The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4

by J. R. Ward

  Wrath bared his fangs. “I’m only hanging in until she goes through the change. That’s it.”

  “Yeah, sure.” When Wrath growled deep in his throat, the other vampire shrugged. “I’ve never seen you dress for a female before.”

  “She’s Darius’s daughter. You want me to be like Zsadist with one of his whores?”

  “Dear God, no. And damn, I wish he’d stop that. But I like what I’m seeing with you and Beth. You’ve been alone for too long.”

  “That’s your opinion.”

  “And others’.”

  Sweat broke out across Wrath’s forehead.

  Tohr’s honesty made him feel trapped. As did the fact that he was only supposed to be protecting Beth, but instead was busy trying to make her feel as if she were more special to him than she really was.

  “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” he demanded.

  “Nope.”

  “Just my luck.”

  Desperate to move around, he walked over to the couch and picked up his biker jacket. He needed to restock it with weapons, and since Tohr didn’t seem in a big hurry to get his ass in gear, the distraction was better than screaming.

  “The night Darius died,” Tohr said, “he told me you’d turned him down when he asked you to take care of her.”

  Wrath opened the closet and reached into a storage bin full of throwing stars, daggers, and chains. He made his selections with rough hands. “So?”

  “What changed your mind?”

  Wrath clapped his molars together, biting down hard, a breath away from lashing out.

  “He’s dead. I owe him.”

  “You owed him when he was alive, too.”

  Wrath whirled around. “Do you have any other business with me? If not, get the hell out of here.”

  Tohr lifted his hands. “Easy, brother.”

  “Fuck easy. I’m not talking about her with you or anyone else. Got it? And keep your mouth shut with the brothers, too.”

  “Okay, okay.” Tohr backed over to the door. “But do yourself a favor. Cop to what’s going on with that female. An unacknowledged weakness is deadly.”

  Wrath growled and leaned into his attack pose, upper body jutting forward on his hips. “Weakness? This coming from a male who’s dumb enough to love his shellan? You gotta be kidding me.”

  There was a long silence.

  And then Tohr said softly, “I’m lucky to have found love. I thank the Scribe Virgin every day that Wellsie is in my life.”

  Wrath’s temper surged, set off by something he couldn’t put his finger on. “You’re pathetic.”

  Tohr hissed. “And you’ve been dead for hundreds of years. You’re just too mean to find a grave and lie down.”

  Wrath threw the leather jacket to the floor. “At least I’m not pussy-whipped.”

  “Nice. Fucking. Suit.”

  Wrath crossed the distance between them in two strides, and the other vampire met the approach head-on. Tohrment was a big male, with thick shoulders and long, powerful arms. Menace pulsated between them.

  Wrath grinned coldly, his fangs lengthening. “If you spent half the amount of time defending our race that you do chasing after that female of yours, we might not have lost Darius. Ever think of that?”

  Anguish came out of the brother like blood from a chest wound, and the vampire’s white-hot agony thickened the air. Wrath drew in the scent, taking the burn of misery down deep into his lungs, into his very soul. The knowledge that he’d laid out a male of honor and courage with such a low blow filled him with self-loathing. And while he waited for Tohr to attack, he welcomed the inner hatred as an old friend.

  “I can’t believe you said that.” Tohr’s voice throbbed. “You need to—”

  “I don’t want any of your worthless advice.”

  “Fuck you.” Tohr knocked him a good one in the shoulder. “You’re gonna get it anyway. You’d better learn who your enemies really are, you arrogant asshole. Before you’re standing alone.”

  Wrath barely heard the door slam shut. The voice screaming in his head that he was a worthless piece of shit overrode just about everything else.

  He drew in a great breath and emptied his lungs with a vicious yell. The sound vibrated around the room, rattling the doors, the loose weapons, the mirror in the bathroom. Candles flared wildly in response, their flames licking up the walls, greedy to get free of their wicks and destroy what they could. He roared until his throat felt as if it were going to tear apart, until his chest burned.

