The King nodded after a moment. “Fine enough. Follow me, but”—his voice dropped to a growl—“you do not touch her in any way or I shall rip from you the appendage that offends her physical form.”
True respect and some kind of affection warmed the Brother’s voice: “As you wish, my lord. Brotherhood, fall in!”
All at once, daggers were ripped out of chest holsters, black blades glinting in the torches that lined the hall. As Anha’s fingers dug into her King’s precious vestments, the Brothers let out a whooping battle cry, those weapons going over their heads.
In a coordination that was bred from long hours in each other’s company, every one of the great warriors went down on their knees in a circle and buried the points of their daggers in the flooring.
Bowing their heads, and with one voice, they said something she could not comprehend.
And yet the verbiage was for her: They were pledging allegiance to her as their queen. It was what would have happened at nightfall on the morrow, in front of the glymera. But she far preferred it here, and as their eyes lifted, respect shone forth—directed at her.
“My gratitude unto you,” she heard herself say. “And all my honor to our King.”
In the blink of an eye, she and her mate were surrounded by tremendous warriors, the vow that had been given now accepted, the work commencing at once. Flanked on all sides, just as she had sensed she had been whilst presented, Wrath resumed his striding in full protection.
Past her mate’s shoulder, through the mountain of Brothers, Anha watched the assembled gathering of courtiers recede in their wake as they proceeded down the corridor.
The adviser in front of it all, the one with his hands on his hips and his brows down low … was not pleased a’tall.
A shiver of fear went through her.
“Shh,” Wrath whispered in her ear. “Worry not. I shall be gentle unto your form the now.”
Anha flushed and tucked her head back into that thick neck. He meant to take her when they came upon whate’er destination he had predetermined, his sacred body entering her own, sealing the mating viscerally.
She was shocked to find that she wanted that, too. Right now. Fast and hard …
And yet, when they were finally alone again, when they had settled upon a fantastical bed of down and silk … she was grateful that he was as patient and kind and gentle as he promised her he would be.
It was the first of many, many times that her hellren did not let her down.
ONE
MANHATTAN’S MEATPACKING DISTRICT, PRESENT
“Give me your mouth,” Wrath demanded.
Beth tilted her head back and leaned into her mate’s arms. “You want it? So take it.”
The growl that came out of that massive chest was a reminder that her man was not, in fact, a man. He was the last purebred vampire left on the planet—and when it came to her and sex, he was fully capable of going wrecking-ball to get at her.
And not in the stupid-ass Miley Cyrus poser-sex way—and provided Beth was willing, of course. Although really, when a woman had the opportunity to get with six feet, nine inches of hard-ass dressed in black leather, who just happened to have pale green eyes that glowed like the moon, and black hair down to the aforementioned concrete posterior?
No was not just out of her vocabulary; it was a foreign concept.
The kiss that came at her was brutal and she wanted it that way, Wrath’s tongue thrusting into her as he shoved her backward through the open doorway of their secret hideaway.
Slam!
Best sound in the world. Well, okay, second-best—number one being what her man made when he came inside of her.
At the mere thought of it, her core opened even further.
“Oh, fuck,” he said into her mouth as one of his hands slipped in between her thighs. “I want this—yeah … are you wet for me, leelan.”
Not a question. Because he knew the answer, didn’t he.
“I can smell you,” he groaned against her ear as he ran his fangs up her throat. “The most beautiful thing in the world—except for your taste.”
That gravel in his voice, the straining in his hips, that hard length pressing into her—she orgasmed right then and there.
“Fuck me, we need to do this more,” he gritted as she ground herself against his hand, working her hips. “Why the fuck haven’t we come down here every night?”
The thought of the mess that waited for them back in Caldwell drained some of the heat out of her. But then he started massaging her with his fingers, working the seam of her jeans against her most sensitive place while his tongue probed her mouth the way he did when he was … um, yeah.
Gee whiz, what do you know, surprise, surprise—everything about his being King and the assassination attempt and the Band of Bastards just floated away.
He was right. Why the hell didn’t they make time for this slice of heaven on a regular basis?
Giving herself up to the sex, her hands tangled in his waist-length hair, its softness at odds with the harshness of his face, the strength in his incredible body, that iron core of his will. She’d never been one of those silly chippies who dreamed about a Prince Charming or a fairy-tale wedding or any of that Disney musical bullcrap. But even for someone who had had no illusions and no intention of ever signing a marriage certificate, there was no way she would have pictured herself with Wrath, son of Wrath, King of a race that as far as she had known back then was nothing more than a Halloween myth.
Yet here she was, head over heels with a straight-up killer who had a trucker’s vocabulary, a royal bloodline as long as his arm, and enough attitude to make Kanye West look like a self-esteem reject.
Okay, he wasn’t quite that egocentric—although, yup, he probably would cut Taylor Swift off in a heartbeat, but that was because rap and hip-hop were his music of choice and not ’cuz he was being a hater.
Bottom line, her hellren was a his-way-or-no-way kind of guy, and the throne he sat on meant that personality defect was embraced on bended knee as the law of the land.
Talk about a perfect storm. The good news? She was the sole exception, the only person who could talk sense into him when he really got his hackles up. It was like that with all of the Brothers and their mates: Members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood, the race’s elite group of fighters and meatheads, were not known for being easygoing. Then again, you didn’t want pussies on the front line of any war, especially when the bad guys were of the ilk of the Lessening Society.
And those goddamned Bastards.
“I’m not going to make it to the bed,” Wrath moaned. “I gotta be in you now.”
“So take me on the floor.” She sucked on his lower lip. “You know how to do that, don’t you?”
More growling, and a big shift in the planet’s orientation as she was popped off the ground and laid out on all that polished wood. The loft that Wrath had once used as a bachelor pad was right out of central casting: It had a cathedral ceiling, an empty warehouse’s decor, and the matte black paint job of an Uzi. It was nothing like the Brotherhood mansion where they lived, and that was the point.
As beautiful as that place was, all the gold leaf and crystal chandeliers and antique furniture could get a little stifling—
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.
With that happy noise, she lost another outfit in her wardrobe—and wasn’t Wrath proud of himself: Flashing fangs long as daggers and white as the driven snow, he proceeded to turn her silk button-down into a Swiffer, shredding the thing off her naked breasts, buttons flying everywhere.
“Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Wrath tore off his wraparounds and smiled, exposing his dental hardware. “Nothing in the way…”
Looming over her, he latched onto her nipple while his hands went to the waistband of her black jeans. All things considered, he was pretty polite as he unhooked the catch and unzipped, but she knew what was coming …