Dark Lover (25 page)

When her apartment building came into view, she wished she had more time with the butler.

"And here we are," he said. "Eleven eighty-eight Redd Avenue, apartment one-B. Although I have to say, neither your father nor I approved of the fact that you're living in a ground-floor unit."

The car came to a stop. She didn't want to get out.

"May I ask you more? Later?" she said.

"Oh, mistress, yes. Please. There is so much I want to tell you." He got out of the car, but she was already shutting her door by the time he came around to her.

She thought about putting out her hand and thanking him formally.

Instead she threw her arms around the little old man and hugged him.

After Beth left the chamber, Wrath's thirst called out for her and then stung him hard, as if it knew he was the one who had sent her away.

He pulled up his pants and dragged himself to the phone, calling Fritz, then Tohrment. His voice kept cracking, and he had to repeat himself to be understood.

As soon as he hung up with Tohr, the dry heaves started. He staggered to the bathroom, calling out for Marissa with his mind. He lurched over the toilet, but there was nothing much in his stomach.

He'd waited too long, he thought. Ignored the signals his body had been giving him for quite some time. And then

Beth had come along, and his internal chemistry had taken another series of hits. No wonder he was crazed.

Marissa's scent drifted in from the chamber.

"My lord?" she called out.

"I need…"

Beth
, he thought, hallucinating. He saw her in front of him, heard her voice in his head. He put his hand out. Touched nothing.

"My lord? Shall I come to you?" Marissa asked from the other room.

Wrath wiped the sweat from his face and came out, weaving like a drunk. He reached blindly into the air, pitching forward.

"Wrath!" Marissa rushed to him.

He let himself fall onto the bed, taking her down with him. Her body came up against his.

He felt Beth's.

And his face landed in sheets that were marked with Beth's scent. As he took a deep breath to try to stabilize himself, all he smelled was Beth.

"My lord, you need to feed." Marissa's voice came from far away, as if she were out in the stairway.

He looked to the sound and saw nothing. He was totally blind now.

Marissa's voice grew curiously strong. "My lord, here. Take my wrist. Now."

Warm skin was in his palm. He opened his mouth, but couldn't get his arms to work properly. He reached out, touched a shoulder, a collarbone, the curve of a neck.

Beth.

The hunger took over, and he reared up across the female body. With a roar he sank his teeth into the soft flesh above an artery. He drank deep and hard, seeing visions of the dark-haired woman who was his, picturing her giving herself to him, imagining it was her in his arms.

Marissa gasped.

Wrath's arms were nearly snapping her in half, his massive body a cage around hers as he drank. For the first time she felt every hard line of him.

Including what she realized must be an erection, something she'd never been anywhere near before.

The possibilities were exciting. And terrifying.

She went limp and tried to breathe. This was what she'd always wanted from him, though his passion was shocking. But what could she expect? He was a full-blooded male. A warrior.

And he'd finally realized he needed her.

Satisfaction took the place of any discomfort, and she tentatively ran her hands over his wide, bare shoulders, a liberty she'd never taken before. He made a sound deep in his throat, as if he wanted her to do more. With delicious pleasure she sank her hands into his hair. It was so soft. Who could have guessed? Such a hard male, but oh, how soft the dark waves were. Like her satin dresses.

Marissa wanted to see into his mind, an invasion she'd never risked for fear of his taking offense. But now everything was different. Maybe he would even kiss her after he finished. Make love to her. Maybe she could stay with him now. She would like to live at Darius's with him. Or wherever. It didn't matter.

She closed her eyes and reached out to his thoughts.

Only to see the female he was really thinking of. The
human
female.

It was a dark-haired beauty with her eyes half-closed. She was on her back, breasts exposed. His fingers were caressing her tight, pink nipples as he kissed the skin of her stomach, moving downward.

Marissa dropped the image as if it were broken glass.

Wrath wasn't here with her now. It wasn't her neck he was drinking from. It wasn't her body he was drawing hard into his.

And that erection wasn't because of her.

Wasn't for her.

As he sucked at her neck, his thick arms crushing her against him, Marissa cried out at the unfairness.

Of her hopes. Of her love. Of him.

How fitting that he was draining her. And how she wished he would finish the job. Drink her dry. Let her die.

It had taken her years and years, aeons, to realize the truth.

He never had been hers. He never would be.

God, she had nothing now that the fantasy was gone.

Chapter Twenty-one

Beth put her purse down on the hall table, said hello to Boo, and went into the bathroom. She eyed the shower, but decided against having one. Even though her stiff body could have used some time under a hot spray, she loved the lingering smell of Wrath on her skin. It was a wonderful, erotic perfume, a dark spice. Like nothing she'd ever come across before, nothing she could possibly forget.

