This Royal Thighness Wrath, Son of Wrath
“Welcome to the wonderful world of jealousy. For the price of admission, you get a splitting headache, a nearly irresistible urge to commit murder, and an inferiority complex. Yippee.”
Personal Qs (answered by Wrath):
J.R.’s Interview with Wrath
Here’s the thing about the king. He’ll allow himself to be interviewed, but it’s on his terms. Which is Wrath in a nutshell. He’s all about his terms, but then I guess when you’re the last purebred vampire on the earth and king of your race and . . . well, when you’re as big as he is and have a stare that can cut through glass like a diamond, the world is a place you dictate, not dodge around in.
Did I mention that I’m wearing waders at the moment, and I’m thigh-high in an icy Adirondack stream?
Yeah, the king’s taken up fly-fishing.
On this frosty November night, Wrath and I are standing in the midst of rolling, sluggish water that is cold. I have long underwear on, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t, as he’s not the type to be bothered by a chill. He did, however, make a concession to a set of gigantic waders, which Fritz custom-tailored for a pair of legs that are each about the size of my upper body. I’m to the side of the king; I figured if I were in front or behind I’d be in hook range, and considering I had to pester him for weeks for this audience, I don’t want to risk a trip to an ER for some kind of tackle-ectomy.
On a side note, Wrath looks worn-down. Mind you, he still outranks 99.9 percent of any of the males I’ve ever seen on the Holy Shit Hot Scale, but then, honestly, can you get sexier than a guy with hip-length black hair, a widow’s peak, and wraparound sunglasses? Not to mention the tats on his forearms and those green eyes and his . . .
Listen, I have never measured his backside. Ever. Not once. Or the tremendous width of his shoulders. Or his six-pack.
Oh, don’t look at me like that.
Anyway, where were we? Right, the stream. Fly-fishing.
The king and I are about a half mile from Rehvenge’s safe house in the Adirondack Mountains near Black Snake State Park. Wrath is standing about fifteen feet from me, whisking his right arm back and forth in a gentle rhythm, pulling a gossamer-thin fishing line through the stream, then letting it be taken, through the stream, then letting it be taken. The water sounds like wind chimes as it chatters past smooth brown and gray rocks, and the pine trees on either side of the banks whistle as the wind tickles through their branches. The air is cool and crisp, making me think that I’m glad I have a Macintosh apple in the backpack we brought with us—fall just goes with those tart, juicy little buggers.
Oh, and one last salient point. Wrath has a forty strapped under each arm and throwing stars in his pockets. I can see the forties. He told me about the stars.
J.R.:
Can I be honest with you?
Wrath:
You’d better be. ’Cause I’d smell it if you weren’t.
J.R.:
True enough. Ah . . . I’m surprised you have the patience for this. The fishing, that is.
Wrath:
(shrugging) It’s not a matter of patience. It’s calming. And no, I’m not taking up yoga. That’s Rhage’s deal.
J.R.:
He’s still doing that?
Wrath:
Yeah, he’s still namaste-ing his ass into a million different contortions. Swear that fucker’s retractable.
J.R.:
Speaking of Rhage and Mary, is it true what I heard?
Wrath:
The adoption thing? Yeah. When Nalla came, they both kind of sat up and were like, We want one of those.
J.R.:
How long will it take? And where are they going for the young?
Wrath:
You’ll hear about it when it’s done. But it’s going to be a while.
J.R.:
Well, I’m happy for them. (There’s a stretch of no talking, during which Wrath reels in his line, then casts it out into another part of the stream.) Do you want—
Wrath:
No. I’m still not pushing the children thing. After what Bella went through . . . (Shakes head.) Nope. And before you ask, Beth’s okay with that. I think she’ll want one in the future, though. Just hope it’s later rather than sooner. Although, honestly, she hasn’t even gone through her first needing, so it’s not a huge issue.
J.R.:
Suppose you’d like me to change the subject?
Wrath:
Up to you. You can ask anything, doesn’t mean I’ll answer. (Shoots a look over his shoulder and smiles at me.) But you know how I do.
