Dark Lover

Chapter Ten

Beth eased into consciousness slowly. It was like surfacing from a perfectly performed swan dive. There was a glow in her body, a satisfaction as she emerged from the buffered world of sleep.

Something was on her forehead.

Her eyelids flipped open. Long male fingers were moving down the bridge of her nose. They drifted across her cheek and then over to her jaw.

There was enough ambient light coming from the kitchen that she could dimly make out the man lying with her.

His concentration was fierce as he explored her face. His eyes were closed, arching brows drawn down, thick lashes against his high, regal cheekbones. He was on his side, his shoulders a mountain blocking her view to the glass door.

Good lord, he was huge. And stacked.

His upper arms were the size of her thighs. His abdomen was ribbed as if he were smuggling paint rollers under his skin. His legs were thick and corded. And his sex was as big and magnificent as the rest of him.

When he'd first come up against her naked and she'd had a chance to touch him, she'd been shocked. He had no hair on his torso or arms and legs at all. Just smooth skin over hard muscle.

She wondered why he shaved all over, even down there. Maybe he was some kind of bodybuilder.

Although why he'd go the Full Monty with a razor was a mystery.

Her memories of what had happened between them were fuzzy. She couldn't quite recall how he'd come into her apartment. Or what he'd said to her. But everything they'd done horizontally was vivid as hell.

Which made sense, since he'd given her the First orgasms she'd ever had.

The fingertips rounded her chin and came up to her lips. He brushed her lower one with his thumb.

"You are beautiful," he whispered. His subtle accent made him roll the R over his tongue, almost as if he were purring.

Well, that stands to reason, she thought. When he touched her, she felt beautiful.

His mouth came down on hers, but he wasn't looking for anything. The kiss was not a demand. It was closer to a thank-you.

Somewhere in the room, a cell phone went off. The ring wasn't hers.

He moved so fast she jumped. One moment he was by her side; the next he was at his jacket. He flipped open the phone.

"Yeah?" The voice that had told her she was beautiful was gone. Now he growled.

She pulled a sheet around her chest.

"We'll meet at D's. Give me ten."

He hung up the phone, put it back in the jacket, and picked up the pants he'd been wearing. The threat of re-dressing brought back some reality.

God, had she really just had sex—really, really good, mind-blowing sex—with a complete stranger?

"What's your name?" she asked.

As he pulled black leather up his thighs, she caught a terrific shot of his ass.

"Wrath." He went over to the table and got his sunglasses. When he sat down next to her, they were in place. "I've got to go. I might not get back tonight, but I'll try."

She didn't want him to leave. She liked the feel of his body taking up more than its fair share of her futon.

She reached up to him, but took her hand back. She didn't want to seem needy.

"No, touch me," he said, bending his body down, giving her all the access she could ask for.

She put her palm on his chest. His skin was warm, his heart surging in an even pump. She noticed he had a circular-shaped scar on his left pectoral.

"I need to know something, Wrath." His name felt good on her tongue even if it was an odd one. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He smiled a little, as if he liked her suspicion. "I'm here to take care of you, Elizabeth."

Well, he certainly had.

"Beth. I go by Beth."

He inclined his head. "Beth."

He stood up and reached for his shirt. He ran his hands down the front of it, as if feeling for buttons.

He wasn't going to find many, she thought. Most of them were on her floor.

"You got a wastepaper basket around here?" he asked, as if realizing the same thing.

"Over there. In the corner."

"Where?"

She stood up, keeping the sheet around her, and took the shirt. Throwing it out seemed like a lost opportunity.

When she looked at him again, he'd pulled a black holster on over his naked skin. Two daggers crisscrossed in the middle of his chest, handles down.

Oddly, as she looked at his weapons, they calmed her. The idea that there was a logical explanation to his appearance was a relief.

"Was it Butch?"

"Butch?"

"Who put you up to guard duty."

He pulled on his jacket, the heft of it widening his shoulders even more. The leather was as dark as his hair, one lapel embossed with an intricate design in black thread.

"The man who attacked you last night," he said. "He was a stranger?"

"Yes." She brought her arms around herself.

"Were the police good to you?"

"They're always good to me."

"Have they told you his name?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I couldn't believe it either. When Butch told me I thought he was joking. Billy Riddle sounds more like a Sesame Street character than a rapist, but he clearly had an MO and some practice—"

She stopped. Wrath's face had gone so vicious, she stepped back.

Jesus, if Butch was tough on perps, this guy was about two feet ahead of deadly, she thought.

But then his expression changed, as if he'd buried his emotions because he knew they scared her a little. He walked over to the bathroom and opened the door. Boo leaped up into his arms, and a low, rhythmic purring sound cut through the heavy air.

Except that sure wasn't her cat.

The throaty reverberation was coming out of the man as he held her pet in his arms. Boo ate up the attention, rubbing his head into the wide palm that was stroking him.

"I'm going to give you my cell phone number, Beth. You need to call me if you feel threatened in any way." He put the cat down and recited a bunch of digits. Made her repeat them until she had them memorized. "If I don't see you tonight, I want you to come to eight sixteen Wallace Avenue tomorrow morning. I'll explain everything."

