The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4

by J. R. Ward

  Throwing back the covers, she went over to the bank of windows that were shuttered and covered in thick satin drapery. She wanted some fresh air, but there would be no opening them. It was morning.

  As she settled onto her chaise longue, she covered her bare feet with the hem of her silk nightgown.

  Wrath.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about him. And every time another image of them together came to mind, she wanted to curse. Which was shocking.

  She was the docile one. The lovely one. All female perfection and gentleness. Anger went totally against her nature.

  Except the more she thought of Wrath, the more she wanted to punch something.

  Assuming she could make a fist.

  She glanced down at her hand. Yup, she could. Though it was pathetically small.

  Especially compared to his.

  God, she’d endured so much. And he had no appreciation of how difficult her life had been.

  Being the untouched spinster shellan of the most powerful vampire of them all was hell on earth. Her failures as a female had burned out any sense of self-worth she’d had. The isolation had preyed on her sanity. The embarrassment at living with her brother because she had no home of her own had stung.

  And she’d been horrified to be stared at by others and talked about behind her back. She was very aware that she was a constant topic of conversation, envied, pitied, spied upon, the stuff of fable. She knew young females were told of her story, although whether it was as warning or inducement, she didn’t want to know.

  Wrath was totally unaware of how she’d suffered.

  Part of that fault she had to lay at her own feet. Playing the good little female had felt like the right thing to do, the only way to be worthy, the only chance at finally sharing a life with him.

  Except how had it turned out?

  With him finding a dark-haired human he cared about more.

  God, the payoff for all her efforts went beyond not fair and right into cruel.

  And she wasn’t the only one who’d suffered. Havers had been worried sick about her for centuries.

  Wrath, on the other hand, had always been just fine. And he was no doubt doing just fine right now. In all likelihood he was, at this very moment, lying naked with that female. Putting that hard length at his hips to good use.

  Marissa closed her eyes.

  She thought about being pulled against his body, held in those crushing arms, consumed by him. She’d been too shocked to feel much heat. There’d been so much of him, all over her, his hands tangling in her hair, his mouth sucking hard at her throat. And that thick rod of his had scared her a little.

  Which was ironic.

  She’d dreamed about what it would be like for so long. To be taken by him. To leave her virginal state behind and know what it was to have a male inside.

  Whenever she’d imagined them together, her body had always warmed, her skin had tingled. But the reality had been overwhelming. She’d been totally unprepared, and she wished it had lasted longer and been a little less intense. She had a feeling she would have liked it if he’d gone more slowly.

  But then, he hadn’t been thinking of her.

  Marissa recurled her hand, making that fist again.

  She didn’t want him back. What she wanted was for him to have a taste of the pain she’d been through.

  Wrath put his arms around Beth and drew her close, looking at Rhage over the top of her head. Watching her ease the male’s suffering had broken down all sorts of barriers.

  Care for his brothers, care for him, he thought. It was the oldest code in the warrior class.

  “Come to my bed,” he whispered in her ear.

  She let him take her hand and lead her to his room. Once inside, he shut and locked the door and extinguished all the candles but one. Then he pulled the sash of the robe she wore free and stripped the satin from her shoulders. Her naked skin gleamed in the light of the single wick that burned.

  He took his leather pants off. And then they were lying together.

  He didn’t want sex from her. Not now. He just wanted to share some comfort. He wanted her warm skin against his, her breath brushing lightly over his chest, her heart beating mere inches from his own. And he wanted to give her the same kind of peace back.

  He stroked her long, silky hair and breathed deeply.

  “Wrath?” Her voice was lovely in the dim quiet, and he liked the vibration of her throat against his pecs.

  “Yeah.” He kissed the top of her head.

  “Who did you lose?” She shifted, putting her chin on his chest.

  “Lose?”

  “Who did the lessers take from you?”

  The question seemed out of the blue. And then it didn’t. She’d seen the aftereffects of a fight. Somehow knew that he fought not only for his race, but for himself.

  It was a long time before he could answer. “My parents.”

  He felt her emotions shift from curiosity to sorrow. “I’m sorry.”

  There was a long silence.

  “What happened?”

  Now that was an interesting question, he thought. Because there were two versions. In vampire lore, that bloody night had taken on all sorts of heroic implications, being heralded as the birth of a great warrior. The fiction wasn’t his doing. His people needed to believe in him, so they created that which sustained their misplaced faith.

  He alone knew the truth.

  “Wrath?”

  His eyes went to the hazy beauty of her face. It was difficult to deny the gentle tone she used. She wanted to offer him compassion, and for some godforsaken reason, he wanted it from her.

  “It was before my transition,” he murmured. “A long time ago.”

  His hand paused on her hair, the memories coming back gruesome and vivid.

  “We thought as the First Family we were safe from the lessers. Our homes were well defended, well hidden in the forests, and we moved all the time.”

  He found that if he continued to smooth her hair, he could keep talking.

