by J. R. Ward
The execution turned out to be far trickier than I could have imagined, for a variety of reasons.
For me, one of the big challenges of Dark Lover was learning how to handle multiple plotlines and multiple POVs (points of view). The way I see it, there are three major plotlines in the book: Wrath and Beth’s; Mr. X and Billy Riddle’s; and Butch’s. In each of them, different aspects of the world are introduced, giving the reader an insight into the vampire race, its secret war with the Lessening Society, and its under-the-radar existence with humans. Which is a lot. And to complicate things even further, these plots were presented to the reader in the voices of no fewer than eight people.
Lot to handle. Lot to keep up with.
Lot to advance from chapter to chapter.
Rule number four for me as a writer? Plotlines are like sharks: They either keep moving or they die.
With so much going on, pacing was going to be critical: To be successful, I had to make sure that everything kept progressing, and here was my new reality as a writer—while I was trying to make sure I showed Wrath and Beth inching closer both emotionally and physically, I had to keep tabs on Butch and José de la Cruz’s homicide investigation, which simultaneously brought Butch into the Brotherhood picture and kept the reader up on Mr. X’s nasty deeds. Meanwhile, the other Brothers had to be introduced, I had to give an overview of the war, and then there was rolling out the welcome mat to the Scribe Virgin and the nontemporal world.
And I had to do all this without losing cohesion between the scenes, and keeping the emotions realistic and vivid without sinking into melodrama.
As a further example, Butch was going to be in the Brotherhood, and his road in was through Beth’s connection with Wrath. Butch was also going to end up with Marissa. Fine. Dandy. Rock on. The thing was, though, how did I interweave his scenes with the ones of Beth and Wrath’s romance along with all the stuff with Mr. X and the Lessening Society . . . without having the book come out choppy and incomprehensible?
Also, the plots had to “peak,” in an emotional sense, in the right sequence. Beth and Wrath had to have the most dynamic ending—and going by the pictures in my head they certainly did. But Butch’s situation and that of Mr. X and Billy Riddle had to be resolved . . . but only in a way that didn’t drain the drama from Beth and Wrath.
Brain. Cramp.
The cure? Rule number five, which is a corollary to rule three (Own Your Own Work): Sweat. Equity.
After I finished the first draft, I went through that book over and over and over and over again. And then I’d take a week off and come at it one more time. I spent hours and hours repositioning the breaks and the chapters and trimming things and sharpening the dialogue and making sure that I showed, not told.
And even when I read through the galleys, which is the last stage of production, I still wanted to change things. The book has its strengths and weaknesses, just like they all do, but I learned a ton writing Dark Lover. And I needed those lessons for what was coming in the series like you read about.
Enough on craft, let’s talk about the King and Beth. . . .
Wrath was the first of the Brothers to turn up in my head, and he was the one who showed me the world of the Black Dagger Brotherhood. The thing I like best about him is summed up in the beginning of Dark Lover: With a face that was both aristocratic and brutal, he looked like the king he was by birthright and the soldier he’d become by destiny.
—DARK LOVER, p. 3
I love that combination—a blueblood who’s also a fighter—and I believe Wrath is the perfect leader for the vampires: strong, brutal when necessary, possessing both logic and passion. He just needed to wake up to the fact that he could lead.
And Beth was the one who helped him get there.
Beth was and is Wrath’s perfect match. She’s strong-minded, warm, and willing to stand up to him. Their dynamic is shown to perfection in what is one of my favorite scenes between them. The two of them are talking about his take on what happened when his parents were slaughtered in front of him. He condemns himself for not saving them, but he was a physically weak pretrans, so realistically there was nothing he could do. Beth loses it and hammers him for being too hard on himself—which is something he needed to hear, even if he clearly wasn’t receptive to what she was saying. The thing I love is that she wasn’t dissuaded from speaking her mind even with him looming over her. And Wrath, even though he doesn’t agree with her, becomes still more attracted to her. When she’s finished being frustrated with him, there’s an awkward stretch:Ah, hell. Now she’d done it. The guy opens up to her and she throws his shame back at him. Way to encourage intimacy.
“Wrath, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
He cut her off. Both his voice and his face were like stone.
“No one has ever spoken to me as you just did.”
Shit.
“I’m really sorry. I just can’t understand why—”
Wrath dragged her into his arms and hugged her hard, talking in that other language again. When he pulled back, he ended the monologue with something like leelan.
“Is that vampire talk for bitch?”
—DARK LOVER, p. 248
The thing is, Wrath is all about strength, and the fact that Beth can stick up for herself and what she believes puts them on equal footing. The gift of his respect is as significant as the gift of his love, and she’s worthy of both.
Another of my favorite scenes in the book is when Beth comes up from Wrath’s underground bedroom at Darius’s, fresh from her transition. She’s wondering how he’ll be with her in front of his Brothers and is prepared to play it cool as she comes into the dining room where the warriors are. Turns out Wrath’s just fine with PDA (public displays of affection), and he embraces her in front of a stunned Brotherhood, who had never seen him with a female before. After he explains her significance in the Old Language, he leaves to get her the two things she’s craving, chocolate and bacon, and the Brothers greet her in a special way:There was a loud scraping noise as five chairs slid backward. The men rose as a unit. And started coming for her.