And then he just looked at her.

"Come here," he said.

Her body obeyed before her mind checked in with a command to move.

As she got close to him, he put one arm around her waist and pulled her against his hard body. His lips came down hot and hungry on hers as he buried his other hand in her hair. Through his leather pants, she could feel he was ready for sex again.

And she was ready to have him.

When he lifted his head, he ran his hand leisurely over her collarbone. "This wasn't supposed to be part of it."

"Is Wrath your first or last name?"

"Both." He put a kiss on the side of her neck, sucking at her skin. She let her head fall back, and his tongue traveled up the smooth column. "Beth?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't worry about Billy Riddle. He's going to get what's coming to him."

He kissed her quickly and then walked out through the sliding glass door.

She put her hand up to her neck where he'd licked her. The skin tingled.

Beth hurried to the window and pulled up the shade.

He was already gone.

Wrath materialized in Darius's drawing room.

He hadn't expected the evening to take him where it had, and the extra layer of complication wasn't going to help the situation.

She was Darius's daughter. She was about to have her whole world turned upside down. And worse, she'd been the victim of a sexual assault the night before, for Christ's sake.

If he'd been a gentleman, he'd have left her alone.

Yeah, and when was the last time he'd lived up to his pedigree?

Rhage appeared in front of him. The vampire was wearing a long black trench coat over his leathers, and the contrast with his fair-haired beauty was no doubt a stunner. It was well-known that the brother used his looks against the opposite sex mercilessly, and that after a night of fighting, his favorite way to wind down was with a female. Or two.

If sex were food, Rhage would have been morbidly obese.

But he wasn't just a pretty face. The warrior was the best fighter the brotherhood had, the strongest, the quickest, the surest. Born with an overload of physical power, he preferred to meet lessers bare-handed, saving the daggers only for the end. Maintained that it was the only way to get any job satisfaction. Otherwise, the fights didn't last long enough.

Of all the brothers, Hollywood was the one the young males in the species talked about, worshiped, wanted to be. Except that was because his fan club only saw the glossy surface and the smooth moves.

Rhage was cursed. Literally. He'd gotten himself in some serious trouble right after his transition. And the Scribe Virgin, that mystical force of nature who oversaw the species from the Fade, had given him one hell of a punishment. Two hundred years of aversion therapy that kicked in whenever he didn't keep himself calm.

You had to feel sorry for the poor bastard.

"How we doing tonight?" Rhage asked.

Wrath closed his eyes briefly. A blurry image of Beth's body arching, caught as he'd looked up from between her legs, sliced through him. As he pictured himself tasting her again, his hands curled into fists, his knuckles cracking.

I'm hungry, he thought.

"I'm good to go," he said.

"Hold up. What's that?" Rhage demanded.

"What's what?"

"That expression on your face. And Christ, where's your shirt?"

"Shut up."

"What the… I'll be damned." Rhage laughed. "You got some grind tonight, didn't you?"

Beth was not a grind. No way, and not only because she was Darius's daughter.

"Zip it, Rhage. I'm not in the mood."

"Hey, I'm the last one to criticize. But I gotta ask, was she any good? Because you don't look particularly relaxed, my brother. Maybe I need to teach her a few things and then have her give you a try again—"

Wrath calmly introduced Rhage's back to the wall, almost taking out a mirror with the male's shoulders. "You will shut the shut up or you will be six inches shorter. Your pick, Hollywood."

His brother was just playing, but there was something unholy about taking that experience with Beth and getting it anywhere near Rhage's sex life.

And maybe Wrath was feeling just a little possessive.

"Have we made our choice?" he drawled.

"I'm feeling you." The other vampire grinned, his teeth a flash of white in his striking face. "But come on, lighten up. You don't usually waste time with the females, and I'm just glad to know you got off, that's all."

Wrath let go.

"Although Jesus, she couldn't have been all that—"

Wrath unsheathed a dagger and buried the thing into the wall an inch from Rhage's skull. The sound of steel punching through plaster had a nice ring to it, he thought.

"You do not push me on this one. Got it?"

The brother nodded slowly as the dagger handle vibrated next to his ear. "Ah, yeah. I'm thinking we're clear on that."

Tohrment's voice cut through the tension. "Whoa! Rhage, you been poppin' shit again?"

Wrath stayed still for one more moment, just to make sure the message had gotten through. Then he yanked the knife out of the wall and stepped back, prowling around the room as the other brothers arrived.

When Vishous came in, Wrath took the warrior aside. "I want you to do me a favor."

"Name it."

"Human male. Billy Riddle. I want you to work your computer magic. I need to know where he lives."

V stroked his goatee. "He in town?"

"I think so."

"Consider it done, my lord."

When they were all there, even Zsadist, who'd graced them with being on time, Wrath got the ball rolling.

"What do we have from Strauss's phone, V?"

