Lover Avenged (Black Dagger Brotherhood 7)

"It is what it is."

SOONER. BETTER.

"We'll see."

Trez cursed him and dissolved back into a cold gust of wind, shooting forward out of sight.

Truth was, as much as Rehv hated coming here, sometimes he didn't want to leave. He liked hurting the princess, and she was a good opponent. Smart, fast, cruel. She was the only outlet for his bad side, and, like a runner starved for a workout, he needed the exercise.

Plus, maybe it was like his arm: The festering felt good.

Rehv took the sixth left, walking on a footpath that was wide enough for only one, and soon enough, the cabin came into view. In the bright moonlight, its logs were a color of something like rosé wine.

As he got to the door, he reached forward with his left hand, and as he gripped the wooden toggle, he thought of Ehlena and how she had cared enough to call him about his arm.

For a brief, lapsing moment, the sound of her voice in his ear came back to him.

I don't understand why you're not taking care of yourself.

The door whipped out of his hold, opening so fast it slammed against the wall.

The princess stood in the center of the cabin, her brilliant red robes and the rubies at her throat and her bloodred eyes all the color of hatred. With her stark hair twisted up off her neck, and her pale skin, and the live albino scorpions she wore as earrings, she was an exquisite horror, a Kabuki doll constructed by an evil hand. And she was evil, her darkness coming at him in waves, emanating from the center of her chest even as nothing about her moved and her moonlike face remained unmarred by a frown.

Her voice, likewise, was slick as a blade. "No beach scene tonight in your mind. No, no beach this night."

Rehv covered Ehlena up quickly by picturing a glorious Bahaman stereotype, all sun and sea and sand. It was one he'd seen on TV years ago, a "getaway special," as the announcer had said, with people in swimsuits strolling hand in hand. Given its vividness, the image was the perfect jockstrap over his gray matter's 'nads.

"Who is she?"

"Who is who?" he said as he stepped inside.

The cabin was warm, thanks to her, a little trick of molecular agitation of the air that was enhanced by her being pissed off. The heat she generated was not cheery like that from a fire however-more like the kind of hot flash you got along with a case of the shits.

"Who is the female in your mind."

"Just a model from an ad on TV, my dearest bitch," he said as smoothly as she did. Without turning his back on her, he shut the door quietly. "Jealous?"

"To be jealous, I would have to be threatened. And that would be absurd." The princess smiled. "But I think you need to tell me who she is."

"That all you want to do? Talk?" Rehv deliberately let his coat fall open and cupped his hard c**k and heavy sac. "Usually you want me for more than conversation."

"True enough. Your highest and best use is for what humans call...a dildo, is it not? A toy for a female with which to pleasure herself."

"Female is not necessarily the word I would use to describe you."

"Indeed. Beloved will do nicely."

She lifted a hideous hand to her chignon, her bony, triple-jointed fingers skipping over the careful construction, her wrist thinner than a handle on a wire whisk. Her body was no different: All symphaths were built like chess players, not quarterbacks, which followed their preference to battle with the mind, not the body. In their robing, they were neither male nor female, but rather a distilled version of both sexes, and this was why the princess wanted him as she did. She liked his body, his muscle, his obvious and brutal maleness, and she usually wanted to be physically restrained during sex-something she sure as shit wasn't getting at home. As far as he understood it, the symphath version of the act was no more than some mental posturing followed by two rubs and a gasp on the male's part. Plus he was willing to bet their uncle was hung like a hamster, and had balls the size of pencil erasers.

Not that he'd ever checked-but come on, the guy was not exactly a paragon of testosterone.

The princess moved around the cabin as if she were showing off her grace, but there was a purpose as she went from window to window and looked out.

Damn it to hell, always with the windows.

"Where is your watchdog tonight?" she said.

"I always come alone."

"You lie to your love."

"Why ever would I want anyone to see this?"

"Because I am beautiful." She stopped in front of the panes closest to the door. "He is over to the right, by the pine."

Rehv didn't need to lean to one side and look out to know she was right. Of course she could sense Trez; she just couldn't be exactly sure where or what he was.

Still, he said, "There is nothing but trees."

"Untrue."

"Afraid of shadows, Princess?"

As she looked over her shoulder, the albino scorpion hanging from her earlobe made eye contact with him as well. "Fear is not the issue. Disloyalty is. I do not abide by disloyalty."

"Unless you're practicing it, of course."

"Oh, I am quite faithful to you, my love. Except for our father's brother, as you know." She turned and lifted her shoulders to her full height. "My mate is the only one apart from you. And I come here alone."

"Your virtues abound, although as I've said, please take more into your bed. Take a hundred other males."

"None would compare to you."

Rehv wanted to throw up every time she paid him a false compliment, and she knew it. Which naturally was why she insisted on saying shit like that.

"Tell me," he said to change the subject, "since you brought up our uncle, how does the motherfucker fare?"

"He still believes you dead. So my half of our relationship remains honored."

Rehv put his hand in the pocket of his sable coat and took out the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cut rubies. He tossed the happy little packy onto the floor at the hem of her robe and removed his fur. His suit jacket and his loafers were next. Then it was his silk socks and his slacks and his shirt. No boxers to take off. Why bother.

Rehvenge stood before her fully erect, feet planted, breath easing in and out of his heavy chest. "And I'm ready to complete our transaction."

Her ruby eyes went down his body and stopped at his sex, her mouth parting, her split tongue running over her lower lip. The scorpions in her ears twirled their clawed limbs in anticipation, like they were responding to her sexual flush.

She pointed to the velvet bag. "Pick this up and give it to me properly."

"No."

"Pick it up."

"You like to bend over in front of me. Why should I rob you of your favorite hobby."

The princess tucked her hands into the long sleeves of her robe and came to him in the smooth manner of symphaths, all but floating over the wooden floor. As she approached, he held his ground, because he would be dead and decayed before he took a step back for the likes of her.

They stared at each other, and in the deep, vicious silence, he felt a terrible communion with her. They were like of like, and though he hated it, there was a relief in being his true self.

"Pick it-"

"No."

Her crossed arms unfurled and one of her six-fingered hands came tearing through the air at his face, the slap hard and sharp as her ruby eyes. Rehv refused to let his head kick back on impact while the cracking sound reverberated loud as a plate breaking.

"I want your tithe handed to me properly. And I want to know who she is. I have sensed your interest in this one before-when you are away from me."

Rehv kept that beach ad pinned to his frontal lobe and knew she was bluffing. "I don't bow down to you or anybody else, bitch. So if you want that bag, you're going to have to touch your toes. And as for what you think you know, you're wrong. There is no one for me."

She slapped him again, the sting flickering down his spinal cord and pulsing into the head of his cock. "You bow down to me every time you come here with your pathetic payment and your hungry sex. You need this, you need me."

He pushed his face closer to hers. "Don't flatter yourself, Princess. You are a chore, not a choice."

"Wrong. You live to hate me."

The princess took his c**k in her hand, her graveyard fingers wrapping around him tightly. As he felt her grip and her stroking, he was revolted...and yet his erection wept at the attention even as he couldn't bear it: although he didn't find her attractive at all, his symphath side was fully engaged in the battle of wills, and that was the erotic thing.