Sylvan shook his head and ran the tip of his tongue over the short, sharp fangs in his upper teeth. Baird knew it was a habit he had when distressed or unhappy and he further knew that those fangs would never grow unless Sylvan found a woman of his own. Not for the first time he wished things could be different for his half brother. Even before their father had died they had always been close—spending most of their time together since neither one was mated. Now Sylvan would be left alone.
“Sylvan—”
“Baird—” They began at the same time and Baird shook his head. “Shouldn’t have brought it up. Not my business.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Sylvan ran a hand through his spiky blond hair. “You know the vow I took.”
“Yeah and I know why. But what happened on Tranq Prime—”
“Is over and done with,” Sylvan snapped. “I don’t want to talk about that, Baird. Anymore than you want to talk about the time you spent with the Scourge.”
Baird clenched his hands into fists. It was true he hadn’t been able to tell anyone what they’d done to him. It was too horrible, too fresh. He pushed it away. Now wasn’t a good time to think of it. There was never going to be a good time to think of it.
“I’m just saying—now that I’m about to take a bride myself I want you to be as happy as I am,” he said, controlling the bad memories with an effort.
“I think I’ll wait a little while before I wish myself into your position.” Sylvan said dryly. “There’s your bride, Baird. And she doesn’t exactly look happy to be here.”
Baird’s head jerked up and he stared across the large room to the large double doors. How could he have missed her entrance? Now that he was attuned to her, Baird found that he couldn’t look anywhere else. Her sweet scent tickled his nose enticingly, the warm smell of her skin mixed with the floral odor of whatever she used to wash her hair and body. Her extremely luscious body, he saw with approval. The dreams hadn’t lied, she was curved in all the right places—it was easy to see with that little bit of nothing she had on.
“Gods.” His own voice sounded hoarse in his ears. The thin outfit that draped his bride was made of fragile, almost see-through black lace. Under it the ripe curves of her breasts and the tight points of her nipples were clearly visible. And the hem of the thing was barely low enough to cover the tender vee between her thighs.
Suddenly Baird became aware that he wasn’t the only male looking at his new bride—all eyes in the room seemed to be turned to her. It didn’t occur to him that she was the center of attention because she was being flanked by two large males and was struggling every step of the way. All he could see was that others were looking at the woman who was exclusively his.
A possessive growl rose in his throat as the claiming lust came over him. At the base of his cock, the mating fist came to life for the first time in his life, swelling with heat and need just for her.
Before he knew it, he was across the room, staring down the male draft officers.
“Get your fuckin’ hands off her.” His voice was a low menacing growl. The two officers released her at the same time and backed up nervously, eyeing Baird as though he might bite. A Beast Kindred in the grip of the claiming lust was no one to mess with. Baird didn’t spare them a second thought. Now that they were well away from the human woman—his woman—all his attention was focused on her.
Gods, she was so tiny, so perfect with her long tousled mane of golden hair and her big silvery-grey eyes. Baird longed to gather her into his arms and hold her. He reached out…Only to be restrained by Sylvan just before his fingers could close over her upper arm.
“Baird, control yourself!” the other male muttered in his ear. “Can’t you see you’re scaring her to death?”
“I’m not scaring her,” Baird protested.
But just then his bride’s eyes rolled up in her head and she fainted into a little heap of black lace and long, smooth limbs.
Chapter Three
My God! The dark man! Liv couldn’t believe he was real. Couldn’t believe he was here, obviously waiting just for her. She was being dragged, protesting all the way, into the HKR building in downtown Tampa, wearing her black lace nighty, with her heel throbbing and dripping blood from the shard of glass still embedded in it and all she could focus on was the huge man at the other end of the room. At least he cleans up nice, her mind chattered irrelevantly. But he isn’t a man—he’s a Kindred warrior. And admit it, Liv, didn’t you really know that all along? Even in the dreams?