The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8

by J. R. Ward

  “Hit me. In fact . . . hit me. A good uppercut might help me pull it together.”

  Doc Jane shook her head. “Why don’t you watch.”

  “What?”

  “Stay here and watch what I do and how I do it and learn the whys. There are a lot of people who are terrified of medical situations—with very good reason. But phobias are phobias, whether it’s an airplane or a dentist or a doctor—and exposure therapy works. Take the mystery out of it and the sense of not being in control? The fear can’t get at you in the same way.”

  “Nice piece of logic. But what happens if I faint.”

  “You can sit down if you get dizzy and leave whenever you like. Ask questions and look over my shoulder if you’re able.”

  When she glanced at John, his solemn nod sealed her fate. She was staying.

  “Do I need scrubs?” she said in a voice that was utterly foreign.

  Shit, it was so damn girly. Next thing you knew, she was going to start crying at TV ads and doing her nails. And getting a frickin’ pocketbook.

  “Yup, I’m going to want you in greens. Follow me.”

  When they came back five minutes later, Doc Jane took her over to the sink, handed her a sealed pack with a Betadine sponge inside, and showed her how to get properly cleaned.

  “Good job.” The doctor turned off the water by releasing a foot pedal down on the floor. “You won’t need gloves because you’re not going in.”

  “You got that right. Tell me, you have a crash cart around, just in case I go over?”

  “Right in the corner and I know how to use those paddles.” Doc Jane snapped on blue gloves and went over to John. “You ready? And we’ll be putting you under. Given where the bullet is, I’m going to have to go deep and there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to get you numb enough.”

  Gas me, Doc, John signed.

  V’s shellan put her hand on his shoulder and stared right into his eyes. “I’m going to fix you, don’t worry.”

  Xhex frowned and found herself in awe of the female. To be that sure and certain, given what was at stake, was pretty amazing: If Doc Jane didn’t do her job right, John could be way worse off than he was now. But if she pulled it off, he would be good as new.

  This was power, Xhex thought. And the polar opposite of what she did in her profession—a knife in her hand was a very different instrument.

  No healing there.

  Doc Jane began a running commentary, her voice strong and calm. “In a human hospital, you’d have an anesthesiologist present, but you vampires tend to be very stable under heavy sedation—it flips you into a kind of dormancy. I don’t understand it, but it makes my job easier.”

  As she spoke, Ehlena helped John take off both his shirt and the leathers Doc Jane had cut up; then the female spread blue cloths over his nakedness and started an IV.

  Xhex tried to stop her eyes from bouncing around and largely failed. There was too much threat in the place, all those scalpels and needles and . . .

  “Why?” Xhex asked, forcing herself to respond. “The difference between the species, I mean?”

  “Not a clue. You have a six-chambered heart and we have a four. You have two livers, we have one. You don’t get cancer or diabetes.”

  “I don’t know much about cancer.”

  Doc Jane shook her head. “Would that we could beat that thing in everyone who gets it. Bastard fucking disease it is, I’ll tell you. What happens is a cellular mutation occurs whereby . . .”

  The doctor kept talking, but now her hands were moving around on the stainless-steel tables that had been rolled over to John, organizing what she was going to use. When she nodded at Ehlena, the female went to John’s head and covered his face with a clear plastic mask.

  Doc Jane went to his IV with a syringe full of something milky. “You ready, John?” When he gave a thumbs-up, she depressed the plunger.

  John glanced over to Xhex and winked. And then he was out like a light.

  “First thing is disinfection,” Doc Jane said, opening up a packet and taking out a dark brown sponge. “Why don’t you stand opposite from me? This is Betadine, the same stuff we washed our hands with, just not in a soap form.”

  As the doctor scrubbed around the bullet wound in wide streaks, leaving John’s skin tinged reddish brown, Xhex walked around his feet in a daze.

  Actually, this was a better position. She was right next to an orange bio-hazard bin—so if she needed to throw up, she was good to go.

