The King Read online

  He chose the red for her. The most valued of all, the signal that she would be the favored amongst all his females.

  The queen.

  And that honor should have been enough. Except as she envisioned the many he would take, pain struck in her chest.

  As he came back toward her, he must have sensed her sadness. "What ails you, leelan?"

  Anha shook her head, and told herself that sharing him was not something she had any right to mourn. She--

  The King shook his head. "No. There shall only be you."

  Anha recoiled. "My lord, that is not tradition--"

  "Am I not the ruler of all? Can I not decree life and death o'er my subjects?" When she nodded, a hard cast came upon his face--and made her pity any who would try to deny him. "So I shall determine what is and is not tradition. And there shall only be you for me."

  Tears sprang anew to Anha's eyes. She wanted to believe him, and yet that seemed impossible--even as he wrapped her still-clad form with the blood-colored silk.

  "You honor me," she said, staring into his face.

  "Not enough." With a quick turn, he stalked across to a table that had been laid with gems.

  The largesse of jewels had been the last thing on her mind as he had lifted her hood, but now her eyes widened at the display of wealth. Surely, she did not deserve such things. Not until she gave him an heir.

  Which abruptly seemed not a chore, a'tall.

  As he returned unto her, she inhaled sharply. Rubies, so many she couldn't count them--indeed, a whole tray ... including the Saturnine ring which she had been told had always graced the hand of the queen.

  "Accept these and know my truth," he said as he once again lowered himself at her feet.

  Anha felt her head shake. "No, no, these are for the ceremony--"

  "Which we shall have here and the now." He put out his palm. "Give me your hand."

  Anha's every bone was shaking as she obeyed him, and she let out a gasp as the Saturnine stone went onto her middle finger on the right. As she looked into the gem, candlelight refracted amongst its facets, flaring with beauty sure as true love lit the heart from within.

  "Anha, do you accept me as your King and mate, until the door unto the Fade is offered afore you?"

  "Yes," she heard herself say with surprising strength.

  "Then I, Wrath, son of Wrath, do take you as my shellan, to watch over and care for you and any begotten young we may have, sure as I would and will my kingdom, and its citizenry. You shall be mine fore'ermore--your enemies are mine own, your bloodline to mix with mine own, your dusks and your dawns to share only with me. This bond shall ne'er be torn asunder by forces within or without--and"--here he paused--"there shall be one and only one female for all mine days, and you shall be that only queen."

  With that, he brought up his other hand and laced all their fingers together. "None shall part us. Ever."

  Although Anha did not have knowledge of it currently, in future years, as destiny continued to roll forward, transforming this present moment into past history, she would return to this instant over and over again. Later, she would reflect that they had both been lost that night, and the sight of the other had given them the solid ground they had required.

  Later, when sleeping close to her mate in their bedding and hearing him gently snore, she would know that what had seemed like a dream was in reality a living, breathing miracle.

  Later, on the night that she and her beloved were slaughtered, when her eyes latched onto the crawl space where she had hidden their heir, their future, the only thing that was greater than the two of them ... she would have as her last dying thought that it was all meant to be. Whether the tragedy or the luck, all of it had been predetermined, and it had started here, in this instant, as the King's fingers intertwined with her own and the two of them became locked one into the other, for eternity.

  "Who shall attend you this night and this day afore the public ceremony?" he asked.

  She hated to leave him. "I should return to my quarters."

  He frowned deeply. But then he released her and took his sweet time adorning her with the rubies until they hung from her ears and her neck and both of her wrists.

  The King touched the largest of the stones, the one that hung over her heart. As his lids lowered, she believed that he had gone somewhere carnal in his mind--mayhap he was imagining her without benefit of clothing, nothing but her skin to frame the heavy golden settings with their diamond accents and those incredible red gems.

  The last of the suite was the crown itself, and he lifted the circlet from the velvet tray, placing it on her head and then sitting back to survey her.

  "You outshine it all," he said.

  Anha looked down at herself. Red, red, everywhere, the color of blood, the color of life itself. Indeed, she could not imagine the value in the gems, but that was not what touched her. The honor he was paying her in this moment was legendary--and as she considered that, she wished this could have been private between them fore'ermore.

  That would not be, however. And the courtiers were not going to like this, she thought.

  "I shall take you to your quarters."

  "Oh, my lord, you should not bother yourself--"

  "There is naught else to consume me this night, I assure you."

  She could not stop her smile. "As you wish, my lord."

  Except she was not sure she could stand with all the--

  Anha didn't make it all the way onto her feet. The King swept in and gathered her in his arms, holding her up from the floor as if she weighed naught more than a field dove.

