The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4

by J. R. Ward

  Wrath moved aside, but stayed close.

  Beth approached the figure, worried about every move she made. She could feel herself being surveyed.

  “This male asks that you accept him as your hellren, child. Would you have him as your own if he is worthy?”

  “Oh, yes.” Beth looked at Wrath. He was still tense. “Yes, I will.”

  The figure nodded. “Warrior, this female will consider you. Will you prove yourself for her?”

  “I will.” Wrath’s deep voice carried throughout the room.

  “Will you sacrifice yourself for her?”

  “I will.”

  “Will you defend her against those who would seek to harm her?”

  “I will.”

  “Give me your hand, child.”

  Beth reached out tentatively.

  “Palm up,” Wrath whispered.

  She flipped her wrist. The folds moved and covered her hand. She felt an odd tingling, like a low-level electrical charge.

  “Warrior.”

  Wrath put his hand out, and it too was obscured by the black robe.

  Suddenly, warmth surrounded her, enveloped her. She looked at Wrath. He was smiling back at her.

  “Ah,” the figure said. “This is a good mating. A very good mating.”

  Their hands were dropped, and then Wrath had his arms around her and was kissing her.

  People started to clap. Someone blew a nose.

  Beth held on to her new husband as hard as she could. It was done. It was real. They were—

  “Almost finished, leelan.”

  Wrath stepped back, pulling the sash on his robe free. He took the garment off, revealing his bare chest.

  Wellsie came up and took Beth’s hand. “It’s going to be okay. Just breathe with me.”

  Beth glanced around nervously as Wrath knelt before his brothers and dropped his head. Fritz brought over a small table with the crystal bowl full of salt, a pitcher of water, and a small lacquer box on it.

  Phury stood over Wrath. “My lord, what is the name of your shellan?”

  “She is called Elizabeth.”

  With a rasping sound, Phury unsheathed his black dagger.

  And bent down over Wrath’s bare back.

  Beth gasped and lunged forward as the blade descended. “No—”

  Wellsie held her in place. “Stay here.”

  “What is he—”

  “You’re mating a warrior,” Wellsie whispered fiercely. “Let him have his honor in front of his brothers.”

  “No!”

  “Listen to me—Wrath is giving his body, himself, to you. All of it is yours now. That’s the purpose of the ceremony.”

  Phury stepped back, and Beth caught a trickle of blood running down Wrath’s side.

  Vishous came forward. “What is the name of your shellan?”

  “She is called Elizabeth.”

  As the brother leaned down, Beth shut her eyes and squeezed Wellsie’s hand hard. “He doesn’t need to do this to prove himself to me.”

  “Do you love him?” Wellsie demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you must accept his ways.”

  Zsadist stepped forward next.

  “Easy, Z,” Phury said softly, staying close beside his twin.

  Oh, God, not more.

  The brothers came forward again and again, asking him the question. When they were finished, Phury took the pitcher of water and poured it into the bowl of salt. Then he dumped the thick, briny liquid on Wrath’s back.

  Beth weaved on her feet as she watched his muscles spasm. She couldn’t imagine the agony, but except for bearing down onto the floor, Wrath didn’t cry out. As he endured the pain, his brothers growled their approval.

  Phury bent down and opened the lacquer box, taking out a pristine white cloth. He dried the wounds, then rolled the material up and put it back inside.

  “Rise, my lord,” he said.

  Wrath stood. Across his shoulders, in an arch of Old English letters, was her name in his skin.

  Phury presented Wrath with the box. “Take this to your shellan as a symbol of your strength, so she will know that you are worthy of her and that your body, your heart, and your soul are now hers to command.”

  Wrath turned around. As he came toward her, she anxiously scanned his face. He was fine. Better than fine. He was positively glowing with love.

  Dropping to his knees before her, he bowed his head and held up the box.

  “Will you take me as your own?” he asked, looking at her over the top of the sunglasses. His pale, blind eyes were sparkling.

