The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8

by J. R. Ward

  That had to be why. Had to.

  “Ten minutes,” Butch whispered into Marissa’s ear. “Can I have ten minutes with you before you go? Please, baby…”

  V rolled his eyes and was relieved to be annoyed at the lovey-dovey routine. At least all the testosterone in him hadn’t dried up.

  “Baby…please?”

  V took a pull on his mug. “Marissa, throw the sap bastard a bone, would you? The simpering wears on my nerves.”

  “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Marissa packed up her papers with a laugh and shot Butch a look. “Ten minutes. And you’d better make them count.”

  Butch was up out of that chair like the thing was on fire. “Don’t I always?”

  “Mmm…yes.”

  As the two locked lips, V snorted. “Have fun, kiddies. Somewhere else.”

  They’d just left when Zsadist came in at a dead run. “Shit. Shit…shit…”

  “What’s doing, my brother?”

  “I’m teaching and I’m late.” Zsadist grabbed a sleeve of bagels, a turkey leg out of the refridg and a quart of ice cream from the freezer. “Shit.”

  “That’s your breakfast?”

  “Shut up. It’s almost a turkey sandwich.”

  “Rocky Road don’t count as mayo, my brother.”

  “Whatever.” He beelined back for the door. “Oh, by the way, Phury’s here again, and he brought that Chosen with him. Figured you’d want to know in case you see a random female ghosting around here.”

  Whoa. Surprise. “How’s he doing?”

  Zsadist paused. “I don’t know. He’s pretty tight about shit. Not real talkative. The bastard.”

  “Oh, and you’re a candidate for The View?”

  “Right back at you, Bahbwa.”

  “Touché.” V shook his head. “Man, I owe him.”

  “Yeah, you do. We all do.”

  “Hold up, Z.” V tossed the spoon he’d used to sugar his coffee across the room. “You’re going to want this, true.”

  Z caught the thing on the fly. “Ah, would have spaced that. Thanks. Man, I got Bella on the brain all’a time, feel me?”

  The butler’s door flapped shut.

  In the silence of the kitchen V took another drink from his mug. The coffee was no longer hot, its warmth having dissipated. In another fifteen minutes it would be icy.

  Undrinkable.

  Yeah…he knew how hard it was to be thinking about your female all the time.

  Knew it firsthand.

  Cormia felt the bed wiggle as the Primale rolled over. Once again.

  It had been thus for hours upon hours. She had not slept all day, and she was sure he had not, either. Unless he moved around a lot whilst in repose.

  He let out a mumble and jerked about, his heavy limbs thrashing. It was as if he couldn’t get comfortable, and she worried that she was somehow disrupting him…although it was unclear how. She had stayed still since she’d gotten in.

  It was strange, though. She was comforted by his presence in spite of his restlessness. There was something easing about the knowledge that he was on the other side of the bed. She felt safe with him, though she knew him not.

  The Primale lurched again, groaned and—

  Cormia jumped when his hand landed on her arm.

  As did he. With a low growl he made some kind of questioning sound in his throat, then ran his palm up and down, as if trying to figure out what was in his bed with him.

  She expected him to pull back.

  Instead he grabbed on.

  Cormia’s lips parted in shock as he made a noise deep in his throat and waded through the sheets, his hand going from her arm to her waist. As if she’d passed some kind of test he rolled into her, a thick thigh coming against hers, something hard pushing into her hip. His hand started moving, and before she knew it the drapery was loosening and then it was off her body.

  He growled louder and pulled her flush to him such that the hard length now lay across her thighs. She gasped, but there was no time to react or think. His lips found her throat and sucked on her skin, the draw causing her body to heat. And then his hips began to move. The forward and backward surging made something between her legs well and tingle, something dark and needy unfurling in her belly.

