The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8

by J. R. Ward

  Focused on his gruesome project, he didn’t hear the other lesser come up from behind. He caught the whiff of baby powder right before the thing struck, and just barely wheeled out of the way of the baseball bat that was aimed for his skull.

  His rage shifted from the incapacitated slayer to the one that was up on its feet, and with his warrior DNA screaming in his veins, he attacked. Leading with his black dagger, he ducked low and came up for the abdomen.

  He didn’t make it. The lesser clipped him in the shoulder with the bat, then laid in a solid backswing to Phury’s good leg, catching the side of his knee. As he crumpled, he concentrated on keeping hold of his dagger, but the slayer was all José Conseco with that aluminum number. Another swing and the blade went flying away, twirling end over point, then dancing across a stretch of wet pavement.

  The lesser jumped on Phury’s chest and held him down by the throat, squeezing with a one-handed grip that was strong as wire cable. Phury clapped a palm on the thing’s thick wrist as his windpipe compressed, but then suddenly he had issues other than hypoxia to worry about. The slayer switched his grip on the bat, choking up until he was holding it in the middle. With deadly focus he lifted his arm high and brought the butt of the bat down square on Phury’s face.

  The pain was a bomb burst in his cheek and eye, its white-hot shrapnel ricocheting throughout his whole body.

  And it was…curiously good. It overrode everything. All he knew was the heart-freezing impact and the electric throbbing that came right afterward.

  He liked it.

  Through the one eye that was still working right, he saw the lesser lift the bat up again, piston-style. Phury didn’t even brace himself. He just watched the kinetics at work, knowing that the muscles that were coordinating to elevate that piece of polished metal were going to tighten up and bring that thing back down on his face again.

  Death blow time, he thought dimly. His orbital bone was already shattered, in all likelihood, or at the very least fractured. One more belt and it wasn’t going to protect his gray matter anymore.

  An image of the drawing he’d done of Bella came to him, and he saw what he had put to paper: her sitting at the dining room table turned toward his twin, the love between them as tangible and beautiful as silken cloth, as strong and enduring as tempered steel.

  He said an ancient prayer for them and their young in the Old Language, one that wished them all to be well until he met them in the Fade at some far, far future point. Until we live anew, was the way it ended.

  Phury let go of the slayer’s wrist and repeated the phrase over and over again, dimly wondering which one of the four words would be his last.

  Except there was no impact. The lesser disappeared from atop him, just popped off his chest like a puppet whose strings had been pulled.

  Phury lay there, barely breathing, as a series of grunts echoed in the alley, and then a bright flash of light went off. With his endorphins kicking in, he had a nice, spacey high that made him glow with what felt like health, but was really evidence he was in deep shit.

  Had the death blow already happened? Had that first one been enough to leave his brain hemorrhaging?

  Whatever. It felt good. The whole thing felt good, and he wondered whether this was what sex was like. The afterward, that was. Nothing but peaceful relaxation.

  He thought about Zsadist coming up to him in the midst of that party months ago, a duffel bag in his hand and a hellacious demand in his eyes. Phury had been sickened at what his twin had needed, but he’d nonetheless gone with Z to the gym and hit the male over and over and over again.

  That hadn’t been the first time Zsadist had needed that kind of release.

  Phury had always hated giving his twin the beatings he’d demanded, had never understood the why of the masochistic drive, but he got it now. This was fantastic. Nothing mattered. It was as if real life were a distant thunderstorm that would never reach him because he’d gotten out of its path.

  Rhage’s deep voice came from a distance as well. “Phury? I’ve called for pickup. You need to go to Havers’s.”

  When Phury tried to talk, his jaw refused to do its job, sure as someone had glued it in place. Clearly, the swelling was setting in already, and he settled for shaking his head.

  Rhage’s face came into his lopsided vision. “Havers will—”

  Phury shook his head again. Bella would be at the clinic tonight dealing with the baby issue. If she was on the verge of miscarrying, he didn’t want to tip her over the edge by showing up as an emergency case.

