The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8

by J. R. Ward

  Bella was the old torture in a new guise, wasn’t she. Because his was a destiny of yearning, of being outside looking in, of seeing the fire but not being able to get close enough to it to be warmed by it.

  “Will you ever be back?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  The brush paused. “Maybe you’ll like her.”

  “Maybe. Don’t stop yet. Please…not yet.”

  Phury rubbed his eyes as the brush resumed its strokes. This quiet time was their good-bye, and she knew it. She was crying too. He could smell the fresh, rainy tang in the air.

  Except she didn’t cry for the same reason he did. She cried because she pitied him and his future, not because she loved him and her heart was breaking at the thought that she would never, ever see him again. She would miss him, yes. Worry about him, sure. But she wouldn’t yearn for him. She never had.

  And all this should have snapped his chain and gotten him to cut out the pansy-ass routine, but he couldn’t. He was submerged by his sadness.

  He would, of course, see Zsadist on the Other Side. But her…he couldn’t imagine her coming over to see him. And it wouldn’t really be appropriate, as he’d be the Primale, and it wouldn’t look right if he took private audiences with a female from the outside—even if she was his twin’s shellan. Monogamy to his Chosen in deed, thought, and appearance was the Primale’s pledge.

  Then it dawned on him. The baby. He would never get to see her and Z’s young. Except maybe in pictures.

  The brush tucked under his hair and ran up his nape. Closing his eyes, he gave himself over to the rhythmic pull and release on his head.

  “I want you to fall in love,” she said.

  I am in love. “It’s all right.”

  She stopped and stepped in front of him. “I want you to love someone for real. Not like you think you love me.”

  He frowned. “No offense. But you can’t know what I—”

  “Phury, you don’t really love—”

  He stood up and met her in the eye. “Please pay me the respect of not assuming to know my emotions better than I do.”

  “You’ve never been with a female.”

  “I was last night.”

  That shut her up for a moment. Then she said, “Not at the club. Please, not at—”

  “In a bathroom in the back. It was good, too. Then again, she was a professional.” Okay, now he was being an asshole.

  “Phury…no.”

  “May I have my brush back? I think my hair’s good now.”

  “Phury—”

  “The brush. Please.”

  After a moment that was long as a century, she extended the thing toward him. When he reached out and took it, they were linked by the wooden handle for a mere breath, then she dropped her hand.

  “You deserve better than that,” she whispered. “You’re better than that.”

  “No, I’m not.” Oh, man, he had to get away from her heartbroken expression. “Don’t let your pity turn me into a prince, Bella.”

  “This is self-destructive. All of it.”

  “Hardly.” He went over to the bureau, picked up his blunt, and took a drag on it. “I want this.”

  “Do you? Is that why you’ve been lighting up red smokes all afternoon? The whole mansion smells of it.”

  “I smoke because I’m an addict. I’m a loose-willed drug addict, Bella, who was with a whore last night in a public place. You should condemn me, not pity me.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t try to make yourself look ugly in front of me. It won’t work. You are a male of worth—”

  “For fuck’s sake—”

  “—who has sacrificed much for his brothers. Probably too much.”

  “Bella, stop it.”

  “A male who gave up his leg to save his twin. Who has fought bravely for his race. Who is giving up his future for his brother’s happiness. You can’t get much more noble than that.” Her eyes were rock-solid as she stared up at him. “Don’t tell me who you are. I see you more clearly than you see yourself.”

  He paced around the room until he found himself back in front of the dresser. He hoped there were no mirrors on the Other Side. He hated his reflection. Always had.

  “Phury—”

  “Go,” he said hoarsely. “Please just go.” When she didn’t, he turned around. “For God’s sake, don’t make me break down in front of you. I need my pride right now. It’s the only thing keeping me standing.”

  She put a hand over her mouth and blinked quickly. Then she shored herself up and spoke in the Old Language. “Be of good fortune, Phury, son of Ahgony. May your feet follow a level path and the night fall gently upon your shoulders.”

  He bowed. “As for you, Bella, beloved nalla of mine blooded brother, Zsadist.”

  When the door shut behind her, Phury sank down on the bed and brought the blunt to his lips. As he looked around the room he’d stayed in since the Brotherhood had moved into the compound, he realized it wasn’t home to him. It was just a guest room…a luxurious, anonymous guest room…four walls of nice oil paintings with good carpeting and drapes lush as a female’s ball gown.

  It would be nice to have a home.

  He’d never had one. After Zsadist had been abducted as an infant, their mahmen had closed herself in underground, and their father had gone on the hunt for the nursemaid who’d taken Z. Growing up, Phury had lived among the moving, breathing shadows of the household. Everyone, even the doggen, had just gone through the motions of life. There had been no laughter. No happiness. No calendar of ceremonies.

  No hugs.

  Phury had learned to keep quiet and stay out of the way. It was, after all, the kindest thing he could do. He’d been the replica of what had been lost, the reminder of the heartbreak that was on everyone’s mind. He took to wearing hats to hide his face, and he’d walked with a shuffle, curling into himself so as to be smaller, less noticeable.

