The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8

by J. R. Ward

  As long as the princess was aboveground, Rehv would remain the drug lord of Caldie and he would make his calls—although not in his mother’s house, not during this family time. Business could wait until family had been served.

  Although one thing was clear. Going forward, Xhex, Trez, and iAm were going to have to keep an even tighter eye on things, because sure as shit, if someone was ambitious enough to try to knock off those middlemen, they were more than likely going to attempt a run at a fat boy like Rehv. Trouble was, it was going to be important for Rehv to be seen around the club. Showing face was critical during unsettled times, when his contacts in the biz would be looking to see if he was going to run and hide. Better to be perceived as the person who might be doing the killings than a pussy-ass who ducked out of his turf when the going got tough.

  For no good reason, he opened his phone and checked for missed calls. Again. Nothing from Ehlena. Still.

  She was probably just busy at the clinic, all caught up in the hustle. Of course she was. And it wasn’t like the facility was in danger of being sacked. It was in a remote location and had plenty of security, and he would have heard something if anything bad had happened.

  Right?

  Damn it.

  With a frown, he checked his watch. Time for two more pills.

  He headed into the kitchen and was drinking a glass of milk and popping more penicillin when a pair of headlights hit the front of the house. As the Escalade pulled up in front and its doors opened, he put his glass down, plugged his cane into the floor, and went to greet his sister and her mate and their young.

  Bella was already red-eyed as she came in, because he’d made it clear what was going on. Her hellren was right behind her, carrying their snoozing daughter in his huge arms, his scarred face grim.

  “Sister mine,” Rehv said as he took Bella into his arms. While holding her loosely, he clapped palms with Zsadist. “I’m glad you’re here, my man.”

  Z nodded his skull-trimmed head. “Me too.”

  Bella pulled back and wiped her eyes quickly. “Is she up in bed?”

  “Yeah, and her doggen is with her.”

  Bella took hold of her daughter, and then Rehv led the way upstairs. At the bedroom doors, he knocked on the jamb first and waited as his mother and her faithful servant got prepared.

  “How bad is she?” Bella whispered.

  Rehv looked down at his sister, thinking that this was one of the few situations where he could see himself not being as strong for her as he wanted to be.

  His voice was hoarse. “It’s time.”

  Bella’s eyes squeezed together just as their mahmen said in a wobbly voice, “Come in.”

  As Rehv opened one side of the doors, he heard Bella’s sharp inhale, but more than that he sensed her emotional grid: Sadness and panic intertwined with each other, doubling up and redoubling until a solid box was formed. It was a footprint of feelings that he saw only at funerals. And didn’t that make tragic sense.

  “Mahmen,” Bella said as she went to the bedside.

  As Madalina held her arms out, her face was suffused with happiness. “My loves, my dearest loves.”

  Bella bent down and kissed their mother’s cheek, then transferred Nalla’s weight with care. As their mother didn’t have the strength to hold the young, a spare pillow was positioned to support Nalla’s neck and head.

  Their mother’s smile glowed. “Look at her face…. She shall be a great beauty, indeed.” She lifted a skeletal hand toward Z. “And the proud papa, who looks after his females with such strength and fortitude.”

  Zsadist came over and clasped what was extended to him, bowing down and brushing her knuckles with his forehead, as was custom between mothers and sons-in-law. “I shall always keep them safe.”

  “Indeed. Of that I am well sure.” Their mother smiled up at the fierce warrior who seemed totally out of place among the lace draped around the bed—but then her strength lagged and she let her head fall to the side.

  “My greatest joy,” she whispered as she stared at her grandchild.

  Bella eased a hip onto the mattress and gently rubbed her mother’s knee. The silence in the room became soft as down, a cocoon of quiet that eased over all of them and relieved the tension.

  There was only one good thing in all this: An easy death that happened in the right order was as much a blessing as a long, easy life.