J.R.:
(laughing) Yeah, I’m familiar with the way things go. So let me ask you about the whole Chosen thing and Phury. What do you think about the changes he made?
Wrath:
Man . . . he impressed the shit out of me. He really did. And not just about what he did with the Scribe Virgin. For a while there, I was sure we were going to lose him.
J.R.:
(thinking about Phury and the heroin) You nearly did.
Wrath:
Yeah. (There’s another stretch of silence, which I spend watching his arm go back and forth, back and forth. The line makes a lovely sound through the cool forest air, as if it is breathing.) Yeah. Anyhow, that’s why we’re here, at Rehv’s house. I come up with Beth every two weeks or so and meet with Phury and the Directrix and check in on how things are going with the Chosen. Christ, can you imagine what the transition’s like for those females? Going from total lockdown to being able to explore a world you’ve only read about?
J.R.:
I can’t, no.
Wrath:
Phury’s fantastic with them. It’s like overnight they’ve all become his daughters. And they love him. He is the perfect Primale, and Cormia’s now their den mother. As she’s had more time to assimilate, she’s doing a lot of transitioning them herself. I’m really glad it’s gone down like it has.
J.R.:
Talking about parent stuff, what’s life like at the mansion now that Nalla’s around?
Wrath:
(laughing) Okay, for real? That kid’s a star. She’s got us all wrapped around her little finger. The other day I was working at my desk, and Bella was on walkabout with the young—she does this because lately Nalla only sleeps when she’s moving? Anyway, Bella brought her into my study and the two of them were pacing. Nalla’s head was on Bella’s shoulder and she was out like a light—by the way, the kid’s got eyelashes longer than your arm. So, Bella? She finally sinks down on the couch to take a breather, and two seconds later, I kid you not, Nalla’s eyes flip open and she starts fussing.
J.R.:
Poor thing!
Wrath:
Bella, right?
J.R.:
Yup!
Wrath:
(laughing) So I got to hold Nalla. Bella let me hold her. (This is said with no small amount of pride.) I walked the young around. I didn’t drop her.
J.R.:
(hiding smile) Of course you didn’t.
Wrath:
She went back to sleep. (Shoots grave stare over his shoulder.) You know, young only sleep if they trust you to keep them safe.
J.R.:
(softly) Anyone would be safe with you.
Wrath:
(looks away quickly) So, yeah, kid’s a gem. Z’s a little uneasy around her still, I think because he’s afraid he’s going to break her—not because he doesn’t love her. Rhage handles her like a sack of potatoes, hauling her any way he pleases, which Nalla loves. Phury’s a natural. So’s Butch.
J.R.:
What about Vishous?
Wrath:
Meh. I think Nalla makes him nervous. He made her a dagger, though. (laughs) Fucking hard-ass. What kind of crack bastard makes a dagger for an infant?
J.R.:
Bet it’s lovely, though.
Wrath:
Shit, yeah. He put all these . . . (The king pauses and flicks at the line as if he thinks he’s got something hooked.) He put all these diamonds on the hilt. Spent three days working on it. Says it’s for when she starts dating.
J.R.:
(laughing) I’ll bet.
Wrath:
Might go to waste. Zsadist says she’s never dating. Ever.
J.R.:
Uh-oh.
Wrath:
Yeah. Z’s little girl? You want to be the male coming to call on her? Shiiiiiiit.
J.R.:
I’d pass.
Wrath:
I know I would. Like my balls right where they are, thank you very much.
J.R.:
(after another stretch of quiet) Can I ask about Tohr?
Wrath:
Figured you would.
J.R.:
(waits for him to say something) So I’m asking about him.
Wrath:
(annoyed) Look, what do you want me to say? He went into the woods to die. Lassiter brought him back to people who remind him every day of his dead shellan. He needs to feed, and of course he’s refusing, and I don’t blame him for that at all. He’s weak and angry and he just wants to be dead. That’s how he’s doing.
J.R.:
(knowing not to push any more) Is it weird having Lassiter around?
Wrath:
(laughs tightly) That angel is a thing all right. I don’t mind him all that much, and I think he knows it. He took a bullet for me once.
