The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4

by J. R. Ward

  “—because I had to go through it, too.”

  She looked at him. “Did you learn you were one out of the blue also?”

  It wasn’t a challenge. More like she was hoping she had common ground with someone. Anyone.

  “I knew who my parents were,” he said, “but they were dead by the time my transition hit. I was alone. I didn’t know what to expect. So I know what the confusion feels like.”

  Her body fell back against the pillows. “Was my mother one, too?”

  “She was human, from what Darius told me. Vampires have been known to breed with them, although it’s rare for the infants to survive.”

  “Can I stop the change? Can I stop this from happening?”

  He shook his head.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “You’re going to feel—”

  “Not me. Will I hurt you?”

  Wrath swallowed his surprise. No one worried about him. Vampires and humans alike feared him. His race worshiped him. But none were ever concerned for him. He didn’t know how to handle the sentiment.

  “No. It won’t hurt me.”

  “Could I kill you?”

  “I won’t let you.”

  “Promise?” she said urgently, sitting up and gripping his forearm.

  He couldn’t believe he was taking a vow to protect himself. At her request.

  “I promise you.” He reached his hand out to cover hers, but stopped before he made contact.

  “When will it happen?”

  “I can’t tell you that for sure. But soon.”

  She let go, settling against the pillows. Then she curled on her side away from him.

  “Maybe I’ll wake up,” she murmured. “Maybe I’ll still wake up.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Butch drank his first Scotch in one swallow. Big mistake. His throat was raw, and it felt like he’d French-kissed a blowtorch. As soon as he stopped coughing, he ordered another from Abby.

  “We’re going to find her,” José said, putting his beer down.

  The other detective was sticking to the light stuff, but then José had to go home to his family. Butch, on the other hand, was free to behave as badly as he wished.

  José played with his mug, twisting it around in circles on the bar. “You shouldn’t blame yourself, Detective.”

  Butch laughed and threw back Scotch number two. “Yeah, there’s a huge list of people who were in my car with that suspect.” He lifted his finger to get Abby’s attention. “I’m dry again.”

  “Not for long.” She jiggled right over with the single-malt, smiling at him while she tipped the bottle into his glass.

  José shifted in his bar stool as if he didn’t approve of Butch’s Scotch velocity and the effort of keeping his lip zipped was making him squirm.

  As Abby went over to another customer, Butch glanced at José.

  “I’m going to get ugly wasted tonight. You shouldn’t stick around.”

  José popped some peanuts into his mouth. “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “I’ll cab it home.”

  “Naw. I’ll hang until you’re through. Then I’ll drag you back to your apartment. Watch you throw up for an hour. Push you into bed. Before I leave I’ll get the coffee machine set up. Aspirin will be right next to the sugar bowl.”

  “I don’t have a sugar bowl.”

  “So it’ll be next to the bag.”

  Butch smiled. “You’d have made a great wife, José.”

  “That’s what mine tells me.”

  They were silent until Abby poured number four.

  “The throwing stars I peeled off that suspect,” Butch said. “Where do we stand with them?”

  “Same as the ones we found at the car bomb and around Cherry’s body. Typhoons. Three-point-one ounces of four-forty stainless steel. Four-inch diameter. Removable center weight. You can get ’em off the Internet for about twelve bucks a pop or buy them through martial-arts academies. And no, there were no prints.”

  “The other weapons?”

  “Flashy set of knives. The boys in the lab got a real hard-on for them. Composite metal, diamond hard, beautifully made by hand. No identifying manufacturer. Gun was your standard nine-millimeter Beretta, model 92G-SD. Real well cared for, and naturally the serial number had been etched off. The freaky thing was the bullets. Never seen anything like ’em. Hollow, filled with some kind of liquid. The boys think it’s just water. But why would someone do that?”

  “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And no prints.”

  “Nope.”

  “On anything.”

  “Nope.” José finished the bowl of peanuts and trolled his hand to get Abby’s eye for more. “That suspect’s slick. Neat as a pin. A real professional. Wanna bet he’s moved up north from the Big Apple? He doesn’t sound Caldwell home-grown.”

  “Tell me that while I was wasting time with those damn EMTs we checked with the NYPD.”

  Abby came over with more nuts and more Scotch.

  “We’re doing ballistics on the gun, just to see if there are any unusual characteristics,” José said evenly. “Checking the money to see if it’s hot. First thing in the morning we’ll give the New York boys everything we got, but it’s not going to be much.”

  Butch cursed as he watched the bowl get refilled.

  “If anything happens to Beth…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

  “We’ll find them.” José paused. “And God help him if he hurts her.”

  Yeah, Butch would personally go after the guy.

  “God help him,” he vowed, making room in his glass for another shot.

  Wrath was exhausted as he sat on the couch and waited for Beth to speak again. His body felt as though it were sinking in on itself, his bones weakening under their burden of flesh and muscle.

  As he replayed the scene in the station house’s alley, he realized he hadn’t stripped the cop of his memory. Which meant the police were going to be looking for him with an accurate description.

