by J. R. Ward
Five years later . . .
“I’ve got her!” Phury called out to Bella as he scooped his niece up into his arms. Nalla giggled and buried her little face in his hair, which she loved to do, holding on to him with her strong grip.
Bella came racing around the corner of the Brotherhood’s library and then stopped short, her silver gown settling in a lovely swirl around her legs. The diamonds around her neck sparkled like fire, as did the ones on her wrists and at her ears.
“Oh, thank God,” she said. “I swear she’s as fast as her father.”
“You look so spectacular,” Cormia said from behind him.
“Thanks.” Bella fiddled with the gown. “This is not my usual style, but—”
“It barely does you justice.” Zsadist came into the library, looking like a vicious version of Cary Grant. His tuxedo fit every tight line of his body and mostly hid the SIG under his arm.
He did the stern thing as he shook his finger at his daughter. “Now, are you going to be good for your uncle and your aumahne?”
Nalla nodded gravely, as if she had just agreed to assume leadership of the continental United States. “Yes, Daddy.”
Z’s smile pretty much lit up the galaxy. “That’s my girl.”
Nalla grinned and held out her arms. “Kisses, Daddy.”
Z took her for a hug, and then she was reaching for her mother.
“Okay,” Zsadist said, all business as he passed his daughter over to his shellan. “We’ll be at the Met until eleven. Then we’re having dinner back at Wrath’s place. I have my beeper, my cell phone, my BlackBerry—”
Phury clapped his twin on the shoulder. “Take a deep one, my brother. In with the good air.”
Zsadist did the best he could. “Right. I mean, I know you’ll be fine with her. I mean, you’ll be fine . . . you’re all going to be just fine—”
Phury checked his watch. “And you’re going to be late. You’ll be lucky to get there by the time the intermezzo starts.”
“I’m so excited,” Bella said, giving Nalla back to Phury. “Mascagni’s Cavalleria Rusticana. It’s going to be fantastic.”
“Assuming you can get your baby daddy out the house.” Phury gave his twin a little shake. “Go. Be with your shellan. It’s your anniversary, for God’s sake.”
They left the library about twenty minutes later. Maybe twenty-five.
Phury shook his head. “He’s got some serious separation issues, that one.”
“Oh, and you’re much better?”
Phury turned around. Cormia was on the couch, their sleeping son, Ahgony—or Aggie, as he was known—in her arms. The young’s fat fist was holding on to his mother’s thumb, as was his habit even when he was out like a light.
“I resemble that remark.”
“Story, Uncle?” Nalla said. “Please?”
“Of course, which would you like?” Even though he knew.
As he sat down on the couch next to Cormia, Nalla pointed to the book of fables he had made for her. “The one of the warrior.”
“Now, that’s a surprise.” He winked at Cormia. “Do you mean the one with the warrior and the maiden?”
“No, Uncle. T’other one.”
“The warrior and the ship.”
Nalla giggled. “No, Uncle!”
Phury nodded with grand seriousness. “Right. The warrior and the game of pinochle.”
Nalla looked confused. “What knuckle?”
Cormia laughed, her beautiful green stare so lovely Phury couldn’t look away. For a moment, he was struck once again by the fact that their son had his mother’s eyes, that incredible shade of spring leaves.
As Nalla squirmed, Cormia said, “Phury, don’t torture her.”
Phury settled his niece on his lap, kissed his shellan, and brushed the smooth cheek of his son. Then he opened the book and started to read in the Old Language.
“‘There once was a warrior strong of limb and stout of heart, who tarried in the woods upon a windy day. . . .”
Aggie’s eyes opened and he let out the sound that young did when all was well with them, a kind of contented bubbly sigh. Phury recognized it well, because he’d heard it a lot from Nalla and now from Aggie. The sound was something they did when their bellies were full and their parents were right with them and a voice they found pleasing to the ear was embarking on a story.
As Phury lost the rhythm of his words, Cormia reached out and squeezed his hand.
She always knew, he thought. She always knew. . . . She knew he was thinking of his parents and of his brother, of the past and the future, of hopes and dreams and fears.
She knew everything that was in his head and everything that was in his heart, and none of it put her off. She knew he worried about staying sober, even after all these years. And knew he was glad their son looked like her, because he took it as a sign that whatever biological link to addiction he carried might not have been passed on to the young. And she knew that he still struggled with feeling like he wasn’t doing enough for everyone around him.
She knew all of this and she loved him anyway.
He kissed the inside of her wrist and looked at the next generation. He hoped that life had only good things in store for the young, that the moonlit night would always be clear for them, and that the wind would always be gentle, and that their heart’s deepest love would be returned by a worthy mate.
But he knew it wasn’t going to be easy, and they would face challenges he couldn’t even imagine.
Here was the thing, though: He had faith in what he saw in those eyes of theirs. Because they came, on both sides, from survivors. And that, more than any guarantee of an easy life, was going to see them through.
Phury cleared his throat.
And kept on reading to them.