She looked to the faces of the two she knew, but their grave expressions weren’t encouraging.
And then the knives came out.
With a metallic whoosh, five black daggers were unsheathed.
She backed up frantically, hands in front of herself. She slammed into a wall and was about to scream for Wrath when the men dropped down on bended knees in a circle around her. In a single movement, as if they’d been choreographed, they buried the daggers into the floor at her feet and bowed their heads. The great whoomp of sound as steel met wood seemed both a pledge and a battle cry.
The handles of the knives vibrated.
The rap music continued to pound.
They seemed to be waiting for some kind of response from her.
“Umm. Thank you,” she said.
The men’s heads lifted. Etched into the harsh planes of their faces was total reverence. Even the scarred one had a respectful expression.
And then Wrath came in with a squeeze bottle of Hershey’s syrup.
“Bacon’s on the way.” He smiled. “Hey, they like you.”
“And thank God for that,” she murmured, looking down at the daggers.
—DARK LOVER, p. 284-285
The Brothers are greeting their new queen here, although Beth is unaware of the role she’ll play in the future, so she actually had two transitions that night: the first her becoming a vampire, and the second this welcome into Wrath and the Brotherhood’s private world as his leelan, his “dearest one.”
One of the most erotic scenes in the book? Aside from the first time they hook up, I think it’s when they’re having their date at Darius’s. The evening starts off rough (thanks to, among other things, Wrath getting into an argument with Tohr, whereupon Tohr feeds him the classic line, “Nice. Fucking. Suit”). However, the couple’s private time ends with . . . well, Wrath talking about how much he loves peaches.
The mood goes from dark and tense to sensual with this:Beth tilted forward in her chair, opened her mouth, and put her lips around the strawberry, taking it whole. Wrath’s nostrils flared as he watched her bite down. When some of the sweet juice escaped and dropped onto her chin, he hissed.
“I want to lick that off,” he muttered under his breath. He reached forward and took hold of her jaw. Lifted his napkin.
She put her hand on his. “Use your mouth.”
A low sound, from deep inside his chest, cut through the room.
Wrath leaned toward her, tilting his head. She caught a flash of his fangs as his lips opened and his tongue came out. He stroked the juice from her skin and then pulled away.
He stared at her. She looked back at him. The candles flickered.
“Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand.
—DARK LOVER, p. 201
Most touching scene? For me, it has to be the one at Havers’s clinic at the end. Wrath is still pretty wiped after having been shot in the stomach, and he’s just come out of a coma. Beth is trying to communicate with him because he’s agitated and upset, but he’s having trouble talking. She’s asked him if he needs her to get the doctor or food or drink or blood, and none of that is what he’s looking for:His eyes fixated on their linked hands and came back to her face. Then his gaze locked on their hands and returned again.
“Me?” she whispered. “You need me?”
He squeezed and wouldn’t stop.
“Oh, Wrath . . . You have me. We’re together, love.”
Tears poured out of him in a mad rush, his chest quaking from the sobs, his breathing jagged and raw.
She took his face in her hands, trying to soothe him. “It’s all right. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to leave you. I promise you. Oh, love . . .”
Eventually he relaxed a little. The tears slowed.
A croak came out of his mouth.
“What?” She leaned down.
“Wanted to . . . save you.”
“You did. Wrath, you did save me.”
His lips trembled. “Love. You.”
She kissed him gently on the mouth. “I love you, too.”
“You. Go. Sleep. Now.”
And then he closed his eyes from exhaustion.
Her vision went blurry as she put her hand over her mouth and started to smile. Her beautiful warrior was back. And trying to order her around from his hospital bed.
—DARK LOVER, p. 373
I think that pretty much says it all about them. So I’ll leave it at that.
Dark Lover was the launching pad for all the Brothers, not just for Wrath and Beth. I was very clear, even way back then, where the original seven in the Brotherhood were headed and who else was going to join the ranks. And as with all the books, the plotlines of things that wouldn’t see the light for years were started. This wasn’t because I was brilliant—but a case of scenes landing in my head that would come into play much later.
As I said, Wrath’s story is the book I’m proudest of—it was a totally fresh start that was, for the first time, truly authentic to what’s in my head. It would shock me if I ever do something like it again and pull it off to the extent I did. Wrath was a complete about-face of subject matter, tone, and voice coupled with an incredible stretch for me in terms of craft—written at a time when I was basically out of a job.
I’m really grateful Wrath came in for a landing and brought the Brothers along with him. His book is dedicated to him—with good reason.
Rhage, Son of Tohrture a.k.a. Hal E. Wood
He wanted to give her another word to say, something like luscious or whisper or strawberry. Hell, antidisestablishmentarianism would do it.
