The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8

by J. R. Ward

  The fine dust on the knobs and the fastenings told him that.

  She might have been here, but she was gone now. And if she had come, she hadn’t stayed long or done much, because he could detect nothing of her scent.

  He felt like he’d lost her all over again.

  Christ, he’d thought that her being alive would be enough to carry him through—but the idea she was somewhere on the planet and yet not with him was strangely crippling. Plus he felt blinded by the situation; he still didn’t know the hows and whats and wheres of any of it.

  Flat out sucked, to be honest.

  Eventually, he went out to join Rehv on the little porch. Grabbing his pad, he scribbled quickly and prayed to hell the symphath could understand where he was coming from.

  Rehv looked over his shoulder and read what John held up. After a moment, he said, “Yeah. Sure. I’ll just tell them she wasn’t here and you came with me to go eat at iAm’s place. It’ll buy you a good three, four hours of space minimum.”

  John put his palm over his pec and bowed deeply.

  “Just don’t go out fighting. I don’t need to know where you’re going, that’s your biz. But if you get yourself killed, I got ninety-nine problems and you’re the biggest one of them.” Rehv looked back out to the river. “And don’t worry about her. She’s done this once before. This is the second time she’s been . . . taken away like that.”

  John’s hand snatched out and grabbed hard onto the male’s forearm. Rehv didn’t even flinch . . . then again, there were rumors he couldn’t feel anything because of what he did to control his symphath side.

  “Yup. This is number two. She and Murhder had been going together—” As John’s fangs made an appearance, Rehv smiled a little. “That’s long passed. No need to worry there. But she ended up heading to the colony for family reasons. They played her, though, and wouldn’t let her out. When Murhder went up to get her, the symphaths snatched him as well, and shit got critical. I had to make a bargain to get them both out, but her family sold her at the last second, right out from under my nose.”

  John swallowed hard and signed without thinking. To who?

  “Humans. She got herself free, though, just like she did this time. And then she went away for a while.” Now Rehv’s amethyst eyes flashed. “She’d always been tough, but after whatever those humans did to her, she got hard.”

  When, John mouthed.

  “Some twenty years ago.” Rehv resumed staring out at the water. “FYI, she wasn’t kidding in that message. She’s not going to appreciate anyone coming in and being her hero with Lash. She’s going to have to do that herself. You want to help the situation? Let her come to you when she’s ready— and stay out of her way.”

  Yeah, well, she probably wasn’t going to be in a hurry to text his ass, John thought. And as for the Lash thing? He wasn’t sure he could let that one go. Even for her.

  To cut off his own thinking, John put out his palm. The two of them met chest-to-chest in a brief hug and then John dematerialized.

  When he took form, he was back at the Xtreme Park, behind the shed, looking out over the empty ramps and bowls. The head drug pusher wasn’t back. No skating, either. Both made sense. Raid the night before with a shitload of cops coming? To say nothing of the bullet shower?

  Place was going to be a ghost town for a while.

  John leaned against rough wood, his senses alert. He was aware of time passing, both because of the position of the moon pinwheeling in an arc overhead, and because his brain downshifted from manic spin to a more reasonable churn. Which still sucked but was easier to sit with.

  She was out and he didn’t even know what condition she was in. Was she hurt? Did she need to feed? Did—

  Right. Time to stop playing that loop.

  And he probably should take off. Wrath had been pretty damned clear about that no-fighting-without-Qhuinn business and this would still be considered a hot spot for the enemy.

  Abruptly, he realized where he had to go.

  Pushing himself out of his lean, he paused and looked around with a frown. The sensation of being watched, of being followed, cloaked him once again—just like it had back at that tat shop.

  Tonight, however, he just didn’t have the energy to support a good dose of paranoia, so he simply dematerialized, figuring whoever or whatever it was would either track him again or he’d lose them in the ether—and he didn’t care which it would be.