  Without warning, both his arms shot around her and he rolled her onto her back, his luxurious hair falling down over her face. His thick thigh pushed between hers, and he mounted her, that arch and retreat stroking what she knew was his sex against her. He was huge atop her, but she didn’t feel trapped or scared. Whatever this was between them was something she wanted. Something…she craved.

  Tentatively she put her hands on his back. The muscles along his spine were tremendous, and they rippled with his movements under the satin of his robe. He growled anew when she touched him, as if he liked her hands on him, and just as she wondered what his bare skin felt like he lifted up and disrobed.

  Then he leaned to one side, took her palm in his, and put it between their bodies. On himself.

  They both gasped as the connection was made, and she had an instant of pure amazement at the heat and the hardness and the size of him…as well the softness of his skin…and the power that seemed to rest in his staff of flesh. She gripped him in reflex as a shocking bolt of fire speared her at her thighs.

  Except then he cried out and his hips pushed forward and what was in her hand started to kick. Warm bursts shot out from somewhere and covered her belly.

  Oh, dear Virgin, had she hurt him?

  Phury woke up on top of Cormia, with her hand on his cock and an orgasm in full swing. He tried to stop his body, grappled to get a rein on the erotic currents thundering through him, but he couldn’t stop the momentum, even as he was aware he was coming all over her.

  The second the sensations passed he whipped back. And then everything got worse.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, staring up at him with horror.

  “For what?” Shit, his voice was shot. And he was the one who should be apologizing.

  “I hurt you…until you bled.”

  Oh, sweet Jesus. “Ah…that’s not blood.”

  He shoved the covers aside so he could get up, realized he was totally naked, and had to fumble through the bedding to find the robe. He yanked the damn thing on, got his leg in place, and lit off the bed, heading to the bathroom for a towel.

  When he came back over to her, he could only imagine how she’d want that stuff off her. He’d made a mess.

  “Let me…” He caught sight of the drapery on the floor. Oh, great, she was naked, too. Fantastic. “Actually, maybe you should clean up.”

  He looked away and held out the towel. “Take this. Use it.”

  From the corner of his eye he watched her awkwardly swipe under the covers, and self-loathing swamped him. Jesus Christ… He was a lecher. Overwhelming the poor female.

  When she handed the towel back, he said, “You can’t stay with me. It’s not right. For as long as we’re here, you’re going to be in the other room.”

  There was a slight pause. Then she said, “Yes, your grace.”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  As night fell John was underground in the gym, lined up with the rest of trainees, a dagger in his right hand, his feet planted in the ready position. When Zsadist whistled through his teeth, John and everyone else began to move through the exercise: Swipe the weapon across the chest, slice back at an angle, step forward, and stab up under the rib cage.

  “John, stay sharp!”

  Shit, he was fucking this whole thing up. Again. Feeling utterly blind and mostly useless, he tried to find the rhythm in the positions, but his balance was in the crapper and his arms and legs just wouldn’t behave.

  “John—stop.” Zsadist came up behind him and moved his arms around. Again. “Ladies, back in ready position.”

  John settled in, waited for the whistle…and screwed it all up. Again.

  This time when Zsadist walked over, John couldn’t look the Brother i
n the face.

  “Let’s try something.” Z took the blade and put it in John’s left hand.

  John shook his head. He was right-dominant.

  “Just try it. Ladies? Let’s do it.”

  Another ready position. Another whistle. Another fuckup—

  Oh, but this time it wasn’t. Miraculously, John’s body fell into the series of positions like a perfect piano chord. Everything was in sync, all his arms and legs going where they needed to be, the dagger controlled perfectly in his palm, his muscles coalescing and working together.

  When the drill was over, he smiled. Until he met Z’s eyes. The Brother was staring at him strangely, but then seemed to catch himself. “Better, John. Much better.”

  John looked down at the blade in his hand. He had a quick, painful memory of walking Sarelle out to her car a couple of days before she’d been killed. As he’d been by her side, he’d wished he had a dagger, had felt like his palm was too light without one. That had been his right hand then. Why the switch after the transition?

