Dark Lover

Chapter Thirty-nine

When Marissa walked into her bedroom, she took a little spin, feeling her gown splay out around her.

"Where have you been?"

She stopped midtwirl. The dress came to a heel in a swirling rush.

Havers was sitting on the chaise, his face in shadow. "I asked, where were you?"

"Please don't take that tone—"

"You saw the brute."

"He's not a—"

"Do not defend him to me!"

She wasn't going to. She was going to tell her brother that Wrath had listened to her recrimations and accepted all blame for the past. That he'd apologized and his regret had been tangible. That although his words couldn't make up for what had happened, she felt that she had been heard.

And that even if her former hellren was the reason she'd gone to Darius's, he wasn't why she'd stayed.

"Havers, please. Things are much different." After all, Wrath had told her he was to be mated. And she had… met someone. "You must hear me out."

"No, I mustn't. I know that you go to him still. That is enough."

Havers got off the chaise, moving without his usual grace. As he stepped into the light, she was horrified. His skin was gray, his cheeks hollow. He'd been getting thinner and thinner of late. Now, he looked like a skeleton.

"You are ill," she whispered.

"I am perfectly well."

"The transfusion didn't work, did it?"

"Do not try to change the subject!" He glared at her. "God, I never thought it would come to this. I never thought you would hide from me."

"I have hidden nothing!"

"You told me you had broken the covenant."

"I did."

"You lie."

"Havers, listen to me—"

"No longer!" He did not meet her eyes as he opened the door. "You are all I have left, Marissa. Do not ask me to politely sit aside and play witness your destruction."

"Havers!"

The door slammed.

With grim determination, she ran out to the hall. "Havers!"

He was already at the head of the stairs, and he refused to look back at her. His hand slashed violently in the air behind him, as if he were dismissing her.

She went back to her room and sat down at her dressing table. It was a long while before she could take a full breath.

Havers's anger was understandable, but frightening because of its intensity and rarity. She'd never seen her brother in such a state. It was clear there would be no reasoning with him until he calmed down.

Tomorrow she would talk with him. She would explain everything, even the new male she had met.

She looked at herself in the mirror and thought of how the human had touched her. She brought her hand up, feeling again the sensation of him sucking her finger. She wanted more of him.

Her fangs elongated slightly.

What would his blood taste like?

After settling Beth in her father's bed, Wrath went to his chamber and dressed himself in a white shirt and long, baggy white pants. He grabbed a string of enormous black pearls out of an ebony box and knelt on the floor next to his bed, settling back on his heels. He put the necklace on, laid his hands palms-up on his thighs, and closed his eyes.

As he marshaled his breath, his senses came alive. He could hear Beth shifting in the bed across the hall, sighing as she burrowed into the pillows. The rest of the house was fairly quiet, only subtle vibrations coming down to him. As some of the brothers were crashing in the upstairs bedrooms, male feet were moving around.

He was willing to bet Butch and V were still talking baseball.

Wrath had to smile. That human was a trip. One of the most aggressive men he'd ever come across.

And as for Marissa liking the cop? Well, they'd all just have to see where that went. Having any kind of relationship with someone of the other species was dangerous. Sure, the brothers slept with a lot of human women, but those were one night only, so the memories were easy to erase. Once emotions got involved, and time passed, it was harder to do a good scrub job on the human brain. Things lingered. Surfaced later. Got people into trouble.

Hell, maybe Marissa was just going to play with the guy and then suck him dry. Which was fine. But until either she killed him or took him for her own, Wrath was going to watch the situation carefully.

Wrath harnessed his thoughts and started to chant in the old language, using the sounds to wipe out his cognitive processes. He was rusty at first, tripping over words. The last time he'd said the prayers, he'd been nineteen or twenty years old. Memories of his father sitting next to him and telling him what to say were a seductive diversion, but he forced his mind to be blank.

The pearls began to warm against his chest.

And then he found himself in a courtyard. The Italianate architecture was white; the marble fountain, the marble columns, the marble floor, all had a pale glow to them. The only splash of color came from a flock of songbirds sitting in a white tree.

He stopped praying and got to his feet.

"It has been a long time, warrior." The regal female voice came from behind him.

He turned around.

The diminutive figure approaching him was completely draped in black silk. Her head and face were covered, her hands and feet, everything. She glided over to him, not walking, just moving through the still air. Her presence made him uneasy.

Wrath bowed his head. "Scribe Virgin, how are you?"

"More to the point, how fare you, warrior? You have come seeking change, have you not?"

He nodded. "I—"

"You wish the covenant with Marissa to be broken. You have found another and you would take her as your shellan."

"Yes."

"This female you want. She is the daughter of your brother Darius, who is in the Fade."

"Have you seen him?"

She laughed slightly. "Do not make inquiries of me. I let your first question slide because you were being polite, but remember your manners, warrior."

Shit.

"My apologies, Scribe Virgin."

"I grant you and Marissa freedom from your covenant."

"Thank you."

There was a long pause.

He waited for her ruling on the second part of his request. He sure as hell wasn't going to ask.

"Tell me something, warrior. Do you think your species is unworthy?"

He frowned and then quickly smoothed his face into neutral. The Scribe Virgin wasn't going to put up with being glowered at.

"Well, warrior?"

He had no idea where she was going with this. "My species is a fierce and proud race."

"I didn't ask you for a statement of definition. I asked you what you thought of them."

"I protect them with my life."

"And yet you will not lead your people. So I can only surmise that you do not value them and therefore fight because you like to or because you wish to die. Which is it?"

This time he let his frown stay in place. "My race survives because of what the brothers and I do."