  And with that, he marched across, kicked open the closed door and strode out into the corridor: They were all there, the hallway full of aristocrats and members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood--and instinctively she turned her head into Wrath's neck.

  Whilst being raised for the King's purpose, she had always felt like an object, and yet, that had gone away when she was alone with the male. Now, exposed to the invasive gazes of the others, she was once again in that role, relegated to a possession rather than an equal.

  "Wherever goest thou?" one of the aristocrats demanded as the King strode by without acknowledging them.

  Wrath kept walking--but clearly this one courtier would not be denied that which was not his due.

  The male placed himself in their path. "My lord, it is customary for--"

  "I shall attend her in mine own quarters this night and all others."

  Surprise flared in a thin, pinched face. "My lord, that is the queen's honor only, and even if you have had the female, it is not official until--"

  "We are duly mated. I performed the ceremony myself. She is mine own and I am hers, and surely you do not wish to be in the path of a bonded male with his female--much less the King with his queen. Do you."

  There was a clapping sound of teeth meeting teeth, as if someone's jaw had fallen open and then been closed with alacrity.

  Looking past Wrath's shoulder, she saw smiles on the Brotherhood's faces, as if the fighters approved of the aggression. The others in the robes? 'Twas not approval on their visages. Impotence. Supplication. Subtle anger.

  They knew who held the power, and it was not theirs.

  "You should be accompanied, my lord," one of the Brothers said. "Not out of custom, but in deference to the times. Even in this stronghold, it is appropriate for the First Family to be guarded."

  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 coordina
tion 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 ...

  With a violent jerk, he laid waste to what had been a two-week-old pair of Levi's.

  She didn't care. Neither did he.

  Oh, God, she needed this.

  "You're right, it's been way too long," she hissed as he went after his own fly, popping the buttons free, unleashing an erection that still managed to take her breath away.

  "I'm sorry," he bit out as he grabbed her behind the neck and mounted her.

  As she opened her thighs wide for him, she knew exactly why he was apologizing. "Don't be--Jesus!"

  The blazing possession was exactly what she wanted--and so was the rough ride he gave her, his heavy weight crushing her, her bare ass squeaking against the floor as he pounded into her, her legs straining to link around so he could go even deeper. It wa
s total domination, his great body pistoning in an erotic pump that got ever faster and more intense.

  But as good as it was, she knew how to take things to the next level. "Aren't you thirsty yet?" she drawled.

  Total. Molecular. Stoppage.

  Like he'd been hit with an ice ray. Or maybe a truck.

  As he lifted his head, his eyes lit up so brightly, she knew if she looked on the floor next to her, she'd see her own shadow.

  Digging into his shoulders with her nails, she arched up to him and cocked her head to the side. "How about something to drink?"

  His lips curled off his fangs and he let out a cobra's hiss.

  The bite was like being stabbed, but the pain faded into a sweet delirium that carried her to another dimension. Floating and grounded at the same time, she moaned and pushed her fingers into his hair, yanking him even closer as he sucked at her throat and thrust into her sex.

  She orgasmed--and so did he.

  Duh.

  God, after a dry spell of how long? At least a month--which was unheard of for them--she realized how much they both had to have this. Too much static from all the demands around them. Too much stress polluting the hours. Too much toxic crap they didn't have time to process with each other.

  Like, after he'd been shot in the neck, had they really talked about it? Sure, there had been the OMG, you're alive, you made it stuff ... but she was still flinching every time a doggen opened a bottle of wine in the dining room or the Brothers played pool after hours.

  Who knew that a cue ball smacking into a rack sounded exactly like a gun going off?

  She hadn't. Not until Xcor had decided to put a bullet into Wrath's jugular.

  Hardly the kind of education she'd been looking for--

  For no good reason, tears flooded her eyes and broke free, tangling in her lashes and seeping down her cheeks even as another round of pleasure flooded her body.

  And then the image of Wrath's gunshot wound billboarded her vision.

  Red blood on the bulletproof vest he'd worn. Red blood on his muscle shirt. Red blood on his skin.

  The dangerous times come home, the ugliness of reality no longer a hypothetical bogeyman in her mental closet, but a scream in her soul.

  Red was the color of death to her.

  Wrath froze for a second time and jerked his head up. "Leelan?"

  Opening her eyes, she had a sudden panic that she couldn't see him right, that that face she looked for in every room no matter the hour was gone, that that visual confirmation of his life wasn't going to be there for the taking anymore.