J.R.:
I’d heard. Do you feel like you owe him?
Wrath:
Yeah.
J.R.:
He and V don’t get along.
Wrath:
No, they don’t. (laughs) That’s going to be fun to watch. It’s like two pit bulls in a cage whenever they’re in the same room. And before you ask, no, I don’t know all the ins and outs, and I’m not asking.
J.R.:
Talking about ins and outs . . . about the glymera—
Wrath:
Shit, why do you want to ruin a perfectly nice evening.
J.R.:
Well, I was going to ask you how you felt about Rehvenge being appointed Leahdyre of the Princeps Council.
Wrath:
(roars with laughter) Okay, you’re so forgiven. Man, what a trip that is. Who the fuck would have thought that’d happen? A symphath. Leading that group of insular, prejudicial bastards. And they have no idea he is one. Plus, come on, Rehv’s on my side in this growing civil unrest they’re trying to stir up after all the raids by the Lessening Society. They’ve just appointed someone who thinks the aristocrats are as nuts and as destructive as I do.
J.R.:
But do you trust Rehv?
Wrath:
As much as I trust anyone who’s not my brother or Beth.
J.R.:
So the fact that he’s half symphath—
Wrath:
Hold up. He’s a symphath. Whether his blood’s half-and-half is irrelevant. You got any of that shit in you, you’re a symphath. That’s why that colony up north of here was created. They are dangerous.
J.R.:
So that’s why I’m asking if you trust him. I thought they were all sociopaths.
Wrath:
They are, and so is he. Here’s the thing, though . . . with symphaths, the one thing you can take to the fucking bank is their self-interest. Rehv loves his sister. Bella’s married to a Brother. Therefore, Rehv will do nothing to hurt them or me. That math holds in all situations.
J.R.:
Do you think the glymera poses a threat to you as king?
Wrath:
Look, straight up? I don’t like them and never have, but shit knows I don’t want them dead. Right now they’re fragmented, out of Caldwell, and they’re scrambling. The longer that goes on, the better for me, because it gives me time to gather the reins as best I can and try to give people a vision to get through this. As long as I have a base of support among the larger group of civilians, I’m fine. And let’s face it, the glymera isn’t about inclusion, so it’s not as if your average vampire feels an allegiance to them.
J.R.:
What is your vision for the future?
Wrath:
Change. Phury’s absolutely right, we need to adapt if we’re going to survive, and the old rules are killing us. I’ve already outlawed slavery. I’m changing the rules about soldiers and the Brotherhood. The Chosen have been set free. And there are a hundred other things I need to recast, rethink, redo.
J.R.:
About the Brotherhood. So that means Blay and Qhuinn could be Brothers?
Wrath:
Assuming they get enough experience under their belts and can rise to the level. The threshold for being a Brother is going to be set very high in terms of skills. Blood’s not going to get you in anymore, how you fight will. And I’m freeing up other restrictions. You know, Qhuinn is John’s private guard, and in the past that would have disqualified him, but not anymore.
J.R.:
I’m surprised that you let him and Blay into the house. Glad, actually.
Wrath:
(after a moment) Well . . . Darius built that place, and he loved having people around. Those two boys are tight, and shit knows, Qhuinn did right by John. S’all good. Thing is, the training program is on hiatus for God only knows how long. The glymera took what sons were left with them when they went, and besides, we’ve had our hands full dealing with the war. I need soldiers, and Blay and Qhuinn are good fighters. Excellent, really. So we’re going to want them. (Long silence.)
J.R.:
Are you happy? I mean, I know things are hard right now, but are you happier than you were a couple of years ago?
The line suddenly goes taut, and Wrath focuses on bringing in what turns out to be a freshwater trout. The fish is gleaming and slippery in the king’s big hands, and he almost loses it while trying to get the hook out of its gaping mouth.
J.R.:
He’s beautiful.
Wrath:
Yeah, full of fight, too. (He leans down and puts the fish to the water, holding it carefully.) You ask me if I’m happy? Well . . . after this, we’re going back to a warm house and my shellan’s waiting for me there. We’re going to eat, assuming Layla hasn’t burned down the kitchen, and then I’m going to get into bed with Beth. I’m going to mate with her for an hour, maybe longer, then I’m going to fall asleep with her on my chest. (He releases the trout and watches it tear off through the sluggish current.) You ready to go?
