The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4

by J. R. Ward

  “Pretty, aren’t I?” His cold stare was the stuff of nightmares, of dark places where no hope could be found, of hell itself.

  Forget the scar, she thought. Those eyes were the scariest thing about him.

  And they were fixated on her as if he were sizing her up for a shroud. Or for some sex.

  She moved her body away from him. Started looking around for something she could use as a weapon.

  “What, you don’t like me?”

  Beth eyed the door, and he laughed.

  “Think you can run fast enough?” he said, pulling the bottom of his shirt free from the leather pants he had on. His hands moved to his fly. “I’m damn sure you can’t.”

  “Get away from her, Zsadist.”

  Wrath’s voice was a sweet relief. Until she saw that he had no shirt on and his arm was in a sling.

  He barely looked at her. “Time to go, Z.”

  Zsadist smiled coldly. “Not willing to share the female?”

  “You only like it if you pay for it.”

  “So I’ll flip her a twenty. Assuming she lives through the sex.”

  Wrath kept coming at the other vampire, until they stood nose-to-nose. The air crackled around them, supercharged by their aggression.

  “You’re not touching her, Z. You’re not looking at her. You’re going to say good-night and walk the fuck out of here.” Wrath removed the sling, exposing a bandage on his biceps. There was a red blush in the center as if he were bleeding, but he looked ready to take on the other man.

  “Bet you’re pissed you needed a ride home tonight,” Zsadist said. “And that I was the closest one with a car.”

  “Don’t make me regret it more.”

  Zsadist took a step to the left, and Wrath went with him, using his body to shield her.

  Zsadist chuckled, a deep, evil rumble. “You’re actually willing to fight for a human?”

  “She’s Darius’s daughter.”

  Zsadist’s head snapped to the side, those black pits of his probing her features. After a moment, there was a subtle softening in his brutal face, a drop in the sneer. And then he made a point to tuck in his shirt while looking her in the eye. As if he were apologizing.

  Wrath did not step off, however.

  “What’s your name?” Zsadist asked her.

  “Her name’s Beth.” Wrath put his head into the path of Zsadist’s vision. “And you’re leaving.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

  Zsadist strode over to the door, moving with the same lethal prowl Wrath did. Before he left, he stopped and looked back.

  He must have been truly handsome once, Beth thought. Although it wasn’t the scar that made him unattractive. It was the hellfire inside of him.

  “Nice to meet you. Beth.”

  She let her breath out as the door closed and the locks flipped into place.

  “Are you okay?” Wrath asked. She could feel his eyes running over her body, and then he gently put his hands on her. “He didn’t…he didn’t touch you, did he? I heard you scream.”

  “No. No, he just scared me. I woke up and he was in the room.”

  Wrath sat down on the bed, still passing his palms over her as if he didn’t believe she was okay. When he seemed satisfied, he pushed his hair back. His hands were shaking.

  “You’re hurt,” she said. “What happened?”

  He put his good arm around her and pulled her against his chest. “It’s nothing.”

  “Then why do you need a sling? And a bandage? And why are you still bleeding?”

  “Shhh.” He put his chin on the top of her head. She could feel his body trembling.

  “Are you ill?” she asked.

  “I just have to hold you for a minute. Okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  As soon as his body calmed, she pulled away. “What’s the matter?”

  He took her face in his hands. Pressed his lips to hers. “I couldn’t bear it if he’d…taken you away from me.”

  “That guy? Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere with him.” And then she realized Wrath wasn’t talking about a date. “You think he was going to kill me?”

  Not that she couldn’t see how that might have been possible. So cold. Those eyes had been so cold.

  Instead of answering, Wrath’s mouth came down on hers. She stopped him.

  “Who is he? And what happened to him?”

  “I don’t want you near Z again. Ever.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was tender. His voice was not. “Are you listening to me?”

