Other than for use as a feeding trough.
"How is your work?" she asked as she was served wine by one doggen. A plate of food was set in front of her by another. "Thank you, Phillip. Karolyn, this looks wonderful."
She picked up a fork and gently prodded the roast beef.
Good heavens, Havers thought. This was almost normal.
"My work? Fine. Actually better than fine. As I mentioned, I've had a bit of a breakthrough. Feeding may soon be a thing of the past." He lifted his glass and drank. The burgundy should have been a perfect accompaniment to the beef, but it tasted off to him. Everything on his plate was sour on his tongue as well. "I transfused myself with stored blood this afternoon, and I feel fine."
Actually, that was a bit of an overstatement. He didn't feel sick, but something wasn't right. That normal rush of strength had yet to hit him.
"Oh, Havers," she said softly. "You still miss Evangaline, don't you?"
"Painfully. And the drinking is simply not… agreeable to me."
No, he would no longer stay alive the old-fashioned way. From now on it would be clinical. A sterilized needle in his arm, hooking him up to a bag.
"I'm so very sorry," Marissa said.
Havers reached out, laying his palm faceup on the table. "Thank you."
She put her hand in his. "And I'm sorry that I've been so… preoccupied. But it will be better now."
"Yes," he said urgently. Wrath was just the kind of barbarian who would want to continue to drink from the vein, but at least Marissa could be spared the indignity. "You could try the transfusion as well. It will free you, too."
She took her hand back and reached for her wineglass. As she lifted the burgundy to her mouth, she spilled some on her jacket.
"Oh, bother," she muttered, brushing the wine off the silk. "I'm terribly uncoordinated, aren't I?"
She removed the jacket and laid it on the empty chair next to her.
"You know, Havers, I would like to try it. Drinking is no longer palatable to me, either."
A delicious relief, a feeling of possibility, overtook him. The sensation seemed wholly unfamiliar because he hadn't felt it in so very long. The idea that something might change for the better had become a foreign concept to him.
"Truly?" he whispered.
She nodded, pushing her hair over her shoulder and picking up her fork. "Yes, truly."
And then he saw the marks on her neck.
Two inflamed puncture wounds. A red blaze where she had been sucked. Purple contusions on the skin of her collarbone where she'd been gripped by a heavy hand.
Horror curdled his appetite, blurred his vision.
"How could he have treated you so roughly?" Havers breathed.
Marissa's hand went to her neck before she quickly pulled some hair forward. "It's nothing. Truly, it's not… anything."
His eyes stayed in place as he continued to see clearly what she had hidden.
"Havers, please. Let's just eat." She picked up her fork again, as if she were prepared to demonstrate exactly how one did that. "Come now. Eat with me."
"How can I?" He threw down his silverware.
"Because it's over."
"What is?"
"I have broken the covenant with Wrath. I am no longer his shellan. I will see him no more."
Havers could only stare for a moment. "Why? What has changed?"
"He has found a female he wants."
Anger congealed in Havers's veins. "And just who does he prefer to you?"
"You do not know her."
"I know all females of our class. Who is it?" he demanded.
"She is not of our class."
"She is one of the Scribe Virgin's Chosen, then?" In the vampire social hierarchy, they were the only ones above a female of the aristocracy.
"No. She is human. Or at least half-human, from what I could tell from his thoughts about her."
Havers turned to stone in his chair. Human. A human?
Marissa had been forsaken for a… Homo sapiens?
"Has the Scribe Virgin been contacted?" he asked in a brittle voice.
"That is his duty, not mine. But make no mistake, he will go to her. It is… over."
Marissa took a small piece of beef and put it between her lips. She chewed carefully, as if she'd forgotten how. Or perhaps the humiliation she was obviously feeling made it difficult to swallow.
Havers gripped the arms of his chair. His sister, his beautiful, pure sister, had been ignored. Used. Brutalized as well.
And all that was left of her mating with their king was the shame of being cast aside for a human.
Her love had never meant anything to Wrath. Neither had her body or her impeccable bloodlines.
And now the warrior had done away with her honor.
The hell it was over.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-four
Wrath pulled on the Brooks Brothers jacket. It was tight in the shoulders, but he was hard to fit, and he'd given Fritz no notice.
Then again, the thing could have been custom-tailored and he would still have felt shackled. He was much more comfortable in leather and weapons than this worsted-wool crap.
He walked into the bathroom and squinted at himself. The suit was black. So was the shirt. That was all he could really see.
Good God, he probably looked like a lawyer.
He stripped off the jacket and put it on the marble counter. Pulling his hair back with impatient hands, he tied the length with a strap of leather.
Where was Fritz? The doggen had left to get Beth nearly an hour ago. The two of them should be back by now, but the house above still felt empty.
Ah, hell. Even if the butler had been gone for only a minute and a half, Wrath would have been restless. He was pumped to see Beth, itchy and distracted. All he could think about was burying his face in her hair as he drove the hardest part of himself deep inside her body.
God, those sounds she made when she came for him.
He glanced at his reflection. Put the jacket back on.