J.R.:
Yeah. And I appreciate your doing this.
Wrath:
Not a problem. Except you think you’re going to drive down to Caldwell now to do the others?
J.R.:
That’s the plan.
Wrath:
(shaking head) No, you’re staying here tonight. Tomorrow you’ll leave late afternoon. It’s a long drive, and the Northway’s got deer.
J.R.:
(because you do not argue with the king) All right. That’s what I’ll do.
Wrath:
Good.
At this point the two of us wade over to the bank. Wrath gets out of the stream first and offers me his hand. I take it and he pulls me up. He picks up the backpack, opens it, and holds it out to me.
Wrath:
You want your apple?
J.R.:
Oh, I’d love it.
I reach in and take the thing. Its red-and-green skin is shiny in the moonlight, and when I bite into it, it cracks like hardwood. The juice drips down onto my palm as the two of us go through the woods together, our waders flapping against our legs.
J.R.:
(as we come out of the forest and see the glowing lights of Rehv’s rustic safe house) Wrath?
Wrath:
Hm?
J.R.:
Thank you.
Wrath:
It’s your apple.
J.R.:
I’m not talking about the apple.
Wrath:
(after a moment) I know. I know, challa.
He gives me a short, tight hug that lasts for two footfalls, and then the pair of us separate, but keep walking side by side toward the warm, welcoming home.
Dark Lover
The People:
Wrath, heir to the throne of the vampires
Beth Randall, newspaper reporter
Darius, son of Marklon, son of Horusman
Tohrment, son of Hharm
Wellasandra, blooded daughter of Relix, mated of the Black Dagger warrior Tohrment
Rhage, son of Tohrture
Zsadist, son of Ahgony
Phury, son of Ahgony
The Scribe Virgin
Marissa, blooded daughter of Wallen
Havers, blooded son of Wallen
Fritz (Perlmutter), butler extraordinaire
Mr. X(avier), Fore-lesser
Billy Riddle, son of Senator William Riddle
Cherry Pie, a.k.a. Mary Mulcahy
Butch O’Neal, detective in the Caldwell Police Department, Homicide Division
José de la Cruz, detective in CPD’s Homicide Division
Dick, Beth’s editor at the Caldwell Courier Journal
Doug, the attending at the hospital
Unnamed blond male, Billy Riddle’s partner in the attempted rape of Beth
Loser (unnamed youth whom Mr. X takes out with Billy)
Abby, bartender at McGrider’s Bar
Boo, the black cat
Places of Interest (all in Caldwell, NY, unless otherwise specified):
Screamer’s on Trade Street
Offices of the Caldwell Courier Journal (CCJ) on Trade Street
Beth’s apartment—1B, 1188 Redd Avenue
Caldwell Police Department on Trade (six blocks from Caldwell Courier Journal)
Darius’s House—816 Wallace Avenue
Caldwell Martial Arts Academy (across from Dunkin’ Donuts)
Mr. X’s farm, off Route 22
Havers’s clinic—undisclosed location
McGrider’s Bar on Trade Street
ZeroSum (comer of Trade and Tenth streets)
Summary:
In this, the first book of the series, Wrath, unascended king of the vampires and the last purebred vampire on earth, reluctantly assumes responsibility for seeing a half-breed female through her transition. Beth Randall is unaware of her vampire heritage and fights both her own truth and her attraction to the dark stranger who comes after her.
Craft comments:
Dark Lover remains the book of which I’m most proud. In my opinion, the pacing is as good as I’ll ever get it, and it was the place where I found my voice. Of course, writing the damn thing scared the ever-loving pants off me because it was a huge stretch for me as an author. Huge. I’d never tried multiple POVs and plots before or done a series or given world building a shot. I had no clue what I was doing when it came to . . . well, just about everything in the story: Even though DL was the fifth book I’d written for publication, it was such a departure from the ones that came before it, I might as well have been starting from scratch again.