  “No…Havers…” he said hoarsely.

  “My brother, what you’ve got going on is more than first aid can handle.” Rhage’s model-perfect face was a mask of deliberate calm. Which meant the guy was really worried.

  “Home.”

  Rhage cursed, but before he could push for the Havers trip again, a car turned into the alley, its headlights flashing.

  “Shit.” Rhage flipped into action, hefting Phury up off the pavement and hustling behind the Dumpster.

  Which brought them right next to the desecrated lesser.

  “What the fuck?” Rhage breathed while a Lexus with chromed-out twenties eased by them, rap thumping.

  When it had passed, Rhage’s brilliant teal eyes narrowed. “Did you do that?”

  “Bad…fight…s’all,” Phury whispered. “Get me home.”

  As he closed his eye, he realized he’d learned something tonight. Pain was good, and if garnered under the right circumstances, it was less shameful than heroin. Easier to get, too, as it could be a legitimate by-product of his job.

  How perfect.

  As Jane sat in the chair across from her patient’s bed, her head was down and her eyes were closed. She couldn’t stop thinking about what she had done to him…and what he had done as a result. She saw him just as he climaxed, his head kicked back, his fangs gleaming, his erection jerking in her grip while his breath went in on a gasp and came out on a groan.

  She shifted around, feeling hot. And not because the radiator had kicked on.

  God, she couldn’t stop herself from replaying the scene over and over again, and it got so bad, she had to part her mouth for breath. At one point during the continuous loop she felt a brief sting in her head, like her neck had settled into a bad position, but then she dozed off.

  Naturally, her subconscious took over where memory left off.

  The dream started when something touched her shoulder, something warm and heavy. She was eased by the feel of it, by the way it slowly went down her arm and over her wrist and to her hand. Her fingers were gathered in a grip and squeezed, then splayed out for a kiss placed on the center of her palm. She felt the soft lips, warm breath, and the velvet brush of…a goatee.

  There was a pause, as if permission had been asked.

  She knew exactly who she was dreaming about. And she knew exactly what was going to happen in the fantasy if she allowed things to continue.

  “Yes,” she whispered in her sleep.

  Her patient’s hands went to her calves and eased her legs off the chair, then something broad and warm moved in, going between her thighs, splaying them wide. His hips and…oh, God, she felt his erection at her core, the rigid length pressing in through the soft pants she had on. The collar of her shirt was dragged aside and his mouth found her neck, his lips latching onto her skin and sucking while his arousal started on a rhythmic push and retreat. A hand found her breast, then skirted down to her stomach. Down to her hip. Down farther, replacing the erection.

  As Jane cried out and arched, two sharp points ran up the column of her neck to the base of her jaw. Fangs.

  Fear flooded her veins. And so did a blast of high-octane sex.

  Before she could sort out the two extremes, his mouth left her neck and found her breast through the shirt. As he sucked at her he went after her core, rubbing what was ready for him, hungry for him. She opened her mouth to pant, and something was pushed into it…a thumb. She latched on desp
erately, nursing him while she imagined what else of his could be between her lips.

  He was the master of all of it, the driver, the one operating the machinery. He knew exactly what he was doing to her as his fingers used the soft sweats and her wet panties to push her right up to the cliff.

  A voice in her head—his—said, “Come for me, Jane—”

  From out of nowhere brilliant light hit her face, and she sprang upright, throwing her arms out to shove the patient away.

  Except he wasn’t anywhere near her. He was in bed. Asleep.

  And as for the light, it came from the hall. Red Sox had opened the bedroom door.

  “Sorry to wake you guys,” he said. “We have a situation.”

  As the patient sat up, he glanced at Jane. The moment their eyes met, she flushed and looked away.

  “Who?” the patient asked.

  “Phury.” Red Sox nodded over to the chair. “We need a doctor. Like, ASAP.”

  Jane cleared her throat. “Why are you looking at—”

  “We need you.”

  Her first thought was, the hell she was getting in deeper with them. But then the physician in her spoke up. “What’s going on?”