—LOVER ETERNAL, p. 63
Personal Qs (answered by Rhage):
J.R.’s Interview with Rhage
The afternoon following my interview with Wrath in that stream, I left Rehvenge’s safe house around five. I was glad I’d spent the night. Wrath and Beth and Phury and Cormia, along with the Chosen, were a great group to hang out with, and after hours of chatting I’d slept like a rock—proving that as usual the king was right: My other interviews with the Brothers were going to be better because I wasn’t half-dead from travel.
The car ride down through the Adirondacks to Caldwell was lovely. The Northway is one of my favorite highways, cutting as it does through the mountains I spent my summers in while growing up. With the leaves just past their autumnal peak, the jagged ridges on either side of the two lanes I drove were still awash in red and gold and green, the colors glowing like jewels as the sun set.
While I went along in my rental car, I thought how different the Brothers were compared to three autumns ago when their stories all started. I mean . . . so many losses and gains. So many ups and downs. I remembered that first meeting in Dark Lover, when they were in Darius’s living room right after his death . . . and then pictured them coming out of the woods to reclaim Phury as their own at the end of Lover Enshrined. Lot of changes, both good and bad.
I meet Fritz in the parking lot of a Marriott in Albany. He’s there with the Mercedes, and after locking up my rented Ford Escape, I get into the S550’s backseat and the butler drives south for at least an hour. He’s very chatty, and I love the sound of his voice: slightly accented, like Marissa’s, and with the chirpy cadence of a Mozart concerto.
I know we’re getting close when he puts up the divider and we talk through the car’s voice-activated speaker system.
When we eventually pull up in front of the mansion, night is starting to fall, and I’m glad for the courtyard’s lighting so I can see everything as he puts down the divider. He parks between Beth’s Audi and Z’s iron gray 911 Carrera 4S. On the other side of the Porsche there’s a black Hummer I don’t recognize with no chrome on it whatsoever—even the hubs are black. Without Fritz telling me, I know it has to be Qhuinn’s. It is a total spank ride, and no doubt useful for the fighting, but man, what a damn shame the thing leaves a carbon footprint like a T. rex.
Fritz confirms my unspoken conclusion about who owns it, and as I pass by, I see that the SUV has a dent in its brand-new hood . . . a dent the size of a body. A quick sniff and I smell something sweet as baby powder. This reminds me that the “boys” are now soldiers, and I get a little nostalgic for no good reason.
Fritz lets me into the mansion, takes my coat, and reports on everyone’s whereabouts—or at least where they were when he left to pick me up: Mary is over at the Pit with V and Marissa, working on a database for Safe Place. Butch, Qhuinn, and Blay are at the pistol range in the training center. John is in Tohr’s room sitting with the Brother. Rhage is upstairs, lying flat on his back next to a twelve-pack of Alka-Seltzer.
Ah, the beast.
The butler asks who I want to see first, and I ask whether he thinks Rhage would be up for talking. Fritz nods and informs me that Hollywood’s been looking forward to the distraction—so we head upstairs.
When I get to Rhage’s door, Fritz leaves and I do my own knocking.
Rhage:
(muffled) Yeah?
J.R.:
It’s me.
Rhage:
Oh, thank God. Come in.
I open the door and the bedroom is so dark, the stretch of light that slices in from the hall is consumed by a hungry blackness. Before I step forward, though, candles flare on the bureau and a table next to the bed.
Rhage:
Can’t have you tripping over things.
J.R.:
Thank you . . .
Man, Rhage doesn’t look good. He is indeed flat on his back, and there’s a lot of Alka-Seltzer next to him. He’s naked, but there’s a sheet pulled up to his waist, and as I look at him I’m reminded that he’s the biggest of the Brothers in terms of heft. He’s positively huge, even on a bed that seems big as an Olympic pool. But he is not well. His lids are down over his Bahama blue eyes, his mouth is slightly open, his belly distended as if he’s swallowed a weather balloon.
So the beast came out, huh.
Rhage:
Yeah . . . last night right before dawn. (He groans as he tries to turn over.)
J.R.:
Are you sure you want to do this right now?
Rhage:
Yup. I’m dying for distraction, and I can’t watch TV. Hey, could you get me some more Alka-Seltzer? Mary hit me with six before she left about half an hour ago, but they don’t seem to last long.
J.R.:
Absolutely.
I’m relieved to do something to help him, and I head over to where four boxes of the stuff are lined up next to a pitcher of water and a glass. I fill the glass, crack open three foil packets, and drop the chalky disks in.
J.R.:
(watching the plop-plop, fizz-fizz go to work) Maybe you should take something stronger?
Rhage:
Doc Jane tried me out on some Prilosec. Didn’t help as much.
When I turn to him, he lifts his head and I put the glass to his lips. As he drinks slowly, I feel guilty about noticing how gorgeous he is. He truly is the most beautiful male anything I’ve ever seen . . . you almost want to touch his face to make sure it’s real and not some artist’s rendering of the absolute standard of masculine splendor. He has Mount Everest cheekbones and a jaw that’s straight as an I beam and lips that are full and soft. His hair is blond with curls that go this way and that way on the pillow, and he smells amazing.
As I take the empty glass away from his mouth, Rhage opens his eyes. And I am reminded that his brilliant teal stare is even more of a knockout than his bone structure.