He pulled on his jacket, the heft of it widening his shoulders even more. The leather was as dark as his hair, one lapel embossed with an intricate design in black thread.
"The man who attacked you last night," he said. "He was a stranger?"
"Yes." She brought her arms around herself.
"Were the police good to you?"
"They're always good to me."
"Have they told you his name?"
She nodded. "Yeah, I couldn't believe it either. When
Butch told me I thought he was joking. Billy Riddle sounds more like a Sesame Street character than a rapist, but he clearly had an MO and some practice-"
She stopped. Wrath's face had gone so vicious, she stepped back.
Jesus, if Butch was tough on perps, this guy was about two feet ahead of deadly, she thought.
But then his expression changed, as if he'd buried his emotions because he knew they scared her a little. He walked over to the bathroom and opened the door. Boo leaped up into his arms, and a low, rhythmic purring sound cut through the heavy air.
Except that sure wasn't her cat.
The throaty reverberation was coming out of the man as he held her pet in his arms. Boo ate up the attention, rubbing his head into the wide palm that was stroking him.
"I'm going to give you my cell phone number, Beth. You need to call me if you feel threatened in any way." He put the cat down and recited a bunch of digits. Made her repeat them until she had them memorized. "If I don't see you tonight, I want you to come to eight sixteen Wallace Avenue tomorrow morning. I'll explain everything."
And then he just looked at her.
"Come here," he said.
Her body obeyed before her mind checked in with a command to move.
As she got close to him, he put one arm around her waist and pulled her against his hard body. His lips came down hot and hungry on hers as he buried his other hand in her hair. Through his leather pants, she could feel he was ready for sex again.
And she was ready to have him.
When he lifted his head, he ran his hand leisurely over her collarbone. "This wasn't supposed to be part of it."
"Is Wrath your first or last name?"
"Both." He put a kiss on the side of her neck, sucking at her skin. She let her head fall back, and his tongue traveled up the smooth column. "Beth?"
"Hmm?"
"Don't worry about Billy Riddle. He's going to get what's coming to him."
He kissed her quickly and then walked out through the sliding glass door.
She put her hand up to her neck where he'd licked her. The skin tingled.
Beth hurried to the window and pulled up the shade.
He was already gone.
Wrath materialized in Darius's drawing room.
He hadn't expected the evening to take him where it had, and the extra layer of complication wasn't going to help the situation.
She was Darius's daughter. She was about to have her whole world turned upside down. And worse, she'd been the victim of a sexual assault the night before, for Christ's sake.
If he'd been a gentleman, he'd have left her alone.
Yeah, and when was the last time he'd lived up to his pedigree?
Rhage appeared in front of him. The vampire was wearing a long black trench coat over his leathers, and the contrast with his fair-haired beauty was no doubt a stunner. It was well-known that the brother used his looks against the opposite sex mercilessly, and that after a night of fighting, his favorite way to wind down was with a female. Or two.
If sex were food, Rhage would have been morbidly obese.
But he wasn't just a pretty face. The warrior was the best fighter the brotherhood had, the strongest, the quickest, the surest. Born with an overload of physical power, he preferred to meet lessers bare-handed, saving the daggers only for the end. Maintained that it was the only way to get any job satisfaction. Otherwise, the fights didn't last long enough.
Of all the brothers, Hollywood was the one the young males in the species talked about, worshiped, wanted to be. Except that was because his fan club only saw the glossy surface and the smooth moves.
Rhage was cursed. Literally. He'd gotten himself in some serious trouble right after his transition. And the Scribe Virgin, that mystical force of nature who oversaw the species from the Fade, had given him one hell of a punishment. Two hundred years of aversion therapy that kicked in whenever he didn't keep himself calm.
You had to feel sorry for the poor bastard.
"How we doing tonight?" Rhage asked.
Wrath closed his eyes briefly. A blurry image of Beth's body arching, caught as he'd looked up from between her legs, sliced through him. As he pictured himself tasting her again, his hands curled into fists, his knuckles cracking.
I'm hungry, he thought.
"I'm good to go," he said.
"Hold up. What's that?" Rhage demanded.