  As soon as he’d gone through his transition, he’d left to find his twin. No one had waved him off. There had been no good-byes. Z’s disappearance had used up all of the household’s capacity for missing someone, so there was none left over for Phury.

  Which had been good, actually. It made everything easier.

  About ten years later he’d learned from a distant cousin that his mother had died in her sleep. He’d gone back home immediately, but they’d had the funeral without him. His father had died about eight years later. Phury had made it to that funeral and had spent his last night in the family house. Afterward the property had been sold, the doggen had dispersed, and it was as if his parents had never been.

  His rootlessness now was not new. He’d felt it since his first moment of consciousness as a child. He was ever the wanderer, and the Other Side was not going to give him a base. He couldn’t make a home there because he couldn’t have one without his twin. Or his brothers. Or—

  He stopped. Refused to let himself think of Bella.

  As he stood up and felt his prosthesis bear his weight, he thought it was ironic that a nomad like him was missing a limb.

  Tamping out his blunt, he slipped a number of them into his pocket, and was almost out the door when he stopped and turned around. Four strides brought him to his walk-in closet, three clicks of a lock opened a metal door, two hands reached in. One black dagger came out.

  He palmed his weapon, feeling the perfect balance and the precision grip that matched only his specs. Vishous had made it for him…hell, how long ago? Seventy-five years…yeah, it would be seventy-five years this summer since he’d joined the Brotherhood.

  He examined the blade in the light. Seventy-five years of offing lessers, and not a scratch on the blade. He took out the other one he used. Same diff. V was a master craftsman, all right.

  Looking at the weapons, feeling their weight, he pictured Vishous standing in the bedroom’s doorway earlier this evening, explaining that the Scribe Virgin was going to allow the substitution of Primales. The icy brother had had life
in his eyes. Life and hope, along with a shining purpose.

  Phury tucked one of the daggers into the satin belt that was around his waist and returned the other to the safe. Then he strode to the door with steel in his spine.

  Love was worth sacrificing for, he thought as he left his room. Even if it wasn’t yours.

  At that moment Vishous materialized on the far side of the street across from Jane’s condo. There were no lights on inside her place, and he was tempted just to go inside, but he stayed in the shadows.

  Goddamn, his head was scrambled. He felt guilty as hell over Phury. Scared to death over what Jane was going to say. Worried about how to manage a future with a human. Hell, he was even concerned about that poor Chosen who was stuck having to man up for the rest of her kind.

  He checked his watch. Eight o’clock. He had to imagine Jane would be home soon—

  The garage door to the condo next to Jane’s trundled up with a whining sound, and a real yawn of a minivan backed out. Its brakes made a little squeak when it reached the ass end of its K-turn, then the driver put it in forward gear.

  V frowned, his instincts coming to attention for no apparent reason. He sniffed the air, but he was upwind of the vehicle and couldn’t catch a scent.

  Great, so he was paranoid, too—which, along with his ambient anxiety and the narcissistic behavior he’d been popping lately, meant he had most of the DSM-IV covered tonight.

  He checked his watch again just for the hell of it. Two minutes later. Great.

  When his cell phone rang, he answered it with relief, because he was looking to pass some time. “I’m glad it’s you, cop.”

  Butch’s voice was off. “You at her place?”

  “Yeah, but she’s not. What’s doing?”

  “There’s something going on with your computers.”

  “As in?”

  “One of the tracers you laid down over at the hospital’s been triggered. Someone went into the medical file of Michael Klosnick.”

  “No big deal.”

  “It was the chief of surgery. Manello.”

  Man, V hated the sound of the guy’s name. “And?”

  “He searched his own computer today for the pictures of your heart. Looking for the file Phury corrupted while we were evac’ing you, no doubt.”

  “Interesting.” V wondered what had gotten the guy’s attention…some printout of the photographs that had a date/time on it, maybe? Even if there was no notation as to the patient, that Manello guy was probably smart enough to trace it to the OR and figure out who had been on Jane’s table. On one level it was no BFD, because the medical record showed that Michael Klosnick had checked out AMA following surgery. But still…“I think I should pay a visit to the good doctor.”

  “Um, yeah, I’m guessing we might want to outsource that one. Why don’t you let me handle it.”

  “Because you don’t know how to erase memories, do you?”

  There was a pause. “Fuck you. But good point.”

  “Is the guy logged on now?”

  “Yeah, he’s in his office.”

  Messy to do a confrontation in a public place, even if it was after hours, but God only knew what else the doc would get into.

  Shit, V thought. Look what he had to offer Jane: Secrets. Lies. Danger. He was a selfish, selfish bastard, and what was worse, he was ruining Phury’s life just so he could ruin hers.

  A car turned onto the street, and as it went under a light he saw it was her Audi.

  “Fuck,” he said.

  “She’s come home, huh?”

  “I’ll deal with Manello. Later.”

  As he hung up, he wasn’t sure he could do this to her. If he left now, he’d still have time to get to the Other Side before Phury took the Primale vow.

  Shit.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Jane backed into her garage, put the Audi in park, and just sat there with the engine going. On the passenger seat beside her were the results of the CAT scan Manello and she had sneaked in. Big all-clear. No evidence of tumor or aneurysm or anything out of order.