  She nodded. “But what—”

  “He walks into a room and I’m in the house, you come and find me. If I’m not around, you lock yourself in one of these rooms down here. The walls are made of steel, so he can’t materialize inside. And don’t ever touch him. Not even inadvertently.”

  “Is he a warrior?”

  “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  “Yeah, but it would help if I knew a little more.”

  “He’s one of the brothers, but he’s nearly soulless. Unfortunately, we need him.”

  “Why, if he’s so dangerous? Or is it only toward women?”

  “He hates everyone. Except maybe his twin.”

  “Oh, great. There are two like him?”

  “Thank God for Phury. He’s the only one who can get through to Z, although even then, it’s not a sure thing.” Wrath kissed her forehead. “I don’t want to scare you, but I need you to take this seriously. Zsadist’s an animal, but I think he respected your father, so he may leave you alone. I just can’t take any chances with him. Or you. Promise me that you’ll stay away from him.”

  “Okay.” She closed her eyes and leaned into Wrath. His arm came around her, but then he shifted back.

  “Come on.” He pulled her up to her feet. “Come to my chamber.”

  When they walked into Wrath’s room, Beth heard the shower shut off. A moment later, the door opened.

  The warrior she’d met before, the movie-star-handsome one who’d been stitching himself up, came out slowly. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, and his hair was dripping. He moved as if he were eighty, as if every muscle in his body hurt.

  Good lord, she thought. He didn’t look at all well, and there was something way wrong with his stomach. It was swollen, like he’d swallowed a basketball. Unsure what to make of his midsection, she wondered whether his wound was infected. He looked feverish.

  She glanced at his shoulder and frowned when she could barely see a mark. It was as if the injury had occurred months ago.

  “Rhage, man, how we feeling?” Wrath asked, leaving her side.

  “Belly hurts.”

  “Yeah. I can imagine.”

  Rhage swayed as he looked around the room, eyes barely open. “Going home. Where my clothes?”

  “You lost them.” Wrath put his good arm around his brother’s waist. “And you’re not leaving, you’re crashing in D’s room.”

  “Am not.”

  “Don’t start. And we’re not waltzing here. Will you lean on me, for Christ’s sake?”

  The other man sagged, and Wrath’s back muscles tightened as he absorbed the weight. The two of them slowly made their way out to the landing and then into her father’s chamber. She stayed at a discreet distance, watching as Wrath helped Rhage slide into bed.

  As the warrior leaned back against the pillows, his eyes squeezed shut. His hand moved to his stomach, but he winced and let it fall to the side, as if the slightest pressure were torture.

  “Feel sick.”

  “Yeah, indigestion’s a bitch.”

  “Do you want some Tums?” Beth blurted out. “Alka-Seltzer?”

  Both vampires looked over at her, and she felt as if she’d intruded on the moment.

  Of all the stupid things—

  “Yeah,” Rhage muttered as Wrath nodded.

  Beth walked back to her purse and decided on Alka-Seltzer because it had a
spirin in it for his aches. She went into Wrath’s bathroom, grabbed a glass, and did the plop-plop, fizz-fizz thing.

  When she returned to her father’s bedside, she offered the glass to Wrath. He shook his head.

  “You’ll spill less than I will.”

  She flushed. It was so easy to forget he couldn’t really see.

  She leaned over Rhage, but couldn’t reach his mouth. Hiking up the robe, she climbed onto the mattress and knelt next to him. She felt awkward being so close to a naked, virile man in front of Wrath.

  Considering what had happened to Butch.

  But come on, Wrath had nothing to worry about here. No matter how sexy the other vampire was, she didn’t feel any heat as she sidled up to the guy.

  And he sure as hell wasn’t about to come on to her. Not given the kind of shape he was in.

  She gently lifted Rhage’s head and put the edge of the glass to his beautifully shaped lips. It took him five minutes to sip the liquid down. When he was finished, she started to get off the bed. She didn’t get far. With a great lurch, he pitched over onto his side and put his head in her lap, throwing one muscular arm around behind her.

