Lothaire (Immortals After Dark, #12)

by Kresley Cole

His smirk deepened. “And who owns you?” Say the words! Force yourself to say them! “You—do.” He released her. “Good girl.”

Before Elizabeth had woken, he’d watched the even rise and fall of her chest, his lids growing heavy.

“Saroya really wants me to put on weight?” When he nodded, she said, “And you’re on board?” He thought her lovely now, nearly irresistible, but he had no marked preference.

“Each adult male vampire walks as the living dead until he finds his mate and she bloods him, brings him back to life. Saroya made my heart beat again, made my lungs take breath.” In a husky tone, he added, “Among other things.” “How do you know it’s not me who’s . . . blooded you?” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Because fate would not slight me so unspeakably. I’d seek a noon-day sun if I were paired with one such as you.”

How could he savor each day of his life when the supply of them was unlimited? How could he ever experience wonder or excitement? “All I can think is that it’d be wearying.” Had a shadow passed over his expression?

He killed most who cast him that sharp questioning look. But he couldn’t harm the human before him, the female with her steady gray eyes taking his measure. He stared into them for long moments, surprised to find himself feeling more grounded.

“How could a girl from the backwoods ever get caught up in something so . . . unlikely?”

“I asked myself that continually from the time I first saw you. After all, in the beginning, I had no idea you were anything more than a mere human, had no idea how I could possibly be connected to you.” Why was he conversing so readily with her? Perhaps because he knew she would take his secrets...

Lothaire the Enemy of Old—the most feared vampire alive, the son of one king and grandson of another—paired with a mortal? Much less a mortal of no distinction. I’m given to unde...

“Wait. I came first? You didn’t find me b...

The bottom line is that insults only hurt when they come from someone I respect.”

“You think you’re better than me because you’re a prince?” Had she sounded disbelieving? “I’m a displaced king of two vampire factions. Now I work to reclaim my thrones.” Why am I telling her this? He didn’t give a damn if she respected him.

“I found you when you were fourteen, but you didn’t trigger my blooding.” He’d assumed that she was too young. “I decided then that I’d never return, would walk as the dead before being forever tied to such a base creature as you.” No matter that she’d promised to be physically lovely.

It might have been pure, but it had plagued him, and he’d returned to her thrice more.

Once Saroya understood their circumstances better, she would not be so keen for Lothaire to enjoy another. He imagined how he’d feel if the situation were reversed. Homicidal.

Though he’d scorned Elizabeth in her teens, even he had been misguidedly protective of her. When he’d seen her kissing that male, Lothaire had tossed his truck into a valley. The male had run out of the water to investigate, so Lothaire had dropped him down as well. . . .

He exhaled. It’d been so long since he’d had sex that he might not have retained any prowess. He smirked, thinking, Maybe I should practice on Elizabeth. A sudden jolt of lust took him like a punch, wiping away his smirk. He sliced his gaze to her. Studying gray eyes met his. The idea was sound. Or maybe I’m grasping at straws, rationalizing why I want to touch a human.

“You get more with honey than you do with vinegar. And when you run out of both, you reach for the buckshot.”

She stared up at him, wondering what it would be like to have a man buy her things like this. To have him want me so badly, he’d kill for me.

As if unable to help himself, he threaded his fingers through her hair.

With that aim in mind, she knelt at the doorway crack to his bedroom, listening for him. She heard the rustle of sheets, a stifled curse. He’d gone to bed? After telling her he had work to do? And wasn’t this kind of his workday? Again she thought, Typical male. Wait. Had he just . . . groaned?

I’m never going to sleep with this erection. Though Lothaire was exhausted, it throbbed for relief, impossible to ignore. He couldn’t turn on his front without grinding his shaft into the mattress, couldn’t turn on his back without his hands descending to masturbate his length.

Lothaire himself had never been unaware of what he was doing, nor unable to stop himself. Now he feared that if he neared climax tonight, he’d cross a line, tossing Elizabeth into his bed. He’d strip her naked and bury his cock and fangs so deep in her, he wouldn’t know where she ended and he began. . . .

Thaddeus rushed forward, hand outstretched. “In any case, it’s good to see you.” Lothaire gave his hand a withering glare until the boy dropped it with a grin. No matter how unpleasant he was to the young immortal, Thaddeus still thought the best of him.

The Enemy of Old conversing with a teenage football-playing Eagle Scout named Thad? A vampire/phantom halfling named Thaddeus was more palatable. In any case . . .“We are not friends,” Lothaire said, then frowned. The words had made his throat burn, almost as if they were a lie.

Keen to get back to my Bride. The thought brought him up short. Why did Lothaire feel so connected to her now? Years before, he’d easily parted from her. Now, spending mere moments without her was affecting him.