  She should have felt relieved, but the lack of explanation bothered her because her thought processes remained slow and cumbersome. It was almost as if her neuropathways had to work around some kind of obstacle in her head. And her chest still hurt like a bitch—

  A man stepped into the beams of her headlights…a huge man with dark hair and a goatee and leathers. Behind him the landscape was blurry, as if he had stepped out of a fog.

  Jane immediately burst into tears.

  This man…this apparition…he was her shadow, the thing in her mind, the haunting presence that she knew yet couldn’t recognize, that she mourned yet couldn’t place. It all made sense—

  On her next breath pain lanced into her temples, a horrible crushing burden.

  But instead of rolling through her, it dissipated, just floated off, leaving not even a sting behind. In its wake images came to her, images of her operating on this man, of her being kidnapped and being held in a room with him…of them being together…of her…falling in love…then getting left behind.

  V.

  The onslaught of memory warped and shifted as her mind struggled to find purchase in a slippery reality. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be back. He wasn’t coming back.

  She must be dreaming.

  “Jane,” the apparition of her lover said. Oh, God… His voice was the same as it had been, deep and lovely, sliding into her ear like wine-colored silk. “Jane…”

  Fumbling with the ignition, she turned off the lights and got out of the Audi.

  The air was cold on her wet cheeks, and her heart pounded as she said, “Are you real?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do I know?” Her voice cracked, and she touched her temples. “I don’t know anything anymore. I can’t…think right anymore.”

  “Jane…” he breathed. “I’m so sorry—”

  “My head’s not right.”

  “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” The strain and the sorrow in his proud face pierced her confusion, offering her some ground to stand on.

  She took a deep breath and thought of Russell Crowe toward the end of A Beautiful Mind. Bracing herself, she walked up to what seemed to be V, put two fingers on his shoulder, and pushed.

  He was solid as stone. And he smelled the same…dark spices. And his eyes—those brilliant diamond eyes—glowed as they always had.

  “I thought you’d left for good,” she whispered. “Why…”

  At this point she only hoped to understand what was going on and why he’d returned.

  “I’m not getting mated.”

  Her breath stopped. “You aren’t?”

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t do it. I can’t be with anyone but you. I don’t know if you want me—”

  Before she had another conscious thought, she jumped up and latched onto him, not giving a shit about the barriers of species and circumstance. She just needed him. The rest was conversation to be figured out later.

  “Of course I want you,” she said right in his ear. “I love you.”

  He let loose some kind of hoarse word, and his arms crushed her to him. As she found herself not being able to breathe because he was squeezing her so tight, she thought, Yup, this really was him. And he wasn’t going to let her go this time.

  Thank. God.

  As he held Jane up off the ground, Vishous was wholly happy. Complete in a way that having all your fingers and toes couldn’t hold a candle to. With a shout of triumph, he carried her into her condo, pausing only to put the garage door down.

  “I thought I was going crazy,” she said as he sat her on the counter. “I really did.”

  Bonded male that he was, he was dying to get inside her, but he held off his baser urges. For chrissakes, he should give them time to talk a little.

  Really.

  Shit, he wanted her.

  “I’m sorry—shit, Jane, I’m sorry I had to erase all that,
I really am. I can imagine it was disorienting as hell. Scary, too.”

  Her hands went to his face as if she were still working on the whole V-is-real thing. “How did you get out of the marriages?”

  “One of my brothers took my place.” V closed his eyes as her fingers went over his cheeks and nose, his chin, his temples.

  “He did?”

  “Phury, the one you took care of, is the one who did it. I don’t know how I’m going to make it up to him.” All at once the bonded male in him muscled his frontal lobe to the ground, plowing over good manners and good sense. “Listen, Jane, I want you to live with me. I want you with me.”

  Her smile glowed in her voice. “I’d probably drive you nuts.”

  “Not possible.” His mouth parted as her fingertip went over his lower lip.

  “Well, we can try it out.”

  He looked at her. “Thing is, if you stayed with me, you’d have to give up this world. You’d have to give up your work. You’d have to…Yeah, it’s an all-or-nothing kind of deal.”

  “Oh…” She frowned. “I, ah, I’m not sure—”

  “I know. I really can’t ask that of you, and truth is, I don’t want you to stop your life.” And that was God’s honest truth. In spite of the bonded-male thing. “So we’ll figure it out day by day. I’ll come to you, or we could buy another place, somewhere remote where we could spend days off. We’ll make it work.” He looked around her kitchen. “I’m going to want to wire this place up, though. Make it safe. Monitor it.”

  “Okay.” She shrugged out of her coat. “Do what you have to.”

  Mm… Speaking of doing. His eyes went down her scrubs. And all he could see was her naked.

  “V,” she said in a low voice. “What are you looking at?”

  “My female.”

  She laughed softly. “You have something on your mind?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What could it be, I wonder?” The dewy scent of arousal came off her, triggering his need to mark sure as if she were naked and spread before him.

  He took her hand and put it between his legs. “Guess.”

  “Oh…yes…that again.”

  “Always.”