"Where'd Tohrment go?" he asked as he caught a whiff of Scotch.
"He's taking a breather. Thanks for coming."
Wrath lowered himself into a chair. He stared straight ahead and watched the crowd gradually swallow up the path he'd made.
He waited.
The pounding beat of Ludacris faded into old-school Cypress Hill.
This was going to be good. Darius was a real straight shooter who knew Wrath couldn't stand having his time wasted. If there was silence, something was up.
Darius tipped back his beer, then let out a deep breath. "My lord-"
"If you want something from me, don't lead with that," Wrath drawled, sensing a waitress approach them. He had the impression of big breasts and a strip of flesh between her tight shirt and her short skirt.
"You need a drink?" she asked slowly.
He was tempted to suggest she lay herself on the table and let him go to work on her carotid. Human blood wouldn't keep him alive for long, but it sure as hell tasted better than watered-down alcohol.
"Not right now," he said. His tight smile spiked her anxiety and gave her a shot of lust at the same time. He took her scent into his lungs.
Not interested, he thought.
The waitress nodded, but didn't move away. She kept staring at him, her short blond hair a halo in the darkness around her face. Spellbound, she seemed to have forgotten her own name, much less her job.
And how annoying was that.
Darius shifted impatiently.
"That's all," he muttered. "We're good."
As she backed up, getting lost in the crowd, Wrath heard Darius clear his throat. "Thanks for coming."
"You already said that."
"Yeah. Right. Ah, you and I go way back."
"We do."
"We've fought some damn good fights together. Cut down a lot of lessers."
Wrath nodded. The Black Dagger Brotherhood had been protecting the race against the Lessening Society for generations. There was Darius. Tohrment. The four others. The brothers were vastly outnumbered by lessers, de-souled humans who served a nasty-ass master, the Omega. But Wrath and his warriors managed to hold their own.
And then some.
Darius cleared his throat. "After all these years-"
"D, you've got to cut to the point. Marissa needs to do a little business tonight."
"Do you want to use your room at my place again? You know I don't let anyone else stay there." Darius let out an awkward laugh. "No doubt her brother would prefer you not show up at his house."
Wrath crossed his arms over his chest, pushing the table out with his boot to give himself a little more room.
He didn't give a crap that Marissa's brother had delicate sensibilities and was offended by the life Wrath lived. Havers was a snob and a dilettante who had his head up his ass. He was totally incapable of understanding the kind of enemies the race had and what it took to defend the population.
And just because the dear boy was offended, Wrath wasn't going to play dandy while civilians were getting slaughtered. He needed to be in the field with his warriors, not taking up space on some throne. So Havers could shove it.
Although Marissa shouldn't have to deal with her brother's attitude.
"I just might take you up on that offer."
"Good."
"Now talk."
"I have a daughter."
Wrath slowly turned his head. "Since when?"
"A while."
"Who's the mother?"
"You don't know her. And she… ah, she died."
Darius's sorrow rose up around him, the acrid smell of old pain cutting through the stench of human sweat, alcohol, and sex in the club.
"How old is she?" Wrath demanded. He had a feeling where this might be headed.
"Twenty-five."
Wrath cursed under his breath. "Don't ask me, Darius. Don't ask me to do it."
"I have to. My lord, your blood is-"
"Call me that again and I'll close your mouth for you. Permanently."
"You don't understand. She's-"
Wrath started to get up. Darius's hand grasped his forearm and then was quickly removed.
"She's half-human."
"Jesus Christ-"
"So she might not survive the transition if she goes through it. Look, if you help her, at least she has a chance of living. Your blood is so strong, it would increase the likelihood of her making it through the change as a half-breed. I'm not asking you to take her on as a shellan. Or to protect her, because I can do that. I'm just trying to… Please. My other sons are dead. She's all that could be left of me. And I… Her mother is one I loved."
If it had been anyone else, Wrath would have used his favorite pair of words: fuck and off. As far as he was concerned, there were only two good positions for a human. A female on her back. And a male facedown and not breathing.