  Her hands shook as she accepted the box from him. “Yes. I will.”

  Wrath rose, and she threw her arms around him, careful not to reach too far up his back.

  A chant began with the brothers, a low beat of words she didn’t understand.

  “Are you okay?” he said into her ear.

  She nodded, wondering why couldn’t she have been named Mary. Or Sue.

  But no, she had to be nine-letter Elizabeth.

  “Can we not do that again?” she asked, burying her head into his shoulder.

  Wrath laughed softly. “You’d better brace yourself if we have children.”

  The chanting grew louder, deep male voices pumping.

  She looked to the brothers, the tall, fierce men who were now a part of her life. Wrath pivoted and put his arm around her. Together, they swayed to the rhythm that swelled, filling the air. The brothers were as one as they paid homage in their language, a single powerful entity.

  But then, in a high, keening call, one voice broke out, lifting above the others, shooting higher and higher. The sound of the tenor was so clear, so pure, it brought shivers to the skin, a yearning warmth to the chest. The sweet notes blew the ceiling off with their glory, turning the chamber into a cathedral, the brothers into a tabernacle.

  Bringing the very heavens close enough to touch.

  It was Zsadist.

  His eyes closed, his head back, his mouth wide open, he sang.

  The scarred one, the soulless one, had the voice of an angel.

  Chapter Forty-six

  During the wedding dinner, Butch went easy on the alcohol. It wasn’t hard. He was too busy enjoying Marissa’s company.

  As well as watching Beth with her new husband. God, she was so happy. And that mean-ass-looking vampire she’d signed on for was just the same. He wouldn’t let go of her, couldn’t stop staring at her. All night long, he’d had her sitting on his lap at the table, feeding her from his hand while he stroked her neck.

  As the party wound down, Marissa stood up from her chair. “I have to go back to my brother’s. He’s expecting me for dinner, actually.”

  So that was why she hadn’t eaten anything.

  Butch frowned, not wanting her to go. “When will you be back?”

  “Tomorrow night?”

  Damn, that was forever.

  He put his napkin down. “Well, I’ll be here. Waiting for you.”

  Jeez, talk about whipped, he thought.

  Marissa said her good-byes, and then disappeared.

  Butch reached for his wineglass and tried to pretend his hand wasn’t shaking. The whole blood/fang thing he could almost handle. The poofing stuff was going to take some time.

  Ten minutes later, he realized he was sitting at the table alone.

  He had no interest in going home. In the space of a day, he’d managed to shelve his real life, just push it into a corner of his mind. And like a gadget that had been broken, he had no interest in pulling it back out, examining it, using it again.

  He looked around at all the chairs and thought of the people—er, vampires—who’d filled them.

  He was an outsider in their world. An interloper.

  Although it wasn’t like being the odd man out was a new one for him. The other cops had been good guys, but he’d never been more than work-tight with them, even José. He’d never gone over to the de la Cruzes’ for dinner or an
ything.

  As he stared at the empty plates and the half-full wineglasses, he realized he had nowhere to go. Nowhere he wanted to be. The isolation had never bothered him before. Actually, it had made him feel safer somehow. So it was kind of funny that being on his own didn’t seem like such a great thing now.

  “Yo, cop. We’re heading for Screamer’s. You wanna come?”

  Butch looked up at the doorway. Vishous was in the hall with Rhage and Phury behind him. The vampires had expectant looks on their faces, like they honestly wanted to hang with him.

  Butch found himself grinning like the new kid who didn’t have to sit alone at lunch after all.

  “Yeah, I could do with a bar crawl.”

  As he stood up, he wondered if he should get casual. The brothers had changed into leathers, but he was loath to let the suit go. He loved the thing.

  Screw it. He liked the threads; he was going to wear the threads. Even if they weren’t really him.

  Butch buttoned the jacket, smoothing it down over his chest. He checked to make sure the handkerchief was still in a perfect fold.

