She seemed to like the water, craning her neck and opening her mouth.
He saw her fangs, and they were beautiful to him. Bright white. Sharply pointed. He remembered the sensation of her drinking.
Wrath pulled her against him for a moment, just hugging her. And then he dropped her feet to the ground and held her body with one arm. With his free hand, he picked up a jar of shampoo and squeezed a little on the top of her head. He rubbed her hair into a lather and then rinsed it clean. With a bar of soap, he gently massaged her skin as best he could without dropping her and then made sure every last suds was washed off.
Scooping her up into his arms again, he shut off the water, got out, and grabbed a towel. He wrapped her up and put her back on the counter, propping her against the wall and the mirror. Carefully, he blotted the water from her hair, her face, her neck, her arms. Then her feet, calves, and knees.
Her skin was going to be hypersensitive for a while. Her eyes and hearing, too.
During her transition, he'd watched for signs that her body was changing and had seen none. She was the same height as before. She fit the same way against him. He wondered if she'd even be able to go out during the day.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He kissed her and carried her to the sofa. Then he stripped the bed of the wet sheets and mattress pad. He struggled with remaking it. He had a tough time finding the other set of sheets, and getting them on right was hard as hell for him. When he was finally finished, he picked her up and settled her against the fresh satin.
Her deep sigh was the best compliment he'd ever been paid.
Wrath knelt by the side of the bed, suddenly aware that his leather pants and his shitkickers were soaking wet.
"Yes," she whispered.
He kissed her forehead. "Yes what, my leelan?"
"I will marry you."
Chapter Thirty-five
Butch paced around the drawing room again, stopping at the fireplace. He looked down at the logs that were banked in the hearth. He imagined how nice a fire would be in there during the winter. How you could sit on the silk couches and watch the flickering flames. How that butler would serve you hot toddies or something.
What the hell was that bunch of thugs doing in a place like this?
From down the hall, he heard the sounds of the men. They'd been in what he assumed must be a dining room for hours, just running their mouths. At least their choice of dinner music was appropriate. Hard-core rap thumped through the house, 2Pac, Jay-Z, D-12. Occasionally, he heard shouts of laughter over the beats. Taunts of the macho variety.
He eyed the front door for the one millionth time.
When the men had shoved him into the drawing room and then headed down the hall a lifetime ago, his first thought was of escaping, even if he had to put a chair through a window. He'd call Jose. Bring the whole station house to their front door.
But before he could act on the impulse, a voice had filled his ear. "I hope you decide to run."
Butch had spun around, crouching. The skull-trimmed, scarred one was right next to him, though he hadn't heard the guy move.
"Go 'head." Those freaky-ass black eyes had stared at Butch with the dead intensity of a shark. "Crack open that door. Run your little heart out. Run fast, run smart, call for help. Just know that I'll come after you. Like a hearse."
"Zsadist, leave him alone." The guy with the great hair had stuck his head out into the room. "Wrath wants the human alive. For the time being."
The scarred man had spared Butch one last look. "Try it. Just try it. I'd rather hunt you down than eat dinner with them."
Then he'd sauntered out.
Threat notwithstanding, Butch had cased what he could see of the house. There wasn't a phone that he could find, and judging by the security system panel he'd spied in the front hall, all the windows and doors in the place had to be wired for sound. Busting out discreetly wasn't an option.
And he didn't want to leave Beth behind.
God, if she died
Butch inhaled. Frowned.
What the hell was that?
The tropics. He smelled the ocean.
He turned around.
A breathtaking woman was standing in the doorway. Waif-like, elegant, she was dressed in a filmy gown, and her gorgeous blond hair drifted to her hips in waves. Her face was all delicate perfection, her eyes the pale blue color of sea glass.
She took a step back, as if in fear of him.
"No," he said, lurching forward, thinking of the men in the room down the hall. "Don't go back there."
She looked around, as if she wanted to call for help.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said quickly.
"How do I know that?"
She had a subtle accent. Like all of them did. Maybe Russian?
He held his hands out, palms up, to show he didn't have a weapon. "I'm a cop."
Yeah, okay, so that was no longer exactly true, but he wanted to reassure her.
