by J. R. Ward
“What if it works, though?” Jane rubbed her neck like it was stiff. “One thing I’ve learned about vampires is the normal rules of medicine don’t always apply. What if it kills him? Or deforms him?”
Sarah stared at the columns of numbers without seeing them. “Too bad we can’t somehow test it first—”
“I’ll do it.”
All three of them looked over to the door. Murhder was standing just inside the lab, his big body dwarfing the space between the jambs. His eyes were calm and steady, his face composed.
Like he hadn’t just volunteered to try out something that could put him in his grave. When he was perfectly healthy.
“What?” he said as Sarah and the two females continued to stare at him. “You need somebody to try it out, this transition thing. You’ve got to know whether it works and whether it’s safe, right? Before you use it on John. So I volunteer.”
Sarah cleared her throat. “This is a highly speculative theory. There are huge risks involved, and I’m not even sure I’m correct.”
“So.”
She put the sheet aside and went over to him. “Will you excuse us for a moment,” she said to no one in particular.
Out in the corridor, she made sure the door was closed behind them. “This is inherently dangerous.”
“I know.”
Looking up into his handsome face, she was struck by the need to protect him from her own idea. “I can’t let you do this—”
“You’re not making me do anything. And by the same token, you can’t prevent me from helping.”
“Murhder, I don’t want to be responsible for killing you. Bottom line. I can’t live with that—”
“You won’t remember it.” He reached out and touched her face. “My love . . . you will not remember it.”
Tears flooded her eyes, everything she had been holding back coming out all at once. As she collapsed against him, she cried for the loss that was coming, and the bravery he was showing, and the fact that of all the near misses she could have had in life, why . . . why did hers have to be true love?
Murhder held her until she was cried out, his hand making circles on her back, his body warming her even as she felt cold to the bone. When she finally eased back, he kissed her softly.
“Sarah, listen to me.” His eyes drifted away from her, so he was focusing over her shoulder, down the corridor toward the parking area. “When I came back to Caldwell, to ask the Brotherhood to help me find what turned out to be Nate . . . I knew that afterward, I wasn’t returning to where I’d been staying. I was very aware that this was the end of me, and I welcomed that. I haven’t had much of a life these past two decades, and it’s clear I don’t fit anywhere anymore. Living in an attic in an old house, talking to bats, watching humans live their lives around me? That’s all I have, and it’s all I can handle. Meeting you . . .” His stare came back to her. “Oh, Sarah. You have been the best thing that has ever happened to me. But as much as I want to fight for you, for us? The King and the Brotherhood won’t have it, and even though you and I could run, they’d find us. They’re like that. Hell, they found Ingridge. They can find anyone. You’re going to go back to the human world you’re from, and I’m not going back to that attic and rot.”
Wait, was he suggesting suicide? she thought with horror.
Before she could say anything, he gathered her hands, his thumbs stroking over her palms. “So let’s do this one thing together. Let’s you and I see if we can save John’s life. And if I die? I will be at peace that I went out on a good deed, and you won’t remember any of the pain. You’ll be free, too. This can be our thing, our mark on this world. Even if I’m gone, and you have no memories of us, if John lives? He’s proof that you and I existed.”
Sarah blinked away more tears. And it wasn’t enough. They spilled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks. For many couples, having a child was the way they cemented their love. She and Murhder would never have that immortality.
But if they saved John’s life? His children would be theirs, in a way.
“Don’t cry, my love,” he said in his accented voice. “This is a better ending than I could ever have had.”
It was a long time before she could speak.
Reaching up, she stroked his face and tried to remember each of his features with such clarity that maybe something of him would be left after they took her memories.
“Just so you know,” she said hoarsely. “You are exactly the male I think you are.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Guns going off. Tight corners in alleyways. Lack of clarity in the chaos, death a consequence of bad decision making—
“Watch out, John!”
Up on the flat screen, his avatar got drilled in the head, animated blood going flying in a spray, the zombie who’d nailed him a good one heading off to stalk Blay and Qhuinn.
The former was in charge of payback, leveling his virtual weapon and drilling the animated corpse until it was so full of holes, the bitch could have drained pasta. And the death was lit: The surround sound speakers played a symphony of enhanced bullet discharges, all movie magic with a deep bass and a high, tinny treble.
As John sat back against the foot of the bed, he extended his legs on the carpet and thought that real-life gunfire sounded nothing like that. Hollow pops, dull and flat in the ear, were more what you’d hear if it was a handgun or a rifle. Shotguns were a little more dramatic, but again, nothing like what TV or the big screen portrayed.
Glancing over at his best friends, he reflected that when the three of them had started playing these kinds of video games, they hadn’t known about actual warfare. They had been pretrans in the training program, excited about the prospects of learning to fight, and getting out and engaging the enemy, and realizing their potential as males of worth.