  “The reason the bullet has to be removed is because it’s going to cause trouble over time. If he were a less active guy, I might leave it in. But I think being extra-conservative in a soldier is best. Plus you guys heal so fast.” Doc Jane discarded the sponge in Xhex’s bin. “Based on my experience with you, any injury to the bone will regenerate by tomorrow night.”

  Xhex wondered if the doctor or the nurse was aware that the floor underneath all of their feet was moving in waves. Because it sure as shit felt like they were standing on the deck of a boat.

  Quick check of the professionals and both seemed steady as rocks.

  “I’m going to make an incision”—Doc Jane leaned over the leg with the knife—“here. What you’re going to see directly under the skin is the fascia, which is the tough outer casing that’s responsible for keeping our insides together. Your average human would have fat cells between the two, but John’s in great shape. Beneath the fascia is the muscle.”

  Xhex bent at the waist, intending to take a rudimentary glance . . . except she stayed where she was.

  As Doc Jane drew the blade again, the sinewy wrapper pulled back, exposing deep pink ropes of muscle . . . which had a hole through them. Staring at the internal damage, Xhex wanted to kill that slayer all over again. And Jesus, Rhage had been right. A couple of inches up and to the left and John would have been—

  Yeah, let’s not go there, she thought as she repositioned herself for an even better look.

  “Suction,” Doc Jane said.

  There was a hissing sound and Ehlena put a small white hose down and cleared away John’s red blood.

  “Now, I’m actually going to use my finger to probe—sometimes the human touch is best. . . .”

  Xhex ended up watching the whole operation. Start to finish, from the first cut to the last stitch and all the retracting and lead removal in between.

  “. . . and that’s it,” Doc Jane said about forty-five minutes later.

  As Ehlena bandaged John’s leg and the doctor recalibrated whatever was getting pumped into his vein, Xhex picked the bullet off the tray and looked the thing over. So small. So damned small. But capable of creating havoc of the mortal kind.

  “Good job, Doc,” she said harshly as she slipped the thing into her pocket.

  “Let me bring him around so you can look in his eyes and know that he’s really all right.”

  “You read minds?”

  The physician’s eyes were ancient as they lifted. “Nope. Have just had a lot of experience with families and friends. You’re going to need to see the eyes before you take a deep breath. And he’s going to feel the same way when he looks up into your face.”

  John regained consciousness about eight minutes later. Xhex timed it, checking the wall clock.

  As his lids rose, she was right next to his head and holding his hand. “Hey . . . you’re back.”

  He was groggy, which was to be expected. But that bright blue stare was exactly as it had always been, and the way he squeezed her hand left nothing in doubt—he was back with a vengeance.

  The breath Xhex hadn’t been aware of holding slowly eased out of her lungs, a singing relief elevating her mood sure as if her heart had been put on a rocket to the moon. And Doc Jane had been right about staying. As soon as Xhex got involved listening and seeing and learning, the panic receded until it was just a quiet hum that she could control. And it was fascinating, the way the body was put together.

  Okay? John mouthed.

  “Yup, Doc Jane
got the bullet out just fine—”

  John shook his head. You? Okay?

  God . . . damn, she thought. He was such a male of worth.

  “Yeah,” she said roughly. “Yeah, I am . . . and thanks for asking.”

  Staring down at him, she realized that she hadn’t allowed herself to think too much about how she’d saved his life.

  Man, she’d always known she was good with a blade. But she’d never thought that skill would matter as much as it had during that split second in that nasty-ass farmhouse.

  A blink of an eye later and . . . no John. For anyone, anymore.

  Ever.

  The mere thought of that made her panic come back full force, her palms getting sweaty, her heart not so much beating as flipping out in her chest. She knew they were going their separate ways after all this was over . . . but that didn’t seem to matter in the slightest when she considered a world in which he didn’t breathe or laugh or fight or do the sort of kindnesses he shared with all around him.

