Dark Lover

Phury stepped back, and Beth caught a trickle of blood running down Wrath's side.

Vishous came forward. "What is the name of your shel-lan?"

"She is called Elizabeth."

As the brother leaned down, Beth shut her eyes and squeezed Wellsie's hand hard. "He doesn't need to do this to prove himself to me."

"Do you love him?" Wellsie demanded.

"Yes."

"Then you must accept his ways."

Zsadist stepped forward next.

"Easy, Z," Phury said softly, staying close beside his twin.

Oh, God, not more.

The brothers came forward again and again, asking him the question. When they were finished, Phury took the pitcher of water and poured it into the bowl of salt. Then he dumped the thick, briny liquid on Wrath's back.

Beth weaved on her feet as she watched his muscles spasm. She couldn't imagine the agony, but except for bearing down onto the floor, Wrath didn't cry out. As he endured the pain, his brothers growled their approval.

Phury bent down and opened the lacquer box, taking out a pristine white cloth. He dried the wounds, then rolled the material up and put it back inside.

"Rise, my lord," he said.

Wrath stood. Across his shoulders, in an arch of Old English letters, was her name in his skin.

Phury presented Wrath with the box. "Take this to your shellan as a symbol of your strength, so she will know that you are worthy of her and that your body, your heart, and your soul are now hers to command."

Wrath turned around. As he came toward her, she anxiously scanned his face. He was fine. Better than fine. He was positively glowing with love.

Dropping to his knees before her, he bowed his head and held up the box.

"Will you take me as your own?" he asked, looking at her over the top of the sunglasses. His pale, blind eyes were sparkling.

Her hands shook as she accepted the box from him. "Yes. I will."

Wrath rose, and she threw her arms around him, careful not to reach too far up his back.

A chant began with the brothers, a low beat of words she didn't understand.

"Are you okay?" he said into her ear.

She nodded, wondering why couldn't she have been named Mary. Or Sue.

But no, she had to be nine-letter Elizabeth.

"Can we not do that again?" she asked, burying her head into his shoulder.

Wrath laughed softly. "You'd better brace yourself if we have children."

The chanting grew louder, deep male voices pumping.

She looked to the brothers, the tall, fierce men who were now a part of her life. Wrath pivoted and put his arm around her. Together, they swayed to the rhythm that swelled, filling the air. The brothers were as one as they paid homage in their language, a single powerful entity.

But then, in a high, keening call, one voice broke out, lifting above the others, shooting higher and higher. The sound of the tenor was so clear, so pure, it brought shivers to the skin, a yearning warmth to the chest. The sweet notes blew the ceiling off with their glory, turning the chamber into a cathedral, the brothers into a tabernacle.

Bringing the very heavens close enough to touch.

It was Zsadist.

His eyes closed, his head back, his mouth wide open, he sang.

The scarred one, the soulless one, had the voice of an angel.

Chapter Forty-six

During the wedding dinner, Butch went easy on the alcohol. It wasn't hard. He was too busy enjoying Marissa's company.

As well as watching Beth with her new husband. God, she was so happy. And that mean-ass-looking vampire she'd signed on for was just the same. He wouldn't let go of her, couldn't stop staring at her. All night long, he'd had her sitting on his lap at the table, feeding her from his hand while he stroked her neck.

As the party wound down, Marissa stood up from her chair. "I have to go back to my brother's. He's expecting me for dinner, actually."

So that was why she hadn't eaten anything.

Butch frowned, not wanting her to go. "When will you be back?"

"Tomorrow night?"

Damn, that was forever.

He put his napkin down. "Well, I'll be here. Waiting for you."

Jeez, talk about whipped, he thought.

Marissa said her good-byes, and then disappeared.

Butch reached for his wineglass and tried to pretend his hand wasn't shaking. The whole blood/fang thing he could almost handle. The poofing stuff was going to take some time.

Ten minutes later, he realized he was sitting at the table alone.

He had no interest in going home. In the space of a day, he'd managed to shelve his real life, just push it into a corner of his mind. And like a gadget that had been broken, he had no interest in pulling it back out, examining it, using it again.

He looked around at all the chairs and thought of the people-er, vampires-who'd filled them.

He was an outsider in their world. An interloper.

Although it wasn't like being the odd man out was a new one for him. The other cops had been good guys, but he'd never been more than work-tight with them, even Jose. He'd never gone over to the de la Cruzes' for dinner or anything.