  He was seeking comfort.

  Beth didn’t know what she could really do for him, but she put the glass aside and stroked his back, running her hand over his fearsome tattoo. She murmured things she wished someone had whispered to her when she felt ill. Hummed a little for him.

  After a while, the tension left his skin and bones. He began breathing deeply.

  When she was sure he was out cold, she carefully extracted herself from his grasp. As she turned to meet Wrath’s gaze, she braced herself. Surely he’d know there was nothing—

  Shock stilled her.

  Wrath wasn’t mad. Far from it.

  “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. The bow of his head was almost humble. “Thank you for caring for my brother.”

  He took his sunglasses off.

  And looked at her with total adoration.

  Chapter Thirty

  Mr. X tossed the Sawzall on to his workbench and wiped his hands on a towel.

  Well, hell, he thought. The damn vampire was dead.

  He’d tried everything to wake the male up, even the chisel, and he’d made a mess out of his barn in the process. There was vampire blood all over the place.

  At least cleanup was easy.

  Mr. X walked over to the double doors and threw them open. Straight ahead, the sun was coming up over the far ridge, lovely gold light spilling across the landscape. He stood back as the interior of the barn was illuminated.

  The vampire’s body exploded into flames, the pool of blood underneath the table going up in a cloud of smoke. A soft morning breeze carried the stench of incinerated flesh away.

  Mr. X stepped into the morning glow, looking at the mist that hung over the back meadow. He wasn’t prepared to declare failure. The plan would have worked if he hadn’t come up to those cops and had to plow the extra darts into his captive. He just needed to get back out there again.

  His jones for torture had a serious case of the blue balls.

  For the time being, though, he had to cool it with the prostitutes. Those fool cops were a good reminder that he wasn’t working in a vacuum. That he could be caught.

  Not that getting tangled up with the law would be anything other than an inconvenience. But he prided himself on the smoothness of his operations.

  Which was why he’d chosen the whores as bait. First, he figured if one or two turned up dead, it wouldn’t cause an uproar. They were less likely to have family mourning them, so there wouldn’t be added pressure on the police to nail a suspect. As for the inevitable investigation, there was a ready pool of suspects, thanks to the pimps and lowlifes who worked the back alleys. There were plenty for the police to chose from and chase after.

  But that didn’t mean he could get sloppy. Or overuse Whore Valley.

  He went back in the barn, put his tools away, and headed for the house. He checked his messages before going to shower.

  There were several.

  The most important of which was from Billy Riddle. Evidently, the guy had had a disturbing interaction the night before and had called just after one A.M.

  It was good that he was seeking comfort, Mr. X thought. And probably time that they had a conversation about his future.

  An hour later, Mr. X drove to the academy, opened its doors, and left them unlocked.

  The lessers he’d ordered to report in started to arrive shortly thereafter. He could hear them talking in the hall next to his office, their voices low. The moment he came up to them, they quieted down, looking at him. Dressed in black fatigues, their faces grim, there was only one whose coloring had yet to fade. Mr. O’s brunette brush cut stood out, as did his dark brown eyes.

  The longer a lesser stayed in the society, the more he lost his individual physical characteristics. The browns, the blacks, the reds of the hair turned to a pale ash; the tints of yellow or crimson or tan in the skin blanched out to a blushless white. The process typically took about a decade, although he had yet to see any strands of blond appear around O’s face.

  He did a quick head count. As all of the members of his two prime squadrons were there, he locked the academy’s outside door and escorted the group into the basement. Their boots were loud and sharp on the metal stairwell, a drumroll of the power in their bodies.

  Mr. X had set up the war room as nothing special, nothing unusual. Just a regular old classroom with twelve chairs, a chalkboard, a TV, and a podium in front.

  The unremarkable decor wasn’t just subterfuge. He didn’t want any high-tech distractions. Group dynamics were the purpose and focus of these meetings.