  When he finally closed his mouth, he felt no relief. Just remorse.

  He marched over to the closet and took out a nine-millimeter Beretta. After he loaded it, he tucked the gun into the waistband of his slacks at the small of his back. Then he headed for the door and took the stairs two at time, his thighs eating up the distance to the first floor.

  Stepping into the drawing room, he listened. The silence was probably a good thing for everybody. He needed to get ahold of himself.

  Prowling around the house, he stopped at the dining room table. It had been set as he’d asked. Two places at one end. Crystal and silver. Candles.

  And he’d called his brother pathetic?

  If it hadn’t been all Darius’s priceless crap, he’d have swept the table clean with his arm. His hand shot out, as if it were ready to follow through on the impulse anyway, but the jacket confined him. He gripped the lapels, prepared to rip the thing off his back and burn it, but the front door opened. He wheeled around.

  There she was. Coming across the threshold. Walking into the hall.

  Wrath’s hands dropped to his sides.

  She was dressed in black. Her hair was up. She smelled…like night-blooming roses. He breathed in through his nose, his body hardening, his instincts demanding that he get her under him.

  But then her emotions hit him. She was wary, nervous. He could sense her mistrust with clarity, and he took perverse satisfaction as she hesitated to look at him.

  His temper returned, nice and sharp.

  Fritz was busy closing the door, but the doggen’s happiness was obvious in the air around him, shimmering like sunshine. “I’ve put out some wine in the drawing room. I’ll serve the first course in about thirty minutes, shall I?”

  “No,” Wrath commanded. “We’ll sit down now.”

  Fritz seemed confused, but then clearly caught the drift of Wrath’s emotions.

  “As you wish, master. Right away.” The butler disappeared as though something were on fire in the kitchen.

  Wrath stared at Beth.

  She took a step back. Probably because he was glaring.

  “You look…different,” she said. “In those clothes.”

  “If you think they’ve civilized me, don’t be fooled.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Good. Now let’s get this over with.”

  Wrath went into the dining room, thinking she’d follow if she wanted. And if she chose not to, hell, it was probably for the better. He wasn’t in a big hurry to get trapped at the table anyway.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Beth watched Wrath saunter away as if he didn’t give a rat’s ass whether or not she ate with him.

  If she hadn’t been having second thoughts herself, she would have been totally insulted. He’d invited her to dinner. So why was he all bent out of joint when she showed up? She was tempted to hightail it right back out the front door.

  Except she followed because she felt like she had no choice. There were so many things she wanted to know, things only he could explain.

  Although as God was her witness, if there were any way to get the information from someone else, she would have.

  As he walked in front of her, she shot a glare at the back of his head and tried to ignore his powerful stride. The latter was an abject failure. He just moved too superbly. With each sharp impact of his heel, his shoulders shifted under the expensive jacket, counterbalancing the thrust of his legs. As his arms swung loosely, she knew tha
t his thighs were clenching and releasing with every step. She pictured him naked, his muscles flexing under his skin.

  Butch’s voice bounced around in her head. A man like that has murder in his blood. It’s his nature.

  And yet Wrath had sent her away last night when he’d been a danger to her.

  She told herself to forget attempting to reconcile the contradictions. She was just trying to read tea leaves with all the mental aerobics. She needed to go with her gut, and her gut said Wrath was the only help she had.

  As she stepped into the dining room, the beautiful table that had been set for them was a surprise. There were flowers in the center, tuberoses and orchids. And ivory candles. And gleaming china and silver.

  Wrath went around and pulled out a chair, waiting for her to sit in it. Looming over the thing.

  God, he looked fantastic in the suit. And the open collar of his shirt showed off his throat, the black silk making his skin look tanned. Too bad he was flat-out pissed. His face was as harsh as his temper, and with his hair pulled back, the aggressive thrust of his jaw was even more prominent.