She gathered the skirt of her dress up, as if she were going to take off.
Hell, he shouldn't have used the C-word. If she was the moll of one of them, then she was even more likely to bolt if she thought he was the law.
"I'm not here in an official capacity," he said. "No gun, no badge."
Abruptly, she dropped the gown, and her shoulders straightened as if she were drafting her courage into service. She came forward a little, moving fluidly, gracefully. Butch kept his mouth shut and tried to look smaller than he actually was, less threatening.
"He doesn't normally let your kind be around," she said.
Yeah, he could imagine cops didn't hang out too often in this house. "I'm waiting for a friend."
Her head tilted to the side. As she got closer, her beauty nearly blinded him. Her facial structure was the stuff of fashion magazines, her body the kind of long, lovely sweep he imagined trotted down runways. And that perfume she wore. It got into his nose, into his brain. She smelled so good his eyes watered.
She was unreal, he thought. So pure. So clean.
He felt like he should brush his teeth and shave before saying one more word to her.
What the hell was she doing hanging out with those lowlifes?
Butch's heart cramped with the idea of how useful she'd be to them. Dear God. On the sex market, you could get thousands and thousands and thousands for just an hour with a woman like this one.
No wonder the house was so well tricked out.
Marissa was leery of the human, especially considering his size. She'd heard so many stories about them. How they hated the vampire race. How they hunted her species.
But this one seemed to be taking great pains not to frighten her. He didn't move; he barely breathed. All he did was stare at her.
Which was unnerving, and not only because she wasn't used to being looked at. His hazel eyes gleamed out of his harsh face, missing nothing, taking in all of her.
He was smart, this one. Smart and sad.
"What's your name?" he asked quietly.
She liked his voice. Deep and low. Rough around the edges, as if he were perpetually a little hoarse.
She was getting very close to him now, just feet away, so she stopped.
"Marissa. I am called Marissa."
"Butch." He touched his broad chest. "Er Brian. O'Neal. People call me Butch, though."
He stuck his hand out. Then retracted it, rubbed it vigorously on his pant leg, and offered it again.
She lost her nerve. Touching him was too much, and she took a step back.
He dropped his hand slowly, not looking at all surprised that she'd rejected him.
And still, he stared.
"What are you looking at?" She brought her hands up to the bodice of the gown, covering herself.
A flush ran up his neck and into his cheeks. "Sorry. You're probably sick of men gawking at you."
Marissa shook her head. "No males look at me."
"I find that very hard to believe."
It was true. They were all terrified of what Wrath might do.
God, if those others had only known how little she'd been wanted.
"Because" The human's voice trailed off. "Man, you are so totally beautiful."
And then he cleared his throat, like he wished he could take the words back.
She tilted her head, considering him. There was something she couldn't decipher in his tone. An achy pitch.
He dug his hand into his thick, dark hair. "And I'm going to shut up now. Before I make you feel even more uncomfortable."
His eyes stayed on her face.
They were really nice eyes, she thought. So warm. And they held a lonely yearning as he looked at her. As if he couldn't have something he wanted.
She knew all about that.
The human laughed, a burst of sound that came from deep inside his chest. "And how 'bout I try not to stare? That'd be good." He crammed his hands in the pockets of his pants and focused on the floor. "Look at me. Not staring. Not staring at all. Hey, this is a nice rug. You ever notice it before?"
Marissa smiled in a small way and took a step closer to him. "I think I like the way you look at me."
Those hazel eyes snapped back to her face.
"I'm just not used to it," she explained. Her hand went to her neck, but she dropped it.
"Man, you cannot be real," the human said softly.
"Why not?"
"You just can't."
She laughed a little. "Well, I am."
He cleared his throat again. Offered her a lopsided grin. "Mind if I ask you to prove it?"
"How?"
"Can I touch your hair?"
Her first thought was to back away again. But then, why should she? She was tied to no male. If this human wanted to touch her, why couldn't he?
Especially because she kind of wanted him to.
She dropped her head down so some of her hair fell forward. She thought about holding a section out to him. But no. She would let him come closer.
And the human did.
His hand was big as it reached out, and her breath caught, but he didn't go for the blond wave hanging in front of her. Instead, his fingertips made contact with a lock resting on her shoulder.