Turning on the sink, she cleaned up, exquisitely sensitive and more than a little tender between her legs. Not that she cared about the ache. Wrath could do that to her anytime he wanted.

He was…

No words came to mind. Just an image of him releasing into her, his massive, sweat-covered shoulders and chest seizing up as he gave himself to her. As he branded her as his.

Which was what it had seemed like. She felt as though she'd been dominated and imprinted by a man. Taken.

And she wanted that again. Wanted him now.

But she shook her head, thinking that the unprotected sex had to stop. Bad enough it had been twice. Next time they were going to be safe.

On her way out of the bath, she caught her reflection in the mirror and stopped moving. She bent at the waist, bringing her face closer to the glass.

She still looked exactly as she had this morning. But she felt like a stranger.

Opening her mouth, she examined her teeth. When she probed the two canines in front, sure enough, they were sore.

Dear God, who was she?
What
was she?

She thought about Wrath, after they'd been together. Pushing himself away from her, his half-naked body straining, his muscles looking as if they were going to break through his skin. When he'd bared his teeth, his fangs had been longer than when she'd first seen them. As if they'd grown.

His beautiful face had been contorted with agony.

Was that what she was in for?

A rapping noise came from the other room, as though someone was knocking on a window. She heard Boo meow in welcome.

Beth put her head cautiously around the doorjamb.

There was someone at the slider. Someone big.

"Wrath?" She rushed over and opened the door before she really looked.

When she saw what was on the other side, she wished she'd checked more carefully first.

It wasn't Wrath, although the man looked a little like him. Black hair was cut short. Harsh face. Intense dark blue eyes. A whole lot of leather.

His nostrils flared and he frowned, staring at her hard. But then he seemed to catch himself.

"Beth?" His voice was deep, but friendly. And as the man smiled, fangs were revealed.

She didn't even jump.

Damn, she was getting used to the weirdness already.

"I'm Tohrment, a friend of Wrath's." The guy stuck his hand out. "You can call me Tohr."

She shook it, not sure what to say.

"I'm here to hang for a while. I'll just be outside if you need anything."

The man… vampire—shit, whatever he was—turned away and headed for the picnic table.

"Wait," she said. "Why don't you… Please come in."

He shrugged. "Okay."

As he stepped through the door, Boo meowed loudly and pawed at the man's shitkickers. The two greeted each other like long-lost friends, and when the vampire straightened, his leather jacket fell open. Daggers. Just like Wrath's. And she had a feeling that the kind of weapons Butch had peeled off Wrath were hiding in this man's pockets, too.

"Would you like something to drink?" She winced.
Not blood. Please don't say blood
.

He grinned at her, as if he knew what she was thinking. "You got any beer?"

Beer? He drank beer?

"Ah, yeah. Actually, I think I do." She disappeared into the kitchen. Brought back two Sam Adamses. She needed a belt right about now, too.

After all, she was playing hostess to a vampire. Her father had been a vampire.

Her lover
was
a vampire.

She tilted the beer back and drank hard.

Tohrment laughed softly. "Long night?"

"You have no idea," she replied, wiping her mouth.

"Oh, I might." The vampire sat down in her wing chair, his big body overflowing the arms and dwarfing the high back. "I'm glad I finally met you. Your father talked about you a lot."

"He did?"

"He was so damn proud of you. And you've got to know—he stayed away to protect you, not because he didn't love you."

"That's what Fritz said. Wrath, too."

"How're you getting along with him?"

"Wrath?"

"Yeah."

She felt a blush hit her cheeks and headed to the kitchen so he didn't catch her reaction. She grabbed a bag of cookies from the top of the fridge and put some on a plate.

"He's… he's… How do I put it?" She tried to think of a good answer.

"Actually, I think I know."

She came back and held out the plate. "Would you like some?"

"Oatmeal raisin," he said, taking three. "My favorite."

"You know, I thought vampires only drank blood."

"Nah. Necessary nutrients in it, but we need food, too."

"How about garlic?"

"Bring it on." He leaned back in the chair, munching happily. "I love the stuff roasted with a little olive oil."

Jeez
. The guy was almost easygoing, she thought.

No, that wasn't right. His sharp eyes kept scanning the windows and the glass door, as if he were monitoring the periphery. She knew without a doubt that if he didn't like something he saw, he was going to be out of that chair in a heartbeat. And it wouldn't be to check locks. It'd be to attack.

He put another cookie in his mouth.

But at least he was relaxing to be around. Relatively speaking.

"You're not like Wrath," she blurted.

"No one's like Wrath."

"Yeah." She bit into her own cookie and sat down on the futon.

"He's a force of nature," Tohr said, tilting back his beer. "And he's deadly, no mistaking that. But there's no one who will take better care of you, assuming he chooses to do so. Which he has with you."