  He was pretty fucking worn-out.

  When he took form again, he was a mere handful of blocks from where he’d done the number on that lesser the night before. From the inner pocket of his leather jacket, he took out a copper key that was just like the one Rehv had put to use on the hunting cabin.

  He’d had the thing for about a month and a half. Xhex had given it to him the night he had told her she could trust him with her symphath secret, and like her cilices, he took it with him wherever he went.

  Ducking under the stairs of a brownstone, he inserted the sliver of metal and opened the door. The lights in the basement hall were motion-activated and the stretch of whitewashed stone was instantly illuminated.

  He was careful to lock up behind himself and then he went down to the only door.

  She had given him sanctuary in this private place once before. Had granted him access to her basement room when he had needed to be alone. And when he’d taken advantage of the hospitality, it had led to her taking his virginity.

  She’d refused to kiss him, though.

  The same key worked in the door to the bedroom, the locking mechanism shifting smoothly. As he swung the metal panels wide, the light came on and he stepped in—

  John died a little at what he saw on the bed: His heart and breath stopped, his brain waves ceased, his blood froze in his veins.

  Xhex’s bare-naked body was curled up on the sheets.

  As the room was flooded with illumination, her hand tightened on the gun that lay flat on the mattress and was pointed at the door.

  She didn’t have the strength to lift either her head or the weapon, but he was highly confident she could pull that trigger.

  Raising up his arms and showing his palms, he stepped to the side and kicked the door shut to protect her.

  Her voice was barely a whisper. “John . . .”

  A single, bloodred tear pooled in the eye he could see and he watched it slowly ease over the bridge of her nose and drop onto the pillow.

  Her hand retreated from the weapon and went to her face, moving inch by inch, as if it took all she had in her to draw it upward. She covered herself the only way she was able, her shield of palm and fingers hiding her tears from him.

  She was marked all over with welts and bruises in various stages of healing and she’d lost so much weight, her bones seemed about to break through her flesh. Her skin was gray instead of a healthy pink and her natural scent was nearly nonexistent.

  She was dying.

  The horror of it all weakened his knees to the point that he listed and had to catch himself back against the door.

  But even as he wobbled, his mind kicked into gear. Doc Jane needed to come look at her and Xhex needed to feed.

  They didn’t have a lot of time left.

  If she was going to live, he was going to have to take charge here.

  John ripped off his leather jacket and yanked up his sleeve as he headed to her. The first thing he did was gently cover her nakedness by folding the top sheet across her. The second was shoving his cocked wrist right up to her mouth . . . and waiting for her instincts to take over.

  Her mind might not want him, but her body was not going to be able to resist what he had to offer.

  Survival always won out over matters of the heart. He was living proof of it.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Xhex felt a soft brush across her shoulder and hip as John drew the sheet around her.

  From behind the shelter of her hand, she inhaled and all she smelled was good, clean, healthy male . . . and the scent
stirred hunger deep in her gut, her appetite and needs waking from their slumber with a roar.

  And that was before John put his wrist up so close she could kiss it.

  Her symphath instincts snaked out and read his emotions.

  Calm and purposeful. Utterly tight in the head and the heart: John was going to save her ass if it was the last thing he did.

  “John . . .” she whispered.

  The problem with this situation . . . well, one of them . . . was that he wasn’t alone in knowing how close to death she was.

  Her anger at Lash had been a sustenance while she’d been jailed and abused, and she’d thought it would have kept her going outside as well. But the instant she’d made that call to Rehv, all her energy had drained out of her and left her nothing but a heartbeat. And not much of one at that.

  John moved his wrist even closer . . . so that his skin brushed against her mouth.

  Her fangs elongated in a sluggish push at the same time her heart hiccuped like it wasn’t working right.

  She had a choice in this quiet, charged moment: Take his vein and stick around. Deny him and die in front of him in the next hour or so. Because he was going nowhere.

