The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4

by J. R. Ward

  Trouble was, Z not only was a black-souled cutthroat, he was an accomplished liar.

  “I know you too well,” Wrath said softly, “to believe any word you say.”

  Z started to growl, and Phury moved fast, wrapping a thick forearm around his twin’s neck and hauling the brother back.

  “Easy, Z,” Phury said.

  Zsadist grabbed onto his twin’s wrist and yanked free. He glowed with hatred. “One of these days, my lord, I’m going to—”

  A noise like cannonballs hitting a wall cut him off.

  Someone was pounding the holy hell out of the front door.

  The brothers left the drawing room and went to the foyer in a group. The sounds of weapons being drawn and cocked followed their heavy footfalls.

  Wrath checked the video monitor that was mounted on the wall.

  When he saw Beth in the cop’s arms, he stopped breathing. He threw open the front door and grabbed for her body as the man rushed inside.

  This is it, he thought. She was in the transition.

  The cop was vibrating with anger as Beth’s weight was transferred between them. “You goddamn son of a bitch. How can you do this to her?”

  Wrath didn’t bother responding. Cradling Beth in his arms, he strode quickly through the knot of brothers. He could feel their astonishment, but he wasn’t about to stop and explain.

  “Nobody kills the human but me,” he barked. “And he does not leave this house until I come back.”

  Wrath sped into the drawing room. Pushed the painting aside. Ran down the stairs as fast as he could go.

  Time was of the essence.

  Butch watched the drug dealer disappear with Beth. Her head bounced as they rushed away, her hair a silken flag trailing behind them.

  For a moment, he was utterly immobilized, caught between wanting to scream and needing to cry.

  The waste. The horrible waste.

  Then he heard the door shut and lock behind him. And realized he was surrounded by five of the meanest, biggest bastards he’d ever seen.

  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.

  Anger returned to Butch, thickening his muscles, strengthening his bones.

  He jacked up his pants.

  These boys wanna play? he thought. Fine. We’ll fucking dance.

  To show he wasn’t afraid, he met each of them in the eye. The two who’d spoken. A relatively normal-looking one who was hanging back. Another guy with an outrageous mane of hair, the kind of stuff women would pay hundreds for at some ritzy salon.

  And then the last man.

  Butch stared at the scarred face. Black eyes glared back.

  This fella, he thought, was the one to really watch out for.

  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.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Wrath was getting desperate. He couldn’t get Beth to come around.

  And her skin was getting colder by the moment.

  He shook her on the bed again. “Beth! Beth! Can you hear me?”

  Her hands twitched, but he had a feeling the spasms were involuntary. He put his ear down to her mouth. Air was still coming out, but the intervals were alarmingly long. And the force of the exhale was alarmingly weak.

  “Damn it!” He bared his wrist and was about to score himself with his fangs when he realized he wanted to hold her if she was able to drink.

  When she was able to drink.

  He stripped off his holster, pulled out a dagger, and removed his shirt. He felt around his neck until he found his jugular. Placing the point of his knife against his skin, he cut himself. Blood came out in an obliging rush.

  He took his fingertip, got it wet, and brought it to her lips. When he dipped it inside her mouth, her tongue did not respond.

  “Beth,” he whispered. “Come back to me.�
��

  He brought more of his blood to her.

  “Damn it, don’t you die!” Candles flared in the room. “I love you, damn you! Goddamn you, don’t you let go!”

  Her skin was turning blue now; even he could see the color change.

  Frantic prayers fell from his lips, ancient ones in the old language. Ones he’d assumed he’d forgotten.

  She wasn’t moving. She was far too still.

  The Fade was upon her.

  Wrath screamed in fury and grabbed her body. He shook her until her hair tangled. “Beth! I will not let you go! I will come after you before I let you…”

  A moan came out of him, and he pulled her against him. As he rocked her cold body back and forth, his blind eyes stared at the black wall before him.

