The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8

by J. R. Ward

  Cormia nodded and watched the door close behind the two of them.

  Left on her own, she sat down on the bed again.

  Dear Virgin… She felt tiny. Tiny on the big mattress. Tiny in the vast room. Tiny against the looming impact of all the colors and the textures around her.

  Which was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it. During the viewing ceremony it was exactly as she’d wished it to be.

  Except invisible was not the balm she’d assumed.

  Looking around the room she was unable to comprehend where she was, and she missed her small, white, womblike space on the Other Side.

  When they’d come over from the beyond, they’d taken form in the bedchamber next door, the one that he’d said was his. Her first thought had been that she’d loved the way it had smelled. Slightly smoky, with that dark, spicy scent she recognized as his own. Her next was that the crush of color and texture and form was overwhelming.

  And that was before he’d walked her out into the hall and she’d been completely overcome. For truth, he lived in a palace, its foyer as big as the larger temples on the Other Side. The ceiling was high as the heavens, its paintings of warriors in battle bright as the gems her eyes had worshiped. When she’d put her hands on the balcony’s rail and leaned over, the drop to the mosaic floor below was dizzying, thrilling.

  She’d been astounded as he’d led her into the room she was in now.

  She did not feel that awe anymore. Now she was in shock from sensory overload. The air was odd on this side, full of foreign smells, and it was dry in her nose. It also moved constantly. Here there were currents that brushed against her face and her hair and the curtain she had wrapped around herself.

  She glanced toward the door. There were strange sounds here, too. The mansion around her creaked, and she could hear voices on occasion.

  Huddling closer into herself, she tucked her feet under her and looked to the fancy table to the right of the bed. She wasn’t hungry, but wouldn’t know what to ask to eat if she were. And she had no idea how to use that object he’d called a phone, either.

  Outside of the windows, she heard a roar and whipped her head to the sound. Were there dragons on this side? She’d read about them, and although she trusted Phury that she was safe herein, she worried at the perils of what she could not see.

  Mayhap that was merely the wind? She’d read about it before, but she could not be sure.

  Reaching out, she picked up a satin pillow that had tassels at each of its four corners. Holding it to her chest, she stroked one of the silky tails, trying to calm herself with the feel of the strands sliding through her hand over and over again.

  This was her punishment, she thought as she felt the room press in upon her and overwhelm her eyes. This was the result of her wanting to leave the Other Side and find her way independently.

  She was now where she had prayed to be.

  And all she wanted was to go home.

  Chapter Forty-five

  Jane sat in her kitchen nook with a cold mug in front of her. Across the street the sun was coming up, its rays twinkling through the branches of the trees. Vishous had left about twenty minutes ago, and before he took off he’d made her the cocoa she’d just finished.

  She missed him with an ache that made no sense, considering how much time they’d spent together during the night. After V had spoken with Manny, he’d come back and reassured her that her boss was still alive with all his limbs attached. Then he’d wrapped his arms around her and held her…and made love to her. Twice.

  It was just now he was gone, and the sun had to drop like a stone before she saw him again.

  Sure, there were phones and e-mail and texting, and they would meet up tonight. It didn’t feel like enough, though. She wanted to sleep beside him, and not only for a few hours before he had to go fight or headed back to his house.

  And speaking of logistics…what did she do about the opportunity at Columbia? It was farther away from him, but did that matter? He could travel anywhere at a moment’s notice. Still, it seemed like a bad idea to be too far away. After all, he’d already been shot once. What if he needed her? She couldn’t very well poof to his side.

  Except then what was she going to do about running her own shop? The need to lead was part of her chemical makeup, and going down to Columbia remained her best bet, even though it could be five years or so before she was up for a chairmanship.

  Assuming they still wanted to interview her. Assuming she got the job.

  Jane looked at the cold mug with its chocolate-streaked insides.

  The idea that came to her was nuts. Absolutely nuts. And she pushed it away as evidence that her head wasn’t quite back on track.

  Getting up from the table, she put the mug in the dishwasher, and went to shower and change. A half hour later she pulled out of her garage, and as she headed off, a minivan was turning into the short driveway next door.

  A family. Great.

  Luckily, the trip downtown was smooth sailing. There was little traffic as she shot down Trade Street, and she hit every light on green until she got to the one opposite the Caldwell Courier Journal’s offices.

  As she came to a stop her cell phone went off. No doubt her on-call service.

  “Whitcomb.”

  “Hello, Doctor. It’s your man.”

  She smiled. A big, shit-eating grin. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” There was a muffled shifting of sheets, like V was turning over in bed. “Where are you?”

  “On the way to work. Where are you?”

  “On my back.”

  Oh, Jesus, she could just imagine how good he looked in his black sheets.

  “So…Jane?”

  “Yes?”

  His voice dropped low. “What are you wearing?”

  “Scrubs.”

  “Mmmmm. That’s sexy.”

  She laughed. “They’re one step up from wearing a sack.”

  “Not on you they’re not.”

  “What are you wearing?”

  “Nothing…and guess where my hand is, Doctor.”

  The light changed, and Jane had to remember how to drive. In a breathless voice she said, “Where?”

