Lover Revealed

Black Dagger Brotherhood. There was no higher than he.

The conclusion among the aristocracy? Something had to be wrong with her, most likely hidden beneath her clothes, and the deficiency was probably sexual in nature. Why else would a full-blooded warrior have no erotic impulse toward her?

She took a deep breath. Then another. And another.

The scent of the fresh-cut flowers invaded her nose, the sweetness swelling, taking over, replacing the air… until it was only fragrance going down into her lungs. Her throat seemed to close up, as if to fight the onslaught, and she pulled at her necklace. Tight… it was so tight on her neck. And heavy… like hands choking her… She opened her mouth to breathe, but it didn't help. Her lungs were clogged with the flower stench, coated by it… she was suffocating, drowning, though she was not in water…

On loose legs, she walked to the door, but she couldn't face those dancing couples, those people who defined who they were by ostracizing her. No, she couldn't let them see her… they would know how upset she was. They would see how hard this was for her. Then they would despise her even more.

Her eyes shot around the ladies' lounge, skipping over everything, bouncing off all the mirrors. Frantically she tried to… what was she doing? Where could she… go—bedroom, upstairs… She had to… oh, God… she couldn't breathe. She was going to die here, right here and now, from her throat closing up tight as a fist.

Havers… her brother… she needed to reach him. He was a doctor… He would come and help her—but his birthday would be ruined. Ruined… because of her. Everything ruined because of her… It was all her fault… everything. All the disgrace she bore was her fault… Thank God her parents had been dead for centuries and hadn't seen her for what… she was…

Going to throw up. She was definitely going to throw up.

Hands shaking, legs like pudding, she lurched into one of the bathrooms and locked herself inside. On the way to the toilet, she fumbled with the sink, turning the water on to drown out her rasping breath in case someone came in. Then she fell to her knees and bent over the porcelain bowl.

She gagged and wretched, her throat working through the dry heaves, nothing coming up but air. Sweat broke out on her forehead and under her armpits and between her breasts. Head spinning, mouth gaping, she struggled for breath as thoughts of dying and having no one to help her, of ruining her brother's party, of being an abhorred object swarmed like bees… bees in her head, buzzing, stinging… causing the death… thoughts like bees…

Marissa started to cry, not because she thought she was going to die but because she knew she wasn't.

God, the panic attacks had been brutal these last few months, her anxiety a stalker with no solid form, whose persistence knew no exhaustion. And every time she had a meltdown, the experience was a fresh and horrible revelation.

Propping her head on her hand, she wept hoarsely, tears running down her face and getting trapped in the pearls and diamonds at her throat. She was so alone. Caged in a beautiful, wealthy, fancy nightmare where the bogeymen wore tuxedos and smoking jackets and the vultures swooped down on wings of satin and silk to peck out her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to get some control over her respiration. Easy… easy now. You're okay. You've done this before.

After a while, she looked down into the toilet. The bowl was solid gold and the surface of the water rippled from her falling tears as if sunlight shined within it. She became abruptly aware that the tile was hard beneath her knees. And her corset was biting into her rib cage. And her skin was clammy.

She lifted her head and glanced around. Well, what do you know. She'd picked her favorite private chamber to fall apart in, the one based on the Lilies of the Valley egg. As she sat draped over the toilet, she was surrounded by blush-pink walls hand-painted with bright green vines and little white flowers. The floor and counter and sink were pink marble veined with white and cream. The sconces were gold.

Very nice. Perfect background for an anxiety attack, really. But then, lately panic went with everything, didn't it? The new black.

Marissa pushed herself up from the floor, turned off the faucet, and collapsed into the little silk-covered chair in the corner. Her gown settled around her as if it were an animal stretching out now that the drama was over.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was blotchy, her nose red. Her makeup was ruined. Her hair was a ragged mess.

See, this was what she looked like on the inside, so no wonder the glymera despised her. Somehow they knew this was the truth of her.

God… maybe that was why Butch hadn't wanted her—

Oh, hell no. The last thing she needed was to think about him right now. What she had to do was straighten herself up as best she could and then scoot up to her bedroom. Sure, hiding was unattractive, but so was she.

Just as she reached up to her hair, she heard the outside door to the lounge open, the chamber music swelling, then easing off as it closed.

Great. Now she was trapped. But maybe it was only one female so she didn't have to worry about being an eavesdropper.

'I can't believe I spilled on my shawl, Sanima.'

Okay, so now she was an eavesdropper as well as a coward.

'It's barely noticeable,' Sanima said. 'Although thank the Virgin you caught it before anyone else did. We'll go in here together and use some water.'

Marissa shook herself into focus. Don't worry about them, just fix your hair. And for the Virgin's sake do something about that mascara. You look like a raccoon.

She grabbed a washcloth and wet it quietly while the two females went into the little room across the way. Obviously, they left the door open—their voices were undimmed.

'But what if someone saw?'

'Shh… let's take the shawl off—oh, my Lord.' There was a short laugh. 'Your neck.'

The younger female's voice dropped to an ecstatic hush. 'It's Marlus. Ever since we were mated last month, he's been…'

Now the laughter was shared.

'Does he come to you often during the day?' Sanima's secretive tone was delighted.

'Oh, yes. When he said he wanted our bedrooms connected, I didn't know why. Now, I do. He's… insatiable. And he… he doesn't just want to feed.'

Marissa stopped with the washcloth under her eye. Only once had she known a male's hunger for her. One kiss, only one… and she held the memory with care. She was going to her grave a virgin, and that brief meeting of mouths was all she would ever have of anything sexual.

Butch O'Neal. Butch had kissed her with—Stop it.

She went to work on the other side of her face.

'To be newly mated, how marvelous. Though you mustn't let anyone see these marks. Your skin is marred.'

'That's why I rushed in here. What if someone told me to take off the wrap because of the wine I spilled?' This was said with the kind of horror usually reserved for accidents involving knives.

Although, given the glymera, Marissa could understand all too well wanting to avoid their attention.

Tossing the washcloth aside, she tried to rework her hair… and gave up not thinking about Butch.

God, she would have loved having to hide his teeth marks from the eyes of the glymera. Would have loved to hold the delicious secret that under the civilized gowns she wore, her body had known his raw sex. And she would have loved to bear the scent of his bonding for her on her skin, emphasizing it, as mated females did, by choosing the perfect complementary perfume.

But none of that was going to happen. For one thing, humans didn't bond, from what she'd heard. And even if they did, Butch O'Neal had walked away from her the last time she'd seen him, so he wasn't interested in her anymore. Probably because he'd heard about her deficiencies. As he was close with the Brotherhood, no doubt he