Vishous whipped off his Sox cap and dragged a hand through his dark hair. He spoke as he repositioned the hat. "Our boy liked to hang with muscleheads, military wannabes, and Jackie Chan fans. We've got calls to Gold's Gym, a paint-ball arena, two martial-arts places. Oh, and he liked cars. There was a mechanics shop in the log, too."

"Any personals?"

"Couple. One to a landline that was disconnected two days ago. The others were cellular, untraceable, not local. I tried them all repeatedly and no one picked up. Ain't caller ID a bitch?"

"You check his priors online?"

"Yeah. Typical juvie shit with a violent edge. He fits the lesser profile perfectly."

"What about his home?" Wrath looked over his shoulder at the twins.

Phury glanced at his brother and then did all the talking. "Three-room apartment over the river. Lived alone. Didn't have a lot of shit. Couple of guns under the bed. Some silver ammo. Kevlar vest. Porn collection he obviously wasn't using anymore."

"Did you grab his jar?"

"Yeah. It's back at my place. I'll take it to the tomb later tonight."

"Good." Wrath regarded the group. "We split up. Case the businesses. I want to get inside those buildings. We're looking for their center of ops in this area."

He paired up the brothers, taking Vishous with him. He told the twins to go to Gold's and the paintball arena. Gave Tohr and Rhage the martial-arts joints. He and Vishous were going to scope out the mechanics shop, and he hoped they'd get lucky.

Because if someone were going to wire a bomb to a car, wouldn't a hydraulic lift be handy?

Before they all left, Hollywood came over, looking uncharacteristically serious.

"Wrath, man, you know I can be an asshole," Rhage said. "Didn't mean to offend. Not going there again."

Wrath smiled. The thing with Rhage was, he had piss-poor impulse control. Which explained both his fly mouth and his sex addiction.

And the problem was bad enough when he was himself. Forget about the minute the curse flipped his psycho switch and the beast came roaring to life.

"I'm serious, man," the vampire said.

Wrath clapped his brother on the shoulder. On the whole, though, the SOB was a total keeper. "Forgiven, forgotten."

"Feel free to hammer me anytime."

"Believe me, I do."

Mr. X drove to an alley downtown that was unlit and open to streets at both ends. After parking the minivan face out behind a Dumpster, he threw Cherry Pie over his shoulder and walked twenty yards away from the car. She moaned a little as she bounced on his back, as if she didn't want her high disturbed by movement.

He laid her out on the ground, and she didn't fight him as he slit her throat. He watched for a moment as her glossy blood seeped from her neck. In the darkness it looked like Quaker State motor oil. He put his finger down, getting some on the tip. His nose detected all manner of disease, and he wondered if she'd known she had an advanced case of hep C. He figured he was doing her a favor, sparing her an unpleasant, creeping death.

Not that killing her would have bothered him had she been perfectly healthy.

He wiped his finger on the edge of her skirt and then moved away to a pile of debris. An old mattress was just the ticket. Propping it up against the brick, he settled into the juncture, unbothered by the stinky, sweaty smell of the thing. He took out his dart gun and waited.

Fresh blood brought out civilian vampires like crows to roadkill.

And sure enough, not long thereafter a figure appeared at the end of the alley. It looked left and right and then rushed forward. Mr. X knew that what approached had to be who he was after. Cherry was well concealed in the darkness. There was nothing to draw anyone in her direction except for the subtle scent of her blood, something human noses could never have picked up.

The young male was greedy in his thirst, and he fell upon Cherry like someone had laid out a buffet for him. Busy drinking, he was taken by surprise when the first dart popped out of the gun and went into his shoulder. His immediate instinct was to protect his food, so he hauled Cherry's body behind some mangled trash cans.

When the second dart hit him, he wheeled around and leaped up, eyes trained on the mattress.

Mr. X tensed, but the male came forward with more aggression than competence. His body was disorganized in its movements, suggesting he was still learning how to control his limbs after his transition.

Two more darts didn't slow him down. Clearly the Demosedan, a horse tranquilizer, wasn't enough to do the job. Forced to engage the male in a fight, Mr. X stunned him easily by kicking him in the head. The male let out a howl of pain as he went down to the dirty asphalt.

The commotion attracted attention.

Fortunately, it was only two lessers, not curious humans or, even more annoying, the police. The lessers stopped at the end of the alley and, after quick consultation, moved in to investigate.

Mr. X cursed. He was not prepared to reveal himself or what he was doing. He needed to work the kinks out of the information-gathering strategy before he came forward with it and assigned his lessers roles. After all, a leader should never delegate that which he had not done before and done well.

There was also a matter of self-interest. There was no telling who among the slayers might try to go around him to the Omega, either copping the idea as his own or bitching about preliminary failures. God knew the Omega was always receptive to initiative and new directions. And would have benefited from some Ritalin when it came to loyalty.

Even more to the point, the Omega's version of a pink slip was quick and horrific. As Mr. X's former superior had learned three nights ago.

Mr. X plucked out the darts from the body. He would have preferred killing the vampire, but there wasn't enough time. Leaving the male still moaning on the ground, Mr. X sprinted down the alley, sticking to the wall. He kept the minivan's headlights off until he'd slid into traffic.