And I hadn’t been an expert before then by any stretch of the imagination.
My first four books were single-title contemporary romances. Published under the Jessica Bird name, they were very much a product of years of reading and loving Harlequin Presents and Silhouette Special Editions. Well, that and the fact that I was born a writer. It’s just part of my makeup, something I have to do if I’m going to be happy—and sane. But that’s another saga.
I loved writing the Jessica Bird books, but my contract wasn’t renewed . . . which meant I didn’t have a publisher anymore. I knew I had to change directions if I were going to still have a job, and I tried my hand in a couple of different subgenres. I pulled together a romantic-suspense proposal, but the material just wasn’t strong enough. I thought about doing women’s fiction and chick lit—except they weren’t what I read, probably because the subject matter wasn’t my bag. I also considered staying with contemporary romance and trying to find another publisher, although I knew the chance of someone else picking me up was unlikely.
It was in my darkest moment, when I had nothing particularly fresh and interesting in my brain save for an abiding realization that if I didn’t reinvent myself I was toast . . . that Wrath showed up. Although I had always been a horror fan, it had never dawned on me to try my hand at paranormal romance. All of a sudden, though, I had over two thousand pounds of male vampire stuck in my head, and the Brothers wanted out like they were locked in a house that was on fire.
Okay. Right. Horror meets romance meets erotica meets fantasy meets hip hop. Throw in some leather and some Miami Ink shit, stir with a baseball bat and a tire iron, sprinkle on some baby powder, and serve over a hot bed of Holy-Mary-mother-of-God this-has-to-work-or-I’m-going-to-be-a-lawyer-for-the-rest-of-my-natural-life.
No problem.
Damn it, I remember thinking, why don’t I drink? Or at least eat chocolate?
Which brings me to my first rule for writers: PR is mission critical for survival, and I’m not talking about public relations.
Persist and Reinvent. If you’re not selling, or if you’re not getting a good response to your material from agents or publishers, try something else, whether it’s a new voice or subgenre or even genre. Keep at it. Keep trying. Look for new avenues that interest you. Find a different path.
It was the only thing that saved me.
That didn’t mean P&R was fun. As I sat down to tackle Wrath’s proposal and sample chapters, I was at once singularly inspired and totally stalled. All I had was a tangle of visions in my head, a burning panic that no one would get the series, much less buy it, and the near conviction that I couldn’t possibly pull off something as complicated and interconnected as the Brotherhood’s world.
Nothing like trying to fly a plane when you can barely handle a bicycle.
Facing a whole lot of blank screen on my computer, I knew I had to tamp down my anxiety, and considering the fact that putting my skull in a vise wasn’t a viable solution, I made an agreement with myself: I would write the story that was in my head exactly as I saw it, and I would do it for me and me alone. I wouldn’t allow any you-can’t-do-thats or that’s-against-the-rules or better-play-it-safes to get in the way. Whatever I saw in my mind’s eye was going on the page.
My rule number two? Write. Out. Loud.
Take your vision and execute it to the fullest extent of your capabilities. It is always easier to pull back than to push forward in revisions, and I think that the bolder you are in your first draft, the more likely you are to be honest with what’s in your head.
So, yeah, that was the plan, and I felt pretty good about my resolution. Except right out of the box, I had a problem.
How was I going to work the plan?
With all that I was being shown, and the number of POVs and subplots, I was at a loss when it came to drafting the story. After doing the panic-and-pace thing for a little while, I ended up falling back on my legal training. In law school, you study by creating these voluminous outlines of the material presented in class. By the time you’re done putting everything in order, you’ve actually learned the material—so it’s the process, not necessarily the outcome, that is the big benefit.
Outlining extensively was, and continues to be, the single most important tool I use in my process.
Before the Brothers, I started with nothing more than a high-level summary of my story, the sole goal of which was to give my editor a clue as to where I was headed. Most of my thinking was done while I was drafting—which was totally inefficient and a little dangerous. For example, I’d take the hero and heroine into emotional places that didn’t work, or get their motivations and conflicts muddled, or lose track of the book’s momentum . . . or sometimes all of these at once. Sure, I’d figure my way out eventually, but I’d end up scrapping tons of pages and be too much of a burden on my editor during the revision process. Further, because of all the struggling, the choices I made were not the best ones because I was brain-dead from all the confusion and lack of clarity.
