Actually, that was a bit of an overstatement. He didn't feel sick, but something wasn't right. That normal rush of strength had yet to hit him.

"Oh, Havers," she said softly. "You still miss Evangaline, don't you?"

"Painfully. And the drinking is simply not… agreeable to me."

No, he would no longer stay alive the old-fashioned way. From now on it would be clinical. A sterilized needle in his arm, hooking him up to a bag.

I'm so very sorry, Marissa said.

Havers reached out, laying his palm faceup on the table. "Thank you."

She put her hand in his. "And I'm sorry that I've been so… preoccupied. But it will be better now."

"Yes," he said urgently. Wrath was just the kind of barbarian who would want to continue to drink from the vein, but at least Marissa could be spared the indignity. "You could try the transfusion as well. It will free you, too."

She took her hand back and reached for her wineglass. As she lifted the burgundy to her mouth, she spilled some on her jacket.

"Oh, bother," she muttered, brushing the wine off the silk. "I'm terribly uncoordinated, aren't I?"

She removed the jacket and laid it on the empty chair next to her.

"You know, Havers, I would like to try it. Drinking is no longer palatable to me, either."

A delicious relief, a feeling of possibility, overtook him. The sensation seemed wholly unfamiliar because he hadn't felt it in so very long. The idea that something might change for the better had become a foreign concept to him.

"Truly?" he whispered.

She nodded, pushing her hair over her shoulder and picking up her fork. "Yes, truly."

And then he saw the marks on her neck.

Two inflamed puncture wounds. A red blaze where she had been sucked. Purple contusions on the skin of her collarbone where she'd been gripped by a heavy hand.

Horror curdled his appetite, blurred his vision.

"How could he have treated you so roughly?" Havers breathed.

Marissa's hand went to her neck before she quickly pulled some hair forward. "It's nothing. Truly, it's not… anything."

His eyes stayed in place as he continued to see clearly what she had hidden.

"Havers, please. Let's just eat." She picked up her fork again, as if she were prepared to demonstrate exactly how one did that. "Come now. Eat with me."

"How can I?" He threw down his silverware.

"Because it's over."

"What is?"

"I have broken the covenant with Wrath. I am no longer his shellan. I will see him no more."

Havers could only stare for a moment. "Why? What has changed?"

"He has found a female he wants."

Anger congealed in Havers's veins. "And just who does he prefer to you?"

"You do not know her."

"I know all females of our class. Who is it?" he demanded.

"She is not of our class."

"She is one of the Scribe Virgin's Chosen, then?" In the vampire social hierarchy, they were the only ones above a female of the aristocracy.

"No. She is human. Or at least half-human, from what I could tell from his thoughts about her."

Havers turned to stone in his chair. Human. A human?

Marissa had been forsaken for a… Homo sapiens?

"Has the Scribe Virgin been contacted?" he asked in a brittle voice.

"That is his duty, not mine. But make no mistake, he will go to her. It is… over."

Marissa took a small piece of beef and put it between her lips. She chewed carefully, as if she'd forgotten how. Or perhaps the humiliation she was obviously feeling made it difficult to swallow.

Havers gripped the arms of his chair. His sister, his beautiful, pure sister, had been ignored. Used. Brutalized as well.

And all that was left of her mating with their king was the shame of being cast aside for a human.

Her love had never meant anything to Wrath. Neither had her body or her impeccable bloodlines.

And now the warrior had done away with her honor.

The hell it was over.

Chapter Twenty-four

Wrath pulled on the Brooks Brothers jacket. It was tight in the shoulders, but he was hard to fit, and he'd given Fritz no notice.

Then again, the thing could have been custom-tailored and he would still have felt shackled. He was much more comfortable in leather and weapons than this worsted-wool crap.

He walked into the bathroom and squinted at himself. The suit was black. So was the shirt. That was all he could really see.

Good God, he probably looked like a lawyer.

He stripped off the jacket and put it on the marble counter. Pulling his hair back with impatient hands, he tied the length with a strap of leather.

Where was Fritz? The doggen had left to get Beth nearly an hour ago. The two of them should be back by now, but the house above still felt empty.

Ah, hell. Even if the butler had been gone for only a minute and a half, Wrath would have been restless. He was pumped to see Beth, itchy and distracted. All he could think about was burying his face in her hair as he drove the hardest part of himself deep inside her body.

God, those sounds she made when she came for him.

He glanced at his reflection. Put the jacket back on.

But sex wasn't everything. He wanted to treat her with respect, not just throw her on her back. He wanted to slow down. Eat with her. Talk with her. Hell, he wanted to give her what females liked: a little TLC.

He tried out a smile. Widened it. His cheeks felt like they were going to crack.

Yeah, okay, so he wasn't exactly Hallmark-card material. But he could pull off some romance. Couldn't he?

He rubbed his jaw. What the hell did he know about romance?

Abruptly, he felt like a fool.

No, it was worse than that. The fancy new suit exposed him, and the truth he saw was a nasty surprise.

He was changing himself for a female. For no other reason than to try to please her.

This was bonding at work, he thought. This was precisely why he never should have marked her, why he never, ever should have let himself get that close.

He reminded himself yet again that when she was through her transition, he was finished with her. He would go back to his life. And she would…

God, why did he feel like he'd been shot through the chest?

"Wrath, man?" Tohrment's voice boomed through the chamber.

The sound of his brother's baritone was a relief, bringing Wrath back to center.

He stepped out into the bedroom and scowled when he heard his brother's low whistle.

"Look at you," Tohr said, moving around him.

"Bite me."

"No, thanks. I prefer the females." The brother laughed. "Although I have to say you clean up nice."

Wrath crossed his arms over his chest, but the jacket pulled so tightly he worried he was going to split the seam in the back. He dropped his hands.

"You're here why?"

"I called your cell and you didn't answer. You said you wanted us all to meet here tonight. When?"

"I'm busy until one."

"One?" Tohr drawled.

Wrath planted his hands on his hips. A feeling of deep uneasiness, like someone had broken into his home, sneaked up on him.

This was so wrong, he thought. The date. With Beth.

But it was too damn late to cancel.

"Make that midnight," he said.

"I'll tell the brothers to be ready then."

He had a feeling Tohr was sporting a little grin, but the vampire's voice was steady. There was a pause.

"Yo, Wrath?"

"What."

"She's as beautiful as you think she is. Just thought you'd want to know."