  Their mother hadn’t had the latter. But Rehv was going to keep his promise and make sure the peace in this room was kept well after she was gone.

  Bella leaned into her daughter and whispered, “Sleepyhead, wake up for Granhmen.”

  When Madalina brushed the young’s cheek softly, Nalla awoke with a coo. Yellow eyes as bright as diamonds focused on the old, lovely face before her, and the young smiled and reached out chubby hands. As the infant gripped her grandmother’s finger, Madalina lifted her gaze and peered up over the next generation at Rehv. In her stare, she begged him.

  And he gave her exactly what she needed. Putting his fist over his heart, he bowed ever so slightly, taking his vow once more.

  His mother blinked, tears trembling on her lashes, and the wave of her gratitude reached him in a rush. Although he couldn’t feel the warmth of it, he knew by the way he could allow his sable duster to fall open that his core temperature had just risen.

  Knew also that he would do anything to keep his promise. A good death wasn’t just quick and painless. A good death meant you were leaving your world in order, that you passed unto the Fade with the satisfaction that your loved ones were well cared for and safe, and that although they had to go through the mourning process, you were certain you had left nothing unsaid or undone.

  Or nothing said, as was the case here.

  It was the greatest gift he could give the mother who had raised him in a manner better than he deserved, the only way he could repay the circumstances of his cruel birth.

  Madalina smiled and released a long, grateful breath.

  And all was as it needed to be.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  John Matthew came awake with his H&K pointed at the opening door across Xhex’s barren room. His heart rate was as calm as his steady palm, and even when the lights came on, he didn’t blink. If he didn’t like the looks of whoever had sprung the lock and twisted the knob, he was going to put a bullet right through whatever chest presented itself.

  “Easy,” Xhex said as she came inside and shut them in together. “It’s just me.”

  He put the safety back on and lowered the muzzle.

  “I’m impressed,” she murmured as she leaned back against the jamb. “You wake up like a fighter.”

  Standing across the way, her powerful body relaxed, she was the most attractive female he had ever seen. Which meant that unless she wanted what he wanted, he had to go. Fantasies were fine, but flesh was better, and he didn’t think he could keep himself away from her.

  John waited. And waited. Neither of them moved.

  Right. Time to leave before he made an ass out of himself.

  He started to shift his legs off her bed, but she shook her head. “No, stay where you are.”

  Okaaaay. But that meant he needed some camo.

  Reaching for his coat, he dragged the leather across his lap, because his gun wasn’t the only thing ready for use. As usual, he had a hard-on, which was standard-issue for the wakey-wakey shit—as well as a problem whenever he was within range of her.

  “I’ll be right out,” she said, dropping her black jacket and heading for the bathroom.

  The door shut and his mouth slacked open.

  Could this be…it?

  He smoothed down his hair, tucked in his shirt, and quickly shifted around his cock. Which was now not just hard, but throbbing. Looking down at the length straining against the fly of his A&F jeans, he tried to point out to the thing that she might be staying, but that didn’t necessarily mean she had any interest in using his hips for buck-off practice.

  Xhex came
back out a little later and paused by the light switch. “You have anything against the dark?”

  He shook his head slowly.

  The room plunged into black and he heard her moving toward the bed.

  Heart pounding, cock on fire, John quickly hustled over, leaving her plenty of room. As she lay down, he felt every nuance of the mattress shifting, heard the soft brush of her hair as it hit the pillow, knew the scent of her deep in his nose.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  Even as she sighed in relaxation.

  “You’re not afraid of me,” she said quietly.

  He shook his head even though she couldn’t see him.

  “You’re hard.”

  Oh, God, he thought. Yes, he was.

  Momentary panic flared, a jackal jumping out of the bush and snarling at him. Fuck him, but it was hard to decide what would be worse: Xhex reaching for him and him losing his erection—like he had with the Chosen Layla on the night of his transition. Or Xhex not reaching for him at all.

  She settled the coin toss by turning toward him and putting her hand on his chest.