  Marissa took special care as she got dressed, determined to go down to the first meal of the night looking her best. After reviewing her wardrobe, she chose a long gown made of cream-colored chiffon. She’d purchased it the season before from the Givenchy collection, but had never worn it. The bodice was tighter and a little more revealing than she usually favored, though the Empire waist ensured that the overall effect was entirely modest.

  She brushed out her hair, leaving it free to fall over her shoulders. It was so long now, reaching her hips.

  The sight of it brought Wrath to mind. He’d once mentioned its softness, so she’d grown it out under the assumption that the more of it there was, the more he’d like it. And the more he’d like her.

  Maybe she would cut off the blond waves. Hack them free of her head.

  Her anger, which had simmered down, flared again.

  Abruptly, Marissa came to a decision. She was through keeping everything inside. It was time to share.

  But then she pictured Wrath’s towering height. His cold, hard features. That awesome presence of his. Could she really confront him?

  She’d never know if she didn’t try. And she wasn’t about to let him waltz off into whatever future waited for him without speaking her mind.

  She glanced at her Tiffany clock. If she didn’t show for dinner and then help out in the clinic as she’d promised, Havers would be suspicious. Better to wait until later in the night to go to Wrath. She had sensed he was staying at Darius’s. She would go there.

  And she would bide her time until he came home.

  Some things were worth waiting for.

  “Thanks for meeting me, sensei.”

  “Billy, how are you?” Mr. X put aside the menu he’d been idly looking at. “I was worried when I got your call. And then you didn’t make it to class.”

  As Riddle slid into the booth, he didn’t look so hot. His eyes were still black and blue, and exhaustion hung off his face like loose skin.

  “Someone’s after me, sensei.” Billy crossed his arms over his chest. There was a pause, as if he wasn’t sure how far to go with the story.

  “This have something to do with your nose?”

  “Maybe. I dunno.”

  “Well, I’m glad you came to me, son.”

  Another pause.

  “You can trust me, Billy.”

  Riddle sucked in a breath, as if he were about to dive into a pool. “My dad’s in D.C., as usual. So last night I had a few friends over. We were smoking some blunts—”

  “You shouldn’t do that. Illegal drugs are bad news.”

  Billy shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with the platinum chain around his neck. “I know.”

  “Go on.”

  “So me and my friends were by the pool, and one wants to go hit it with his girlfriend. I tell them they can use the cabana, but when they go over, the door’s locked. I go up to get the key from the house, and when I’m walking back, a guy steps in front of me, like from out of nowhere. He was fuck—er, freakin’ huge. Long black hair. Dressed in leather—”

  The waitress came hopping over. “What can I getcha—”

  “Later,” Mr. X snapped.

  As she disappeared in a huff, he nodded to Billy.

  Riddle grabbed Mr. X’s glass of water and drank. “Anyway, he scared the hell out of me. He was looking at me like he wanted to have me for lunch. But then my friend calls out, because he’s wondering where I am with the key. The man said my name and then just kind of disappeared, right as my friend came up the lawn.” Billy shook his head. “Thing is, I don’t know how he got over the wall. My dad put one all around the back of the grounds last year because he’s been getting terrorist threats or something. It’s, like, twelve feet tall. And the house was all locked up in front with the security system on.”

  Mr. X looked down at Billy’s hands. They were gripped tightly together.

  “I…ah, I’m kinda scared, sensei.”

  “You should be.”

  Riddle looked vaguely nauseated at having his fears confirmed.

  “So, Billy. I want to know. You ever kill something?”

  Riddle frowned at the abrupt change of subject. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know. A bird. Squirrel. Maybe a cat or a dog?”

  “No, sensei.”

  “No?” Mr. X leveled his eyes on Billy’s. “I got no time for liars, son.”

  Billy cleared his throat. “Yeah. Maybe. When I was younger.”

  “How’d that make you feel?”

  A flush crept up Billy’s neck. His hands came apart. “Nada. I didn’t feel anything.”

  “Come on, Billy. You’ve got to trust me.”

