Lothaire

standing.

If Lothaire hadn’t seen the truth by now, then it was because he didn’t want to.

* * *

Doubts ate at Lothaire’s confidence, eroding it.

Even if he could bring himself to believe that Elizabeth was his Bride—and that was a very big if—there was nothing he could do about it.

He’d already set his destiny into motion. He was inextricably bound to his fate—compelled not merely to cast out Elizabeth’s soul as the girl thought. . . .

It couldn’t be her.

Surely.

Because he’d been so averse to her humanity, Lothaire had never allowed himself even to consider that Elizabeth might be his Bride.

Now, apparently, I’m going there.

It was possible that Elizabeth hadn’t blooded him in their early encounters because she hadn’t been old enough. Females from other species usually didn’t trigger a blooding unless they were grown.

At seventeen, Elizabeth hadn’t awakened him. When she was eighteen, one glance at Saroya had sparked his heart and body to life.

Was this due to Saroya’s arrival? Or Elizabeth’s age?

No, no, no. Goddess trumps mortal trailer trash.

Lusty mortal trailer trash—with a predilection for licking his fangs and slowly sucking on his tongue.

Of all the matches made this Accession, of all the tales of woe and bliss between mates, not one had included a human.

Why would I draw the short straw? Even Regin the Radiant’s “mortal” male had ended up being a Lorean berserker.

Saroya crossed to him now. “Imagine how your family would’ve reacted to Elizabeth Peirce. Would Ivana have approved of her?”

Ivana would have gone into a frothing rage. Her only offspring shunning a goddess for a lowly “animal”? Where was the logic in that?

Stefanovich would have laughed, sneering, “The Dacian son is no better than a Horde vampire.” He would have asked Lothaire if Elizabeth tasted of wine and honey.

And I’d have to say yes.

“You know Elizabeth can’t be your Bride,” Saroya said placidly. “Aside from the fact that I’m a goddess, and therefore an impeccable match for a king like you, consider this: no vampire could terrorize his female as you have her.”

Saroya was right. Wouldn’t his instincts have prevented him from harming Elizabeth?

Instead, he’d subjected this mortal to death row. He’d belittled her at every opportunity, holding her imminent death over her, taunting her with it.

Mentally tormenting her. Behold the ocean you’ll never touch, the jewels you’ll

never own. Desire the male who will never want you back and feel the pleasure

you’ll never experience again. . . .

Bile rose in Lothaire’s throat. It isn’t Elizabeth. It’s just not.

Even his uncle Fyodor hadn’t tortured his Bride like this, and she’d been a reviled enemy.

Ivana had told Lothaire, “You’ll be a good and true king to your Bride.” But he hadn’t been to Elizabeth. He’d made the girl’s life a living hell.

Not her, not her.

And yet, as his restlessness increased and his doubt weighed on him to a crushing degree, his first impulse was to touch Elizabeth.

Not because she was his Bride, but because she could pleasure him, making him forget his troubles for a time. “Force her to surface,” he bit out.

Saroya blinked at him. “Are you dismissing me?”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t you even trying to seduce me?”

“You feel no desire for me. You never have. I can wait for the human—who does.”

“How do you know it won’t be better with me?”

“Because it can’t possibly be better with anyone.” The words said aloud rocked him—the truth said aloud.

Am I willing to give up that pleasure? What choice did he have?

“What is so superior with her?” Saroya demanded. “Tell me what Elizabeth does that puts you into such a lather. Do her thighs spread in welcome? Does she moan into your mouth?”

Frustration mounted. He resented this female before him.

“Does she look at you with need?”

“Like she’ll die if I don’t fuck her,” he hissed.

“I will practice that expression in the mirror for when we make love.”

“Cease the deception!” He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “You have no intention of bedding me. The rumors of your virginity are true. You’ve never known a man.”

“But only because I hadn’t found my mate.”

In an icy tone, he said, “You should be above lying to a mere vampire like me, should you not, goddess?”

Long moments passed. “Yes. You are right.” Her guise of mild concern transformed into a gloating one. “Oh, Lothaire, you were too arrogant to believe a female wouldn’t want you sexually. But I am above base desires.”

“You freely admit your treachery? You never intended to share my bed!” Lying to me, betraying me. Already!

“You have a goddess for your Bride. I was born differently, made differently. Is sex so important to you? We are talking about conquering kingdoms together! Is bedding me so critical? That is what concubines are for.”

He could maintain a harem, taking a new female every night. He didn’t require a Bride for those needs. United front, Lothaire? “I hadn’t planned to have any other females. They seed dissension.”

“You are the most singular male.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “It’s not a question of sex. It’s a question of her.” When he said nothing, her lips parted. “You’re falling for the mortal! Apprise yourself of this fact: soon you will destroy her very soul.”

“You think you have me at your mercy?”

“I do.”

“I could use the ring to force the Horde to follow me.”

“Tricky ring, precarious power. You will need me by your side for as long as you seek to rule them—or you’ll be challenged constantly.”

He couldn’t deny this. Lothaire didn’t meet one of the Horde’s two sacred requirements. Just as Hag had predicted, his Bride was the key to his throne.

“Without me, Lothaire, you face an eternity of sedition. How will you conquer the Daci with your kingdom mired in rebellion?”

“Then perhaps I’ll keep you and Elizabeth. You will be my queen, and she will be our dirty little secret. A hidden concubine who comes out only in my bed.” Perfect.

Just as he deserved a goddess for a queen, he deserved a young, nubile female to appease his lusts.

“You want me to share this body, Lothaire? That will not happen.”