  Moving her hand from her face, she shifted her eyes to him. He was as beautiful as always, his face the kind of thing females dreamed of.

  Lifting her palm, she reached up to him.

  Surprise flared in his eyes and then he bent down so that her hand landed against his warm cheek. The effort of keeping her arm elevated proved to be too much, but as her fingers trembled, he put his own palm over hers, holding it in place.

  His deep blue eyes were a kind of heaven, the color like that of a warm, darkening sky.

  She had a decision to make here. Take his vein or . . .

  As she couldn’t find the energy to finish the thought, she felt as though she’d lost herself: going by the fact that she appeared to be conscious, she guessed she was alive—and yet she wasn’t in her own skin. Her fight was long gone, the thing that had defined her most in the world having evaporated. Which made sense. She had no interest in living anymore and she couldn’t fake that, not for him, not for herself.

  Two trips around the prisoner park had taken her too far down.

  So . . . what to do, what to do.

  She licked her dry lips. She hadn’t been born on any terms she would have chosen or volunteered for, and her time of breathing and eating and fighting and fucking hadn’t improved where she’d started from. She could, however, leave on her terms—and do so after she had put things right.

  Yeah, that was the answer. Thanks to the last three and a half weeks, she had one hell of a bucket list. Granted, there was only a single entry on it, but sometimes that was enough to motivate you.

  In a rush of resolve, her hard outer skin re-formed, the odd floaty feeling that had fogged her out dissipating and leaving a sharp awareness in its wake. Abruptly, she pulled her hand out from under John’s, and the withdrawal spiked a flare of pure, silvery fear on his emotional grid. But then she drew his wrist to her and bared her fangs.

  His triumph was a heat wave.

  At least until it became apparent that she didn’t have the strength to break his skin—her incisors did nothing but scratch his surface. John was on it, though. With a fast move, he punctured his own vein and brought the source of him to her lips.

  The first taste was . . . a transformation. His blood was so pure it blazed in her mouth and down her throat . . . and the fire it ignited in her stomach tore throughout her body, thawing her, enlivening her. Saving her.

  With greedy pulls, she took from him to revive herself, each swallow a life raft for her to crawl into, each draw a rope slung over the cliff of her demise, each pull on his vein the compass she needed to find the trail back home.

  And he gave without expectation or hope or the stirrings of emotions.

  Which even in her frenzy caused her pain. She had well and truly broken his heart: There was nothing left for him to anticipate with. But she had not broken him—and didn’t that make her respect the guy like nothing else could.

  As she fed, time flowed as his blood did, into the infinite and into her.

  When she finally had taken her fill, she released her seal on his skin and licked the wound closed.

  The shaking started soon thereafter. It began in her hands and feet and quickly centralized in her chest, the uncontrollable tremors rattling her teeth and her brain and her vision until she felt as though she was a limp sock thrown in a dryer.

  Through the trembling, she caught sight of John taking his cell phone out of his jacket.

  She tried to snag his shirt. “N-n-n-no. D-d-don’t—”

  He ignored her, cocking the damn thing and texting.

  “F-f-f-fuck . . .” she groaned.

  When he clipped the phone shut, she said, “Y-y-you try to t-t-take me to H-H-Havers right n-now—not gonna g-g-go well.”

  Her fear of clinics and medical procedures was going to throw her right over the edge, and thanks to him, she now had the energy to do something with her panic. And wasn’t that going to be a joy for all of them to handle.

  John took out a pad and scribbled something. He turned the thing around, and then left a moment later, and all she could do was close her eyes as the door shut.

  Parting her lips, she breathed through her mouth and wondered if she had enough energy to get up, get dressed, and head out before John’s bright idea showed up. Quick check told her that was a no-go. If she couldn’t lift her head and hold it off the pillow for more than a second and a half, she was fucked for getting vertical.