John had been the scrawniest of them all, and a target for Lash—God, what a pain in the ass that male had been. And meanwhile, Blay and Qhuinn had already been best friends at that point, with no hint that they’d end up together permanently as mates. Which they had. After all, some things just made sense, and the redhead with the serious, earnest disposition coupling up with the hardcore, pierced wild male was one of those equations the solution of which was just inevitable.
And they were still awesome at gaming. The two of them were both leaning over their controllers, brows down, cranked thumbs and forefingers flying as they jerked from side to side.
They should be good, though. The three of them had spent countless hours sitting together just like this, on the carpet, at the base of someone’s bed, bowls of nachos, bottles of Mountain Dew, and bags of M&M’s littering the floor. As John remembered those times now, he reflected that it was nice to think he’d gotten some of a normal childhood after all.
Sure, it had been with vampires, as a vampire—surprise! But courtesy of Blay and Qhuinn, he had found a place to belong.
And they’d stuck with him through the transitions and their matings . . . just as he had been with them through Lyric and Rhampage’s births.
As his buddies continued to play, he sat back and watched them. At least he knew that they were going to be okay after he was gone. They had each other and the twins.
“John?”
When Blay said his name, he shook himself back to the present and whistled in an ascending way, his way of throwing out a Yeah?
“You all right?” the male said as he put down his controller. “You’re awful quiet.”
I’m mute, remember, John signed with a smile.
“Ha-ha.”
Qhuinn was still playing—and like a boss, shifting left and right, running his avi back and forth, coordinating his finger movements perfectly to control action on the screen.
He’s really great at this, John signed.
“That’s why they made him a Brother.”
As Blay looked at his mate, his eyes shined with a shy love and an obvious affection, and John tried to think of the last time the three of them had hu
ng out together. Months? Longer? There was always so much going on, especially for them with the young. There was also the rotation schedule that sometimes put them together, sometimes did not.
I’ve missed you guys, he signed.
Blay unscrewed the top of a fresh Mountain Dew. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it. Why don’t we do this more often?”
Life gets in the way, John signed as he refocused on the screen.
They both started cheering for the last man standing, as it were.
It was such a shame, John thought to himself, that it took death to make him appreciate the living so much.
When he’d assumed that he had an infinite amount of time in front of him, there had been a lack of urgency to catch up and connect with those who mattered. Thanks to the sense that he could do something like this on any given night, he’d fallen into a complacency that allowed the unimportant to overshadow the truly critical.
Youth wasted on the young.
Life on the living.
“Are you sure you’re okay, John?” Blay asked.
“The good news is that night is almost over,” Murhder said as he closed the door to the patient room. “They can’t make me take you back now. I won’t be able to drive you to your house in Ithaca in time.”
God, he hated the idea of letting her go.
Sarah smiled a little. “No sunlight for you.”
He didn’t like the dark circles under her eyes, or how pale she was. As she and Jane had worked in the lab, analyzing samples and consulting with Havers, the race’s longtime healer, Murhder had brought them a proper meal made to his exact specifications by Fritz. Chicken. Rice pilaf. Green beans. Rolls, and pie for dessert. Coffee.
That had been an hour ago . . . right around the time they had confirmed with Havers that a synthetic version of growth hormone, human in derivation, would at least theoretically work—and “work” apparently meant “might not completely kill the guinea pig.” Not that Murhder particularly cared one way or the other.
He had fought for so long: Lessers, humans if he had to, his Brothers if there was an argument. After that, he had fought Xhex’s relatives. Those scientists.
Insanity.
That last one had been the longest-lived of his foes.
Now, though, he was ready to put down his swords, his shield. He was prepared to lay himself bare to fate’s decree for him, the life-or-death outcome not anything he had any control over—and not something he was overly worried about.
It was breathtakingly easy. And calm.
A placid acceptance smoothing choppy waters.
He refocused on Sarah. She was pacing around the patient room, and though he wanted to bring her ease, he knew better than to try to quell her nervous energy.
“Havers is sourcing the somatropin from a confidential contact at a New England hospital.” Sarah put her arms around herself and continued to walked back and forth in the short space. “We should be able to get it by three in the afternoon. If you . . .” She stopped and cleared her throat. “Assuming you can tolerate it, and depending on what your body does, we can get a second dose for John.”
She stopped abruptly and faced him. “Are you sure you want to do this?” When Murhder nodded, she came forward with urgency. “I need you to understand the risks here. We have no idea how you’re going to react to a dose sufficient to simulate what goes on during the transition. I know you’ve arranged for a feeding beforehand, but this is—”
Murhder stepped up to her and put his finger on her lips. “Shh. We have some time now. Let’s not waste it.”
“Murhder, I’m serious. I’m worried about this. All the logical conclusions in the world sometimes make no sense—”
“There’s hot water over there.” He pointed over his shoulder. “How does a shower sound. I’ll wash your back, you wash mine?”
She leveled a stare on him. “You’re not going to talk to me about the experiment, are you?”
“Nope. My mind’s made up.”