  “Real ugly sitch. Run-in with a baseball bat. Can you come with me?”

  Her patient’s voice got there first, the dead-on growl drawing one hell of a line in the sand: “If she goes anywhere, I’m coming, too. And how bad is it?”

  “He got clocked in the face. Bad. Refuses to go to Havers. Said Bella’s there about the young, and he doesn’t want to upset her by showing up messy.”

  “Fucking brother just has to be a hero.” V looked at Jane. “Will you help us?”

  After a moment, she rubbed her face. Goddamn it. “Yeah. I will.”

  As John lowered the muzzle of the Glock he’d been given, he stared down the range at a target fifty feet away. Slipping the safety back into place, he was utterly speechless.

  “Jesus,” Blay said.

  In total disbelief, John hit a yellow button to his left and the eight-and-a-half-by-eleven sheet of paper whizzed up to him like a dog being called home. In the center, clustered like a daisy, were six perfect shots. Holy shit. After having sucked at everything he’d been taught so far when it came to fighting, he finally excelled at something.

  Well, didn’t this make him forget about his headache.

  A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and Wrath’s voice was proud. “You did good, son. Real good.”

  John reached out and unclipped the target.

  “All right,” Wrath said. “That’s it for today. Check your weapons, boys.”

  “Yo, Qhuinn,” Blay called out. “You see this?”

  Qhuinn gave his gun to one of the doggen and came over. “Whoa. That’s some real Dirty Harry shit right there.”

  John folded up the paper and put it in the back pocket of his jeans. As he returned the weapon to the cart, he tried to figure out how to identify it again so he could use it at the next practice. Ah…although the serial numbers had been filed off, there was a faint mark on the barrel, a scratch. He could totally find his gun again.

  “Move out,” Wrath said as he propped his huge body against the door. “Bus is waiting.”

  When John looked up from returning the gun, Lash was standing right behind him, all menace and loom. In a smooth move the guy leaned in and put his Glock down with the muzzle aimed at John’s chest. To make the point, he lingered with his forefinger on the trigger for a moment.

  Blay and Qhuinn fell in tight, blocking the way. The move in was all done real casual, like they were just randomly hanging around, but the message was clear. With a shrug, Lash lifted his hand free of the Glock and clipped Blay shoulder to shoulder as he headed for the door.

  “Asshole,” Qhuinn muttered.

  The three buds left for the locker room, where they picked up their books and headed out together. Because John was going to use the tunnel to go back to the mansion, they stopped at the door to Tohr’s old office.

  As the other trainees walked by, Qhuinn kept his voice low. “We have to go out tonight. I can’t wait.” He grimaced and shifted his stance like there was sandpaper in his pants. “I’m half-batshit for a female, if you know what I mean?”

  Blay flushed a little. “I’m…ah, yeah, I could deal with some action. John?”

  Pumped from his success on the range, John nodded.

  “Good.” Blay jacked up his jeans. “We got to hit ZeroSum.”

  Qhuinn frowned. “How about Screamer’s?”

  “No, I want ZeroSum.”

  “Fine. And we can go in your car.” Qhuinn glanced over. “John, why don’t you get on the bus and go to Blay’s?”

  Shouldn’t I change?

  “You can borrow some of his clothes. You have to look good for ZeroSum.”

  Lash came out of nowhere, like a sucker punch. “So you’re going downtown, John? Maybe I’ll see you there, buddy.”

  With a nasty-ass grin, he sauntered off, his body coiled, his muscular shoulders rolling like he was headed into a fight. Or wanted to be.

  “Sounds like you want a date, Lash,” Qhuinn barked. “Good deal, ’cause you keep that shit up, you’re going to get fucked, buddy.”

  Lash stopped and glanced back, the lights from overhead pouring down over him. “Hey, Qhuinn, tell your father I said hi. He always did like me better than you. Then again, I match.”

  Lash tapped beside his eye with his middle finger and kept going.

  In his wake, Qhuinn’s face closed up, just went straight to statue.