  “Easy,” she said as he jumped.

  After he settled, her touch moved down his stomach, and when she cupped his cock through his jeans, he arched up off the bed, mouth opening to release a silent groan.

  There was no preamble, but he didn’t want any at all. She undid the fly, sprang his arousal, and then there was shifting and the sound of her leathers hitting the floor.

  She mounted him, planting her palms on his pecs, pushing him down into the mattress. As something warm and soft and wet rubbed against him, he didn’t worry at all about going limp. His body was raging to get inside of her, nothing of the past coming through his mating instincts.

  Xhex rose onto her knees, took him in her hand, and stood him up. When she sat down, he felt a delicious, tight pressure along the sides of his cock, the electric compression kicking off an orgasm that had him punching his hips up. Without thinking whether it was okay, he grabbed onto her thighs—

  He froze as he felt metal, but then he was too far gone. All he could do was squeeze with his hands as he shuddered again and again, losing his virginity over and over.

  It was the most amazing thing he’d ever felt. He knew from hand jobs. Had worked himself out a thousand times since his transition. But this blew all of what he’d done out of the park. Xhex was indescribable.

  And that was before she started to move.

  When he was finished with that first phantasmagasm, she gave him a minute to catch his breath, then started to roll her hips up and back. He gasped. The muscles inside of her gripped and released his cock, the alternating pressure getting his balls tight and ready once again.

  He so totally and completely understood Qhuinn’s drive to get naked now. This was incredible, especially when John let his body follow hers and they moved together. Even as the rhythm grew faster and faster, becoming urgent, he knew exactly what was happening and where every part of both of them was, from her palms on his chest to the weight of her on top of him to the friction of the sex to the way his breath was tearing in and out of his throat.

  His body went rigid from head to toe as he came again, her name leaving his lips as it had when he fantasized about her—only more urgent.

  And then it was done.

  Xhex lifted herself free of him and his cock fell down onto his belly. Compared to the hot cocoon of her body, the soft cotton of the shirt he was wearing was like sandpaper, and the air temperature was freezing cold. The bed moved as she lay down beside him, and he turned to face her in the dark. He was breathing hard, but he yearned to kiss her in the break before they did that again.

  John reached out and felt her stiffen as his palm landed on the far side of her neck, but she didn’t pull away. God, her skin was soft…oh, so soft. Although the muscles that ran up from her shoulders were like steel, what covered them was satin smooth.

  John was slow as he lifted his upper body off the bed and leaned over her, slipping his touch up to her cheek, cradling her face gently, finding her lips with his thumb.

  He didn’t want to fuck this up. She had done most of the work, and done it spectacularly. More than that, she had given him the gift of sex and had shown him that in spite of what had been done to him, he was still male, still capable of enjoying what his body had been born to do. If he was going to be the one making their first kiss happen, he was determined to get it right.

  Dropping his head—

  “That’s not what this is about.” Xhex pushed him back, got off the bed, and went into the bathroom.

  The door shut, and John’s cock shriveled up on his shirt as he heard water come on: She was washing him off her, getting rid of what his body had given her. With hands that shook, he stuffed himself back into his jeans, trying to ignore the wetness and the erotic scent.

  When Xhex came out, she got her jacket, and went over to open the door. As light from the hall streamed in, she was a black shadow standing tall and strong.

  “It’s daylight outside, in case you haven’t checked your watch.” She paused. “And I appreciate your being discreet about my…situation.”

  The door closed behind her silently.

  So that was the why behind the hookup. She’d given him the sex to thank him for keeping her secret.

  Christ, how could he have thought it was more?

  Fully clothed. No kissing. And he was pretty sure he was the only one who came: Her breathing hadn’t changed, she hadn’t cried out, there had been no sagging relief for her after it was done. Not that he knew anything about females and orgasms, but that was what happened to him when he had the release.

  Not a pity fuck. A gratitude one.

