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And he'd called his brother pathetic?
If it hadn't been all Darius's priceless crap, he'd have swept the table clean with his arm. His hand shot out, as if it were ready to follow through on the impulse anyway, but the jacket confined him. He gripped the lapels, prepared to rip the thing off his back and burn it, but the front door opened. He wheeled around.
There she was. Coming across the threshold. Walking into the hall.
Wrath's hands dropped to his sides.
She was dressed in black. Her hair was up. She smelled... like night-blooming roses. He breathed in through his nose, his body hardening, his instincts demanding that he get her under him.
But then her emotions hit him. She was wary, nervous. He could sense her mistrust with clarity, and he took perverse satisfaction as she hesitated to look at him.
His temper returned, nice and sharp.
Fritz was busy closing the door, but the doggen's happiness was obvious in the air around him, shimmering like sunshine. "I've put out some wine in the drawing room. I'll serve the first course in about thirty minutes, shall I?"
"No," Wrath commanded. "We'll sit down now."
Fritz seemed confused, but then clearly caught the drift of Wrath's emotions.
"As you wish, master. Right away." The butler disappeared as though something were on fire in the kitchen.
Wrath stared at Beth.
She took a step back. Probably because he was glaring.
"You look... different," she said. "In those clothes."
"If you think they've civilized me, don't be fooled."
"I'm not."
"Good. Now let's get this over with."
Wrath went into the dining room, thinking she'd follow if she wanted. And if she chose not to, hell, it was probably for the better. He wasn't in a big hurry to get trapped at the table anyway.
Chapter Twenty-five
Beth watched Wrath saunter away as if he didn't give a rat's ass whether or not she ate with him.
If she hadn't been having second thoughts herself, she would have been totally insulted. He'd invited her to dinner. So why was he all bent out of joint when she showed up? She was tempted to hightail it right back out the front door.
Except she followed because she felt like she had no choice. There were so many things she wanted to know, things only he could explain.
Although as God was her witness, if there were any way to get the information from someone else, she would have.
As he walked in front of her, she shot a glare at the back of his head and tried to ignore his powerful stride. The latter was an abject failure. He just moved too superbly. With each sharp impact of his heel, his shoulders shifted under the expensive jacket, counterbalancing the thrust of his legs. As his arms swung loosely, she knew that his thighs were clenching and releasing with every step. She pictured him naked, his muscles flexing under his skin.
Butch's voice bounced around in her head. A man like that has murder in his blood. It's his nature.
And yet Wrath had sent her away last night when he'd been a danger to her.
She told herself to forget attempting to reconcile the contradictions. She was just trying to read tea leaves with all the mental aerobics. She needed to go with her gut, and her gut said Wrath was the only help she had.
As she stepped into the dining room, the beautiful table that had been set for them was a surprise. There were flowers in the center, tuberoses and orchids. And ivory candles. And gleaming china and silver.
Wrath went around and pulled out a chair, waiting for her to sit in it. Looming over the thing.
God, he looked fantastic in the suit. And the open collar of his shirt showed off his throat, the black silk making his skin look tanned. Too bad he was flat-out pissed. His face was as harsh as his temper, and with his hair pulled back, the aggressive thrust of his jaw was even more prominent.
Something had set him off. Big-time.
Perfect date material, she thought. A vampire with the social equivalent of road rage.
She approached cautiously. As he slid the seat under her, she could have sworn he bent down to her hair and inhaled deeply.
"Why were you so late?" he demanded while sitting at the head of the table. When she didn't answer, he cocked an eyebrow at her, the dark arch rising over the rim of his black sunglasses. "Did Fritz have to talk you into coming?"
To give herself something to do, she took her napkin and unfolded it in her lap. "It was nothing like that."
"So tell me what it was."
"Butch followed us. We had to wait until we got free of him."
She sensed the space around Wrath darkening as if his anger sucked the light right out of the air.
Fritz came in with two small plates of salad. He put them down.
"Wine?" he asked.
Wrath nodded.
After the butler had finished pouring and left, she picked up a heavy silver fork and forced herself to eat.
"Why are you afraid of me now?" Wrath's voice was sardonic, as if he were bored by her fear.
She jabbed at the greens. "Hmmm. Could it be because you look like you want to strangle someone?"
"You walked into this house scared of me again. Before you even saw me, you were frightened. I want to know why."
She kept her eyes on her plate. "Maybe I was reminded that last night you almost killed a friend of mine."
"Christ, not that again."
"You asked," she shot back. "Don't get mad if you don't like my answer."
Wrath wiped his mouth impatiently. "I didn't kill him, did I?"
"Only because I stopped you."
"And that bothers you? Most people like to be heroes."
She put her fork down. "You know what? I don't want to be here with you right now."
He kept eating. "So why did you come?"
"Because you asked me to!"
"Believe me, I can handle the rejection." As if she were of no concern to him whatsoever.
"This was a mistake." She put her napkin down next to her plate and stood.
He cursed. "Sit down."
"Don't tell me what to do."
"Let me amend that. Sit down and shut up."
She gaped at him. "You arrogant ass - "
"Someone's already called me that tonight, thank you very much."
Fritz picked that moment to breeze in with some warm rolls.
She glared at Wrath and pretended she was only reaching across the table for the wine bottle. She wasn't about to march off in front of Fritz. And besides, she suddenly felt like sticking around.
So she could yell at Wrath a little longer.
When they were alone again, she hissed, "Where do you get off talking to me like that?"
He took a final bite of salad, placed his fork on the edge of his plate, and dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin. Like he'd been trained by Emily Post herself.
"Let's get one thing straight," he said. "You need me. So get over your hangups about what I might have done to that cop. Your good buddy Butch is still above ground, right? So what's the problem?"
Beth stared at him, trying to read through his sunglasses, searching for some softness, something she could connect to. But the dark lenses shut her out of his eyes completely, and the tight lines of his face gave her nothing to go on.
"How can life mean so little to you?" she wondered aloud.
The smile he gave her was cold. "How can death mean so much to you?"
Beth sank back in her chair. Cringed from him, was more like it. She couldn't believe she'd made love - no, had sex - with him. He was utterly callous.
Abruptly, her heart hurt. Not because he was being hard on her, but because she was disappointed. She'd really wanted him to be different than he appeared. She'd wanted to believe the flashes of warmth he'd shown her were as big a part of him as those hard edges.
She rubbed the raw patch at her sternum. "I'd really like to go, if you don't mind."
There was a long pause.
"Ah, hell..." he muttered, letting out his breath. "This isn't right."
"No, it isn't."
"I thought that you deserved... I don't know. A date. Or something. Something normal." He laughed harshly as she looked at him with surprise. "Dumb idea, I know. I should stick to what I'm good at. I'd be better off teaching you how to kill."
Underneath his thick pride, she sensed a kernel of something else. Insecurity? No, that wasn't it. Naturally with him, it would be more intense.
Self-hatred.
Fritz came in, picked up their salad plates, and reappeared with soup. It was cold vichyssoise. Interesting, she thought absently. Usually it was soup first, then salad, wasn't it? But then, she had to imagine vampires had lots of different social traditions. Like the men having more than one woman.