  Damn it. He’d been so caught up in the fricking drama, he’d forgotten to protect himself.

  He was getting sloppy. And sloppy was dangerous.

  “How did you know about the orgasms?” Beth asked abruptly.

  He stiffened. And so did his cock, just at hearing the word leave her lips.

  Moving his body around to make some room in his pants, he wondered if he could avoid answering her. He didn’t want to talk right now about the sex they’d had. Not with her lying in that bed. Mere feet away from him.

  He thought of her skin. Soft. Smooth. Warm.

  “How did you know?” she prompted.

  “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Was it different with you because you’re not…you’re a…Hell, I can’t even say the word.”

  “Maybe.” He brought his palms together, linking his fingers tight. “I don’t know.”

  Because it had been different for him, too, even though technically she was still a human.

  “He’s not my lover. Butch. The cop. He’s not.”

  Wrath felt his breath ease out of him. “I’m glad.”

  “So if you see him again, don’t kill him.”

  “Okay.”

  There was a long pause, and then he heard her shifting around on the bed. The satin sheets made a soft sound as she moved.

  He pictured her thighs rubbing against each other and then saw himself opening them with his hands. Nudging them farther apart with his head. Kissing a path down to where he so desperately wanted to be.

  He swallowed, his skin turning into shrink-wrap.

  “Wrath?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You really didn’t mean to sleep with me last night, did you?”

  Hazy images of her had him closing his eyes. “No, I didn’t.”

  “So why did you?”

  How could he not have? he thought, jaw clenching. He’d been powerless to lea
ve her alone.

  “Wrath?”

  “Because I had to,” he replied, stretching his arms, trying to find some ease. His heart thundered in his chest, his instincts coming alive, as if he were in battle. He could hear the breath leave her lips, her heart as it pumped, her blood as it flowed.

  “Why?” she whispered.

  He should go. He should leave her alone.

  “Tell me why.”

  “You made me realize how cold I am.”

  More shifting on the bed.

  “I liked warming you,” she said huskily. “I liked the feel of you.”

  Dark hunger curled in his gut, cramping up his stomach.

  Wrath stopped breathing. Waited to see if it would pass. The gnawing sensation grew stronger.

  Shit, that sinful need wasn’t just about sex. It was about blood.

  Hers.

  He stood up quickly and put more space between them. He definitely needed to get out of here. Hit the streets. Find a fight.

  And he needed to feed.

  “Look, I’ve got to take off. But I want you to crash here.”

  “Don’t go.”

  “I have to.”

  “Why?”

  His mouth opened, his fangs throbbing as they elongated.

  And his teeth weren’t the only thing demanding to be used. His erection was a painful, rigid length straining against his fly. He felt himself get stretched between the two needs. Sex. Blood.

  Both hers.

  “Are you running away?” she whispered. It was mostly a question. Only a little bit of a taunt.

  “Be careful, Beth.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m about to crack over here.”

  She got off the bed and came to him. Her hand landed squarely on his chest, right above his heart. And then her other one wrapped around his waist.

  He hissed as she stepped into his body.

  But at least the sexual need cut through his other hunger.

  “Are you going to tell me no?” she asked.

  “I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’ve been through enough tonight.”

  She gripped his shoulders. “I’m angry. Scared. Confused. I want you to make love to me until I don’t feel, until I’m numb. If anything, I’d be using you.” She looked down. “God that sounds awful.”

  The hell it did. He was more than willing to be used like that by her.

  He tilted her chin up with his forefinger. Even though her rich scent told him exactly what her body needed from him, he wished he could see her face clearly.

  “Don’t leave,” she whispered.

  He didn’t want to, but his bloodlust put her in danger. She needed to be strong for her change. And he was thirsty enough to drain her dry.

  Her hand left his waist. And found his erection.

  His body jerked wildly, breath slamming into his lungs. His gasp shattered the silence in the room.

  “You want me,” she said. “And I want you to take me.”

  She rubbed her palm over his length, the friction passing with aching clarity through the second skin of his leathers.

  Just sex. He could do it. He could hold back the other need. He could.

  But was he willing to bet her life on his control?

  “Don’t say no, Wrath.”

  And then she lifted up onto her tiptoes and put her lips to his.

  Game over, he thought, crushing her to him.

  He thrust his tongue into her mouth as he grabbed her hips and ground himself into her hand. Her moan of satisfaction cranked him even higher, and as her nails bit into his back, he loved the little bursts of pain he felt because they meant she was as hungry as he was.

  He had her on the bed and under him in a flash of movement, and he pushed up her skirt and tore off her panties with vicious impatience. He didn’t treat her blouse or bra any better. There would be time to savor later. Now was all about raw sex.

  While he worked her breasts with his mouth, her hands were rough as she pulled his shirt from his chest. He left her only long enough to undo his pants and spring his erection. Then he linked his forearm behind one of her knees, stretched her leg up, and plunged himself into her body.

