She clenched her jaw.
"How do you find those facts? Answer honestly. Now."
"I find them... They might be... It might be fated," she bit out.
"We might be fated." He'd already known this without doubt. He couldn't believe his heart would beat for a woman that could never love him back. Of course, she'd said there'd been others she'd blooded - then killed.
"Yes, but just because we've been set up by a fate with a sick sense of humor doesn't mean my feelings about you will change. Are you going to keep me prisoner for eternity?"
"Before I let you go philander with your demigods? Yes."
Her slim shoulders stiffened and she stood.
He lay back, proudly ogling his Bride's ass as she sauntered around the room, studying her new surroundings. Myst couldn't merely walk, he'd discovered - her every movement was the stuff of fantasy, her every touch as well. He hadn't even gotten the chance to claim her last night because he'd been so enthralled with her wet kiss, but he was hard yet again and would remedy that soon.
"So what miraculous feat of engineering brought modern plumbing to this schwag place?"
Schwag? He frowned at her question, watching as she ran her hand along an old papered wall. She opened a rusted shutter and gazed out the window into the night, seeing, he knew, tangled gardens blighted with neglect. He had a sudden urge to make an excuse as to why his home was in this condition.
"You're actually going to keep me here? Your torture is fiendish and boundless, Wroth."
He clenched his jaw, then said, "As I told you, here is called Blachmount and it used to be awing and will be so again, but the estate's been abandoned for many years. While I searched for you, I lived in New Orleans, and in Oblak before that. I only come here on occasion." When he missed his family.
She sighed, meandering to her pile of clothes, ripped and dirty on the floor. She stared at them then blinked up at him, clearly wondering what his next move would be. It hit him full force that no matter how he felt about her, it was his responsibility to take care of her. His stunning wife, with her wild red hair and her soft, pale skin, who was so utterly out of place here, would be living with him under his roof - he'd best get this ancient shell of a keep back to its former glory and give her a home as befitted her.
He knew there would be things she would require that he couldn't anticipate, because he was beyond unknowing when it came to female needs. Did he dare take her to get her things?
As soon as he'd realized where she lived, he'd left Oblak behind and had had Murdoch purchase a property far from the crowds of New Orleans where they could live during the search. Wroth could've traced back and forth, but the time change meant each night he'd face dawn back in Oblak. Plus he'd been weak, and tracing the shorter distance to the renovated mill on the outskirts of town had been less demanding.
Now he needed to return to the mill for the large supply of blood he'd left there. He was thirstier than usual, and claiming her in this condition would not be wise. He assured himself it was only because his appetite had been reawakened and not because throughout the day, he'd dreamed of drinking from her white thighs.
He could check in with Murdoch, send word to Kristoff that he'd found his Bride, and drink in preparation of finally claiming her. While in New Orleans, he might as well visit a Valkyrie den.
"We go for your belongings tonight."
"How are we going to do that?" she asked. "You can only trace to places you've been to at least once."
"But I can drive anywhere," Wroth replied casually, every inch a modern warlord.
So she was to return to her home in ripped clothing, with her skin still flushed from last night, her body still singing for a vampire's touch.
She would never live this down. And for an immortal, never was a particularly woeful proposition.
Yes, going back to Val Hall would mean a possibility for escape, but he could kill one of her sisters if they tried to free her. When he rose and strode to his closet, she studied his body, noting yet again how incredibly strong he was.
He turned and tossed her a button-down, catching her gaze just as it drifted south to his hard shaft. She almost missed the shirt and he smirked, making her jerk her face away. "Come here," he ordered and she dragged her feet over. His hands reached out to pile her hair up, just so he could lean down and breathe along her neck, then murmur in her ear, "Bride, this is embarrassing. I think I've caught you staring at my cock," making her quiver. She'd teased him the same way when his eyes had been riveted to her neck so many years ago. He added in a sensual rumble, "You like it, don't you?"
When the question sunk in, her eyes went wide with disbelief, the spell broken. How could he ask her that? When she would be forced to answer? His lips hovering over her shoulder, he said, "Answer me honestly."
I want to curl up between your legs, rest my head at your hip, and draw you over into my mouth to taste you for hours, she almost said, then negotiated her mind into another honest answer: "It's too big."
He dropped her hair, smirking again. "So it terrifies you more than tantalizes?" he asked using the words she remembered well.
Knowing he was getting his revenge little by little, she gritted her teeth against her answer but lost. "Both."
He clucked her under the chin. "I'll be sure to break you in slowly, ride you easy the first few times."
Myst of the witty banter and dripping sexual innuendo was speechless. Break her in? Arrogant! When he turned for the shower, she tried not to stare at his back and how it tapered to his narrow hips and his muscled ass with the hard hollows on the sides. She'd been right, it did beg to be clutched.