  Billy’s eyes flashed. “Okay. Maybe I liked it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Riddle drew out the word.

  “Good.” Mr. X lifted his hand and caught the waitress’s eye. She took her time coming over. “We’ll talk about that man later. First, I want you to tell me about your father.”

  “My dad?”

  “You ready to order now?” the waitress said in a snotty tone.

  “What do you want, Billy? It’s on me.”

  Riddle recited half the menu.

  When the waitress left, Mr. X prompted him. “Your dad?”

  Billy shrugged. “I don’t see him a lot. But he’s…you know…whatever. A dad. I mean, who cares what he’s like?”

  “Listen, Billy.” Mr. X leaned forward. “I know you ran away from home three times before you turned twelve. I know your father sent you to prep school the minute your mom was in the ground. And I know when you got yourself kicked out of Northfield Mount Hermon, he packed you off to Groton, and when you were tossed out of there, he put you in a military academy. It sounds to me like he’s been trying to get rid of you for the last decade.”

  “He’s busy.”

  “And you’ve been a lot to handle, haven’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “So would I be right in assuming that you and Daddy Dearest don’t have some kind of Leave It to Beaver thing going?” Mr. X waited. “Tell me the truth.”

  “I hate him,” Riddle blurted.

  “Why?”

  Billy crossed his arms over his chest again. His eyes went cold.

  “Why do you hate him, son?”

  “Because he breathes.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Beth stared off into a vast white distance. She was in some kind of dreamscape, with hazy edges that suggested there was no end to what was before her.

  A lone figure, lit from behind, approached out of the vapor. She sensed that it was male, whatever it was, and she didn’t feel threatened. She felt as if she knew him.

  “Father?” she whispered, not sure whether she meant her own or God Himself.

  The man was still quite far away, but his hand lifted in greeting, as if he’d heard her.

  She stepped forward, but her mouth was suddenly flooded with a taste she didn’t recognize. She put her fingertips to her lips. When she looked down at them, she saw red.

  The figure dropped his hand. As if he knew what the stain meant.

  Beth slammed back into her body. It was like being catapulted and landing on gr
avel. Everything hurt.

  She cried out. As her mouth opened, she got a rush of that taste. She swallowed reflexively.

  Something miraculous happened. Like a balloon reinflating, her skin filled with life. Her senses came alive.

  She blindly grabbed onto something hard. Latched on to the source of the taste.

  Wrath felt Beth jerk like she’d been electrocuted. And then she started to drink at his neck with great, urgent pulls of her mouth. Her arms tightened around his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh.

  His roar was one of triumph as he eased back on the bed, lying down so the blood flow would be better. He kept his head to one side, exposing his neck to her, and she crawled up onto his chest, her hair spilling all over him. The wet sound of her sucking, the knowledge he was giving her life, gave him a monstrous hard-on.

  He held her loosely, stroking her arms. Encouraging her to take more of him. Take all that she needed.

  Much later, Beth lifted her head. Licked her lips. Opened her eyes.

  Wrath was staring up at her.

  And he had a gaping wound in his neck.

  “Oh, God…what have I done to you?” She reached to stanch the blood seeping from his vein.

  He grabbed her hands and brought them to his lips. “Will you have me as your hellren?”

  “What?” Her mind was having difficulty turning over.

  “Marry me.”

  She looked at the hole in his throat and her stomach lurched. “I-I…”

  The pain came hard and fast. Tackling her. Taking her into a shadow box of agony. She doubled over, rolling onto the mattress.

  Wrath shot up and cradled her in his lap.

  “Am I dying…?” she moaned.

  “Oh, no, leelan. You’re not. This will pass,” he whispered. “But it’s not going to be fun.”

  Her entire digestive tract convulsed in waves, and she flopped over onto her back. She could barely make out Wrath’s face through the pain, but his eyes were wide with worry. He took her hand in his and she squeezed as the next blast of torture overtook her.

  Her vision dimmed. Came back. Dimmed again.