Pack Master (Vampire Kings 3)

“You make me feel like the biggest piece of…”

Henry wrapped a hand around the back of Lorien’s neck and pulled him close, planting a possessive kiss on Lorien’s lips.

“I think I should take you home and beat you.”

“What good would that do?”

“I don’t know. Might settle you down. Might turn you on. Might help you realize what a little shit you are.”

“I already know that,” Lorien smiled. “That’s why I did what I did. I will write my unique madness across this city, and there's nothing any of those petty vampires, young or old, can do about it.”

Henry leaned in, one hand on each of Lorien’s hips, pushing him back against the wall. “I like you,” he said. “I like your sass. I like your anger. I like your twisted impudence. But if you want to be a king you have to be something more.”

“What?” Lorien breathed the question against Henry’s mouth.

“You have to be selfless. You have to make it about those you serve by ruling.”

“That’s not how vampires work.”

“That’s how everything works.” Henry reach out and ran his fingers through Lorien’s hair with a tender and affectionate gesture. “You’re a spoiled, selfish little brat, and you have no idea how broken you are.”

Lorien took offense, naturally.

“Then what’s so wrong with you that you want to be with me? I might be a mess, but you like rolling around in my mess, and that’s worse.”

“So much potential,” Henry said. “Not now. But in the years to come. I see what Maddox saw in you, and I think your saving grace might be the fact that those who had eyes in that congregation of vampires saw it too. There’s something about you, Lorien. Something beautiful and magnetic and charming.”

Lorien was not sure he could accept those compliments. They came on the heels of harsh criticism, and he hated to be criticized.

“You’re not my master,” he reminded Henry. “You, if you're anything, are my mate. You can tell me what you think, but you can’t expect me to change. You want to take your men and get out of here, I understand. It will get messy. I don’t intend on leaving that royal chamber intact. I’m going to fucking tear it up. Metaphorically. You can stay and watch, you can help, or you can pack up and leave. I am the king.”

“You get so damn close,” Henry sighed. “And then, just as I think you've understood the point, you loop back to your old ways.”

“It's not your job to make points,” Lorien reminded him. “You were brought in to dominate Will, not me.”

“You need it more,” Henry said.

“I really don’t. Maddox would never have left me in charge if he didn’t think I was capable of ruling over these vampires. You’re the only one who doubts me.”

“I might be the only one who cares if they slaughter us all. Maddox up and left you without protection, alliances, generals. I was there, Lorien. I saw the way they looked at you. You wouldn’t have made it out of the Library if not for my pack. I’ll be damned if I let you get yourself and the rest of us killed because Maddox told you that you were ready to be king.”

Lorien was smiling now. Or rather, he was smirking. Broadly and with great amusement. Henry was just so desperate to control him, and so convinced that he could never be the king he was made to be.

He leaned in very close to Henry’s ear, drew in a breath, and whispered. “You’re not in charge.”

Henry’s brows lifted and his nostrils flared. A low growl emanated from his throat.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Lorien’s grin was triumphant now as he drew back, giving Henry his smuggest and most self-satisfied expression. "You want… no, you need to be in control. You can’t stand that I’m king, and in this city, you’re the prey.”

“You’re lucky we're surrounded by ten thousand strangers who don’t need to see what a wolf does to an arrogant baby vampire,” Henry said. “I’ll see you at home.”

Lorien watched Henry leave. It was a damn hot sight. Broad shoulders, powerful hips, tight ass. He was lucky to have him - if he had him at all. There was a very significant part of Lorien that was expecting Henry to bail on him, and soon. It was one thing to want to fuck, and even to stand up for him once or twice, but people got tired of being in the firing line, and Lorien was always in someone’s firing line.

Lorien fed several times that evening, and a pretty French girl made for a delightful desert. She was not aware that she had become food. She was too busy staring into the pretty bright lights of Times Square. He fed in the open, mistaken by those passing by for an ardent lover wrapping the young woman in a tender and passionate embrace. She moaned, and she came. Quietly, prettily, breathing her hot breath against his neck.