So those are just a few examples of what I’ve taken out. You’ll note there isn’t anything from Dark Lover, because Wrath’s manuscript was tight from the get-go—with only that scene I’ve posted on my Web site (www.jrward.com) being deleted. There isn’t much from Lover Eternal, because again, I used almost all of the Butch and Marissa material in Lover Revealed. Lover Unbound was likewise tight.
There are a couple more scenes in old files. It was so much fun rereading these, maybe someday I’ll go back and see what else I can find!
Kicks and Siggles
One of the greatest things about writing the Brothers is the way they crack me up. On a regular basis, I’ll be at the computer upstairs, laughing my butt off at one thing or another. Butch reliably throws out some good ones, Rhage and Vishous are always quick with the comebacks, and Qhuinn is doing the next generation proud when it comes to being an ass.
I’ve taken some of my absolute favorite exchanges from the books, the ones that made me bark out loud and caused the dog to look at me funny, and excerpted them below.
Dark Lover
Wrath glared. “Nice of you to show up, Z. Busy tonight with the females?”
“How about you get off my dick?” Zsadist went over to the comer, staying away from the rest.
p. 30
Wrath was dumbfounded.
And he wasn’t a vampire who got struck stupid very often.
Holy shit.
This half-human was the hottest thing he’d ever gotten anywhere near. And he’d cozied up to a Lightning strike once or twice before.
p. 64
If sex were food, Rhage would have been morbidly obese.
p. 81
Wrath clapped his brother on the shoulder. On the whole, though, the SOB was a total keeper. “Forgiven, forgotten.”
“Feel free to hammer me anytime.”
“Believe me, I do.”
p. 84
God knew the Omega was always receptive to initiative and new directions.
And would have benefited from some Ritalin when it came to loyalty.
p. 86
The human reached inside Wrath’s jacket and started pulling out weapons. Three throwing stars, a switchblad
e, a handgun, a length of chain.
“Jesus Christ,” the cop muttered as he dropped the steel links on the ground with the rest of the load. “You got some ID? Or wasn’t there enough room in here for a wallet, considering you’re carrying about thirty pounds of concealed weapons?” p. 111
Giving in to a shrill instinct, she ran around the side of the building.
Butch was marching toward his car as if he were carrying an unstable load, and she rushed to catch up with them.
“Wait. I need to ask him a question.”
“You want to know his shoe size or something?” Butch snapped.
“Fourteen,” Wrath drawled.
“I’ll remember that at Christmas, asshole.”
p. 113
“No, thanks.” Rhage laughed. “I’m a good little sewer, as you know firsthand. Now who’s your friend?”
“Beth Randall, this is Rhage. An associate of mine. Rhage, this is Beth, and she doesn’t do movie stars, got it?”
“Loud and clear.” Rhage leaned to one side, trying to see around Wrath. “Nice to meet you, Beth.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?” she said weakly.
“Nah. This one’s just messy. When you can use your large intestine as a belt loop, that’s when you hit the pros.”
p. 131
“You have cable?” He nodded toward her TV.
She tossed him the clicker. “Sure do. And if I remember, there’s a Godzilla marathon on TBS tonight.”
“Sweet,” the vampire said, kicking his legs out. “I always root for the monster.”
She smiled at him. “Me, too.”
p. 166
“And I left the aspirin next to the phone with a tall glass of water. Figured you weren’t going to be able to make it to the coffeepot. Take three, turn your ringer off, and sleep. If anything exciting happens, I’ll come and get you.”
“I love you, honey.”
“So buy me a mink and a nice pair of earrings for our anniversary.”
“You got it.”
p. 168
A hand landed on his shoulder like an anvil. “How’d you like to stay for dinner?”
Butch looked up. The guy was wearing a baseball cap and had some kind of marking—was that a tattoo, on his face?
“How’d you like to be dinner?” said another one, who looked like some kind of model.
p. 258
With a deliberate shrug, he stepped free of the hold on his shoulder.
“Tell me something, boys,” he drawled. “Do you wear that leather to turn each other on? I mean, is it a dick thing with you all?”
Butch got slammed so hard against the door that his back teeth rattled.
The model shoved his perfect face into Butch’s. “I’d watch your mouth, if I were you.”
“Why bother, when you’re keeping an eye on it for me? You gonna kiss me now?” A growl like none Butch had ever heard came out of the guy.
“Okay, okay.” The one who seemed the most normal came forward. “Back off, Rhage. Hey, come on. Let’s relax.”
It took a minute before the model let go.
“That’s right. We’re cool,” Mr. Normal muttered, clapping his buddy on the back before looking at Butch. “Do yourself a favor and shut the hell up.”
Butch shrugged. “Blondie’s dying to get his hands on me. I can’t help it.”
The guy launched back at Butch, and Mr. Normal rolled his eyes, letting his friend go this time.