  What, he mouthed.

  She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

  Yeah, what a lie that was.

  It was everything.

  FIFTY-NINE

  They used the carriage that had been left by the stables to transport the female back to her family’s home. Tohrment took the reins up front and Darius stayed in the cabin with the female, wishing there was some comfort to give her and knowing there was little to offer. The trip was long and the thundering hooves up in front and the creaking of the seat and the clanging of tack were very loud and precluded much discussion.

  Although Darius knew well that even if their mode of transport had been whisper quiet and still as water in a goblet, their precious cargo would have uttered nothing. She had refused drink and sustenance, and did naught but focus on the landscape as they sped through farmland and village and forest.

  As they proceeded in a southerly direction, it occurred to him that the symphath must have chained her mind in some way following her initial capture, assuming this carriage was the manner in which the pair had gone up to that stone manse—otherwise she would have been at risk for dematerializing free from the rushing confines.

  Tragically, such an egress was not a worry now because she was so weak—although he had to wonder. Given her expression of painful forbearance, he had the distinct impression that she felt imprisoned even though she had regained her freedom.

  The temptation had been to send Tohrment ahead to tell her mother and father the good news that she’d been rescued, but Darius held back. A lot could happen during the trip and he needed Tohrment to drive the horses whilst he minded the female. Given the threats from humans and lessers and symphaths, both he and Tohr had their weapons out, and still, he wished he had more backup. If only there was a way to get in touch with the other Brothers and call them forth. . . .

  It was just on the verge of dawn when the exhausted horse pulled them into the village that came afore the female’s home.

  As if recognizing where they were, she lifted her head and her lips moved, her eyes growing wide and tearful.

  Leaning forward and holding out his palms, Darius said, “Be of ease . . . it shall be—”

  As her eyes shifted to his, he saw the scream she held within her soul. It shall not be, she mouthed.

  Then she dematerialized right out of the carriage.

  Darius cursed and pounded on the side panel with his fist. As Tohrment brought the horse to a clattering halt, Darius leaped out—

  She didn’t make it far.

  The flash of her white nightgown appeared in the field to the left and he followed her suit, flashing over to her as she started to run. Lacking any true vigor, her weaving gait was that of the desperate but injured and he let her go for as long as she could.

  Later, he would reflect that it was then when he knew for sure, during that mad rush she put upon them both: She couldn’t go home. It wasn’t what she had been through . . . it was what she was carrying forth from her ordeal.

  When the female tripped and fell to the ground, she did nothing to shield her belly.

  And verily, she clawed at the ground to keep going but he simply couldn’t bear to watch the struggle anymore.

  “Arrest your exertions,” he said, pulling her up from the cold grasses. “Arrest thee now . . .”

  She fought him with all the strength of a fawn and then fell still in his arms. In the frozen moment between them, her breath came out hard from her mouth and her heart raced—he could see her flickering jugular in the moonlight, could feel the quiver in her veins.

  Her voice was weak, but she meant truly what she uttered. “Do not take me back there—not even to the start of the drive. Do not render me returned.”

  “You cannot mean what you say.” With gentle hands, he pulled her hair back from her face and abruptly remembered seeing the blond strands in the brush in her room. So much had changed since she’d last sat before her vanity mirror and readied herself for a night with her blooded family. “You have been through too much to think clearly. You must needs rest and—”

  “If you take me back there, I shall run again. Do not put it upon my father to see that.”

  “You must go home—”

  “I have no home. Anymore and evermore.”

  “No one needs to know what has transpired. That it wasn’t a vampire is of aid, as no one shall ever—”

  “I am with the symphath’s young.” Her eyes grew cold and hard. “My needing came to pass the very night that he forced himself upon me and I have not bled as females do since. I am with its young.”

