The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8

by J. R. Ward

“Yup.” V got to his feet. “I’ll be back in a while.”

  Jane rolled over in her bed, her instincts waking her.

  Someone was in her room. She sat up, heart pounding, and saw nothing. Then again, shadows cast by the hall light offered plenty of hiding places behind the bureau and the half-open door and the stuffed chair by the window.

  “Who’s there?”

  No answer came, but she was definitely not alone.

  She wished she hadn’t gone to bed naked.

  “Who’s there?”

  Nothing. Just the sound of her own breath.

  She curled her hands tight on the duvet and took a deep breath. God…there was a marvelous smell in the air…rich and sultry, sexual and possessive. She breathed in again, and her brain flickered, recognizing it. It was a man’s scent. No…this was more than a man.

  “I know you.” Her body warmed instantly, blooming—but then heartbreak landed, a pain so great she gasped. “Oh, God…you…”

  The headache came back, crushing her skull, making her vow to get that CAT scan ASAP. With a moan she grabbed onto her head, bracing herself against what was probably going to be hours of agony.

  Except almost immediately the pain floated away…and so did she. A blanket of sleep eased over her, coated her, calmed her.

  Right after it landed, a man’s hand touched her hair. Her face. Her mouth.

  His warmth and love healed the bottomless pit in the center of her chest: It was as if her life had been in a car wreck, but now her parts were put back together, her engine rebuilt, her bumper reattached, her broken windshield replaced.

  Except then the touch left her.

  In the dream she reached out blindly. “Stay with me. Please stay with me.”

  A big palm enveloped her hand, but the answer was going to be no. Though the man didn’t say a thing, she knew he wouldn’t stay.

  “Please…” Tears welled. “Don’t go.”

  As her hand was dropped, she cried out and reached forward—

  The covers rustled and cold air rushed in, as did a mammoth male body. In desperation she grafted herself to the hard warmth and buried her face in a neck that smelled of those dark spices. Thick arms shot around her and held her tight.

  When she burrowed even closer…she felt an erection.

  In the dream Jane moved fast and decisively, as if she had every right in the world to do what she did. She shot her hand down between them and gripped that straining length.

  As the big body jerked, she said, “Give me what I want.”

  Man, did he ever.

  She was flipped onto her back, then her legs were spread and her core covered with a heavy hand. She came immediately, torquing up off the mattress, crying out. Before the sensations faded, the sheets were tossed from the bed and a mouth was on her between her thighs. She grabbed onto thick, luxurious hair and gave herself up to what he did to her.

  While she orgasmed for the second time, he pulled back. There was the sound of clothes being pushed down and then—

  Jane cursed as she was filled nearly to the point of pain, but she loved what was happening…especially as a mouth came down on hers and the erection inside of her started to move. She grabbed onto a surging back and followed the rhythm of the sex.

  In the midst of the dream, she had some thought that this was what she had been mourning. This man was the cause of the pain in her chest.

  Or rather, the loss of him was.

  Vishous knew that what he was doing was wrong. The sex was tantamount to stealing, because Jane didn’t really know who he was. But he couldn’t stop.

  He kissed her harder, moved in her more powerfully. His orgasm rolled in like a firestorm, taking him in a burst of heat, consuming him with a burn that was relieved only as his cock jerked and released inside of her. She came as he did, milking him, drawing out the sensations until he shuddered and fell still on top of her.

  He pulled back and looked down at her closed eyes, willing her into an even deeper sleep. She would think that what had happened was nothing more than an erotic dream, an enticing, vivid fantasy. She wouldn’t know who he was, though. Couldn’t. Her mind was strong, and she could well go insane in the tug-of-war between the memories he’d hidden and what she felt when he was around her.

  V eased out of her body and slipped from the bed. As he rearranged the covers and pulled up his silks, he felt like he was shaving his own skin off.

  Bending down, he put his lips to her forehead. “I love you. Forever.”

