Her red eyes spit fire over her shoulder. “More, thank you.”
“Why didn’t you show, my lovely bitch.”
“Why don’t you shut up and finish?”
Rehv leaned down and ran his fangs across her shoulder. The mesh was coated in scorpion venom, and he felt an instant numbing of his lips. That bad shit was going to be all over his hands and his body after the fucking was done, so he was going to have to shower at his safe house as soon as possible. It wasn’t going to be fast enough. He was going to be viciously ill, as usual. Since she was a full-bred symphath, the venom didn’t affect her; to her it was like perfume, an enhancement. To his vampire nature, which was especially susceptible, it was straight-up poison.
He slowly pulled out and eased back in a couple of inches. He knew he had her good when her three-knuckled fingers dug into the old, weathered wood of the sill.
God, those hands of hers, with their trio of joints and the fingernails that grew out red… they were something from a horror movie, the kind of thing that wrapped around the lip of a coffin before the undead came out and killed the good guy.
“Tell… me… why… bitch…” He punctuated the words with his rhythm. “Or no finish for either of us.”
God, he hated this and he loved it, both of them struggling to maintain the power position, both pissed at the concessions they had to make. It was eating her alive that she’d had to come around to see him jerking off, and he despised what he was doing to her body, and she didn’t want to tell him why she was two nights late, but she knew she was going to have to if she wanted to get off…
And around and around the merry-go-round went.
“Tell me,” he growled.
“Your uncle grows strong.”
“Does he.” He rewarded her with a quick, nasty penetration, and she gasped. “Why’s that?”
“Two nights ago…” Her breath sawed out of her mouth, as her spine torqued to accept him in the deepest way possible. “He was crowned.”
Rehv lost his rhythm. Shit. A change in leadership was not good. The symphaths might be stuck in that colony, isolated from the real world, but any political instability there threatened what precious little control of them there was.
“We need you,” she said, reaching behind her and sinking her nails into his ass. “To do what you do best.”
No. Fucking. Way.
He’d killed enough relatives.
She glanced over her shoulder, and the scorpion in her ear stared at him hard, its spindly legs pinwheeling, reaching out to him. “I’ve given you the why. So get on with it.”
Rehv put his brain on lockdown, focused on the scene of the beach, and let his body do its thing. Under his pounding rhythm, the Princess orgasmed, her body gripping him in a series of pulses that were like a fist twisting his cock in a vise.
Which was what made his sex catch hold of her inside and fill her up.
He pulled out as soon as he was able and started on the slide into hell. Already, he could feel the effect of the venom on that damn mesh. His body was tingling all over, the nerve endings in his skin blinking on and off in spasms of pain. It was only going to get worse.
The Princess righted herself and went to her gown. From a hidden pocket, she took out a long length of wide red satin, and with her eyes locked on him, she threaded the cloth between her legs and tied it in an elaborate series of bows.
Her ruby eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she made sure not a drop of him escaped her.
He hated that, and she knew it, which was why she never complained when he pulled out fast. She knew damn well he wanted to shove her in a bleach bath and make her wash until the sex was gone from her as if it had never been.
“Where is my tithe?” she said as she drew on her gown.
His vision was doubling up from the venom as he went over to his jacket and took out a small velvet bag. He tossed it over to her and she caught it.
Inside was two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in rubies. Cut. Ready to be set.
“You need to come home.”
He was too tired to play the game. “That colony is not my home.”
“Wrong. So very wrong. But you’ll come around. I guarantee it.” On that she disappeared into thin air.
Rehv sagged, planting his palm onto the cabin’s wall as a black wave of exhaustion shot through him.
As the door opened, he righted himself and picked up his pants. Trez said nothing, just came over and steadied him.
Sick as he was, and would become, he himself put his clothes on. That was important to him. He always did that himself.
When his jacket was back in place and his tie looped around his neck and his cane in his hand, his best friend and bodyguard scooped him up and carried him like a child back to his car.
Chapter Thirty-six
Stress in a person was like air in a balloon. Too much pressure, too much shit, too much bad news… and the birthday party gets messy.
Phury ripped open his bedside table drawer even though he’d just looked in it. “Shit.”
Where the fuck was all his red smoke?
He took his near-empty Baggie out of his breast pocket. Barely enough for a thin one. Which meant he’d better hightail it down to ZeroSum before the Reverend closed for the night.
He pulled on his light jacket so that he’d have someplace to hide the full bag when he came back, then jogged down the grand staircase. As he hit the foyer, his head was alive and writhing, swelling up with the wizard’s Top Ten Reasons Phury, Son of Ahgony, Is a Shithead.
Number ten: Manages to get self kicked out of Brotherhood. Number nine: Drug addict. Number eight: Fights with twin when twin’s pregnant shellan is in a bad way. Number seven: Drug addict. Number six: Shits on female he wants to be with, driving her away. Number five: Tells lies to protect addictive behavior.
Or did that fall under nine and seven?
Number four: Lets down parents. Number three: Drug addict. Number two: Falls in love with aforementioned driven-away female-
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Had he fallen in love with Cormia? How? When?
The wizard popped into his head. To hell with that, mate. Finish the list. C’mon. Fine… I think we’ll put “Drug Addict ” as number one, shall we?
“Where are you going?” Wrath’s voice came down from above like some kind of conscience, and Phury froze with his hand on the vestibule’s door.
“Where?” the king demanded.
Nowhere special, Phury thought without turning around. Just fucking insane.
“Out for a drive,” he said, and held his car keys up over his head.
At this point, the lie didn’t bother him in the slightest. He just wanted everyone to get out of his way. When he had his red smoke, when he was calm and his head was no longer a pipe bomb waiting to go off, he could go back to interacting.
Wrath’s boots hit the stairs, the beat of his stride a countdown to one fuck of a bitch-slapping. Phury turned to face the king, a low-boil anger lighting off in his chest.
And what do you know, Wrath wasn’t in a Hallmark mood either. His brows were behind his wraparounds, his fangs long, his body tense as hell.
Clearly there had been more bad news.
“What’s happened now?” Phury bit out, wondering when in the hell the current shit storm was going to move on to another group of people’s lives.
“Four families from the glymera got hit tonight, and there were no survivors. I’ve got something awful to tell Qhuinn, but can’t get hold of him or John Matthew at their stakeout at Blaylock’s.”
“You want me to go over there?”
“No, I want you to get your ass to the Sanctuary and do your fucking duty,” Wrath snapped. “We need more Brothers, and you agreed to be the Primale, so stop putting the shit off.”