Read Online Darkness Bound by J. T. Geissinger - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. T. Geissinger
Ads: Link
his wife at the curved tables that flanked both sides of the Alpha’s dais. Xander and Morgan shared a look, and Morgan—even in human form, the sleekest, most feral woman of the entire tribe—leaned forward to speak.
“Well done.” She held his gaze with a look that said, Don’t let him get under your skin. Don’t let him win.
Of all the colony members, Hawk and Morgan were the ones who chafed most tightly against the cloistered restrictions of their existence. In spite of the fact that she’d turned the colony’s most efficient and feared killer to putty in her lovely hands, Hawk had a grudging respect for Morgan’s spirit. She was a rebel. She was a fighter. Like him.
Like Jacqueline Dolan.
That thought startled him so much he didn’t bother to take offense when Alejandro snapped, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves with the praise, Morgan. I’d like to hear the details before I’m satisfied.”
“The details?” Hawk repeated, still musing about his unexpected revelation. He pictured Jacqueline Dolan in his mind’s eye, stretched out beneath him on the hotel bed, wearing nothing but a Cheshire Cat smile. He’d had dozens—hundreds?—of other women, and felt nothing for any of them.
So why did that image send such a rush of warmth through his veins?
“Well, let’s see. About five eight, a hundred and thirty pounds, hair the color of a sunset, skin like fresh churned cream—”
“How poetic,” Alejandro interrupted acidly. He leaned forward, wineglass in hand, eyes burning. “But I’m not interested in hearing about her looks—”
“Oh, you’d like the sordid details, then. Well, she’s a screamer, I can tell you that—”
“Enough!” Alejandro slammed the wineglass down on the arm of his opulent chair with such force the stem shattered and fell tinkling to the polished wood floor. His face had turned the same color as the wine that was now splashed across his white linen trousers.
The room fell silent. The air went static. Morgan was trying desperately to keep a straight face.
“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” Hawk inquired with faux, blinking innocence, and someone on the Assembly actually had the nerve to snicker.
Alejandro was universally disliked. Though he was Alpha by grant of his Bloodline, and he was Gifted with Vapor, which only the most powerful were, Alejandro had failed to earn the respect that was due his position. Not only had he proved himself to be a narcissist, a hedonist, and a debauched gambler who often visited the city for the express purposes of whoring and frittering away his inheritance, he was not the eldest son.
In fact, Xander was the eldest son of the former Alpha. But Xander, like Hawk, hated politics. He’d refused the opportunity to ascend to his father’s position. He’d only recently—begrudgingly—consented to join the Assembly at his wife’s insistent behest. So Alejandro sat in the Alpha’s chair instead of Xander, and the entire colony suffered for it.
As for Hawk, he was the product of the former Alpha’s unfortunate liaison with an unmated young girl during a brief period between his marriages to the two wives who produced Hawk’s half brothers. Hawk had royal Blood, but was the only illegitimate child the tribe had seen in generations. To the tribe, he was Salsu Maru , the Least Son.
The Bastard.
An object of equal parts desire—females seemed to love his air of brooding rebelliousness—and derision, Hawk was an outsider among his own people. He never had, and he never would, belong.
A fact which Alejandro took every opportunity to remind him.
“Where are the pictures?” Alejandro slowly enunciated each word, staring at Hawk as if he wished to drive a stake through his heart. Which he undoubtedly did—the vain hate being mocked.
Before he could answer, Morgan interjected, “I was actually thinking we might go in another direction with those pictures.”
Alejandro stared at her with a look that would have
“Well done.” She held his gaze with a look that said, Don’t let him get under your skin. Don’t let him win.
Of all the colony members, Hawk and Morgan were the ones who chafed most tightly against the cloistered restrictions of their existence. In spite of the fact that she’d turned the colony’s most efficient and feared killer to putty in her lovely hands, Hawk had a grudging respect for Morgan’s spirit. She was a rebel. She was a fighter. Like him.
Like Jacqueline Dolan.
That thought startled him so much he didn’t bother to take offense when Alejandro snapped, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves with the praise, Morgan. I’d like to hear the details before I’m satisfied.”
“The details?” Hawk repeated, still musing about his unexpected revelation. He pictured Jacqueline Dolan in his mind’s eye, stretched out beneath him on the hotel bed, wearing nothing but a Cheshire Cat smile. He’d had dozens—hundreds?—of other women, and felt nothing for any of them.
So why did that image send such a rush of warmth through his veins?
“Well, let’s see. About five eight, a hundred and thirty pounds, hair the color of a sunset, skin like fresh churned cream—”
“How poetic,” Alejandro interrupted acidly. He leaned forward, wineglass in hand, eyes burning. “But I’m not interested in hearing about her looks—”
“Oh, you’d like the sordid details, then. Well, she’s a screamer, I can tell you that—”
“Enough!” Alejandro slammed the wineglass down on the arm of his opulent chair with such force the stem shattered and fell tinkling to the polished wood floor. His face had turned the same color as the wine that was now splashed across his white linen trousers.
The room fell silent. The air went static. Morgan was trying desperately to keep a straight face.
“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” Hawk inquired with faux, blinking innocence, and someone on the Assembly actually had the nerve to snicker.
Alejandro was universally disliked. Though he was Alpha by grant of his Bloodline, and he was Gifted with Vapor, which only the most powerful were, Alejandro had failed to earn the respect that was due his position. Not only had he proved himself to be a narcissist, a hedonist, and a debauched gambler who often visited the city for the express purposes of whoring and frittering away his inheritance, he was not the eldest son.
In fact, Xander was the eldest son of the former Alpha. But Xander, like Hawk, hated politics. He’d refused the opportunity to ascend to his father’s position. He’d only recently—begrudgingly—consented to join the Assembly at his wife’s insistent behest. So Alejandro sat in the Alpha’s chair instead of Xander, and the entire colony suffered for it.
As for Hawk, he was the product of the former Alpha’s unfortunate liaison with an unmated young girl during a brief period between his marriages to the two wives who produced Hawk’s half brothers. Hawk had royal Blood, but was the only illegitimate child the tribe had seen in generations. To the tribe, he was Salsu Maru , the Least Son.
The Bastard.
An object of equal parts desire—females seemed to love his air of brooding rebelliousness—and derision, Hawk was an outsider among his own people. He never had, and he never would, belong.
A fact which Alejandro took every opportunity to remind him.
“Where are the pictures?” Alejandro slowly enunciated each word, staring at Hawk as if he wished to drive a stake through his heart. Which he undoubtedly did—the vain hate being mocked.
Before he could answer, Morgan interjected, “I was actually thinking we might go in another direction with those pictures.”
Alejandro stared at her with a look that would have
Similar Books