  “It was winter. A cold night in February. One of our servants betrayed our location. The lessers came in a pack of fifteen or twenty and slaughtered their way through our estate before breaching our stone battlements. I’ll never forget the sound when they pounded on the door to our private quarters. My father shouted for his weapons while forcing me into a crawl space. He locked me inside just before they broke through the door with a battering ram. He was good with a sword, but there were so many of them.”

  Beth’s hands came to his face. He dimly heard soft words falling from her lips.

  Wrath closed his eyes, seeing the ghastly images that still had the power to rip him from sleep. “They massacred the servants before killing my parents. I saw it all through a knothole in the wood. As I said, my eyes were better back then.”

  “Wrath—”

  “While it was happening, they made so much noise, no one heard me screaming.” He shuddered. “And I fought to get free. I pushed against the latch, but it was solid and I was weak. I tore at the wood, scratched at it until my fingernails splintered and bled. I kicked with my feet….” His body responded to the remembered horror of being confined, his breath growing ragged, his skin breaking out in a cold sweat. “After they left, my father tried to drag himself over to me. They had stabbed him in the heart, and he was…He gave out two feet from the crawl space, reaching for me. I kept calling his name over and over again until I lost my voice. I begged for him to live even as I watched the light in his eyes dim and then go out. I was trapped there for hours with their bodies, watching the pools of blood get bigger. Some civilian vampires came the following night and let me out.”

  He felt a soothing stroke down his shoulder, and he brought Beth’s hand to his mouth, kissing the skin of her palm.

  “Before the lessers left, they pulled back all the tapestries from the windows. The moment the sun rose and came into the room, all the bodies burned up. I had nothing to bury.”
<
br />   He felt something hit his face. A tear. Beth’s.

  He reached out and stroked her cheek. “No crying.”

  Though he cherished her for her sympathy.

  “Why not?”

  “It changes nothing. I cried while I watched, and still they all died.” He turned on his side and gathered her close. “If only I could have…I still have dreams about that night. I was such a coward. I should have been out there with my father, fighting.”

  “But you would have been killed.”

  “As a male should. Protecting his own. That’s honorable. Instead I was sniveling in a crawl space.” He hissed with disgust.

  “How old were you?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  She frowned, as if she’d assumed he’d been much younger. “You said it was before your transition?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what were you like then?” She smoothed his hair back. “It’s hard to imagine you fitting in a crawl space, the size you are now.”

  “I was different.”

  “You said you were weak.”

  “I was.”

  “So maybe you needed to be protected.”

  “No.” His temper flared. “A male protects. Never the other way around.”

  Abruptly, she backed off.

  As the silence stretched between them, he knew she was thinking through his actions. Shame made him remove his hands from her body. He rolled away, onto his back.

  He never should have said a thing.

  He could just imagine what she thought of him now. After all, how could she not be revolted by his failure? By the reality that he’d been weak when his family had needed him most?

  With a shrinking feeling, he wondered if she’d still want him. If she’d still welcome him into her slick heat. Or would that be gone for her? Now that she knew?

  He waited for her to put her clothes on and leave.

  She stayed in the bed.

  But of course she did, he thought. She understood that her transition was coming no matter what, and she needed his blood. It was a matter of necessity.

  He heard her sigh in the darkness. As if she were giving up on something up.

  He wasn’t sure how long they lay together, side by side but not touching. It must have been hours. He fell asleep briefly, only to wake up when Beth shifted against him, her bare leg moving over his.

  A jolt of lust went through him, but he beat it back savagely.

  Her hand brushed over his chest. Drifted down his stomach and across his hip. He held his breath as he got hard in a rush, his erection achingly close to where she was touching him.

  Her body moved nearer to his, her breasts caressing his ribs, her core rubbing on his thigh.

  Maybe she was still asleep.

  And then she took him into her hand.

  Wrath moaned, arching his back.

  Her fingers were steady as she stroked him.

  He went for her instinctively, craving what she seemed to be offering, but she stopped him. Rising to her knees, she pressed him down to the mattress with her palms on his shoulders.

  “This time is for you,” she whispered, kissing him softly.

  He could barely speak. “You still want…me?”

  Confusion spiked her brows. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  With a pathetic groan of relief and gratitude, Wrath lurched for her again. Except she didn’t let him get anywhere near her body. She pushed him back down and gripped his wrists, bringing his arms over his head.

  She kissed his neck. “When we were together last, you were very…generous. You deserve the same kind of treatment.”

  “But your pleasure is mine.” His voice was rough. “You can’t know how much I like to make you come.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” He felt her shift, and then her hand brushed against his erection. He bowed off the mattress, a low sound rumbling up through his chest. “I might have some idea.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” he said hoarsely, fighting once more to touch her.

  She leaned into his wrists forcefully, holding him still. “Relax. Let me be in control.”

  Wrath could only stare up in disbelief and breathless anticipation as she pressed her lips to his.