  “So tell me about last night,” he said, eyeing the slayers. “How did it go?”

  He listened to the reports, unimpressed with the excuses. There had been two kills the night before. He’d given them a quota of ten.

  And it was a disgrace that O, who was so new, had been responsible for both deaths.

  Mr. X crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s the problem?”

  “We couldn’t find any,” Mr. M said.

  “I found one last night,” Mr. X snapped. “Quite easily, I might add. And Mr. O found two.”

  “Well, the rest of us couldn’t.” M looked at the others. “The numbers in this area have thinned.”

  “The problem is not geography,” a voice muttered from the back.

  Mr. X’s eyes shifted through the lessers, focusing on O’s dark head in the back of the room. He was not surprised that the slayer had spoken up.

  O was proving to be one of the best they had, even though he was a new recruit. With terrific reflexes and stamina, he was a great fighter, but like all powerful things, he was hard to control. Which was why Mr. X had put him in with others who had centuries of experience. O was liable to dominate any group made up of individuals even remotely inferior to himself.

  “Would you care to elaborate, Mr. O?” Mr. X was not at all interested in the man’s opinion. But he was very prepared to show up the new recruit in front of the others.

  O shrugged carelessly, and his drawl was just short of insulting. “The problem is motivation. There are no consequences for failure.”

  “And what exactly would you suggest?” Mr. X asked.

  O reached forward, grabbed M by the hair, and slit the other man’s throat with a knife.

  The other lessers leaped away, crouching into attack positions, even as O sat back down and calmly wiped his blade off with his fingers.

  Mr. X bared his teeth. And then got himself under control.

  He walked across the room to M. The lesser was still alive, gasping for breath, trying to stem the blood loss with his hands.

  Mr. X knelt down. “The rest of you will leave. Now. We will reconvene tomorrow morning, when you will have better news for me. Mr. O, you stay.”

  When O defied the order and made a move to get up, Mr. X froze the man in the
chair, stealing control of the large muscles in his body. O seemed momentarily shocked, clearly trying to fight the hold that was on his arms and legs.

  It was a battle he wouldn’t win. The Omega always provided a few extra benefits to the Fore-lesser. This kind of mental dominion over fellow slayers was one of them.

  As soon as the room had emptied, Mr. X took out a knife and stabbed M in the chest. There was flare of light and then a popping sound as the lesser disintegrated.

  Mr. X glared up at O from the floor. “If you ever pull something like that again, I will turn you over to the Omega.”

  “No, you won’t.” In spite of his being at another’s mercy, O’s arrogance was unchecked. “You wouldn’t want to look as if you can’t control your own men.”

  Mr. X stood up.

  “Careful, O. You underestimate the Omega’s affection for sacrifices. If I were to give you to him as a gift, he would be most grateful.” Mr. X walked over and ran a finger down O’s cheek. “If I were to tie you down and call him to you, he would enjoy unwrapping you. And I would enjoy watching it.”

  O snapped his head back, more angry than frightened. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I’m your leader. I can do anything I want with you.” Mr. X clamped a hand on O’s jaw and forced his thumb in between the man’s lips and teeth. He jerked the lesser’s face forward. “So mind your manners, don’t ever take another society member out without my express permission, and we’ll get along fine.”

  O’s brown eyes burned.

  “Now what do you say to me?” Mr. X murmured, reaching out and stroking the man’s hair back. The color was a deep, rich chocolate.

  O mumbled.

  “I didn’t hear you.” Mr. X pressed his thumb into the soft, fleshy plot under O’s tongue, digging in until tears formed in the other man’s eyes. When he removed his grip, he ran a quick, wet caress over O’s lower lip. “I said, I didn’t hear you.”

  “Yes, sensei.”

  “Good boy.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Marissa could not get comfortable in her bed. No matter which way she turned or where she put the pillows, she was irritated.

  Somehow, her mattress had been filled with rocks, and her sheets had turned into sandpaper.