  “Again, ladies!” Z called out.

  They did the sequence twenty-three more times. Then worked on another that had them getting down on one knee and lunging upward. Z patrolled the line, fixing positions, barking out demands.

  He didn’t have to address John once. Everything just came together, the vein tapped, the gold extracted.

  When class was over John headed to the lockers, but Z called him back and led him into the equipment room, over to the locked closet where the training daggers were kept.

  “From now on you’ll use this.” Z handed over one with a blue hilt. “Calibrated for the left hand.”

  John tried it out and felt even stronger. He was about to thank the Brother when he frowned. Z was looking at him with the same strange expression he’d had out in the gym.

  John tucked the blade into the belt of his ji and signed, What? Am I not in good position?

  Z rubbed a hand over his skull trim. “Ask me how many fighters are left-handed.”

  John’s breath stopped, an odd feeling coming over him. How many?

  “Only known one. Ask me who he was.”

  Who was he?

  “Darius. D was left-handed.”

  John stared down at his left hand. His father.

  “And you move like him,” Z murmured. “It’s eerie as fuck, to be honest. It’s like I’m looking at him.”

  Really?

  “Yeah, he was smooth. Like you are. Anyway. Whatever.” Z clapped him on the shoulder. “Lefty. Go figure.”

  John watched the Brother leave, then looked at his palm again.

  Not for the first time, he wondered what his father had looked like. Sounded like. Acted like. God, what he wouldn’t give for some information on the male.

  Maybe someday he could ask Zsadist, although he was afraid of getting emotional.

  A male should always be tight. Especially in front of a Brother.

  Jane backed her car into her garage and cursed at the time as she cut the engine. Eleven thirty-four. She was two and a half hours late to meet V at her place.

  It had been a prime case of delayed departure. She’d had her coat on and her bag packed, but on the way to the door all sorts of medical staff had come up to her with question after question. Then one of the patients had taken a turn for the worse in the chute, and she’d had to examine the woman, then talk to the family.

  She’d texted Vishous that she’d gotten tied up. Then again when she had to stay even longer. He’d hit her back saying it was fine. But then she’d called when she’d gotten stuck on a detour on the way home, and she’d gone to voice mail.

  She got out of the car as the garage door eased shut. She was excited to see Vishous, but exhausted too. They’d spent the night before doing a whole lot of not sleeping, and she’d had a long day.

  As she came in through the kitchen she called out, “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

  “It’s cool,” he said from the living room.

  She walked around the corner…and stopped. Vishous was sitting on the couch in the dark, his legs crossed. His leather jacket was next to him, and so was a wrapped bunch of calla lilies. He was still as a frozen lake.

  Shit.

  “Hi,” she said as she dumped her coat and bag on her parents’ dining room table.

  “Hey.” He uncrossed his thighs and planted his elbows on his knees. “Everything at the hospital okay?”

  “Yeah. Just busy.” She sat down next to the flowers. “These are lovely.”

  “Got them for you.”

  “I’m really sorry—”

  He stopped her with his hand. “You don’t have to be. I can imagine how it is.”

  As she measured him, she knew he wasn’t trying to guilt her or anything; he was just disappointed. Which somehow made her feel worse. If he’d been unreasonable, that was one thing, but this quiet resignation from a man as powerful as him was hard to bear.

  “You look tired,” he said. “I think the kindest thing I can do is put you in bed.”

  She leaned back and gently stroked one of the flowers with her forefinger. She liked that he didn’t go average with roses or even the white kind of calla lily. These were a deep peach tone. Unusual. Beautiful. “I thought about you today. A lot.”

  “Did you?” Though she wasn’t looking at him, she heard the smile in his voice. “What did you think about?”

  “Everything. Nothing. How much I wish I were sleeping next to you every night.”