The fist that came sailing at jaw level snapped Butch’s head to one side. As the pain hit, Butch let his own rage fly. The fear for Beth, the pent-up hatred of these lowlifes, the frustration about his job, all of it came out of him. He tackled the bigger man, taking him down onto the floor.
The guy was momentarily surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Butch’s speed or strength, and Butch took advantage of the hesitation. He clocked Blondie in the mouth as payback and then grabbed the guy’s throat.
One second later, Butch was flat on his back with the man sitting on his chest like a parked car.
The guy took Butch’s face into his hand and squeezed, crunching the features together. It was nearly impossible to breathe, and Butch panted shallowly.
“Maybe I’ll find your wife,” the guy said, “and do her a couple of times. How’s that sound?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Then I’m coming after your girlfriend.”
Butch dragged in some air. “Got no woman.”
“So if the chicks won’t do you, what makes you think I’d want to?”
“Was hoping to piss you off.”
Stunning electric-blue eyes narrowed.
They had to be contacts, Butch thought. No one really had peepers that color.
“Now why’d you want to do that?” Blondie asked.
“If I attacked first”—Butch hauled more breath into his lungs—“your boys wouldn’t have let us fight. Would’ve killed me first. Before I had a chance at you.”
Blondie loosened his grip a little and laughed as he stripped Butch of his wallet, keys, and cell phone.
“You know, I kind of like this big dummy,” the guy drawled.
Someone cleared a throat. Rather officiously.
Blondie leaped to his feet, and Butch rolled over, gasping. When he looked up, he was convinced he was hallucinating.
Standing in the hall was a little old man dressed in livery. Holding a silver tray. “Pardon me, gentlemen. Dinner will be served in about fifteen minutes.”
“Hey, are those the spinach crepes I like so much?” Blondie said, going for the tray.
“Yes, Sire.”
“Hot damn.”
The other men clustered around the butler, taking what he offered. Along with cocktail napkins. Like they didn’t want to drop anything on the floor.
What the hell was this?
“Might I ask a favor?” the butler said.
Mr. Normal nodded with vigor. “Bring out another tray of these and we’ll kill anything you want for you.”
Yeah, guess the guy wasn’t really normal. Just relatively so.
The butler smiled as if touched. “If you’re going to bloody the human, would you be good enough to do it in the backyard?”
“No problem.” Mr. Normal popped another crepe in his mouth. “Damn, Rhage, you’re right. These are awesome.”
pp. 258-260
“So what’d you do to the lesser?” a male voice said.
“I lit his cigarette with a sawed-off,” another one answered. “He didn’t come down for breakfast, you feel me?”
p. 283
“Tohr, relax. I’m a female, I cry at matings. It’s in the job description.”
p. 329
“Hopefully, you won’t have to. Now tell me something. What’s your word for husband?”
“Hellren, I suppose. The short version is just hell.”
She laughed softly. “Go figure.”
p. 347
Rhage nodded. “The place is also big enough. We could all live there without killing each other.”
“That depends more on your mouth than any floor plan,” Phury said with a grin.
p. 390
“Yeah.” Rhage sighed. “All I want is one good female. But I guess I’ll settle for quantity until I find her. Life just sucks, doesn’t it?”
p. 393
Lover Eternal
“All right, big guy, down you go.”
Oh, yeah. Bed. Bed was good.
“And look who’s here. It’s Nurse Vishous.”
p. 47
“So say that.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Say nothing. Over and over and over again. Do it.”
She bristled, the scent of fear replaced by a sharp spice, like fresh, pungent mint from a garden. She was annoyed now.
“Say it,” he commanded, needing to feel more of what she did to him.
“Fine. Nothing. Nothing.” Abruptly she laughed, and the sound shot through t
o his spine, burning him. “Nothing, nothing. No-thing. No-thing. Noooooothing. There, is that good enough for you? Will you let me go now?”
“No.”
She fought against him again, creating a delicious friction between their bodies. And he knew the moment when the anxiety and irritation turned to something hot. He smelled her arousal, a lovely sweetening in the air, and his body answered her call.
He got hard as a diamond.
“Talk to me, Mary.” He moved his hips in a slow circle against her, rubbing his erection on her belly, increasing his ache and her heat.
After a moment the tension eased out of her, softening her against the thrust of his muscles and his arousal. Her hands flattened on his waist. And then slowly slid around to the small of his back, as if she were unsure why she was responding to him the way she was.
He arched against her, to show his approval and encourage her to touch more of him. When her palms moved up his spine, he growled low in his throat and dropped his head down so his ear was closer to her mouth. He wanted to give her another word to say, something like luscious or whisper or strawberry.
Hell, antidisestablishmentarianism would do it.
pp. 62-63
“Christ. You can be a real pain in the ass, you know that? No impulse control but totally single-minded. Helluva combination.”
p. 74
“Okay, whadda we got here,” he said, opening his own. “Let’s have the Chicken Alfredo. The NY strip, rare. And a cheeseburger, also rare. Double on the fries. And some nachos. Yeah, I want the nachos with everything on them. Double that, too, will you?”