  “Come on, cop, you’re fabulous,” Rhage said with a burning smile. “And I’m itching for some company, know what I mean?”

  Yeah, he could guess.

  Butch came around the table. “’Cept I gotta warn you boys. Some folks I sent up the river, they hang at Screamer’s. Might get ugly.”

  Rhage clapped him on the back. “Why do you think we want you to come?”

  “Hell, yeah.” V grinned and pulled his Sox cap down low. “Bar fight’s a perfect chaser to some Grey Goose.”

  Butch rolled his eyes and then looked at Phury seriously. “Where’s your boy?”

  Phury stiffened. “Z’s not coming.”

  Good. Butch had no problem going out with the others. He was sure that if they were going to kill him, he’d be in the ground by now. But that Zsadist guy…you had to wonder when he was going to lose it. And what he was going to take out with him when he did.

  But man, he could sing.

  As they headed to the front door, Butch murmured, “Helluva set of pipes on that SOB. Some serious beautiful.”

  The brothers nodded, and Rhage slipped a meaty arm around Phury’s shoulders. Phury’s head dipped down low for a moment, as if he were carrying something heavy and was desperate to give his back a rest.

  They went outside, heading toward a black Escalade ESV. Its lights flashed when the security system was disarmed.

  “Oh, damn. I forgot.” Butch pulled up short. The vampires stopped and looked at him. “Shotgun!”

  As he bolted around the car, Phury and Rhage snapped into gear while cursing him to hell and back. On the other side, he got an argument, but his hand was on the door, and he wasn’t budging.

  “Humans ride in the back!”

  “On the hood!”

  “Listen, bloodsuckers, I called it—”

  “V, I’m going to bite him!”

  Vishous’s laughter cut through the thick night air as he slid behind the steering wheel. His first move was to crank the stereo so loud, the entire SUV pulsed.

  Notorious BIG’s “Hypnotize.”

  And they could hear Biggie in Montreal, Butch thought as he climbed in.

  “Damn, my brother,” Rhage said, getting into the back. “This a new system?”

  “Worship me, gentlemen.” V lit a hand-rolled. Flipped the gold lighter shut. “And I might let you play with the buttons.”

  “That’d almost be worth the ass-kissing.”

  The headlights came on.

  And Zsadist walked into the beams.

  Phury immediately opened his door and made room. “You gonna bounce with us, after all?”

  Zsadist gave Butch a nasty stare as he slid into the back, but Butch didn’t take it personally. The vampire didn’t look happy to see any of the others, either.

  V threw them into reverse and gunned it.

  The conversation kept up in spite of the music, but the atmosphere had changed.

  Which made sense, considering there was now a live grenade in the car.

  Butch glanced back at Zsadist. Black eyes glittered in return. The smile on the vampire’s face was greedy for sin and ready for evil.

  Havers lowered his fork as Marissa entered the dining room. He’d been worried when she was not at the table, but afraid to check her rooms. In his current frame of mind, he wouldn’t have handled her being gone at all well.

  “Forgive my tardiness,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. She settled into her chair like a bird, arranging herself and her dress with grace. “I’m hoping we can talk.”

  What was that smell on her? he wondered.

  “This lamb looks wonderful,” she murmured as Karolyn brought in another plate of food.

  Aftershave, he thought. His sister smelled like aftershave. She had been with a male.

  “Where did you spend the evening?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “Darius’s.”

  He laid his napkin on the table and got to his feet. His rage was so complete, it rendered him curiously numb.

  “Havers, why are you leaving?”

  “As you can see, I am finished eating. I bid you good rest, sister.”

  She grabbed his hand. “Won’t you stay?”

  “I have something to take care of.”

  “Surely it can wait.” Her eyes implored him.

  “No, no longer.”

  Havers went into the front hall, taking pride in how calm he was. Shoring up his nerve, he dematerialized.

  As he took shape again, he shuddered.

  Parts of downtown were foul. Truly foul.

