The King

The King closed his eyes and leaned in, his great body shuddering.

When he just stayed as that, she felt a surge of power—not in an arrogant fashion, nor with any ambition for self-gain. It was simply from unexpected footing gained on what had seemed like an indelibly slippery slope.

How was this possible?

“Anha…” he breathed, as if her name were an incantation of magic.

Naught else was spoken, but the whole of their language was unnecessary, all parts of speech and vocabulary rendered worthless to offer any mere nuance, much less definition, to what bond was shaping and tethering them one to another.

She finally dropped her eyes. “Would you not care to see more of me?”

The King released a low growling purr. “I would see all of you—and looking would not be the half of it.”

The scent of a male’s arousal rose thick in the air, and incredibly, her own body responded to the call. But then again, that sensual aggression of his was well and truly bound by his singular will: he was not going to take her the now. No, it appeared that he was going to save her virtue until he had paid her the honor and respect of properly mating her.

“The Scribe Virgin answered my prayers in a miraculous way,” she whispered as she blinked through tears. All those years of worry and wait, the anvil poised for three decades to fall upon her head …

The King smiled. “If I had known a female as you could exist, I would have beseeched the mother of the race myself. But I had no fantasies—and that is well enough. I would have done naught but sit and wait for you to cross into my destiny, wasting years.”

With that, he burst up to his feet and went over to a display of robing. The colors of the rainbow were all represented, and she had been taught since an early age to know what each hue meant in the hierarchy of court.

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 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 h*ps 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**k,” 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 f**k haven’t we come down here every night?”