Page 43 of Emperor of Wrath

I file that away as a clue, so I can track him down and…

What, exactly?

Hit him? Tell him to stay away from my fake wife that I don’t even like?

Maybe.

Or maybe just break his fucking face, and casually mention staying away from Annika afterward? Yeah. Better.

I grumble to myself as I finish my scotch, pour a second one, and walk back to the party before I’m missed.

But beyond the anger at Annika for talking to that fuck, and at him for getting so fucking close to her and goddamn touching her, there’s something else nagging at me.

A darkness. A hunger. A desire I should not have.

That kiss shouldn’t have happened.

I’m not exactly sure what drove her to grab me and fucking kiss me like that. I mean, it sure as hell wasn’t about “selling” the marriage. A, it’s clear Annika gives even less of a shit about this whole thing than I do. And B, there was something seriously weird in her eyes right before it happened. Like she was drowning in something. Almost like she was disassociating.

Which, to my fucked-up tastes at least, is more than slightly arousing: the idea of her being awake but not. Her body being mine while her mind has checked out.

What? We can’t choose our kinks. I didn’t pick an extreme free-use kink like somnophilia as the “thing” that gets me hard.

Sleep sex. The idea of taking a woman in her sleep. Or in Annika’s case, of fucking her mercilessly while she disassociates and “tunes out”.

I adjust my slacks, trying to hide the throbbing bulge between my thighs.

I digress. Again, that shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have allowed it to keep happening, and I absolutely should not have kissed her back. Hungrily.

Because I’m not a fucking idiot, and that’s hardly the first time a woman has decided to “get over” some other man, or get some kind of “payback” for her man slighting her, by trying to hook up with me.

I mean, I’m six foot six, I work out daily, and I won the genetic lottery. I’m hyper-aware of the way women look at me, especially when the ink on my arms makes it clear how dangerous I really am.

That fucking said, I’ve never been a fan of being someone’s “wild story” or their fucking payback. And I sure as fuck won’t allow my own goddamn wife to play that way.

I’m still stewing when I spot Mal across the room. Mercifully, he’s got our agent of chaos brother, Takeshi, with him. Good.

In an hour or so, Tak can go off and terrorize Manhattan with his usual brands of forbidden trouble all he likes. Before that, I need all my family present when Annika and I sign the blood marker which will bind us to this fucking marriage.

I make my way over, joining them near the windows overlooking Sota’s back garden and koi pond.

“Staying out of trouble, I hope?” I growl, eyeing Takeshi darkly.

He grins, pushing his long hair back from his face and turning to eye the room. “At present…mostly.”

“Think you can resist the urge to sow chaos and disorder for the next hour or so?”

“For you, brother, I’ll certainly try.”

I roll my eyes as he smirks at me, then claps me on the shoulder.

“I’m not the one anybody needs to worry about,” he shrugs. “You’re the one making out with your fake fiancée in the middle of your fake engagement party. That’s a cry for help if I ever saw one.”

“Or, shocker, he just wanted to kiss her.” Hana joins us, a glass of red wine in her hand. “I know real interpersonal connections are a mystery to you, Tak…”

He rolls his eyes at his twin. “As if we’re not all painfully aware of my many, many?—”

“I mean of the real, emotional kind,” Hana sighs heavily, giving him a stink look. “Like the romantic kind?”

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