• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” he demanded.

“Nope.”

“Just my luck.”

Desperate to move around, he walked over to the couch and picked up his biker jacket. He needed to restock it with weapons, and since Tohr didn’t seem in a big hurry to get his ass in gear, the distraction was better than screaming.

“The night Darius died,” Tohr said, “he told me you’d turned him down when he asked you to take care of her.”

Wrath opened the closet and reached into a storage bin full of throwing stars, daggers, and chains. He made his selections with rough hands. “So?”

“What changed your mind?”

Wrath clapped his molars together, biting down hard, a breath away from lashing out.

“He’s dead. I owe him.”

“You owed him when he was alive, too.”

Wrath whirled around. “Do you have any other business with me? If not, get the hell out of here.”

Tohr lifted his hands. “Easy, brother.”

“Fuck easy. I’m not talking about her with you or anyone else. Got it? And keep your mouth shut with the brothers, too.”

“Okay, okay.” Tohr backed over to the door. “But do yourself a favor. Cop to what’s going on with that female. An unacknowledged weakness is deadly.”

Wrath growled and leaned into his attack pose, upper body jutting forward on his hips. “Weakness? This coming from a male who’s dumb enough to love his shellan? You gotta be kidding me.”

There was a long silence.

And then Tohr said softly, “I’m lucky to have found love. I thank the Scribe Virgin every day that Wellsie is in my life.”

Wrath’s temper surged, set off by something he couldn’t put his finger on. “You’re pathetic.”

Tohr hissed. “And you’ve been dead for hundreds of years. You’re just too mean to find a grave and lie down.”

Wrath threw the leather jacket to the floor. “At least I’m not pussy-whipped.”

“Nice. Fucking. Suit.”

Wrath crossed the distance between them in two strides, and the other vampire met the approach head-on. Tohrment was a big male, with thick shoulders and long, powerful arms. Menace pulsated between them.

Wrath grinned coldly, his fangs lengthening. “If you spent half the amount of time defending our race that you do chasing after that female of yours, we might not have lost Darius. Ever think of that?”

Anguish came out of the brother like blood from a chest wound, and the vampire’s white-hot agony thickened the air. Wrath drew in the scent, taking the burn of misery down deep into his lungs, into his very soul. The knowledge that he’d laid out a male of honor and courage with such a low blow filled him with self-loathing. And while he waited for Tohr to attack, he welcomed the inner hatred as an old friend.

“I can’t believe you said that.” Tohr’s voice throbbed. “You need to—”

“I don’t want any of your worthless advice.”

“Fuck you.” Tohr knocked him a good one in the shoulder. “You’re gonna get it anyway. You’d better learn who your enemies really are, you arrogant asshole. Before you’re standing alone.”

Wrath barely heard the door slam shut. The voice screaming in his head that he was a worthless piece of shit overrode just about everything else.

He drew in a great breath and emptied his lungs with a vicious yell. The sound vibrated around the room, rattling the doors, the loose weapons, the mirror in the bathroom. Candles flared wildly in response, their flames licking up the walls, greedy to get free of their wicks and destroy what they could. He roared until his throat felt as if it were going to tear apart, until his chest burned.

When he finally closed his mouth, he felt no relief. Just remorse.

He marched over to the closet and took out a nine-millimeter Beretta. After he loaded it, he tucked the gun into the waistband of his slacks at the small of his back. Then he headed for the door and took the stairs two at time, his thighs eating up the distance to the first floor.

Stepping into the drawing room, he listened. The silence was probably a good thing for everybody. He needed to get ahold of himself.

Prowling around the house, he stopped at the dining room table.