  Before he left he looked around her bedroom, then wandered into her bathroom. He couldn’t stop himself. He had no intention of returning here again and needed images of her private spaces.

  The upstairs was more “her.” Everything was simple and uncluttered, the furniture unobtrusive, the walls free of fussy pictures. There was one wild extravagance, though, and he loved it, had the same one back in his room: books. There were books everywhere. In her bedroom the shelving ran floor to ceiling, with each level filled with volumes on science and philosophy and math. In the hall there were more stacked in a nine-foot glass-front wardrobe, with works by Shelley and Keats, Dickens, Hemingway, Marchand, Fitzgerald. Even in the bath there was a short lineup of them next to the tub, as if when she was in the thing, she wanted a few favorites nearby.

  She liked Shakespeare, too, evidently. Which he approved of.

  See, this was his kind of decorating. An active mind didn’t need distractions in its physical environment. It needed a collection of outstanding books and a good lamp. Maybe some cheese and crackers.

  V turned to leave the bath and caught sight of the mirror over the twin sinks. He pictured her standing in front of it and combing out her hair. Flossing. Brushing her teeth. Clipping her short nails.

  Such normal things, which people did all across the planet every day, vampires and humans alike: proof that in certain prosaic activities the two species were not so different after all.

  He would have killed to see her do them once.

  Better yet, he wanted to do them with her. Her sink. His sink. Maybe they would argue over the fact that he dropped his floss on the edge of the wastepaper basket instead of making sure it got all the way in.

  Life. Together.

  He reached forward, put his fingertip on the mirror, and ran it over the glass. Then he forced himself to dematerialize without going to her bedside again.

  As he disappeared for good this time, he knew that if he’d been a male who cried, he would have been bawling now. Instead he thought of the Grey Goose that was waiting for him back at the Pit. He had every intention of being completely faced for the next two days.

  They were going to have to pour him back into these Hugh Hefner silks and hold him up at that fucking Primale ceremony.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  At midnight John was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling above him.

  It was a fancy ceiling, with a lot of molding and stuff around the edges, so there was plenty to look at. It made him think of a birthday cake, actually. No…a wedding cake. Especially because in the middle there was a light fixture with a lot of curlicue thingies around it, kind of like what those little bride and groom dolls would go on.

  For some strange reason he liked the way it all came together. He didn’t know jack about architecture, but he was drawn to the lushness, the stately symmetry, the balance between the ornate and the smooth—

  Okay, maybe he was stalling here.

  Crap.

  He’d woken up about a half hour ago, hit the bathroom, and then gone back between the sheets. There was no class tonight, and he should be catching up on his work before he went out, but that whole textbook thing so wasn’t happening.

  He had some business to take care of.

  Which at the moment was lying rock-hard on his belly.

  He’d been hanging in bed debating whether he could do this. What it felt like. Whether he’d even be into it. What if he lost his erection? God, that conversation with Z hung
over him. Like if he wasn’t…successful at it, there might be something wrong with him.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake, he needed to jump off the bridge already.

  John took his hand and put it on his pec, feeling his lungs expanding and contracting and his heart beating hard. With a wince he moved his palm downward, heading for that throb that was literally talking to him, it was so loud. Man, the damn thing was craving sensation, desperate to boil over. And underneath it? His balls were so tight he felt like they were about to crack open from the pressure. He so had to do this, and not just to check that his plumbing was right. The need to release was past the ache stage and into flat-out pain.

  His hand hit his belly and he pushed it farther down. His skin was warm and smooth and hairless and stretched over hard muscle and heavy bone. He couldn’t get over how big he was now. His stomach seemed to stretch as far as a football field.

  He stopped just before he touched himself. Then, with a curse, he grabbed the thing and pulled it.

  A moan rumbled out of his chest and leaped from his mouth as his erection kicked in his hand. Oh, shit, that felt good. He repeated the slow tugging motion, sweat breaking out across his chest. He felt like someone had put him under a heat lamp—no, it was more like warmth was radiating from inside of him.