  Blay put his hand on the back of the guy’s neck. “Listen, give us forty-five minutes at my house, k? Then we’ll pick you up.”

  Qhuinn didn’t respond right away, and when he finally did his voice was low. “Yeah. No problem. Will you excuse me for a sec?”

  Qhuinn dropped his books and walked back to the locker room. As the door eased shut, John signed, Lash’s and Qhuinn’s families are tight?

  “The two of them are first cousins. Their fathers are brothers.”

  John frowned. What’s up with Lash pointing to his eye?

  “Don’t worry about—”

  John gripped the guy’s forearm. Tell me.

  Blay rubbed his red hair like he was trying to rustle up a response. “Okay…it’s like…Qhuinn’s dad is a big deal in the glymera, right? And so’s his mom. And the glymera doesn’t do defects.”

  This was said as if it explained everything. I don’t get it. What’s wrong with his eye?

  “One’s blue. One’s green. Because they aren’t the same color, Qhuinn’s never going to get mated…and, you know, his father’s been embarrassed by him all his life. Not a good sitch, and that’s why we’re always at my house. He needs to get away from his parents.” Blay looked at the locker room door as if he could see through it to his friend. “The only reason they haven’t kicked him out is because they were hoping the transition might clear it up. That’s why he got to use someone like Marna. She has very good blood, and I think the plan was that it would help.”

  It didn’t.

  “Nope. They’re probably going to ask him to leave at some point. I’ve already got a room ready for him, but I doubt he’d use it. Lot of pride. Rightfully so.”

  John had a horrible thought. How did he get the bruise? The one on his face after his transition?

  At that moment the locker room door opened and Qhuinn came out with a solid smile in place. “Shall we, gentlemen?” As he picked up his books, his bravado was back. “Let’s bounce before the good ones are taken at the club.”

  Blay clapped the guy on the shoulder. “Lead on, maestro.”

  As they headed for the underground parking lot, Qhuinn was in front, Blay behind, John in the middle.

  As Qhuinn disappeared up the bus’s steps, John tapped Blay on the shoulder.

  It was his father, wasn’t it?

  Blay hesitated. Then nodded once.

  Chapter Eighteen

  O
kay, this was either cool as hell or scary as fuck.

  As Jane walked along, it was like she was going through an underground tunnel in a Jerry Bruckheimer movie. This setup was straight out of high-budget Hollywood: steel, dimly lit from inset fluorescent lights, infinitely long. At any minute Bruce Willis circa 1988 was going to come running by on his bare feet wearing a ratty muscle shirt and a machine gun.

  She glanced up at the fluorescent panels in the ceiling, then down to the polished metal floor. She was willing to bet that if she took a drill to the walls they’d be half a foot thick. Man, these guys had money. Big money. More than you could get if you were dealing prescription drugs on the black market or servicing coke, crack, and crank addictions. This was government-scale money, suggesting vampires weren’t just another species; they were another civilization.

  As the three of them went along, she was surprised they’d left her unrestrained. Then again, the patient and his buddy were armed with guns—

  “No.” The patient shook his head at her. “You’re not in cuffs because you won’t run.”

  Jane’s mouth about fell open. “Don’t read my mind.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, it just happened.”

  She cleared her throat, trying not to measure how great he looked standing up. Dressed in Black Watch plaid pajama bottoms and a black muscle shirt, he was moving slowly, but with a lethal confidence that was a knockout.

  What had they been talking about? “How do you know I won’t run for it?”

  “You won’t bail on someone who requires medical attention. It’s not in your nature, true?”

  Well…shit. He knew her pretty well.

  “Yeah, I do,” he said.

  “Cut that out.”

  Red Sox looked around Jane at the patient. “Your mind reading coming back?”

  “With her? Sometimes.”

  “Huh. You getting anything from anyone else?”

  “Nope.”

  Red Sox repositioned his hat. “Well, ah…let me know if you pick up shit from me, k? There are some things that I’d prefer to keep private, feel me?”