  “Between my legs. Can you guess what it’s on?”

  Oh…sweet…Jesus. As she hit the gas, she said, “What?”

  He answered her and she nearly drove into a parked car. “Vishous…”

  “Tell me what to do, Doctor. Tell me what I should do with my hand.”

  Jane swallowed hard, pulled over…and gave him detailed instructions.

  Phury rolled up some red smoke, licked the paper, and twisted the blunt closed. As he lit it, he leaned back into his pillows. His prosthesis was off and propped up against the bedside table, and he was wearing a royal-blue-and-bloodred silk robe. His favorite.

  Making a little peace with Bella had calmed him out. Being back here had calmed him out. More red smoke had calmed him out.

  Peeling the Directrix off the ceiling had not.

  That female had appeared at the mansion about a half hour after he and Cormia had come over from the Other Side, and she’d been all up around the rafters about one of her Chosen going missing. Phury had taken her into the library and, in front of Wrath, explained that everything was fine: He’d just changed his mind and wanted to come back here for a little bit.

  The Directrix had not been charmed. In a haughty voice that had not played well, she’d informed him that as the representative of the Chosen, she demanded to interview Cormia about what had happened in the temple—for the purpose of ascertaining whether or not the Primale ceremony was complete.

  Phury had decided he didn’t like her at that point. Her shrewd eyes had told him she knew there had been no sex, and he had the clear impression that she wanted deets only because she was looking forward to laying into Cormia.

  Like that was going to happen. With a smile on his face, Phury had dropped the P-bomb and reminded the bitch that as the Primale he was not accountable to her,
and that he and Cormia would be back on the Other Side when he damn well pleased. And not a moment before.

  Huffy didn’t begin to describe the reaction, but he had her by the short hairs, and she knew it. Her eyes had been spitting hatred as she’d bowed and dematerialized.

  To hell with her, was his attitude, and he was of a serious mind to have her ass fired. He wasn’t sure how to make that happen, but he didn’t want someone like that in charge. She was mean.

  Phury inhaled and held on to the red smoke. He didn’t know how long to keep Cormia here. Christ, for all he knew she already wanted to go back. The only thing he knew for sure was that when she went it would be her choice, not anything forced on her by those Chosen wing nuts.

  As for him? Well…a part of him still wanted to get away from the mansion, but Cormia was a buffer of sorts. Besides, they would head back to the Other Side and stay there at some point.

  He exhaled and absently rubbed his right leg where it ended below the knee. It was sore, but then it usually was at the end of the night.

  The knock on the door surprised him. “Come in?”

  He guessed who it was by the way the thing opened: slowly and just a crack.

  “Cormia? That you?” He sat up, pulling the duvet over his legs.

  Her blond head poked through, her body staying out in the hall.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She shook her head. In the Old Language she said, “If it would not offend, may I please enter your quarters, your grace?”

  “Of course. And you don’t have to be formal.”

  She slipped inside and closed the door. She seemed so fragile wrapped in all that white cloth, more like a young, instead of a female who had been through her change.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Instead of answering him, she stayed silent, eyes downcast, arms holding herself.

  “Cormia, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

  She bowed low and spoke from that position. “Your grace, I am—”

  “No formality. Please.” He started to shift off the bed, but then realized he didn’t have his leg on. He eased back into place, not sure how she would feel knowing he was missing a piece of his body. “Just talk to me. What do you need?”

  She cleared her throat. “I am your mate, am I not?”

  “Um…yeah.”

  “So should I not be staying with you in your chamber?”

  His brows shot up. “I thought it would be better for you to have your own room.”

  “Oh.”

  He frowned. Surely she didn’t want to stay with him.

  As silence drifted on, he thought, well, evidently she did.

  He felt awkward as hell as he said, “I guess, if you want…you can stay here. I mean, we could get another bed brought in.”

  “What is wrong with the one you have?”

  She wanted to sleep with him? Why—Oh, right.

  “Cormia, you don’t have to worry about the Directrix or any of the others thinking that you’re not doing your duty. No one is going to know what you do here.”

  Or didn’t do, as was the case.

  “It is not that. The wind…at least, I believe it to be the wind…it batters the house, does it not?”

  “Well, yeah, it is kind of stormy right now. But we’re surrounded by a boatload of stone.”

  As he waited for her to continue and she didn’t, it came to him. Man, he was a clueless bastard, wasn’t he? He’d taken her out of the only environment she’d ever known and dropped her in a whole new world. She was rattled by things he took as normal. How could she feel safe when she didn’t know which sounds were dangerous and which were not?

  “Listen, you want to stay here? That’s fine with me.” He looked around, trying to figure out where to roll in a cot. “There’s plenty of room for a rollaway.”

  “The bed is good for me.”

  “Yeah, I’ll sleep on the cot.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’d prefer not to sleep on the floor.” There was a stretch over between two of the windows. He could have Fritz—

  “But the bed is big enough for us both.”

  Phury slowly turned his head toward her. Then blinked. “Ah…yeah.”