But sex wasn't everything. He wanted to treat her with respect, not just throw her on her back. He wanted to slow down. Eat with her. Talk with her. Hell, he wanted to give her what females liked: a little TLC.
He tried out a smile. Widened it. His cheeks felt like they were going to crack.
Yeah, okay, so he wasn't exactly Hallmark-card material. But he could pull off some romance. Couldn't he?
He rubbed his jaw. What the hell did he know about romance?
Abruptly, he felt like a fool.
No, it was worse than that. The fancy new suit exposed him, and the truth he saw was a nasty surprise.
He was changing himself for a female. For no other reason than to try to please her.
This was bonding at work, he thought. This was precisely why he never should have marked her, why he never, ever should have let himself get that close.
He reminded himself yet again that when she was through her transition, he was finished with her. He would go back to his life. And she would…
God, why did he feel like he'd been shot through the chest?
"Wrath, man?" Tohrment's voice boomed through the chamber.
The sound of his brother's baritone was a relief, bringing Wrath back to center.
He stepped out into the bedroom and scowled when he heard his brother's low whistle.
"Look at you," Tohr said, moving around him.
"Bite me."
"No, thanks. I prefer the females." The brother laughed. "Although I have to say you clean up nice."
Wrath crossed his arms over his chest, but the jacket pulled so tightly he worried he was going to split the seam in the back. He dropped his hands.
"You're here why?"
"I called your cell and you didn't answer. You said you wanted us all to meet here tonight. When?"
"I'm busy until one."
"One?" Tohr drawled.
Wrath planted his hands on his hips. A feeling of deep u
neasiness, like someone had broken into his home, sneaked up on him.
This was so wrong, he thought. The date. With Beth.
But it was too damn late to cancel.
"Make that midnight," he said.
"I'll tell the brothers to be ready then."
He had a feeling Tohr was sporting a little grin, but the vampire's voice was steady. There was a pause.
"Yo, Wrath?"
"What."
"She's as beautiful as you think she is. Just thought you'd want to know."
If any other male had said that, Wrath would have given the idiot a nose job. And even though it was Tohr, his temperature still rose. He didn't like being reminded how irresistible she was. It made him think about the male she'd end up with for life.
"You got a point or are you just shooting your lip off?"
It wasn't an invitation to elaborate, but Tohr marched right through the opening anyway. "You're way into her."
He should have stuck with "Fuck you" as a response, Wrath thought.
"And I think she feels the same way," Tohr tacked on.
Oh, great. That made him feel better. Like he might end up breaking her heart or something.
Man, this date thing was a really bad idea. Just where did he think he was taking them with all the hearts-and-flowers shit?
Wrath bared his fangs. "I'm only hanging in until she goes through the change. That's it."
"Yeah, sure." When Wrath growled deep in his throat, the other vampire shrugged. "I've never seen you dress for a female before."
"She's Darius's daughter. You want me to be like Zsadist with one of his whores?"
"Dear God, no. And damn, I wish he'd stop that. But I like what I'm seeing with you and Beth. You've been alone for too long."
"That's your opinion."
"And others'."
Sweat broke out across Wrath's forehead.
Tohr's honesty made him feel trapped. As did the fact that he was only supposed to be protecting Beth, but instead was busy trying to make her feel as if she were more special to him than she really was.
"Don't you have somewhere you need to be?" he demanded.
"Nope."
"Just my luck."
Desperate to move around, he walked over to the couch and picked up his biker jacket. He needed to restock it with weapons, and since Tohr didn't seem in a big hurry to get his ass in gear, the distraction was better than screaming.
"The night Darius died," Tohr said, "he told me you'd turned him down when he asked you to take care of her."
Wrath opened the closet and reached into a storage bin full of throwing stars, daggers, and chains. He made his selections with rough hands. "So?"
"What changed your mind?"
Wrath clapped his molars together, biting down hard, a breath away from lashing out.
"He's dead. I owe him."
"You owed him when he was alive, too."
Wrath whirled around. "Do you have any other business with me? If not, get the hell out of here."
Tohr lifted his hands. "Easy, brother."
"Fuck easy. I'm not talking about her with you or anyone else. Got it? And keep your mouth shut with the brothers, too."
"Okay, okay." Tohr backed over to the door. "But do yourself a favor. Cop to what's going on with that female. An unacknowledged weakness is deadly."
Wrath growled and leaned into his attack pose, upper body jutting forward on his hips. "Weakness? This coming from a male who's dumb enough to love his shellan? You gotta be kidding me."
There was a long silence.
And then Tohr said softly, "I'm lucky to have found love. I thank the Scribe Virgin every day that Wellsie is in my life."
Wrath's temper surged, set off by something he couldn't put his finger on. "You're pathetic.'"
Tohr hissed. "And you've been dead for hundreds of years. You're just too mean to find a grave and lie down."
Wrath threw the leather jacket to the floor. "At least I'm not pussy-whipped."
"Nice. Fucking. Suit."