My all-important third rule is a corollary to number two and the overriding theme to everything I do as an author:
Own your own shit (or work, if we’re going to be a little more classy).
And it ain’t called shit ’cause it don’t stink.
Do not rely on your editor or your agent or your critique partner to identify and solve your plot, character, pace, context, pagination, or any one of the thousands of problems you have to work through when you write a book. Educate yourself on craft by critiquing the books you read, both the good ones and the bad ones. Ask yourself, What works? What doesn’t? Study the standard texts on writing, like Story by Robert McKee and Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Maass and The Writer’s Journey by Christopher Vogler. Talk to other writers about their books and how they wrote them.
Then, when you look at your own work, approach it like you’re a drill sergeant facing off at a bunch of unruly, lazy slobs. For me, being nice to my tender little inner artist and soaking in the mother’s milk of praise is a surefire way to get soggy and fatheaded. Discipline and a clear assessment of my strengths and weaknesses as a writer are the only things that work for me. Ego is not my friend and never has been.
Back to Dark Lover and the outlining. The images in my head were so clear and demanding that it took me only two weeks to draft the outline and the rules of the world (as well as the first sixty-nine pages of the book). Of course, I barely slept or took any breaks at all. I was totally caught up in this undeniable momentum and didn’t have any interest in slowing it down.
I still don’t.
And when I was finished getting everything I saw out of my head . . . the outline was forty-four pages long. I was stunned. Previously? I topped out at ten pages.
My big concern was that when my agent took the proposal to market, the editors wouldn’t read the entire thing. When you’ve been published previously, generally you sell projects on spec with three sample chapters and an outline—but I felt like I was turning in . . . well, the whole book. Of course, that was also the good thing. I really knew where I was going and what each and every character arc was going to be. I’d done all my thinking and reordering along the way—and learned that changing around a paragraph or two in an outline is a hell of a lot easier than wiping out whole chapters and putting new ones in during drafting.
Fortunately, the proposal for the series was bought (by the most spectacular editor I’ve ever worked with), and I knew I was going to get a shot to write at least three books. Man, I was excited, but I was also terrified, because I wasn’t sure whether I could carry it off. Of course, I told myself my gorgeous, heavyweight outline was my savior. Figured that as long as I had that, I was all set. Ready to pound away on the keyboard.
Riiiiiiiiight.
The execution turned out to be far trickier than I could have imagined, for a variety of reasons.
For me, one of the big challenges of Dark Lover was learning how to handle multiple plotlines and multiple POVs (points of view). The way I see it, there are three major plotlines in the book: Wrath and Beth’s; Mr. X and Billy Riddle’s; and Butch’s. In each of them, different aspects of the world are introduced, giving the reader an insight into the vampire race, its secret war with the Lessening Society, and its under-the-radar existence with humans. Which is a lot. And to complicate things even further, these plots were presented to the reader in the voices of no fewer than eight people.
Lot to handle. Lot to keep up with.
Lot to advance from chapter to chapter.
Rule number four for me as a writer? Plotlines are like sharks: They either keep moving or they die.
With so much going on, pacing was going to be critical: To be successful, I had to make sure that everything kept progressing, and here was my new reality as a writer—while I was trying to make sure I showed Wrath and Beth inching closer both emotionally and physically, I had to keep tabs on Butch and José de la Cruz’s homicide investigation, which simultaneously brought Butch into the Brotherhood picture and kept the reader up on Mr. X’s nasty deeds. Meanwhile, the other Brothers had to be introduced, I had to give an overview of the war, and then there was rolling out the welcome mat to the Scribe Virgin and the nontemporal world.
And I had to do all this without losing cohesion between the scenes, and keeping the emotions realistic and vivid without sinking into melodrama.