"Barely. In fact, its numbers dwindle. It does not thrive. The only localized colony is the one that settled on the United States' East Coast. And even they live isolated from one another. There are no communities. The festivals are no longer held. Rituals are observed privately, if at all. There is no one to mediate disputes, no one to give them hope. And the Black Dagger Brotherhood is cursed. There are none left in it who do not suffer."

"The brothers have their… problems. But they are strong."

"And should be stronger." She shook her head. "You have failed your bloodline, warrior. You have failed your purpose. So tell me, why should I grant your wish to take the half-breed as queen?" The Scribe Virgin's robes moved as if she were shaking her head. "Better that you continue to merely service her with your staff than to have your people saddled with yet another meaningless figurehead. Go now, warrior. We are finished."

"I would have a word in my defense," he said, gritting his teeth.

"And I would deny you." She turned away.

"I beg of your mercy." He hated saying the words, and he guessed by the sound of her laugh that she knew it.

The Scribe Virgin came back to him.

When she spoke, her tone was hard, hard as the black lines of her robe against all the white marble. "If you're going to beg, warrior, do it properly. Get on your knees."

Wrath forced his body down to the ground, hating her.

"I rather like you like this," she murmured, back to being relatively pleasant. "Now, what were you saying?"

He swallowed the hostile words in his throat, forcing himself to affect an even temper that was an absolute lie. "I love her. I want to honor her, not just have her to warm my bed."

"So treat her well. But there is no need to have a ceremony."

"I disagree." He tacked on, "Respectfully."

There was a long pause.

"You have sought no counsel from me over these centuries."

He lifted his head. "Is that what bothers you?"

"Do not question me!" she snapped. "Or I will have that half-breed taken from you faster than your next breath."

Wrath put his head down and ground his fists into the marble.

He waited.

Waited so long, he was tempted to look and see if she had gone.

"I will require a favor," she said.

"Name it."

"You will lead your people."

Wrath looked up, his throat squeezing shut. He couldn't save his parents, he could barely do right by Beth, and the Scribe Virgin wanted him to be responsible for his whole goddamned race?

"What say you, warrior?"

Yeah, like no was an option. "As you wish, Scribe Virgin."

"That is my command, warrior. It is not my wish and not the favor I will ask of you, either." She let out an exasperated noise. "Do get to your feet. Those knuckles of yours are bleeding on my marble."

He stood and leveled his eyes on her. He stayed silent, figuring she was probably going to lay some more conditions on him.

She addressed him sharply. "You have no wish to be king. That is obvious. But it is your birth obligation, and it is about time you lived up to your legacy."

Wrath dragged a hand through his hair, creeping anxiety tensing his muscles.

The Scribe Virgin's voice softened. A little. "Worry not, warrior. I will not leave you to find your way alone. You will come to me and I will help you. Being your counsel is part of my purpose."

Which was a good thing, because he was going to need the help. He had no clue how to rule. He could kill a hundred different ways, handle himself in any kind of battle, keep his head cool when the goddamned world was on fire. But ask him to address a thousand of his people in a crowd? His stomach rolled.

"Warrior?"

"Yeah, you'll be hearing from me."

"But that's still not the favor you owe."

"What is—" He brushed a hand through his hair. "I take that back."

She laughed softly. "You always did learn fast."

"I'd better." If he were going to be king.

The Scribe Virgin floated closer to him, and he smelled lilacs. "Put your hand out."

He did.

The black folds shifted as her arm came up. Something fell into his hand. A ring. A heavy gold ring set with a ruby the size of walnut. It was so hot he almost had to drop the thing.

The Saturnine Ruby.

"You will give her this from me. And I will attend the ceremony."

Wrath gripped the gift so hard, it bit into his palm. "You honor us."

"Yes, but I have another purpose in coming."

"The favor."

She laughed. "Good one. A question posed in the form of a statement. You will, of course, not be surprised when I do not indulge you. Go now, warrior. Go to your female. Let us hope she is a good choice for you."

The figure turned and moved away.

"Scribe Virgin?"

"We are through."

"Thank you."

She paused by the fountain.

Black folds shifted as she reached out to the tumbling water. When the silk fell back, a blinding light was revealed, as if her bones glowed and her skin were translucent. The moment she touched the water, a rainbow sprang from the contact, filling the white courtyard.

Wrath hissed in shock as his vision suddenly cleared. The courtyard, the columns, the colors, her, all of it came into sharp focus. He latched onto the rainbow. Yellow, orange, red, violet, blue, green. The jewellike colors were so brilliant, they sliced through the air, and yet their vivid beauty didn't hurt him. He drank in the sight, wrapped his mind around it, held on to it.

The Scribe Virgin faced him, dropping her hand. Instantly, the colors vanished and his vision faded again.

She'd given him a small gift, he realized. Just as she'd put the ring in his hand for Beth.

"You are right," she said softly. "I had hoped to be closer to you. Your father and I, we were bonded, and these lonely centuries have been long and hard. No one worshiping, no one chanting, no history to be kept. I am useless. Forgotten.

"But far worse," she went on, "I see the future, and it is grim. The survival of the race is not ensured. You will not be able to do this alone, warrior."

"I'll learn to ask for help."

She nodded. "We will start anew, you and I. And we will work together, as it should be."

"As it should be," he murmured, trying out the words.

"I will come to you and your brothers tonight," she said. "And the ceremony will be performed accordingly. We will set you into a covenant that is right, warrior, and we will do it in the right way. Assuming the female will have you."

He had a feeling the Scribe Virgin was smiling.

"My father told me your name," he said. "I would use it, if you wish."

"Do."

"We'll see you then, Analisse. And the preparations will be made."