  He heard her gasp at his powerful entry, and her slick heat grabbed onto him, pulsating as she came. He froze in place, absorbing the sensation of her release, feeling her core stroke him.

  An overwhelming, possessive instinct flashed through him.

  With dread, he realized he wanted to mark her. Mark her as his. He wanted that special scent all over her so no other male would come near her. So that they would know whom she belonged to. So that they would fear the repercussions of wanting to possess her for themselves.

  Except he knew he had no right to do that. She wasn’t his.

  He felt her body go still underneath him, and he looked down.

  “Wrath?” she whispered. “Wrath, what’s wrong?”

  He made a move to pull out of her, but she caught his face in her hands.

  “Are you all right?”

  The concern for him in her voice was what did it.

  With an awesome surge, his body leaped out of reach of his mind. Before he could think any further, before he could stop, he propped himself up on his arms and pounded into her, taking her hard, drilling her. The bed’s headboard banged against the wall to the beat of his thrusts, and she grabbed onto his straining wrists, trying to hold herself in place.

  A low sound shot through the room, growing louder and louder, until he realized the growl was coming from him. As a fevered heat broke out all over his skin, his nose registered that dark fragrance of possession.

  He was powerless to stop himself.

  His lips peeled off his teeth as his muscles churned and his hips thrashed against her. Drenched in sweat, head spinning, mindless, breathless, he took everything she was offering him. Took it and demanded more, becoming an animal as she became one, too, until they were nothing but wildness.

  He came violently, filling her up, pumping into her, his orgasm going on and on and on, until he realized she was climaxing right along with him, the two of them holding on to each other for dear life against shattering waves of passion.

  It was the most perfect union he’d ever known.

  And then everything turned into a nightmare.

  As the last shudder left his body and went into hers, at that moment when he was finally spent, the balance of his desires was thrown. His bloodlust surged forward in a wicked, consuming rush, as powerful as the lust had been.

  He bared his teeth and went for her neck, for the vein deliciously close to the surface of her pale skin. His fangs were about to sink deep, his throat dry with thirst for her, his gut spasming with a starvation that cut to his soul, when he pulled himself up short, horrified by what he was about to do.

  He pushed himself away from her, scrambling across the bed until he fell to the floor, landing on his ass.

  “Wrath?” In alarm she started for him.

  “No!”

  The hunger for her blood was too strong, the instinct undeniable. If she got too close…

  He moaned, trying to swallow. His throat was like sandpaper. Sweat broke out all over him again, but this time it was in a sickening flush.

  “What happened? What did I do?”

  Wrath crawled backward, his body aching, his skin on fire. The smell of her sex on him was like a whip against his self-control.

  “Beth, leave me. I’ve got to…”

  But she was still coming at him. His body slammed into the couch.

  “Get the fuck back!” He bared his fangs and hissed loudly. “You get any closer and I’m going to bite you, got it?”

  She stopped immediately. Terror clouded the air between them, but then she shook her head.

  “You wouldn’t hurt me,” she said with a conviction that struck him as dangerously naive.

  He struggled to speak. “Get dressed. Go upstairs. Ask Fritz to take yo
u home. I’ll send someone to watch over you.”

  He was panting now, the pain ripping through his stomach, almost as bad as it had been that first night of his transition. He’d never needed Marissa like this.

  Jesus. What was happening to him?

  “I don’t want to leave.”

  “You have to. I’ll send someone to keep you safe until I can get back to you.”

  His thighs shook, the muscles straining against the hold he’d clamped down on his body. His mind and his physical needs had declared war, had marched onto the battlefield with swords drawn. And he knew which one was going to win if she didn’t get away from him.

  “Beth, please. It hurts. And I don’t know how long I can hold myself back.”

  She hesitated. And then yanked her clothes on.

  She went to the door and looked back at him.

  “Go.”

  And she did.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was a little after nine when Mr. X hit the drive-through at McDonald’s. “I’m glad you both liked the movie. And I have in mind something else tonight, although we’ll have to be quick about it. One of you needs to be home by eleven.”

  Billy cursed under his breath as they pulled up in front of the lit menu. He ordered twice as much as Loser did. Loser offered to pay for his share.

  “That’s all right. My treat,” Mr. X said. “Just don’t spill anything.”

  While Billy ate and Loser played with his food, Mr. X drove them over to the War Zone. The laser-tag place was pickup central for the under-eighteen crowd, its dim interior perfect for obscuring both acne as well as pathetic adolescent yearning. The sprawling one-story was hopping tonight, filled with twitchy teenage boys and the bored, overdressed girls they were trying to impress.

  Mr. X got three guns and target halters, passing one to each of the guys. Billy was ready to go in under a minute, his weapon resting in his hands easily as if it were an extension of his arms.

  Mr. X eyed Loser, who was still trying to get the halter straps to fit his shoulders. The guy looked miserable, his lower lip slack as his fingers worked the plastic catches. Billy watched him, too. As if Loser were food.

  “So I thought we’d have a little friendly competition,” Mr. X said when they finally stepped through the turnstiles. “See which one of you can hit the other the most.”