The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(112)

She stilled. “What?”

Because she had some ideas.

“Something worthwhile.”

She eyed the fur rug she had been stretched out on. Oh, it would be worthwhile …

“But I keep coming up with nothing.”

Selena sighed. “Your presence is plenty.”

Trez put his hands over hers again and pulled her forward so that she was draped over his back. Holding her there, he put his head against her own.

As he breathed in, his great torso expanding, she was lifted from the floor and brought back down. “Thank you,” he said in a voice that cracked.

“I have done nothing.”

“You’ve made me feel like I’m not evil. And tonight, that’s everything.”

“Oh, you are never that,” she whispered as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Not you, not ever.”

Closing her eyes, she held on to him, and found herself becoming connected with him at the soul level. To the point where she didn’t know how to leave him. Not just tonight, but … whenever her destiny finally claimed her.

“Have you eaten?” he asked after a while.

“Actually … no.” Her stomach rumbled. “And I am hungry.”

“Let’s go downstairs. My brother was making some of his sauce—or at least, I assume so. He does that every time I have a headache.”

Selena relinquished her hold and went to ease back—

Without warning, her spine rebelled, the vertebrae locking into their position. Trez, on the other hand, got up easily enough—and as he extended his palm to help her up, she could only stare at it.

As confusion played over his handsome features, she figured she might as well accept the help. At this point, she was incapable of lifting herself off the floor.

“Slowly,” she said gruffly. “Please?”

Trez frowned, but was gentle as he lifted her to her feet. “Are you all right?”

She bought herself some time by making a production of tying her robe together. Meanwhile, her joints were screaming, particularly her hips and back.

Forcing a smile onto her face, she tried not to get spooked. But this was how it had started for her sisters. Each one of them.

“Shall we?” she said with determination.

Trez’s almond-shaped eyes narrowed even further. But then he shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just pull on some clothes.”

“I’ll wait in the hall.”

Through will alone, she made it across the bedroom and out into the corridor. By the time she closed the door behind her, she was choked of breath— Instantly, her body experienced an internal shift of incredible power. In a way that meant only one thing: Someone was in her needing.

The queen? she thought with astonishment as she looked to the vaulted entrance of the First Family’s private quarters.

Now that would be momentous.

Easing back against the wall, she thought of massaging Trez’s shoulders and wished there was an equivalent for her own body. There was none. No cure, no slowing the disease.

No telling how long she had left.





THIRTY-SIX


Beth had no choice but to give herself up to her body’s roaring demands. And the only respite she got? Every time Wrath released into her, there was a brief reprieve—before the grinding need started its ascent once again.

“Take my vein,” Wrath said roughly. “Take it…”

She didn’t even know whether she was on her back or her belly, what room she was in, what time it was. But the instant his throat came up to her mouth, she was crystal clear on the bite: Her fangs punched out and she used them hard, cranking down on Wrath’s flesh, breaking the surface and going deep, freeing up the other thing she needed from him.

Oh, the power of him. As her mouth was filled, she was struck once again by the incredible impact his blood had on her. With her strength flagging even as the needing raged on, and her body aching everywhere as if she’d been through a baler, she was nonetheless fortified from the very first draw, better able to continue—even though it wasn’t like she had a choice.

As she had to release his vein to suck some air in, she couldn’t believe she had volunteered for this. She must have been crazy, some stupid-ass romantic vision of having a baaaaaaaaby getting in the way of twelve kinds of reality.

Relocking on Wrath’s throat, he somehow managed to keep pumping even as she stayed on his vein, his erection going in and out, the deep digs and sharp removals resonating throughout her torso, her head rocking up and down, her hips absorbing his weight. Slick with sweat, their bodies moved together with such seamless communion, she didn’t know where hers left off and his began.

A sudden change in tempo told her he was gearing up for another orgasm, and she needed it from— Wrath reared his head back, and her fangs ripped his neck, but he didn’t seem to care.

Didn’t seem to even notice.

Jesus, he was magnificent: Through the haze of the sex, she watched him strain, his lips curling back, his own fangs getting exposed, his hair flowing away from its widow’s peak as his sightless, pale green eyes flared wide and then squeezed shut.

And then it was her turn, her core grabbing at his arousal, greedy for what he ejaculated into her, the pleasure so acute that it was a kind of agony.

Just as the contractions were beginning to slow, she braced herself for the next wave, preparing for yet another next round of the bone-crushing urge to take over …