She felt a blast of heat through her skin, as though he'd touched her with a lit match. In no time, the sensation traveled throughout her body, as if she'd spiked a fever.
What was this?
The human's finger moved her hair aside, and then his whole hand brushed against her shoulder. His palm was warm. Solid. Strong.
She lifted her eyes to him.
"I can't breathe," she whispered.
Butch nearly fell over. Good God, he thought. She wanted him. And her innocent amazement at his touch was better than the best sex he'd ever had.
His body shot into overdrive, his erection straining his jeans, demanding to get out.
But this couldn't be real, he thought. She had to be playing him. No one looked like she did, and hung out with those boys, without knowing every trick in the book. And pulling a lot of them on her back.
He watched as she took an unsteady breath. And then licked her lips. The tip of her tongue was pink.
Sweet Jesus.
She might only be a fantastic actress. She might only be the best whore anyone had ever come across. But as she looked up at him, she had him in the palm of her hand. He was buying what she was selling in a big fricking way.
He let his finger run up the side of her neck. Her skin was so soft, so pale, he was afraid he'd leave a mark just by touching her.
"Do you live here?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I live with my brother."
He was relieved. "That's good."
He brushed her cheek lightly. Stared at her mouth.
What would she taste like?
His eyes dipped lower, to her breasts. They seemed to have swelled and were pushing against the bodice of her fine gown.
Her voice was tremulous. "You look at me as if you're thirsty."
Oh, God. She had that right. He was parched.
"Except I thought humans didn't feed?" she said.
Butch frowned. She had an odd way with words, but then English was clearly her second language.
His fingers moved over to her mouth. He paused, wondering if she would pull away if he touched her lips. Probably, he thought. Just to keep the game going.
"Your name," she said. "It's Butch?"
He nodded.
"What are you thirsty for, Butch?" she whispered.
His eyes slammed shut as his body swayed.
"Butch?" she said. "Did I hurt you just now?"
Yeah, only if you consider raging lust a kind of pain, he thought.
Chapter Thirty-six
Wrath got out of bed and drew on a fresh set of leathers and a black T-shirt.
Beth was sleeping soundly on her side. When he went over and kissed her, she stirred.
"I'm going upstairs," he said, stroking her cheek. "But I'm not leaving the house."
She nodded, brushed her lips against his palm, and sank back down into the healing rest she needed so badly.
Wrath put on his sunglasses, locked the door behind him, and mounted the stairs. He knew there was a stupid, satisfied grin on his face and that his brothers were going to ride him hard for it.
But what the hell did he care?
He was taking a true shellan. He was going to be mated. And they could kiss his ass.
He pushed open the painting and stepped into the drawing room.
He couldn't believe what he saw.
Marissa in a long creamy gown. The cop in front of her, stroking her face, evidently poleaxed. All around them, the delicious scent of sex in the air.
And then Rhage burst into the room, dagger drawn. The brother was clearly ready to field dress the human for touching what he presumed was Wrath's shellan.
"Take your hands-"
Wrath leaped forward. "Rhage! Hold up!"
The brother caught himself as Butch and Marissa looked around frantically.
Rhage smiled and tossed the dagger across the room at Wrath. "Go for it, my lord. He deserves death for putting his hand to her, but can we play with him a little first?"
Wrath caught the knife. "Go back to the table, Hollywood."
"Ah, come on. You know it's better with an audience."
Wrath smirked. "Only for you, my brother. Now leave us."
He threw the dagger back and Rhage sheathed it while leaving. "Man, Wrath, you can be a real buzz kill, you know that? A total fucking buzz kill."
Wrath looked over at Marissa and the cop. He had to approve of the way the human was using his body to protect her.
Maybe the guy was more than just a good opponent.
Butch glared at the suspect and put his arms out, trying to corral Marissa. She refused to stay behind him. Actually sidestepped his body, placing hers in front.
Like she was protecting him?
He grabbed her thin arm, but she resisted.
As that black-haired murderer came forward, she addressed the man sharply and they started talking in a language Butch didn't recognize. She grew heated. The man nodded a lot. Gradually she calmed.
