The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(5)

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 coordination 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, f*ck,” 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.”