  John rubbed his face. He was so stupid. Thinking that it meant anything.

  So very, very stupid.

  Tohr woke up with a stomach that had been spray-painted in the color pain. The agony was so bad that in his dead-to-the-world, postfeeding sleep, he’d wrapped his arms around his belly and hunched into himself.

  Unfurling from the tuck and shiver, he wondered if there had been something wrong with the blood—

  The grumble that rose up was loud enough to rival a garbage disposal.

  The pain…was hunger? He looked down at the concave pit between his hips. Rubbed at the hard, flat surface. Listened to another roar.

  His body was demanding food, massive quantities of sustenance.

  He glanced at the clock. Ten a.m. John hadn’t come by with Last Meal.

  Tohr sat up without using his arms and made it into the bathroom on legs that felt curiously steady. He used the toilet, but not to throw up, then washed his face, and realized he had no clothes to wear.

  Slipping a terry-cloth robe on, he left his bedroom for the first time since he’d walked into it.

  The lights along the hall of statues made him blink like he’d been spotlit on a stage, and he needed a minute to adjust to…everything.

  Stretching up and down the corridor, the marble males in their various poses were just as he remembered them, so strong and graceful and static, and for no good reason, he remembered Darius buying them one by one, building up the collection. Back when D had been in acquisition mode, he’d sent Fritz to auctions at Sotheby’s and Christie’s in New York, and when each of the masterpieces had been delivered in its crate with all the shredded stuffing and those cloth wraps, the brother had had an unveiling party.

  D had loved art.

  Tohr frowned. Wellsie and his unborn child would always be his first and foremost loss. But he had more dead to avenge, didn’t he. The lessers had taken not only his family, but his best friend.

  Anger stirred deep in his gut…triggering another hunger. For war.

  With a focus and determination that was both foreign and familiar, Tohr headed down toward the grand staircase and paused as he got to the mostly closed doors of the study. He sensed Wrath behind them, but he didn’t really want to interact with anyone.

&nb
sp; At least, he didn’t think so.

  Why then hadn’t he just called down to the kitchen for an order of food?

  Tohr peered in through the slit that was between the doors.

  Wrath was asleep at his desk, his long, glossy black hair fanning out over paperwork, one forearm curled under his head as a pillow. In his free hand, he still gripped the magnifying glass he had to use if he wanted to try to read anything.

  Tohr stepped into the room. Looking around, he saw the mantelpiece over the fireplace and could just picture Zsadist lounging against it, his scarred face serious, his eyes flashing black. Phury had always been close to him, usually parking it in the pale blue chaise by the window. V and Butch had tended to take that spindly-ass couch. Rhage chose different locales depending on his mood….

  Tohr frowned as what was next to Wrath’s desk registered.

  The ugly, ratty, avocado green armchair, with patches worn on its leather cushions…was Tohr’s chair. The one his Wellsie had insisted be thrown out because it was a mess. The one he’d put in the office down in the training center.

  “We moved it here so John would come back to the mansion.”

  Tohr’s head whipped around. Wrath was lifting himself off his arm, his voice as groggy as his face appeared.

  The king spoke slowly, as if he didn’t want to spook his visitor. “After…what happened, John wouldn’t leave the office. He refused to sleep anywhere but that chair. What a mess…He was acting out in training. Getting into fights. Eventually, I put my foot down, moved that stinker in here, and things got better.” Wrath turned to the chair. “He used to like to sit there and watch me work. After his transition and the raids over the summer, he’s been out fighting at night and crashing during the day, so he hasn’t been here as much. I kind of miss him.”

  Tohr winced. He’d done such a head job on that poor kid. Sure, he’d been incapable of doing anything else, but John had suffered a lot.

  Suffered still.

  Tohr was ashamed of himself as he thought of his waking up in that bed each morning and every afternoon, John bringing that tray in and sitting while the food was eaten—then staying, as if the kid knew that he was throwing up most of whatever had been served as soon as he was alone.