And then the man put his hand on her shoulder and turned his head to look at Butch.
Good God, the guy's neck had a raw wound on one side, like something had chewed on him.
The man spoke. Marissa's reply was hesitant, but then she repeated it in a stronger tone.
"So be it," the bastard said, smiling tightly.
Marissa moved so she was standing side by side with Butch. She looked at him and blushed.
Something had been decided. Something-
With a quick movement, the man grabbed Butch's throat.
Marissa screamed. "Wrath!"
Ah, shit, not this again, Butch thought as he struggled.
"She seems to be intrigued by you," the murderer said in
Butch's ear. "So I'm going to let you keep breathing. But you hurt her and I'll skin you alive."
Marissa was talking rapidly in that foreign language, cursing the man, no doubt.
"We understand each other?" the man demanded.
Butch narrowed his eyes on those sunglasses. "She's got nothing to fear from me."
"Keep it that way."
"You're another story, however."
The man let go. Straightened Butch's shirt. Smiled.
Butch frowned.
Man, there was something seriously wrong with that guy's teeth.
"Where's Beth?" Butch demanded.
"She's safe. And healthy."
"No thanks to you."
"Thanks only to me."
"Then you've got some weird-ass ways of defining those words. I want to see her for myself."
"Later. And only if she wants to see you."
Butch's anger flared, and the bastard seemed to sense the surge in his body.
"Watch it, cop. You're in my world now."
Yeah, fuck you, buddy.
Butch was about to open his mouth when he felt something grab onto his arm. He looked down. Fear was shining in Marissa's eyes.
"Butch, please," she whispered. "Don't."
The suspect nodded.
"You be polite, and you stay with her," the man said, voice softening as he looked at Marissa. "She's happy to have your company, and she deserves a good shot of happy. We'll see about Beth. Later."
Mr. X took Billy back to the Riddle estate after they'd driven around the city for hours, talking.
Billy's past was perfect, and not just because of the violence he'd perpetrated on others. His father was just the kind of male role model Mr. X liked to see. A total, raving lunatic with a God complex. The man was a former NFL player, big, aggressive and competitive, and he'd ridden Billy since birth.
Nothing the son ever did was good enough. Mr. X's personal favorite was the story of Billy's mother's death. The woman had fallen into the pool after drinking too much one afternoon, and Billy had found her floating facedown. He'd pulled her out of the water and attempted CPR before calling 911. At the hospital, as the toe-tagged body had been wheeled to the morgue, the distinguished senator from the great state of New York had suggested his son had killed her. Evidently, Billy should have known to get an ambulance on the scene first rather making a half-assed attempt to play paramedic himself.
Mr. X didn't question the merits of matricide. It was just that in Billy's case, the kid had been trained as a lifeguard and had actually tried to save the woman.
"I hate this house," Riddle muttered, staring up at the beautifully lit bricks and columns and shutters.
"Too bad you're on all those waiting lists. College would have gotten you out."
"Yeah, well, I might have gotten in to one or two. If he hadn't forced me to apply to only Ivies."
"So what are you going to do?"
Billy shrugged. "He wants me to move out. Get a job. It's just I don't know where I can go."
"Tell me something, Billy, you got a girlfriend?"
He smiled, a little half pull at the corners of his lips. "I got a couple."
Yes, Mr. X could imagine the guy did, handsome as he was. "Someone special?"
Billy's eyes slid over. "They're good for getting off. But they're all over me. Calling and shit, wanting to know where I am, what I'm doing. They want too much, and I, ah"
"You what?"
Billy's eyes narrowed.
"Go on, son. There's isn't anything you can't tell me."
"I, ah, I like them better when they're hard to get" He cleared his throat. "Actually, I like it when they're trying to get away."
"You like to catch them?"
I like to take them. You know what I mean?" Mr. X nodded, thinking that was one more vote in Riddle's favor. No ties to family. No ties to a girlfriend. And his sexual dysfunction would be taken care of during the induction ceremony.
Riddle grabbed for the -door handle. "Anyway, thanks, sen-sei. This was really great."
"Billy."
Riddle paused, glancing back expectantly. "Yes, sensei?"