  “We shall share it.” Her eyes were still lowered, but there was an intriguing hint of strength in her voice. “And I shall then at least be able to tell them that I lay beside you.”

  Oh, so that was it. “Okay.”

  She nodded and went around to the opposite side. After she slid in between the sheets, she curled up into a ball and faced him. Which was a surprise. As was the fact that she didn’t squeeze her eyes shut and feign sleep.

  Phury stamped out his blunt and figured he’d do them both a favor and sleep on top of the covers. But he needed to hit the loo before he crashed.

  Crap.

  Well, she was going to have to know about his leg sooner or later.

  He moved the duvet aside, put on his prosthesis, and stood up. As he heard her breath go in on a hiss and felt her stare, he thought, God, she must be horrified. As a Chosen, she was used to perfection.

  “Got no lower leg.” Well, duh. “It’s not a problem, though.”

  Provided his prosthesis was fitted correctly and functioning well.

  “I’ll be right back.” It was a relief to shut the bathroom door, and he spent longer than he usually did brushing his teeth and flossing and using the toilet. When he started to rearrange the Q-tips and the Motrin in the medicine cabinet, he knew he had to go back out.

  He opened the door.

  She was right where she’d been before, all the way over on the edge of the bed, facing him with her eyes open.

  As he came across the room, he wished she’d stop looking at him. Especially as he took off his leg and stretched out on top of the duvet. Flipping the corner of the comforter over to hide himself, he tried to get settled.

  This was not going to work. He was cold with just his lower half covered.

  With a quick glance he measured the stretch of mattress between them. Big as a soccer field. So much space she might as well have been in a different room.

  “I’m going to turn the light out.”

  When her head went up and down on the pillow, he turned off the lamp…and slid under the covers.

  In the black void, he lay rigidly beside her. Jesus… He’d never slept with anyone before. Well, there had been that time during Bella’s needing with V and Butch, but that was because they’d all passed out. Besides, they were males, whereas…well, Cormia was definitely not male.

  He took a deep breath. Yeah, her jasmine scent was a dead giveaway.

  Closing his eyes, he was willing to bet she was just as stiff and awkward as he was. Man, this was going to be a long day. He so should have followed through on the cot idea.

  Chapter Forty-six

  “Vishous, could you stop grinning like that? You’re beginning to freak me out.”

  V flipped Butch the bird across the mansion’s kitchen table and went back to his coffee. Night was coming soon, which meant in…twenty-eight minutes…he was free.

  The second he was out, he was going to go to Jane’s house and pull some romantic shit. He wasn’t sure what, maybe like flowers or something. Well, flowers and him installing that security system. ’Cause nothing said lovin’ like a shitload of motion detectors.

  God, he was whipped. For real.

  She’d told him she was getting home around nine, so he figured he’d doll up her bedroom a little and then have a visit with her until midnight.

  Except that only left him five hours to hunt.

  Butch rustled the sports section around, leaned over to kiss Marissa on the shoulder, then went back to the CCJ. In response she glanced up from her paperwork for Safe Place, rubbed his arm, and went back to what she was doing. She had a fresh bite mark on her neck and the glow of a very satisfied female in her face.

  V winced and looked down into his coffee, stroking his goatee. He a
nd Jane were never going to have that, he thought, because they weren’t ever going to live together. Even if he was off from the Brotherhood, he couldn’t crash at her place during daylight hours because of the sun thing, and her coming here wasn’t an option for different exposure reasons: There was enough risk with her knowing that the race existed. More contact, more details, more time around the Brotherhood was not smart or safe.

  As V cradled his mug and leaned back in the chair, he worried about the future. He and Jane were good together, but the forced separations were going to wear on them. He could already feel a strain as he contemplated the good-bye that would have to happen tonight.

  He wanted her as close as his own skin twenty-four/ seven. Her voice over the phone, while better than nothing, wasn’t enough to truly satisfy him. But what were their other options?

  There was another rustle of paper as Butch manhandled the CCJ. Christ, he had horrible newspaper etiquette, always mashing the pages and being rough with the creases. It was the same with magazines. Butch didn’t so much read them as gnaw on them with his hands.

  In the process of terrorizing an article on spring training, Butch glanced over at Marissa again, and V knew the two were going to take off soon—but not because they were finished with their coffee.

  Funny, he knew what was going to happen from extrapolation, not second sight or because he could read their minds: Butch was letting off the bonding scent, and Marissa loved being with her male. It wasn’t like V had a vision of them ending up locked in the butler’s pantry or back in bed at the Pit.

  Jane’s thoughts were the only ones he could read, and then only sometimes.

  He rubbed the center of his chest and thought about what the Scribe Virgin had said…that his visions and his prescient ability were obscured because of a crossroads in his own life, and that when he was through, they would come back. Thing was, he had Jane now, so wasn’t he past that part? He’d found his female. He was with her. End of story.

  He swallowed more coffee. Kept up with the rubbing.

  The nightmare had been back again this morning.

  As he couldn’t chalk up that bullshit gunshot sequence to PTSD anymore, he decided it was now an allegory, his subconscious churning over the fact that he still felt out of control in his life. Because falling in love would do that.