  The alley he’d chosen was right next to one of the clubs, Screamer’s. He’d heard from some of the civilian vampires whom he had treated that the brothers frequented the place. As he considered the human crowd waiting to get in, he could see why. They were an aggressive herd, reeking of lust. Depravity.

  Up to the brothers’ low standards for companionship, no doubt.

  Havers started to lean back against the building, but thought better of it. The bricks were filthy and dripping with some kind of condensation. He could well imagine what kind of culture might be running on the slime.

  He looked up and down the alley. Sooner or later, he would find what he was looking for.

  Or it would find him.

  Mr. X locked his front door and stepped out into the night. He was pleased with the way the ceremony had gone. Billy had been shocked as hell, to say the least, but he’d pressed through the initiation. Especially when he’d learned it was either that or he was going to be killed on the table.

  God, the expression on Billy’s face when he’d seen the Omega had been priceless. Nobody expected evil to look like that, and you could almost be fooled. Well, at least until the Omega’s gaze fell upon you. Then you got a taste of your own death.

  A little sip with the promise of a whole six-pack.

  When it was over, Mr. X had carried Billy to the house, and Riddle was resting in the guest room. Kind of. He was throwing up right now, and that would last for the next couple of hours, while the Omega’s blood subjugated what had been pumping in Billy’s veins for his eighteen years of life. Riddle also had a chest wound. The raw gash ran from his throat down to his sternum, the skin having been soldered shut by the Omega’s fingertip. That was going to hurt like hell, at least until the morning. By nightfall tomorrow, however, he’d be strong enough to go out.

  Mr. X got in the Hummer and headed south. He’d told one of the prime squadrons to cover the downtown area, and he wanted to watch them in action. He hated to admit it, but perhaps Mr. O had a point about motivation. Besides, he needed to see how the group functioned in a battle situation. With Mr. M’s demise, he was toying with letting Riddle fill out the ranks, eventually, but he wanted a sense of the squadron’s current dynamics before he made any decisions.

  Billy also needed to be assessed. Having trained him in the martial arts, Mr. X was
confident in Riddle’s fighting skills. He just wasn’t sure how the guy would react to his first kill. Mr. X suspected it would be with excitement, but you never knew. He certainly hoped Riddle would make him proud.

  Mr. X smiled, amending himself.

  He hoped Mr. R would make him proud.

  Havers was getting antsy. The night-dwelling humans presented no threat to him, but he couldn’t stomach their vices. In the back of the alley, two were necking, or perhaps going even further, and one was smoking crack. Between the grunting and the sickening smell, Havers was dying to get home.

  “Well, aren’t you the fancy one.”

  Havers shrank back. The human female in front of him was dressed for sex, a narrow spandex strip covering her breasts, her skirt so high it barely covered her crotch.

  A walking advertisement for penile implantation. His skin crawled.

  “You looking for a date?” she asked, running a hand over her stomach, and then through her greasy short hair.

  “No, thank you.” He walked backward, going deeper into the alley. “Thank you very much. No.”

  “And a gentleman, too.”

  Good lord, she was going to touch him.

  He put his hands up. Kept moving away. The farther he got down the alley, the louder the music became, as if he were getting close to a back door.

  “Please leave me,” he said as some god-awful, obscenity-laden song flared.

  Suddenly, the woman paled and took off as if she were running from a crime scene.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” The male voice behind him was a dark, nasty one.

  Havers turned around slowly. His heart started to pound. “Zsadist.”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Wrath had no interest in whoever was pounding on the door of his chamber. He had his arm wrapped around his shellan’s waist and his head tucked into her neck. He was going nowhere unless someone was half-dead.

  “Damn it.” He shot out of bed, grabbed his sunglasses, and stalked naked across the room.

  “Wrath, don’t hurt them,” Beth said with amusement. “If they’re bothering you tonight, they probably have a good reason.”

  He took a deep breath before throwing open the door. “You’d better be bleeding—” He frowned. “Tohr.”