Dark Lover

Mr. X glared up at O from the floor. 'If you ever pull something like that again, I will turn you over to the Omega.'

'No, you won't.' In spite of his being at another's mercy, O's arrogance was unchecked. 'You wouldn't want to look as if you can't control your own men.'

Mr. X stood up.

'Careful, O. You underestimate the Omega's affection for sacrifices. If I were to give you to him as a gift, he would be most grateful.' Mr. X walked over and ran a finger down O's cheek. 'If I were to tie you down and call him to you, he would enjoy unwrapping you. And I would enjoy watching it.'

O snapped his head back, more angry than frightened. 'Don't touch me.'

'I'm your leader. I can do anything I want with you.' Mr. X clamped a hand on O's jaw and forced his thumb in between the man's lips and teeth. He jerked the lessefs, face for-ward. So mind your manners, don't ever take another society member out without my express permission, and we'll get along fine.'

O's brown eyes burned.

'Now what do you say to me?' Mr. X murmured, reaching out and stroking the man's hair back. The color was a deep, rich chocolate.

O mumbled.

'I didn't hear you.' Mr. X pressed his thumb into the soft, fleshy plot under O's tongue, digging in until tears formed in the other man's eyes. When he removed his grip, he ran a quick, wet caress over O's lower lip. 'I said, I didn't hear you.'

'Yes, sensei.'

'Good boy.'

Chapter Thirty-one

Marissa could not get comfortable in her bed. No matter which way she turned or where she put the pillows, she was irritated.

Somehow, her mattress had been filled with rocks, and her sheets had turned into sandpaper.

Throwing back the covers, she went over to the bank of windows that were shuttered and covered in thick satin drapery. She wanted some fresh air, but there would be no opening them. It was morning.

As she settled onto her chaise longue, she covered her bare feet with the hem of her silk nightgown.

Wrath.

She couldn't stop thinking about him. And every time another image of them together came to mind, she wanted to curse. Which was shocking.

She was the docile one. The lovely one. All female perfection and gentleness. Anger went totally against her nature.

Except the more she thought of Wrath, the more she wanted to punch something.

Assuming she could make a fist.

She glanced down at her hand. Yup, she could. Though it was pathetically small.

Especially compared to his.

God, she'd endured so much. And he had no appreciation of how difficult her life had been.

Being the untouched spinster shellan of the most powerful vampire of them all was hell on earth. Her failures as a female had burned out any sense of self-worth she'd had. The isolation had preyed on her sanity. The embarrassment at living with her brother because she had no home of her own had stung.

And she'd been horrified to be stared at by others and talked about behind her back. She was very aware that she was a constant topic of conversation, envied, pitied, spied upon, the stuff of fable. She knew young females were told of her story, although whether it was as warning or inducement, she didn't want to know.

Wrath was totally unaware of how she'd suffered.

Part of that fault she had to lay at her own feet. Playing the good little female had felt like the right thing to do, the only way to be worthy, the only chance at finally sharing a life with him.

Except how had it turned out?

With him finding a dark-haired human he cared about more.

God, the payoff for all her efforts went beyond not fair and right into cruel.

And she wasn't the only one who'd suffered. Havers had been worried sick about her for centuries.

Wrath, on the other hand, had always been just fine. And he was no doubt doing just fine right now. In all likelihood he was. at this very moment, lying naked with that female. Putting that hard length at his hips to good use.

Marissa closed her eyes.

She thought about being pulled against his body, held in those crushing arms, consumed by him. She'd been too shocked to feel much heat. There'd been so much of him, all over her, his hands tangling in her hair, his mouth sucking hard at her throat. And that thick rod of his had scared her a little.

Which was ironic.

She'd dreamed about what it would be like for so long. To be taken by him. To leave her virginal state behind and know what it was to have a male inside.

Whenever she'd imagined them together, her body had always warmed, her skin had tingled. But the reality had been overwhelming. She'd been totally unprepared, and she wished it had lasted longer and been a little less intense. She had a feeling she would have liked it if he'd gone more slowly.

But then, he hadn't been thinking of her.

Marissa recurled her hand, making that fist again.

She didn't want him back. What she wanted was for him to have a taste of the pain she'd been through.

Wrath put his arms around Beth and drew her close, looking at Rhage over the top of her head. Watching her ease the male's suffering had broken down all sorts of barriers.

Care for his brothers, care for him, he thought. It was the oldest code in the warrior class.

'Come to my bed,' he whispered in her ear.

She let him take her hand and lead her to his room. Once inside, he shut and locked the door and extinguished all the candles but one. Then he pulled the sash of the robe she wore free and stripped the satin from her shoulders. Her naked skin gleamed in the light of the single wick that burned.

He took his leather pants off. And then they were lying together.

He didn't want sex from her. Not now. He just wanted to share some comfort. He wanted her warm skin against his, her breath brushing lightly over his chest, her heart beating mere inches from his own. And he wanted to give her the same kind of peace back.

He stroked her long, silky hair and breathed deeply.

'Wrath?' Her voice was lovely in the dim quiet, and he liked the vibration of her throat against his pecs.

'Yeah.' He kissed the top of her head.

'Who did you lose?' She shifted, putting her chin on his chest.

'Lose?'

'Who did the lessers take from you?'

The question seemed out of the blue. And then it didn't. She'd seen the aftereffects of a fight. Somehow knew that he fought not only for his race, but for himself.

It was a long time before he could answer. 'My parents.'

He felt her emotions shift from curiosity to sorrow. 'I'm sorry.'

There was a long silence.

'What happened?'

Now that was an interesting question, he thought. Because there were two versions. In vampire lore, that bloody night had taken on all sorts of heroic implications, being heralded as the birth of a great warrior. The fiction wasn't his doing. His people needed to believe in him, so they created that which sustained their misplaced faith.