He reminded himself that technically Saroya couldn’t be killed. But I want her in Elizabeth’s comely form. Thinking about her gray eyes, sexpot lips, and fantasy-worthy figure, he again determined it crucial to secure her body for Saroya. Not to mention her delectable blood. She tastes of wine and honey—just as his father had said. Lothaire’s fangs sharpened even now.

When blood dripped to his lip, he darted his tongue for a taste. He detected a top note of Elizabeth’s blood mixed into his own, and it calmed him.

“Touch me again, Scourge, and I will demonstrate.” She shrieked; Lothaire smirked. “I knew you when you were pretty.” Her face flashed to her former visage, that of a beautiful Macedonian warrioress. In a contemplative tone, Lothaire asked, “Didn’t I do you when you were pretty?” Another furious shriek, then she was swept away in the tide of their tempest.

“What can you do to stop me? Now step aside.” He almost added, “Or I’ll kill your beloved adoptive mother and grandmother for your insolence,” but the rána arose in his throat. Which meant that would be a lie. Why would I not murder two insignificant humans? Why would he feel even a scrap of allegiance to Thaddeus? Because there was one instance with the boy that affected me. A demonstration of loyalty . . .

Before Thaddeus could blink, Lothaire had his hand around the boy’s throat, squeezing. . . . “What’s the bounty? Who posted it?” Foolish, Lothaire! Why hadn’t he acted uncaring? Why reveal his crazed possessiveness of Saroya?

She’d removed all that makeup; though Lothaire was loath to admit it, he found it an improvement. She’d also changed into jeans that lovingly outlined her pert ass—a fact that offset the worst of his anger.

Lothaire could see the prisms of light reflected in her wide gray eyes. She had . . . intelligent eyes. Perhaps more was there than he’d allowed himself to see. He stared at the delicate shape of her face in profile. From this angle, he could see her lips were a touch fuller in the middle, giving them that bow shape.

He ran his hand over his face. If he took her in that state, he could rend her in two, could pulverize her bones.

Another determined look lit her face, and she returned to her room. What would she do next? For some reason, I can hardly wait to know. She began eyeing the lock on their adjoining door. No. No way . . .

She leaned in to smell one of his coats, taking in his masculine scent—smooth, woodsy, with the faintest bite of evergreen? Just as mesmerizing as his looks. When she found her lids growing heavy, she gave herself an inward shake, then dragged herself away from the coat.

When the mortal had breathed in his scent, going heavy-lidded . . . he’d barely choked back a groan as he shot hard as stone.

“I’ve told you I won’t harm this body! Yet you flinch from me?” In a strangled voice, she cried, “Are you kidding?” “Calm your goddamned heart!” he bellowed, his instinct to protect her—to comfort her—nearly overriding his need to punish her. Which infuriated him even more!

Between gritted teeth, he commanded, “Calm yourself, Elizabeth.” He knew one thing that would calm them both. Release. With one bite, she’d be begging for him to ease her.

He wondered if the other rumors about Brides were true. Will she pleasure me more deeply than I’d ever imagined?

“First of all, I’m not narcissistic.” When she opened her lips to argue, he said, “I know Narkissos of Thespiae—while we might share traits, I came first, so he’s Lothairistic, not the other way around.

Again, how unexpected. She was actually entertaining him.

He’d surprised himself by showing them to Elizabeth, by wanting to see her reaction. Or perhaps he’d merely wanted any reaction whatsoever, any response to his gift. Saroya’s had been . . . lacking.

Never had he shown another person his accountings. But Elizabeth would soon be dead, and now he was curious to see what she’d say.

If Nïx was the queen of foresight, then Lothaire was the king of insight.

“If an immortal is in dire straits, I’ll agree to help him, but only for a price. Then I’ll make him vow to do anything I want. The saying make a deal with the devil comes from me.” If he sounded proud, well . . . I am.

Again he was finding it easy to speak with her, as if the words were pulled from him, as if he’d waited all his life to reveal these things.

He dragged his gaze from the pages to her face, inspecting it as he might a painting he’d found superficially appealing only to discover layers, nuances.

“There’s an actual bounty on my head?” When Lothaire found out who’d posted it, blood would run. “My Bride would already be target number one in the Lore. Now thousands will fight for the reward—and they’ll believe that you are mine.

She’ll gasp with astonishment, raising her hand to her temple, fearing that I’m reading her mind right now. . . . Silence. He glanced over at her; his hands clenched into shaking fists. Elizabeth was sound asleep. He’d finally opened up and actually talked with someone—had shown her his fucking book—and she’d fallen asleep? Had he bored her?