  He arched while he stroked himself, feeling guilty and embarrassed and sinfully erotic. Oh…so good… Settling into a rhythm, he shoved the covers off with his foot and looked down his body. With illicit pride, he watched himself, liking the thick head of him, the outrageous size, the way his hand gripped tight.

  Oh…fuck. Faster. Faster with his hand. A little clicking noise rose up, the result of the clear, slippery lubricant that came out of the tip getting on his palm. The stuff ran down the shaft, making the erection glisten.

  Oh…fuck.

  From out of nowhere the picture of a female came to him…. Shit, it was that hard-ass security guard from ZeroSum, and he saw in HD with her man’s haircut and her muscled shoulders and her shrewd face and her powerful presence. In a stunning moment of boldness, he imagined the two of them at the club. She had him pressed against the wall, with her hand down his pants and she was kissing him hard, her tongue in his mouth.

  Jesus…God in heaven… his hand moved at blurring speed, his cock hard as marble, his mind filled with the idea of being inside that female.

  Critical overload hit when he pictured her breaking off from the kiss and easing down onto her knees. He saw her unzip his pants, take him out, and suck him into her mouth—

  Fuck!

  John flipped over onto his side, the pillow getting knocked to the floor, his knees coming up. He shouted without making a sound and jerked around as warm jets went everywhere, landing on his chest and the tops of his thighs and getting on his hand. He kept stroking, eyes nailed shut, veins popping out at his neck, lungs burning.

  When there was nothing left in him, John swallowed hard, caught his breath, and opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he’d come twice. Maybe three times.

  Crap. The sheets. He’d made a mess.

  Man, it had been worth it, though. That was great. That shit was…great.

  Except he did feel guilty about what he’d pictured in his mind. He would die if she ever found out—

  His cell phone went off. Wiping his hand on the sheets, he picked the thing up. It was a text from Qhuinn, telling him to get his ass to Blay’s in a half hour so they could hit ZeroSum before the action dried up.

  John hardened again as he thought of the security guard.

  Okay, this could turn out to be a pain, he thought as he looked at his erection. Especially if he went to the club and saw that female and…yeah, threw a whole lot of wood.

  But then, hey, he should look on the bright side: At least his parts were in working order.

  John sobered. Yeah, everything worked and he had enjoyed it…at least by himself. But the idea of having that go down with someone else?

  Still left him cold.

  When Phury walked into ZeroSum at about one A.M., he was glad he wasn’t with his brothers. He needed some privacy for what he was going to do.

  With grim resolve he went to the VIP section, took a seat at the Brotherhood’s table, and ordered a martini, hoping like hell none of the brothers decided to do a fly-by. He would have much preferred to go somewhere else, but ZeroSum was the only place in town that offered what he was looking for. So he was hung.

  The first martini was good. His second was better.

  As he drank, human women came up to the table. The first was a brunette, so that wasn’t happening. Too much like Bella. Next one was blond, which was good…but she was the short-haired one Z had once fed from, so that just felt wrong. Then there was another blond who looked so strung out she gave him the guilts, followed by a black-haired one who looked like Xena: Warrior Princess and kind of scared him.

  But then…a redhead stopped in front of the table.

  She was a tiny thing, no more than five-five even with her stripper stillies, but her hair was huge. Dressed in a bubblegum-pink bustier and micromini, she looked like a cartoon character.

  “You looking for some play, daddy?”

  He shifted in the seat and told himself to quit being picky and get it over with. It was just sex, for God’s sake. “Maybe. What’s a ticket on the fifty-yard line going to cost?”

  She lifted up her hand and touched her lips with two fingers. “For a full game.”

  Two hundred bucks to get rid of his virginity. Which boiled down to less than a dollar a year. What a steal.

  Phury was half-dead as he got to his feet. “Sounds good.”