  Something had set him off. Big-time.

  Perfect date material, she thought. A vampire with the social equivalent of road rage.

  She approached cautiously. As he slid the seat under her, she could have sworn he bent down to her hair and inhaled deeply.

  “Why were you so late?” he demanded while sitting at the head of the table. When she didn’t answer, he cocked an eyebrow at her, the dark arch rising over the rim of his black sunglasses. “Did Fritz have to talk you into coming?”

  To give herself something to do, she took her napkin and unfolded it in her lap. “It was nothing like that.”

  “So tell me what it was.”

  “Butch followed us. We had to wait until we got free of him.”

  She sensed the space around Wrath darkening as if his anger sucked the light right out of the air.

  Fritz came in with two small plates of salad. He put them down.

  “Wine?” he asked.

  Wrath nodded.

  After the butler had finished pouring and left, she picked up a heavy silver fork and forced herself to eat.

  “Why are you afraid of me now?” Wrath’s voice was sardonic, as if he were bored by her fear.

  She jabbed at the greens. “Hmmm. Could it be because you look like you want to strangle someone?”

  “You walked into this house scared of me again. Before you even saw me, you were frightened. I want to know why.”

  She kept her eyes on her plate. “Maybe I was reminded that last night you almost killed a friend of mine.”

  “Christ, not that again.”

  “You asked,” she shot back. “Don’t get mad if you don’t like my answer.”

  Wrath wiped his mouth impatiently. “I didn’t kill him, did I?”

  “Only because I stopped you.”

  “And that bothers you? Most people like to be heroes.”

  She put her fork down. “You know what? I don’t want to be here with you right now.”

  He kept eating. “So why did you come?”

  “Because you asked me to!”

  “Believe me, I can handle the rejection.” As if she were of no concern to him whatsoever.

  “This was a mistake.” She put her napkin down next to her plate and stood.

  He cursed. “Sit down.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “Let me amend that. Sit down and shut up.”

  She gaped at him. “You arrogant ass—”

  “Someone’s already called me that tonight, thank you very much.”

  Fritz picked that moment to breeze in with some warm rolls.

  She glared at Wrath and pretended she was only reaching across the table for the wine bottle. She wasn’t about to march off in front of Fritz. And besides, she suddenly felt like sticking around.

  So she could yell at Wrath a little longer.

  When they were alone again, she hissed, “Where do you get off talking to me like that?”

  He took a final bite of salad, placed his fork on the edge of his plate, and dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin. Like he’d been trained by Emily Post herself.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said. “You need me. So get over your hangups about what I might have done to that cop. Your good buddy Butch is still above ground, right? So what’s the problem?”

  Beth stared at him, trying to read through his sunglasses, searching for some softness, something she could connect to. But the dark lenses shut her out of his eyes completely, and the tight lines of his face gave her nothing to go on.

  “How can life mean so little to you?” she wondered aloud.

  The smile he gave her was cold. “How can death mean so much to you?”

  Beth sank back in her chair. Cringed from him, was more like it. She couldn’t believe she’d made love—no, had sex—with him. He was utterly callous.

  Abruptly, her heart hurt. Not because he was being hard on her, but because she was disappointed. She’d really wanted him to be different than he appeared. She’d wanted to believe the flashes of warmth he’d shown her were as big a part of him as those hard edges.

  She rubbed the raw patch at her sternum. “I’d really like to go, if you don’t mind.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Ah, hell…” he muttered, letting out his breath. “This isn’t right.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “I thought that you deserved…I don’t know. A date. Or something. Something normal.” He laughed harshly as she looked at him with surprise. “Dumb idea, I know. I should stick to what I’m good at. I’d be better off teaching you how to kill.”

  Underneath his thick pride, she sensed a kernel of something else. Insecurity? No, that wasn’t it. Naturally with him, it would be more intense.

  Self-hatred.