"What if you came to work for me?" Riddle's eyes flared. "You mean at the academy?"
"Sort of. Let me tell you a little about what you would be doing and then you can think it over."
Chapter Thirty-seven
Beth rolled over, looking for Wrath, and then remembered that he'd gone upstairs.
She sat up, bracing herself in case the pain came back. When nothing hurt, she got to her feet. She was naked, and she looked down at her body. Everything seemed the same. She did a little jig. Seemed to work okay, too.
Except she couldn't see very well.
She went into the bathroom. Removed her contacts. And saw perfectly.
Well, there's one benefit.
Whoa. Fangs. She had fangs.
She leaned in, prodded them a little. Eating with those puppies was going to take some getting used to, she thought.
On impulse, she brought up her hands, turned her fingers into claws. Hissed.
Cool.
Halloween was going to be a real kick in the pants from now on.
She brushed out her hair, pulled on Wrath's robe, and headed for the stairs. When she got to the top, she wasn't breathless at all.
And wasn't this going to make her workouts a snap?
As she stepped out of the painting, she saw Butch sitting across the sofa from a stunning blonde. In the distance, she heard male voices and heavy music.
Butch looked up.
"Beth!" He rushed over, wrapping her in a bear hug. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Truly, I'm fine." Which was amazing, considering what she'd felt like earlier.
Butch pulled back, taking her face in his hands. He stared at her eyes. Frowned. "You don't look high."
"Why would I be?"
He shook his head sadly. "Don't hide it from me. I brought you here, remember?"
"I shall go," the blonde said, getting up.
Butch immediately turned to her. "No. Don't."
He went back to the couch. As he looked down at the woman, his expression was unlike any Beth had ever seen on his face. He was clearly enthralled.
"Marissa, I want you to meet my friend"-he emphasized the word-"Beth Randall. Beth, this is Marissa."
Beth lifted a hand. "Hello."
The blonde stared across the room, scrutinizing Beth from head to foot.
"You are Wrath's female," Marissa said with a kind of awe. As if Beth had pulled off some great feat. "The one he wants."
Beth felt her cheeks warm. "Ah, yeah. I guess I am."
There was an awkward silence. Butch looked back and forth between the two of them, frowning like he wanted in on the secret.
Yeah, well, Beth wanted to know what it was, too.
"Do you know where Wrath is?" she asked.
Butch scowled, as if he didn't want her near the man. "He's in the dining room."
"Thanks."
"Listen, Beth. We need to-"
"I'm not going anywhere."
He took a deep breath, blowing it out in a slow hiss.
"Somehow, I thought that's what you would say." He looked at the blonde. "But if you need me, I, ah I'll be here."
She smiled to herself as Butch sat back down with the woman.
As she went out to the hall, the sound of men talking and the deep rumble of rap music got louder.
"So what'd you do to the lesser?" a male voice said.
"I lit his cigarette with a sawed-off," another one answered. "He didn't come down for breakfast, you feel me?"
There was a loud chorus of laughter. A couple of bangs, like heavy fists hitting a table.
She pulled the lapels of the robe closer together. It probably would've been smart to get dressed first, but she hadn't wanted to wait to see Wrath.
She rounded the corner.
The instant she appeared in the doorway, all talk ceased. Heads turned; eyes stared. Hard-core rap expanded to fill the silence, bass thumping, lyrics chanting.
My God. She'd never seen so many big men in leather before in her life.
She took a step backward just as Wrath shot to his feet from the head of the table. He came at her, looking intense. No doubt she'd interrupted some kind of sacred guy time.
She tried to think of something to say to him. He was probably going to want to play it cool in front of his brothers, do that whole I'm-a-tough-guy, this-broad-is-just-a-
Wrath wrapped his whole body around hers, putting his face in her hair.
"My leelan," he whispered in her ear. He ran his hands up and down her back. "My beautiful leelan."
He pulled away and kissed her on the lips. His smile was tender as he smoothed her hair.
Beth grinned. Evidently, her man didn't have a problem with public displays of affection. Good to know.
She tilted her head, looking around his shoulder.
And they were definitely in public. The men were gaping. Positively gaping.