  As he followed the prostitute to the back of the VIP area, he had some vague thought that in a parallel universe he would be doing this for the first time with someone he loved. Or cared about. Or at least knew. It wouldn’t be about a pair of Benjis and a public bathroom.

  Unfortunately, he was where he was.

  The woman opened a glossy black door and he went in behind her. As he shut them in together the techno music faded a little.

  He was nervous as hell as he held out the money.

  She smiled up at him as she took it. “I’m not going to mind this with you at all. God, that hair. Is it extensions?”

  He shook his head.

  When she reached for his belt he took a knee-jerk step back and banged into the damn door.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  She gave him a strange look. “No problem. This your first time with someone like me?”

  Try anyone. “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’m going to take good care of you.” She stepped in close to him, and her big breasts pressed into his belly. He glanced down at her head. She had dark roots that showed on top.

  “You’re a big one,” she murmured, tucking one hand into his waistband and tugging him forward.

  He went with her with the grace of a robot, all numbed out and unable to believe he was going to do this. But really, how else was it going to happen?

  She backed up against the sink and in a quick, practiced hop got herself up on the counter. As she spread her legs, her skirt rose. Her black thigh-highs were topped with lace. She wasn’t wearing panties.

  “No kissing, of course,” she murmured, dragging his fly down. “On the mouth, that is.”

  He felt cool air slip inside then her hand went into his boxers. He flinched as she took hold of his cock.

  This was what he came here for, he reminded himself. This was what he’d bought and paid for. He could do this.

  It was time to move on. From Bella. From the celibacy.

  “Relax, lover,” the woman said in a raspy voice. “Your wife is never going to know. My lipstick is eighteen-hour smudge-proof, and I don’t wear perfume. So you can just enjoy yourself.”

  Phury swallowed. I can do this.

  As John got out of the dark blue BMW, he was sporting a spanking-new pair of black trousers, a black silk shirt, and a cream suede jacket bu
ilt on the lines of a blazer. They weren’t his clothes. Like the car that had driven both him and Qhuinn downtown, they were Blay’s.

  “We are so ready for this,” Qhuinn said as they walked across the parking lot.

  John glanced back at the place where he’d taken out those lessers. He remembered the power he’d felt, the conviction that he was a fighter, a warrior…a Brother. That was all gone now, as if something else had been at work inside of him then, like he’d been possessed or something. As he walked with his friends now, he felt like a whole lot of nothing special duded up in his buddy’s fancy threads, his body a bag of water, sloshing around with every step he took.

  When they came up to ZeroSum, John headed for the back of the wait line, but Qhuinn spun him to a halt. “We got an in, remember?”

  They sure as hell did. The minute Qhuinn dropped the name Xhex, the piece of mountain at the door snapped to attention and spoke into his earpiece. A split second later he stepped aside. “She wants you in the back. VIP. You know the way?”

  “Yeah. Sure,” Qhuinn said as he slipped the guy a handshake.

  The bouncer put something in his pocket. “You come here again, I’ll let you right in.”

  “Thanks, man.” Qhuinn clapped the guy on the shoulder and disappeared into the club, smooth as anything.

  John followed, not even trying to pull off Qhuinn’s swagger. Which was a good thing. As he headed in through the door, he hit the step up wrong, listed to port, then fell backward as he fought to stay upright, slamming into a guy in the wait line. The man, who had his back to the door because he was hitting on a chick, wheeled around, all pissed off.

  “What the f—” The guy froze as he looked at John, his eyes popping. “Ah, yeah…my bad. Sorry.”

  John faltered at the reaction until he felt Blay’s hand land on the back of his neck. “Come on, John. Let’s go.”

  John let himself get led inside, bracing for the onslaught of the club’s vibe, ready to get lost in the crush of people. It was funny, though. As he looked around, everything seemed less overwhelming. Then again, he was measuring the crowd from a vantage point of about six-foot-seven.