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A warm tongue licked at him.
“Oh, you are not getting off that easily, love. We are going to have a serious discussion about this whole First thing. If I’m the First, then I get to decide if you’re going to run off and try to kill really disgusting things. I think my spine is crushed,” Dante complained.
It wasn’t, but that didn’t mean he didn’t ache. And it was more than his muscles. Something was brutally wrong with him. Seeing Kaja in danger had done something to him. He couldn’t make his heart stop racing. He couldn’t seem to come down. He needed something. He needed her.
Dante began to force himself off the ground. He needed a long bath. Since Cara owed him her life, he wasn’t going to feel guilty about asking her to set it up for him. He would get the stink of ogre off of him and then settle down to have a good long discussion with Kaja about what it meant to be his wife. Beck had the right idea. Dante would make sure Kaja’s backside was red, and then he would fuck her until she forgot a time he wasn’t shoving his cock inside her pussy.
Then, after he’d spent every ounce of cum he had, maybe he would calm down.
Kaja whimpered, her nose nuzzling him.
“It won’t work, Kaj,” Dante said. “You can’t turn those puppy eyes on me and expect that all will be forgiven. You disobeyed. You put me and Meg and yourself at risk. You’re going to have to take your punishment.”
He’d never wanted to punish anyone before. He was a good-time guy. If a chick didn’t do what he thou
ght she should, he left.
He couldn’t leave Kaja. He needed her. He couldn’t just walk away this time. She looked at him with those same eyes he’d claimed wouldn’t move him. She was alone in the world. She didn’t have anyone except him.
He brought his hand up to give her a pet, to let her know that he could be mad at her but not leave her, when she growled. The sound came from deep in her throat. Her spine straightened, and she seemed to focus on something.
“I would have your dog heel, Mr. Dellacourt.” A very proper British voice filled the courtyard now. Dante looked up to see a group of vampires in gray-and-green fatigues.
“What the hell is this?” Dante asked, pushing to his knees. He stared at the group of ten mercenaries. They appeared well armed, with swords and Taser units at the ready. Where the hell had they been when he needed them? “You’re a little late to the party, boys.”
He moved to reach for the gun, which had fallen behind him, but Kaja was quicker. She covered it with her body and laid down, head on her paws.
“Kaj?” Dante asked.
Kaja barked as though trying to tell him something.
“I think we’re right on time, Mr. Dellacourt,” the leader said. “Bring her.”
Dante got to his feet as he saw two soldiers leading Meg toward him. She was safe and whole, and tied up with a gag in her mouth. She fought against her captors, but they were bigger and meaner. “What the hell is going on?”
“A very successful operation, Mr. Dellacourt,” the leader said. “We have the queen and you, and soon we shall have the rebel kings, and trade will flow between the Seelie and Vampire planes once more. I admit, I rather thought the ogre would kill you. Would you like to explain how you managed to kill it?”
This was bad. This was way worse than the ogre.
Beck was going to kill him.
“Fuck you, mercenary,” Dante shot back. Kaja was covering the only weapon they had. Smart girl, his wife. And they had no idea she was anything but his pet.
“Yes, I heard you would be trouble.”
The leader gave a signal with his hand, and a large, righteously ugly dude stepped up. Dante saw what was coming and tried to hold up his hands in the universally acknowledged sign for “don’t send ten thousand kilowatts of pure electricity through my body.”
“I’m not going to be trouble,” Dante started.
But the Taser flared and sank into his flesh. Dante held on as his body spasmed, and he fell back to the ground.
His last thought was of Kaja and those blue eyes.
Chapter Eight
Chalen Palgrave stared at the monitor with something close to happiness. He would never allow himself actual happiness because emotion would prove that he was undisciplined, and he was nothing if not disciplined. But still, the sight of Dante Dellacourt lying on the dirt floor, his perfect hair a mess brought a bit of joy to his heart. Dante’s hands were tied behind his back, and he lay at an angle that would surely be painful if he were awake.
Of course, the Taser would have been intensely painful, too.