Her face was still all intense, her eyes flashing, her lips pursed, but she let him draw her into the tiled bathroom. And then he was checking out the shower. The stall took up one whole wall and even had a bench. Handrails. Grips to steady oneself.
He couldn’t have designed it better himself.
Sliding the glass door back, he fired up the hot water and turned to his female. “I want to taste you. All of you.”
She had put on a lab coat at some point, and one by one, he unfastened the three big buttons down the front. Dropping it off her shoulders, he went for the scrubs underneath, pulling the boxy blue top up and over her head, easing the loose blue bottoms down past her thighs.
Her underwear was gone. She had a sports bra on and nothing else.
“I borrowed this,” she murmured as she snapped the tight nylon band around her breasts. “They have extra ones for the trainees in case something snaps during the drills.”
Murhder was totally distracted by the sight of her sex, but he got back to work with the undressing of her, sliding his thumbs under the sports bra and moving it up. As her breasts popped free, he couldn’t resist. He latched on to one of her nipples, licking, sucking, kissing.
As she speared her fingers through his long hair, and urged him ever closer to her naked skin, he tore the shirt he’d borrowed in half, buttons popping off and bouncing over the tile floor, the silk ripping. He was no kinder with the slacks, yanking, jerking—
Finally, they were naked.
Under the warm spray, he found her lips again as his hands coasted over the curves of her body. Knowing this was probably his last time with her—even though it was only his third, if he counted right—he took his time, cupping her ass, kneading the flesh.
His fangs extended, and he wanted to go for her neck. But he held off.
Kneeling in front of her, he kissed his way down her abdomen, teasing her belly button with his tongue, cupping her breasts as he stared up at her.
“My Sarah . . .” he groaned as he circled her thigh with his hand. “Give me what I want.”
Lifting her leg, he put it over his shoulder and went in, leading with his tongue, delving into her sex, worshiping her with his mouth. Over the fall of the water, he heard her cry his name and then she fell back into the bench.
Perfect. He had more access this way.
He pleasured her with his mouth until she orgasmed against his lips, her hips undulating, her core kissing him back as she came. And he didn’t let her stop. There was too much to learn, especially as he added his long fingers, penetrating her, finding a new rhythm.
He watched her the entire time, her head back, the water falling, warm rain, on her closed eyes, her open mouth, her tight nipples and full breasts.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
And he wished they had more time.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Sarah stretched her arms up the warm tile of the shower and let her head go loose. She could not remember ever being so free with her body. She wasn’t thinking about whether her breasts had fallen off to the sides, or when she had shaved under her arms last, or if the man between her legs was pleasuring her because he thought he needed to in that way as opposed to actually wanted to.
She had nothing in her mind except the sensation of his fingers going in and out of her and the way that incredible tongue of his lapped around the top of her sex . . . and then she looked down to see what he was doing.
As she met his bright peach eyes, there were too many orgasms to count that followed.
And then he stopped.
Rousing herself, she lifted her seven-hundred-pound head and tried to focus—
He was smiling at her. And not in a Mr. Lover-Lover way. In a you-are-beautiful way.
She wanted to smile back. But she noticed how long his fangs were. How hungry his eyes were. How intense his scent was.
Sitting up, but keeping her legs spread, she parted his mouth with her forefinger and stroked one of his
long canines.
“I want to know what it’s like.” When he immediately shook his head, she said, “This is my only chance. And I know you want it, too.”
His broad chest, with its strange circular scar, started to pump, and that purr vibrated up his throat. “Sarah . . .”
Resuming her sprawl on the bench, she tilted her head to the side, exposing her jugular. “Take me.”
There was no way to adequately describe the erotic way his lips parted and the razor-sharp tips of his fangs flashed in the overhead light.
“I won’t take too much,” he vowed in a guttural voice.
“I know. I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
She shook her head sadly. “I will always have more faith in you than you do.”
His eyes glowed neon as he moved up her body, taking her mouth in a bruising kiss. And then, between her legs, she felt him enter her again—but not with his arousal. It was his fingers, again. Two of them. Sliding in and out.
She should have been satiated by now, but he made her ravenous all over again.
And just as she began orgasming once more, he broke off from the kiss, and she braced herself for the penetration at her throat.
The strike did not come at her neck.
As the rhythmic constrictions of her sex filled her whole body with starbursts of ecstasy, she felt a blazing pain on the inside of her leg, where her thigh joined her torso . . . barely an inch from her pulsating core.
Crying out, her lids popped wide and she looked down to see his head lowered.
He was in her skin, in her vein, and oh, God, he started sucking, his satin lips pulling at the puncture wounds, his red-and-black hair fanning over her hips, his fingers still going in and out of her—
There were no words to describe what she felt, the overload of sensation taking her to another plane of existence, liberating her out of her corporeal form, sending her to heaven. The pain where his fangs had entered her was sharp as a knife and it reignited with every swallow he took, but the pleasure was a roar, a wildfire, all-consuming in its intensity and duration.