The Black Dagger Brotherhood_ An Insider's Guide - J. R. Ward [155]
I will say—even though I shouldn’t—that Bella had a huge bite mark on her neck. He’d fed from her about an hour before they started to watch the movies. He’d gotten home from a night of fighting and he felt this . . . urge . . . to feed. He ended up sidling up to her in the bathroom. She was just out of the shower and was talking to him about this writing class she’s taking online. Anyway . . . he was staring at her in the mirror, and she was chatting away and toweling off her hair and . . . she stopped and asked him what was wrong. When she got the picture, she turned and smiled at him. Um . . . dropped the towel she had wrapped around herself. At first he was apologetic about it. Like embarrassed, almost, because he hadn’t come to her before. But then she was in his arms and he lowered his mouth to her throat and.....................well, they really got into the swing of things. *clears throat* Boy, did they ever . . . *blushes* Er . . . ANYWAY . . .
V stayed out of the movie thing, for the most part. He was doing searches on the Internet, although what he was looking for I have no clue. Every once in a while someone would yell at him to get off the computer. He ignored them until Butch fired an empty beer can at him. (And who was drinking the beer? Beth . . . she likes Sam Adams, remember.) V ended up sitting with Phury and Butch. The bachelors, as the others call them.
Sooooooooooooo, that was movie night (day). Next one is going to be an Aliens marathon. And yeah, Rhage is going to insist on acting out the alien-out-of-the-stomach routine on the floor in front of the TV *sigh* Hollywood’s just like that, you know?
Wrath and the Letter Opener
posted July 23, 2006
This one is done properly, and it’s long—but man, what a scene with Beth and Wrath at the end, huh?
Whoever said it couldn’t snow in July had their fucking head wedged.
Wrath sat back in his throne and looked at the piles of white before him: Requests to him as king for intervention on civil matters. Powers of attorney to Fritz for banking transactions. The glymera’s constant stream of “helpful suggestions,” all of which served only them.
It was a wonder the pansy desk could hold it all up.
From behind him he heard a series of metallic clicks, and then the shutters rose for the night with a whirring noise. Along with the lifting of steel came a rolling bass rumble, advance warning that one of Caldwell’s summer thunderstorms was getting its groove on.
Wrath sat forward and picked up his magnifying glass. The damn thing was getting to be an extension of his arm, and he hated it. First, the piece of shit didn’t really work: He couldn’t see much better when he used it. And second, it reminded him that for all intents and purposes his life had been reduced to a desk job.
A desk job with purpose and honor and nobility, sure. But still.
Idly, he picked up an envelope opener that bore his royal seal, and he balanced the tip of it on the end of his forefinger, suspending the knife-shaped slice of silver in midair. To make the game harder on himself, he closed his eyes and moved his hand around, creating instability, testing himself, using senses other than his weak eyes.
With a curse he cracked his lids back open. Christ, why was he wasting time here? He had about ten thousand things he needed to do. All of which were urgent—
From the open double doors across the study he heard voices—and, riding his uncharacteristic wave of procrastination, he tossed the opener