As a further example, Butch was going to be in the Brotherhood, and his road in was through Beth’s connection with Wrath. Butch was also going to end up with Marissa. Fine. Dandy. Rock on. The thing was, though, how did I interweave his scenes with the ones of Beth and Wrath’s romance along with all the stuff with Mr. X and the Lessening Society . . . without having the book come out choppy and incomprehensible?
Also, the plots had to “peak,” in an emotional sense, in the right sequence. Beth and Wrath had to have the most dynamic ending—and going by the pictures in my head they certainly did. But Butch’s situation and that of Mr. X and Billy Riddle had to be resolved . . . but only in a way that didn’t drain the drama from Beth and Wrath.
Brain. Cramp.
The cure? Rule number five, which is a corollary to rule three (Own Your Own Work): Sweat. Equity.
After I finished the first draft, I went through that book over and over and over and over again. And then I’d take a week off and come at it one more time. I spent hours and hours repositioning the breaks and the chapters and trimming things and sharpening the dialogue and making sure that I showed, not told.
And even when I read through the galleys, which is the last stage of production, I still wanted to change things. The book has its strengths and weaknesses, just like they all do, but I learned a ton writing Dark Lover. And I needed those lessons for what was coming in the series like you read about.
Enough on craft, let’s talk about the King and Beth. . . .
Wrath was the first of the Brothers to turn up in my head, and he was the one who showed me the world of the Black Dagger Brotherhood. The thing I like best about him is summed up in the beginning of
Dark Lover: With a face that was both aristocratic and brutal, he looked like the king he was by birthright and the soldier he’d become by destiny.
—DARK LOVER, p. 3
I love that combination—a blueblood who’s also a fighter—and I believe Wrath is the perfect leader for the vampires: strong, brutal when necessary, possessing both logic and passion. He just needed to wake up to the fact that he could lead.
And Beth was the one who helped him get there.
Beth was and is Wrath’s perfect match. She’s strong-minded, warm, and willing to stand up to him. Their dynamic is shown to perfection in what is one of my favorite scenes between them. The two of them are talking about his take on what happened when his parents were slaughtered in front of him. He condemns himself for not saving them, but he was a physically weak pretrans, so realistically there was nothing he could do. Beth loses it and hammers him for being too hard on himself—which is something he needed to hear, even if he clearly wasn’t receptive to what she was saying. The thing I love is that she wasn’t dissuaded from speaking her mind even with him looming over her. And Wrath, even though he doesn’t agree with her, becomes still more attracted to her. When she’s finished being frustrated with him, there’s an awkward stretch:
Ah, hell. Now she’d done it. The guy opens up to her and she throws his shame back at him. Way to encourage intimacy.
“Wrath, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
He cut her off. Both his voice and his face were like stone.
“No one has ever spoken to me as you just did.”
Shit.
“I’m really sorry. I just can’t understand why—”
Wrath dragged her into his arms and hugged her hard, talking in that other language again. When he pulled back, he ended the monologue with something like leelan.
“Is that vampire talk for bitch?”
—DARK LOVER, p. 248
The thing is, Wrath is all about strength, and the fact that Beth can stick up for herself and what she believes puts them on equal footing. The gift of his respect is as significant as the gift of his love, and she’s worthy of both.
Another of my favorite scenes in the book is when Beth comes up from Wrath’s underground bedroom at Darius’s, fresh from her transition. She’s wondering how he’ll be with her in front of his Brothers and is prepared to play it cool as she comes into the dining room where the warriors are. Turns out Wrath’s just fine with PDA (public displays of affection), and he embraces her in front of a stunned Brotherhood, who had never seen him with a female before. After he explains her significance in the Old Language, he leaves to get her the two things she’s craving, chocolate and bacon, and the Brothers greet her in a special way:
There was a loud scraping noise as five chairs slid backward. The men rose as a unit. And started coming for her.
She looked to the faces of the two she knew, but their grave expressions weren’t encouraging.
And then the knives came out.
With a metallic whoosh, five black daggers were unsheathed.
She backed up frantically, hands in front of herself. She slammed into a wall and was about to scream for Wrath when the men dropped down on bended knees in a circle around her. In a single movement, as if they’d been choreographed, they buried the daggers into the floor at her feet and bowed their heads. The great whoomp of sound as steel met wood seemed both a pledge and a battle cry.