  Darius’s exhale was loud in the silence, his warm breath bearing forth a cloud of mist in the cool air. Well, this did change everything. If she held the young to term and brought it unto this world, there was a possibility it could pass for a vampire, but half-breeds of that sort were unpredictable. You never could be sure of the balance of the genes, whether they would lean to one of their sides over the other.

  But perhaps there was a way to implore her family. . . .

  The female grabbed the lapels of his sturdy overcoat. “Leave me for the sun. Leave me to the death I wish for. I would take mine own hand to my throat if I could but I am not that strong of arm and shoulder.”

  Darius looked back at Tohrment, who was waiting by the carriage. Calling the boy forward with his hand, Darius said to the female, “Let me talk with your father. Let me pave the way.”

  “He shall never forgive me.”

  “It was not your fault.”

  “Fault is not the quandary, the outcome is,” she said bleakly.

  As Tohrment dematerialized over and took form before them, Darius rose to his feet. “Take her back to the carriage and render you both into that stand of trees. I shall go to her father now.”

  Tohrment bent down, awkwardly arranged the female in his arms and stood. In the boy’s strong but gentle hold, Sampsone’s daughter reverted to the listless condition she had passed the trip home in, her eyes open but vacant, her head lolling to the side.

  “Take good care of her,” Darius said, tucking the female’s loose nightgown closer ’round her. “I shall return anon.”

  “Worry not,” Tohrment replied as he began striding away through the grass.

  Darius watched them go for a moment and then cast himself upon the wind, re-forming on the grounds of her family’s estate. He went directly up to the front door and put the massive lion’s head knocker to use.

  As the butler opened the portal wide, it was obvious that something terrible was afoot within the manse. His pallor was that of fog and his hands were shaking.

  “Sire! Oh, blessed be, do come in.”

  Darius frowned as he stepped through the door. “Whatever is—”

  The master of the house came forth from the males’ parlor . . . and right behind him followed the symphath whose son had triggered the series of tragedies.

  “Whatever are you doing here?” Darius demanded of the sin-eater.<
br />
  “Is my son dead. Did you kill him.”

  Darius unsheathed one of the black daggers that were strapped, handles down, to his chest. “Yes.”

  The symphath nodded once and appeared not to care. Damn reptiles. Had they no feeling for their young?

  “And the girl,” the sin-eater demanded. “What of her?”

  Darius quickly pinned the vision of a blooming apple tree to the front of his mind. Symphaths could read more than emotions and he had knowledge that he did not want to share.

  Without answering the thing, he looked at Sampsone, who seemed to have aged a hundred thousand years. “She’s alive. Your blooded daughter is . . . well and alive.”

  The symphath drifted over to the door, its long robes trailing on the marble floor. “Then we are even. My son is dead and his progeny is ruined.”

  As Sampsone put his face in his hands, Darius went after the sin-eater, grabbing its arm and yanking the thing to a halt just outside of the house. “You did not have to reveal yourself. This family has well suffered.”

  “Oh, but I must.” The symphath smiled. “Losses must be borne equally. Surely the beating heart of a warrior must respect this truth.”

  “You bastard.”

  The sin-eater leaned in. “Would you prefer that I have her kill herself? That was another path I could have trodden o’er.”

  “She did nothing to deserve this. Neither did the others of her bloodline.”

  “Oh, indeed? Perhaps my son only took what she offer—”

  Darius put both his hands upon the symphath and spun him around, slamming him into one of the massive columns that held up the mansion’s great weight. “I could kill you now.”

  The sin-eater smiled again. “Could you? I think not. Your honor will not allow you to take an innocent and I have done nothing wrong.”

  With that, the sin-eater dematerialized out of Darius’s hold and re-formed on the side lawn. “I wish that female a lifetime of suffering. May she live long and bear her burden without grace. And now, I shall go anon and deal with my son’s body.”

  The symphath disappeared, gone as if he had never existed . . . and yet the ramifications of his actions were borne out as Darius looked through the open door: The male of the great house was weeping upon the shoulder of his servant, the two taking comfort from each other.