Wrath crossed the distance between them in two strides, and the other vampire met the approach head-on. Tohrment was a big male, with thick shoulders and long, powerful arms. Menace pulsated between them.
Wrath grinned coldly, his fangs lengthening. "If you spent half the amount of time defending our race that you do chasing after that female of yours, we might not have lost Darius. Ever think of that?"
Anguish came out of the brother like blood from a chest wound, and the vampire's white-hot agony thickened the air. Wrath drew in the scent, taking the burn of misery down deep into his lungs, into his very soul. The knowledge that he'd laid out a male of honor and courage with such a low blow filled him with self-loathing. And while he waited for Tohr to attack, he welcomed the inner hatred as an old friend.
"I can't believe you said that." Tohr's voice throbbed. "You need to—"
"I don't want any of your worthless advice."
"Fuck you." Tohr knocked him a good one in the shoulder. "You're gonna get it anyway. You'd better learn who your enemies really are, you arrogant asshole. Before you're standing alone."
Wrath barely heard the door slam shut. The voice screaming in his head that he was a worthless piece of shit overrode just about everything else.
He drew in a great breath and emptied his lungs with a vicious yell. The sound vibrated around the room, rattling the doors, the loose weapons, the mirror in the bathroom. Candles flared wildly in response, their flames licking up the walls, greedy to get free of their wicks and destroy what they could. He roared until his throat felt as if it were going to tear apart, until his chest burned.
When he finally closed his mouth, he felt no relief. Just remorse.
He marched over to the closet and took out a nine-millimeter Beretta. After he loaded it, he tucked the gun into the waistband of his slacks at the small of his back. Then he headed for the door and took the stairs two at time, his thighs eating up the distance to the first floor.
Stepping into the drawing room, he listened. The silence was probably a good thing for everybody. He needed to get ahold of himself.
Prowling around the house, he stopped at the dining room table. It had been set as he'd asked. Two places at one end. Crystal and silver. Candles.
And he'd called his brother pathetic?
If it hadn't been all Darius's priceless crap, he'd have swept the table clean with his arm. His hand shot out, as if it were ready to follow through on the impulse anyway, but the jacket confined him. He gripped the lapels, prepared to rip the thing off his back and burn it, but the front door opened. He wheeled around.
There she was. Coming across the threshold. Walking into the hall.
Wrath's hands dropped to his sides.
She was dressed in black. Her hair was up. She smelled… like night-blooming roses. He breathed in through his nose, his body hardening, his instincts demanding that he get her under him.
But then her emotions hit him. She was wary, nervous. He could sense her mistrust with clarity, and he took perverse satisfaction as she hesitated to look at him.
His temper returned, nice and sharp.
Fritz was busy closing the door, but the doggen's happiness was obvious in the air around him, shimmering like sunshine. "I've put out some wine in the drawing room. I'll serve the first course in about thirty minutes, shall I?"
"No," Wrath commanded. "We'll sit down now."
Fritz seemed confused, but then clearly caught the drift of Wrath's emotions.
"As you wish, master. Right away." The butler disappeared as though something were on fire in the kitchen.
Wrath stared at Beth.
She took a step back. Probably because he was glaring.
"You look… different," she said. "In those clothes."
"If you think they've civilized me, don't be fooled."
"I'm not."
"Good. Now let's get this over with."
Wrath went into the dining room, thinking she'd fol
low if she wanted. And if she chose not to, hell, it was probably for the better. He wasn't in a big hurry to get trapped at the table anyway.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-five
Beth watched Wrath saunter away as if he didn't give a rat's ass whether or not she ate with him.
If she hadn't been having second thoughts herself, she would have been totally insulted. He'd invited her to dinner. So why was he all bent out of joint when she showed up? She was tempted to hightail it right back out the front door.
Except she followed because she felt like she had no choice. There were so many things she wanted to know, things only he could explain.
Although as God was her witness, if there were any way to get the information from someone else, she would have.
As he walked in front of her, she shot a glare at the back of his head and tried to ignore his powerful stride. The latter was an abject failure. He just moved too superbly. With each sharp impact of his heel, his shoulders shifted under the expensive jacket, counterbalancing the thrust of his legs. As his arms swung loosely, she knew that his thighs were clenching and releasing with every step. She pictured him naked, his muscles flexing under his skin.
Butch's voice bounced around in her head. A man like that has murder in his blood. It's his nature.
And yet Wrath had sent her away last night when he'd been a danger to her.
She told herself to forget attempting to reconcile the contradictions. She was just trying to read tea leaves with all the mental aerobics. She needed to go with her gut, and her gut said Wrath was the only help she had.
As she stepped into the dining room, the beautiful table that had been set for them was a surprise. There were flowers in the center, tuberoses and orchids. And ivory candles. And gleaming china and silver.
Wrath went around and pulled out a chair, waiting for her to sit in it. Looming over the thing.
God, he looked fantastic in the suit. And the open collar of his shirt showed off his throat, the black silk making his skin look tanned. Too bad he was flat-out pissed. His face was as harsh as his temper, and with his hair pulled back, the aggressive thrust of his jaw was even more prominent.