  “I want to do you,” she whispered.

  In a silky rush, her tongue entered his mouth. Penetrated him. Slid in and out as if she were fucking him.

  His whole body went rigid.

  With each one of her thrusts, she got farther inside of him, into his skin and his brain. Into his heart. She was possessing him, taking him. Leaving her mark on him.

  When she left his mouth, she moved down his body. She licked his neck. Sucked his nipples. Raked her nails gently across his belly. Tested his hip bones with her teeth.

  He gripped the headboard and pulled, making the whole bed frame shift and creak in protest.

  Waves of stinging heat made him feel as if he were going to pass out. Sweat bloomed over his skin. His heart hammered so hard it started skipping beats.

  Words fell from his lips, a stream of consciousness spoken in the old language, a guttural expression of what she was doing to him, how beautiful she was to him.

  The second she took his erection into her mouth, he nearly came. He cried out, body spasming. She pulled back, gave him time to settle.

  And then she put him through torture.

  She knew just when to bring it on, just when to pause. The combination of her wet mouth at his thick tip and her hands moving up and down his shaft was a one-two punch he could barely withstand. She brought him to the brink over and over again until he was reduced to begging.

  Finally, she straddled his hips and hovered above him. He looked down between their bodies. Her thighs were wide open over his swollen, throbbing erection, and he almost lost it.

  “Take me,” he moaned. “God, please.”

  She slid him inside of her, and his whole body felt the sensation. Tight, wet, hot, she enveloped him. She began to move in a slow, pumping rhythm, and he didn’t last long. When he came, he felt like he’d been ripped in two, the bursts of energy creating a shock wave that went through the room, shaking the furniture, blowing out the candle.

  On the slow float back to earth, he realized it was the first time anyone had ever taken such care to pleasure him.

  He wanted to weep that she would still have him at all.

  Beth smiled in the darkness at the sound Wrath made as his body rocked under hers. The force of his orgasm took her over the edge, and she fell onto his heaving chest as her own delicious waves took her breath away.

  Afraid that she was too heavy, she made a move to get off him, but he stopped her, holding on to her hips. He spoke to her in a beautiful tumble of sounds she didn’t understand.

  “What?”

  “Stay just where you are,” he said in English.

  She settled onto his body, relaxing completely.

  She wondered what he’d said to her as she’d made love to him, but the tone of his voice, reverent, praising, told her a lot. Whatever he’d uttered, they’d been a lover’s words.

  “Your language is beautiful,” she said.

  “There are no words worthy of you.”

  His voice sounded different. He felt different to her.

  No barriers, she thought. There were no barriers between them right now. That deadly guard, that ever-watchful, predatory defense of his was gone.

  Unexpectedly, she felt herself growing protective of him.

  It was odd, feeling that way about someone so much more physically powerful than herself. But he needed safeguarding. She could sense the vulnerability in him in this quiet moment, in this dense darkness. His heart was almost in her reach.

  God, that horrific story of his family’s deaths.

  “Wrath?”

  “Hmm?”

  She wanted to thank him for telling her. But she didn’t want to ruin the fragile communion between them.

  “Has anyone ever told you how bea
utiful you are?” she said.

  He chuckled. “Warriors are not beautiful.”

  “You are. To me. You are utterly beautiful.”

  He stopped breathing. And then moved her off of him. With a quick motion, he left the bed, and moments later there was a soft light on in the bathroom. She heard water running.

  She should have known it wasn’t going to last. But she wanted to cry at the loss, anyway.

  Beth fumbled around for her clothes, found them, dressed.

  When he came out of the bathroom, she was heading for the door.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded.

  “Work. I don’t know what time it is, but I usually get in around nine, so I’m sure I’m late.”

  She couldn’t see very well, but eventually found the door.

  “I don’t want you to go.” Wrath was right next to her, his voice making her jump.

  “I have a life. I need to get back to it.”

  “Your life is here.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Her hands felt around for the locks, but she couldn’t budge them, even when she threw her body into the effort.

  “Are you going to let me out of here?” she muttered.

  “Beth.” He took her hands in his, forcing her to stop. Candles flared to life, as if he wanted her to see him. “I’m sorry I can’t be…easier to get along with.”

  She pulled away. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I wanted you to know how I felt. That’s all.”

  “And I find it hard to believe that I don’t disgust you.”

  Beth stared at him in disbelief. “Good God, why would I?”

  “Because you know what happened.”

  “With your parents?” Her mouth fell open. “Let me get this straight. You think I’m going to be disgusted because you were forced to endure the slaughter of your mother and father?”

  “I did nothing to save them,” he bit out.

  “You were locked in.”

  “I was a coward.”

  “You were not.” Getting pissed at the man probably wasn’t fair, but why couldn’t he see the past more clearly? “How can you say—”

  “I stopped screaming!” His voice ricocheted around the room, startling her.

  “What?” she whispered.