along my skin.

  I stare into his dark gaze. “What’s the best part about sex as a vampire?”

  He grabs my wrist, fingers overlapping. For a minute, I expect him to jerk away like before. “I love the scents,” he breathes. “The flavors combining in my nose and on my tongue.”

  “Flavors?”

  His fingers tighten. “Blood, sweat, and sex.”

  I tremble, nipples beading in my bra. “And, do you feed during sex?”

  “Only if I’m asked.” His gaze is stark. Honest.

  My eyes dip to his full bottom lip and the fangs I can’t see. “How do you kiss with the fangs?”

  “They retract unless my emotions get too strong, or my control slips.” The low timbre of his voice is sinful in my ears.

  “Have you ever lost control kissing?”

  His head shakes, slowly.

  I lean forward, and he releases me. My fingers alight on his chest, and heat pools just at the hard swell of muscle under the cotton covering him. “Show me.”

  He jerks. “Lilah...”

  “Just once.” My eyes search his face. “I want to know what it’s like to kiss a vampire.”

  He watches me, too, or maybe assesses me. There is a calculation to the look, like I just gave him an answer to a question he had without knowing it.

  One arms flows around my waist, pulling me closer. I squeak at the rapidness.

  God, he’s fast.

  His heavy palm slips under my tank top and presses into my back. I arch into him. My heart pounds in my veins.

  Fire, Lilah. You’re playing with fire .

  Calloused fingers glide over my cheek in a sensual caress. It’s gentle, but agonizing as his thumb scrubs my bottom lip. My eyes flutter. His hand moves back, cradling my head in one cool palm. When he lowers his head, I stop breathing.

  The first brush of his lips is like velvet. Tender and patient. I make a noise, fingers digging into his shirt in hopes of feeling skin.

  He stills.

  When he doesn’t move in either direction, I start to pull away. “Ruin?”

  A low rumble pours from him, and his mouth fastens on mine with a hunger I don’t understand. But I want it. I rise up in his arms, tasting and nipping at his bottom lip with the answering need in my belly.

  My fingers thread through his dark hair, pulling at the short spikes until he moans into my mouth. That one sound makes me bolder, hotter.

  Needy.

  I shift to my knees beside him. Grabbing the armrest beside him, I climb atop his rock-hard thighs to straddle him.

  He leans back on the sofa as I collapse into his lap. “Lilah...”

  I kiss him again, chest heaving as my breasts brush his chest. He tastes like he smells. Spice, heat, and expensive whiskey.

  His head dips forward, biting at my lip. Those strong hands grip my waist, pulling me closer. Almost to where I need him—

  The door opens and bright light filters into the little room from the hall.

  I’m dumped onto the sofa as Ruin soars to his feet, putting a wide amount of space between us. An abyss, really. I try not to notice the tension in his shoulders or the pink, wet sheen to his mouth.

  Or the quivering fire in my stomach.

  Raina glances between us, her lips trembling in an attempt not to smile. “Thought you’d want to see where you’ll be working. But I can come back?”

  Though she phrases it as a question, she doesn’t need to ask.

  I peer at Ruin. He leans against the far wall, jaw tight, expression empty, and his body language locked down as tight as it will go.

  There’s no chance I can get him back where I want him. Where I need him. Not now.

  My eyes roll back to Raina with a sigh. “Yeah. A tour would be great.”

  21

  Ruin

  UNDERGROUND’S DINING hall buzzes all around me. Humans and supernaturals laugh, talk, and argue under the dim lighting. My eyes track over the crowd as I try to force myself to breathe. To maintain an outward display of calm.

  But inside...

  Inside...

  Damn.

  Inside her fucking lips are over mine; a ghost sensation that won’t ease at all. Nor will the fucking ache in my groin.

  Stupid.

  It was so fucking stupid to kiss her. For so many reasons.

  Anyone could have walked in while I was distracted by the succulent taste of her mouth and those fucking curves. Curves that are still in my hands, filling them perfectly and begging me to touch them over and over.

  My eyes close tight. If she had been hurt because of my inattention ...

  No. I need to hate her. To remind myself that the innocent woman I see is a mask. A front. Just like Carnage was.

  Just like the apartment had to be.

  So why did she even ask me to kiss her? Is it a game? Is it the damn novels she had in that damn room at Carnage? Some deep-seated kink that she wants to work out?

  She can’t want me. Not really.

  It’s the change of her situation, the stress maybe. There can be no desire for me as anything other than a warm body to help ease the ache. And fucking-A do I want to help ease the gods-damn ache.

  I lean against the wall near the low bar, forcing myself to breathe past the need. And the first touch of my rage.

  Everything in me is screaming to lay her on a bed, a couch ... One of the damn tables. I want to yank that damn skirt up and feast between those thick thighs. Audience be damned.

  I stifle the hungry snarl that wants to burst free. Barely.
/>
  Meanwhile, Lilah walks along behind Raina, hands clasped before her, and head tilted as she listens intently to every damn word the vampiress says. Raina said she would be working at Underground. And I have every intention of voicing my opinion on that one just as soon as I get a chance.

  Not that I expect either damn female to listen to a fucking word I say. But Lilah is human. The heiress to one evil son of a bitch, too. How the hell is my queen going to give her a job here? A sanctum of the supernatural kin. The very population Lilah’s ‘uncle’ is working to kill, if he really is tied up with Vlad.

  But maybe that was the endgame. Leave her stranded, defenseless. No. Vic couldn’t know we would take her in. He couldn’t predict we would give her refuge, a job ... A home.

  My chest clamps like a damn vice, and I snarl. That shithole apartment was not a home. It was old age and pneumonia waiting to happen. Lilah deserves ...

  I shake my head hard before that thought can even finish forming. Lilah is nothing to me. To the coven. She’s just a human.

  One I want in my fucking lap more than I want the next breath of air in my lungs.

  Raina didn’t say a damn word to me in the viewing room or the hall. And I know she saw us. Hell, she can scent my arousal just like every other damn supe in the place. That may be the only good thing about the whole clusterfuck. Not a damn one of them will even look at Lilah for more than a few seconds now.

  My scent is all over her. The spice and lilac fragrance is almost enough to bring me to my knees. To make me beg to have it on my sheets and in my bed.

  On my damn tongue.

  But Raina will tell Markus. Hell, maybe my king already knows. I groan. That is a conversation I am not looking forward to.

  Lilah walks over to me, little skirt bouncing. Half the fucking club watches her and that virginal innocence that wreathes her like a gods-damn halo. One I want to tarnish with a lot of naughty days and nights. With silk sheets, fangs, and flesh.

  “Ruin?”

  I snap to attention, focusing on her upturned face. “Yeah?”

  Her hips twirl a little. “I’m ready to go. If you are.”