  Fritz came in, picked up their salad plates, and reappeared with soup. It was cold vichyssoise. Interesting, she thought absently. Usually it was soup first, then salad, wasn’t it? But then, she had to imagine vampires had lots of different social traditions. Like the men having more than one woman.

  Her stomach lurched. She wasn’t going to think of that. She simply refused to.

  “Look, just so you know,” Wrath said as he picked up his spoon, “I fight to protect, not because I’ve got a jones for murder. But I’ve killed thousands. Thousands, Beth. Do you understand? So if you want me to pretend I’m not comfortable with death, I can’t do that for you. I just can’t.”

  “Thousands?” she mumbled, overwhelmed.

  He nodded.

  “Who in God’s name are you fighting?”

  “Bastards who would kill you as soon as you go through the transition.”

  “Vampire hunters?”

  “Lessers. Humans who have traded their souls to the Omega in return for a free reign of terror.”

  “Who—or what—is the Omega?” As she spoke the word, the candles flickered wildly, as if tormented by invisible hands.

  Wrath hesitated. He actually seemed uncomfortable with the subject. He, who wasn’t afraid of anything.

  “You mean the devil?” she prompted.

  “Worse. You can’t compare them. One’s just a metaphor. The other’s very, very real. Fortunately, the Omega has a counterpart, the Scribe Virgin.” He smiled wryly. “Well, maybe fortunately is too strong a word. But there is a balance.”

  “God and Lucifer.”

  “Maybe according to your lexicon. Our legend has it that vampires were created by the Scribe Virgin as her one and only legacy, as her chosen children. The Omega resented her ability to generate life, and he despised the special powers she gave to the species. The Lessening Society was his defensive response. He uses humans because he is incapable of creation and because they are a readily available source of aggression.”

  This is just too strange, she thought. Trading souls. The undead. The stuff just didn�
��t exist in the real world.

  Then again, she was having dinner with a vampire. So was anything really all that impossible?

  She thought of the gorgeous blond man who’d stitched himself up.

  “You have others who fight with you, right?”

  “My brothers.” He took a drink from his wineglass. “As soon as the vampires recognized they were under siege, the strongest and most powerful males were weeded out. Trained to fight. Turned loose against the lessers. Those warriors were then bred to the strongest females over generations until a separate subspecies of vampires emerged. The most powerful of this class were indoctrinated into the Black Dagger Brotherhood.”

  “Are you brothers by blood?”

  He smiled tightly. “In a matter of speaking.”

  His face shuttered, as if the matter were private. She had the sense that he would say no more about the brotherhood, but she was still curious about the war he was fighting.

  Especially because she was about to turn into one of those he protected.

  “So it’s humans you kill.”

  “Yes, although they’re basically dead already. In order to give his fighters the longevity and strength they would need to fight us, the Omega had to strip them of their souls.” Distaste flickered across his harsh features. “Not that having a soul ever prevented a human from coming after us.”

  “You don’t like…us, do you?”

  “First of all, half of what’s in your veins is from your father’s side. And secondly, why would I like humans? They beat the crap out of me before my transition, and the only reason they don’t fuck with me now is because I scare the hell out of them. And if it got widely known that vampires existed? They’d come after us even if they weren’t in the society. Humans are threatened by anything different, and their response is to fight. They’re bullies, picking on the weak, cowering from the strong.” Wrath shook his head. “Besides, they irritate me. Look at how their folklore portrays our species. There’s Dracula, for Christ’s sake, an evil bloodsucker who preys on the defenseless. There’s piss-poor B movies and porn. And don’t get me started on the whole Halloween thing. Plastic fangs. Black capes. The only things the idiots got right are that we drink blood and that we can’t go out in the daylight. The rest is bullshit, fabricated to alienate us and stimulate fear in the masses. Or just as offensive, the fiction is used to create some kind of mystique for bored humans who think the dark side is a fun place to visit.”