  It didn’t take John long to come back in with Doc Jane, the Black Dagger Brotherhood’s personal physician. The ghostly female had a black bag with her and exuded the kind of medical competence that Xhex valued—but would infinitely have preferred to be applied to others and not herself.

  Doc Jane approached and put her stuff down on the floor. Her white jacket and her scrubs were solid to the eye, though her hands and face were translucent. That all changed, however, as she sat on the edge of the bed. Everything about her took form and the hand she laid upon Xhex’s arm was warm and weighted.

  Even the compassionate doctor made Xhex’s skin crawl, however. She really didn’t want to be touched by anyone.

  As the good doctor removed her hand, she had a feeling the female knew that. “Before you tell me to go, a few things you should know. First of all, I will not divulge your location to anyone and I will not share whatever you tell me or whatever I find with anybody. I will have to report that I’ve seen you to Wrath, but any clinical findings are yours and yours alone.”

  Sounded good. In theory. But she didn’t want the female anywhere near her with what was in that black bag.

  Doc Jane went on. “Second, I don’t know a damn thing about symphaths. So if there’s something anatomically distinct or significant to that half of you . . . I’m not going to necessarily know how to treat it. Do you still consent to be seen by me?”

  Xhex cleared her throat and tried to lock her shoulders so she didn’t shake so much. “I don’t w-want to be seen.”

  “That’s what John said. But you’ve been through a trauma—”

  “It w-w-wasn’t that bad.” She sensed John’s emotional response to that from the corner, but didn’t have the energy to tease out the details of what he was feeling. “And I’m f-f-fine—”

  “Then you should view this as simply a formality.”

  “Do I l-l-look like someone who’s formal?”

  Doc Jane’s forest green stare narrowed. “You look like someone who’s been beaten. Hasn’t fed properly. And hasn’t slept. Unless you want to tell me that purple bruise on your shoulder is makeup? And those bags under your eyes are a mirage?”

  Xhex was well familiar with people who wouldn’t accept no for an answer—for shit’s sake, she’d worked with Rehv for years. And going by that hard, level tone, it was pretty damn clear that the doctor was going
to have her way or she wasn’t leaving. Ever.

  “G-g-g-goddamn it.”

  “FYI, the sooner we start, the sooner it’s over.”

  Xhex glanced at John, thinking that if she had to be seen, he was so not a value-add. He really didn’t need to know anything more than what he’d probably guessed about the condition she was in.

  The doctor looked over her shoulder. “John, will you please wait in the hall?”

  John ducked his head and bowed out of the room, the tremendous spread of his back disappearing through the door. When the lock clicked into place, the good doctor opened that fucking bag of hers and the stethoscope and the blood-pressure cuff were the first to come out.

  “I’m just going to listen to your heart,” the female said, putting the wishbone up to her ears.

  The sight of the medical instruments was gasoline to Xhex’s shivers, and as out-of-it as she was, she cringed away.

  Doc Jane paused. “I’m not going to hurt you. And I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

  Xhex closed her eyes and rolled over onto her back. Every muscle in her body hurt all of a sudden. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  As the sheet lifted, a draft of cold air breathed over her skin and the cool disk was placed against her sternum. Flashbacks threatened to send her on a screamer-coaster, and she stared up at the ceiling, just trying to keep herself from levitating off the frickin’ mattress.

  “B-be fast, D-D-Doc.” She could hold the panic back for only so long.

  “Could you take a deep breath for me?”

  Xhex did the best she could and ended up wincing. Clearly, one or more of her ribs were broken, probably from her hitting the wall outside of that bedroom.

  “Can you sit up?” Doc Jane asked.

  Xhex groaned a curse as she tried to push her torso off the bed and failed. Doc Jane ended up having to help her, and when the doctor got a load of her back, she hissed a little.

  “It doesn’t hurt that bad,” Xhex bit out.

  “Somehow I doubt that.” Again with the metal disk going around. “Breath as deep as you can without hurting yourself.”