  She didn’t tell him she’d turned down the Columbia opportunity. Letting that go didn’t sit right, but then, trying for a position in New York City where she’d have even more responsibility just didn’t seem like a smart thing to do if the goal was to spend more, not less, time with V. She still wanted to be in charge, but you had to sacrifice things in life to get what you wanted. And the idea that you could have it all was such a fallacy.

  A yawn sprang up her throat and opened her mouth. Shit, she was tired.

  V stood and put out his hand. “Up you go. You can sleep next to me for a while.”

  She let herself be led upstairs, stripped, and pushed into the shower. She waited for him to join her, but he shook his head.

  “If I start with that shit, I’m going to keep you up for the next two hours.” His eyes latched onto her breasts and flashed with light. “Oh…Christ…I’ll just…Fuck, I gotta wait for you outside.”

  She smiled as he shut the glass shower door and his big black shape stalked off into the bedroom. Ten minutes later she came out, scrubbed, flossed, brushed, and in one of her nightshirts.

  Vishous had straightened the duvet, arranged her pillows, and folded the sheets back. “In,” he commanded.

  “I hate taking orders,” she murmured.

  “But you’ll do it from me. On occasion.” He swatted her butt lightly as she slid in. “Get comfortable.”

  She arranged everything where she wanted it to be as he went around and lay down on top of the bed. When he pushed his arm under her head and cuddled up close, she thought, God, he smelled good. And that soothing hand running up and down her waist was divine.

  After a while she said into the darkness, “So, we lost a patient today.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah…there was no saving her. Sometimes you just know, and with her? I knew it. We still did everything we could, but all along…yeah, all along I knew we weren’t going to bring her through.”

  “That must be hard.”

  “Awful. I was the one who told the family she was slipping, but at least they got to be there when she passed, which was good. Like my sister? Hannah died alone. I hate that.” Jane pictured the young woman whose heart had given out in the chute. “Death is weird. Most people think it’s an on/off kind of thing, but more often it’s a process, really, kind of like closing up a shop at the end of the day. For the most part things fail in a predictable manner, until finally the last light in the place goes out and the door is shut
and locked. As a doctor I can jump in and stop the progression by sealing up wounds or giving more blood or forcing the body to regulate its functions with drugs. But sometimes…sometimes the shopkeeper just leaves, and you can’t stop him no matter what you do.” She laughed awkwardly. “Sorry, don’t mean to get morbid.”

  He brushed his hand down her face. “You’re not. You’re amazing.”

  “You’re biased,” she said, before yawning so wide her jaw cracked.

  “I’m right.” He kissed her forehead. “Now sleep.”

  She must have followed orders, because sometime later she felt him moving away. “Don’t go.”

  “Have to. I’m patrolling downtown.”

  He stood up, a giant of a man—er, male, his dark hair catching the dim light from the street lamps out in front of the condo.

  A wave of sadness came over her, and she closed her eyes.

  “Hey,” he said, sitting down next to her. “None of that. We’re not sad. You and me? We’re not sad. We don’t do sad.”

  She laughed with a choking sound. “How did you know what I was feeling? Or do I look that pathetic?”

  He tapped his nose. “I can smell it. Spring rain is what the scent’s like.”

  “I hate this good-bye shit.”

  “Me, too.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against her forehead. “Here.” He shrugged out of his long-sleeved shirt, balled it up, and put it under her cheek. “Pretend this is me.”

  She breathed in deep, caught the bonding scent, and was calmed a little. As he stood, he looked so strong in just a muscle shirt, invincible, like a superhero. And yet he breathed.

  “Please…be careful.”

  “Always.” He bent over and kissed her again. “I love you.”

  As he pulled away, she reached out and grabbed his arm. Words failed, but the silence said enough.

  “I hate the leaving, too,” he replied roughly. “But I’ll be back. I promise.”

  He kissed her again and then headed for the door. As she listened to him go downstairs to get his coat, she cradled his shirt to her face and closed her eyes.