The handles of the knives vibrated.
The rap music continued to pound.
They seemed to be waiting for some kind of response from her.
“Umm. Thank you,” she said.
The men’s heads lifted. Etched into the harsh planes of their faces was total reverence. Even the scarred one had a respectful expression.
And then Wrath came in with a squeeze bottle of Hershey’s syrup.
“Bacon’s on the way.” He smiled. “Hey, they like you.”
“And thank God for that,” she murmured, looking down at the daggers.
—DARK LOVER, p. 284-285
The Brothers are greeting their new queen here, although Beth is unaware of the role she’ll play in the future, so she actually had two transitions that night: the first her becoming a vampire, and the second this welcome into Wrath and the Brotherhood’s private world as his leelan, his “dearest one.”
One of the most erotic scenes in the book? Aside from the first time they hook up, I think it’s when they’re having their date at Darius’s. The evening starts off rough (thanks to, among other things, Wrath getting into an argument with Tohr, whereupon Tohr feeds him the classic line, “Nice. Fucking. Suit”). However, the couple’s private time ends with . . . well, Wrath talking about how much he loves peaches. The mood goes from dark and tense to sensual with this:
Beth tilted forward in her chair, opened her mouth, and put her lips around the strawberry, taking it whole. Wrath’s nostrils flared as he watched her bite down. When some of the sweet juice escaped and dropped onto her chin, he hissed.
“I want to lick that off,” he muttered under his breath. He reached forward and took hold of her jaw. Lifted his napkin.
She put her hand on his. “Use your mouth.”
A low sound, from deep inside his chest, cut through the room.
Wrath leaned toward her, tilting his head. She caught a flash of his fangs as his lips opened and his tongue came out. He stroked the juice from her skin and then pulled away.
He stared at her. She looked back at him. The candles flickered.
“Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand.
—DARK LOVER, p. 201
Most touching scene? For me, it has to be the one at Havers’s clinic at the end. Wrath is still pretty wiped after having been shot in the stomach, and he’s just come out of a coma. Beth is trying to communicate with him because he’s agitated and upset, but he’s having trouble talking. She’s asked him if he needs her to get the doctor or food or drink or blood, and none of that is what he’s looking for:
His eyes fixated on their linked hands and came back to her face. Then his gaze locked on their hands and returned again.
“Me?” she whispered. “You need me?”
He squeezed and wouldn’t stop.
“Oh, Wrath . . . You have me. We’re together, love.”
Tears poured out of him in a mad rush, his chest quaking from the sobs, his breathing jagged and raw.
She took his face in her hands, trying to soothe him. “It’s all right. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to leave you. I promise you. Oh, love . . .”
Eventually he relaxed a little. The tears slowed.
A croak came out of his mouth.
“What?” She leaned down.
“Wanted to . . . save you.”
“You did. Wrath, you did save me.”
His lips trembled. “Love. You.”
She kissed him gently on the mouth. “I love you, too.”
“You. Go. Sleep. Now.”
And then he closed his eyes from exhaustion.
Her vision went blurry as she put her hand over her mouth and started to smile. Her beautiful warrior was back. And trying to order her around from his hospital bed.
—DARK LOVER, p. 373
I think that pretty much says it all about them. So I’ll leave it at that.
Dark Lover was the launching pad for all the Brothers, not just for Wrath and Beth. I was very clear, even way back then, where the original seven in the Brotherhood were headed and who else was going to join the ranks. And as with all the books, the plotlines of things that wouldn’t see the light for years were started. This wasn’t because I was brilliant—but a case of scenes landing in my head that would come into play much later.
As I said, Wrath’s story is the book I’m proudest of—it was a totally fresh start that was, for the first time, truly authentic to what’s in my head. It would shock me if I ever do something like it again and pull it off to the extent I did. Wrath was a complete about-face of subject matter, tone, and voice coupled with an incredible stretch for me in terms of craft—written at a time when I was basically out of a job.
I’m really grateful Wrath came in for a landing and brought the Brothers along with him. His book is dedicated to him—with good reason.