She nearly laughed. Seeing a bunch of guys who looked like violent offenders sitting around a table set with silver and china was incongruous enough. But having them be so totally flabbergasted seemed downright absurd.
"You want to introduce me?" she said, nodding at the group.
Wrath put his arm around her shoulders, tucking her against him.
"This is the Black Dagger Brotherhood. My fellow war-riors. My brothers." He nodded to the blindingly handsome one. "Rhage, you know. Tohr also. The one with the goatee and the Sox hat is Vishous. The Rapunzel over there is Phury." Wrath's voice dropped to a snarl. "And Zsadist has already introduced himself."
The two she'd spent some time with smiled at her. The others nodded, except for the scarred one. He just stared.
That guy had a twin, she recalled. But she'd have been hard-pressed to pick out his real brother.
Though the one with the absolutely delicious hair and the fantastic yellow eyes did look a little like him.
"Gentlemen," Wrath said. "This is Beth."
And then he switched over to that language she didn't understand.
When he ended, there was an audible gasp.
He looked down, smiling. "Do you need anything? Are you hungry, leelan?"
She put her hand on her stomach. "You know, I am. I have the weirdest craving for bacon and chocolate. Go figure."
"I will serve you. Sit down." He indicated his chair and then headed off through a swinging door.
She eyed the men.
Great. Here she was, naked in a bathrobe, alone with well over a thousand pounds of vampire. Pulling off the nonchalant thing was impossible, so she just headed over for Wrath's seat. She didn't get far.
There was a loud scraping noise as five chairs slid backward. The men rose as a unit. And started coming for her.
She looked to the faces of the two she knew, but their grave expressions weren't encouraging.
And then the knives came out.
With a metallic whoosh, five black daggers were unsheathed.
She backed up frantically, hands in front of herself. She slammed into a wall and was about to scream for Wrath when the men dropped down on bended knees in a circle around her. In a single movement, as if they'd been choreographed, they buried the daggers into the floor at her feet and bowed their heads. The great whoomp of sound as steel met wood seemed both a pledge and a battle cry.
The handles of the knives vibrated.
The rap music continued to pound.
They seemed to be waiting for some kind of response from her.
"Umm. Thank you," she said.
The men's heads lifted. Etched into the harsh planes of their faces was total reverence. Even the scarred one had a respectful expression.
And then Wrath came in with a squeeze bottle of Hershey's syrup.
"Bacon's on the way." He smiled. "Hey, they like you."
"And thank God for that," she murmured, looking down at the daggers.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Marissa smiled, thinking that the human got more handsome the longer she was around him. "So you protect your kind for a living. That is good."
He shifted beside her on the couch. "Well, actually, I don't know what I'm going to do now. I have a feeling I'm about to be between jobs."
The chiming of a clock made her wonder how much time they'd spent together. And when the sun was coming up. "What time is it?"
"Just after four A.M."
"I must go."
"When can I see you again?"
She stood. "I don't know."
"Can we have dinner?" He leaped up. "Lunch? What are you doing tomorrow?"
She had to laugh. "I don't know."
She'd never been pursued before. It was nice.
"Ah, hell," he muttered. "I'm blowing it with this overea-ger sh-stuff, aren't I?" He put his hands on his hips and stared at the carpet as if disgusted with himself.
She stepped forward. His head snapped up.
"I would touch you now," she said softly. "Before I go."
His eyes flared.
"May I? Butch?"
"Anywhere," he breathed.
She lifted her hand, thinking she would just put it on his shoulder. But his lips fascinated her. She'd watched them move while he enunciated his words and wondered what they felt like.
"Your mouth," she said. "It's rather"
"What?" His voice was hoarse.
"Lovely."
She put her fingertip on his lower lip. His gasp drew air over her skin, and when he exhaled on a shudder, it came back warm and moist.
"You're soft," she said, brushing her forefinger back and forth.
He closed his eyes.
His body was throwing off the most intoxicating scent. She'd caught the heady fragrance the moment he'd first seen her. Now, it saturated the air.
Curious, she slipped her finger into his mouth. His eyes flipped open.
She felt his front teeth, finding the absence of fangs odd. When she went in farther, it was slick, wet, warm.