The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4

by J. R. Ward

  “Since when has he…” Butch turned back to the creature feature playing in the clearing. And totally lost his train of thought.

  “Rhage pissed off the Scribe Virgin, so she cursed him. Gave him two hundred years of hell. Anytime he gets too worked up, presto-change-o. Pain can set it off. Anger. Physical frustration, if you feel me.”

  Butch cocked an eyebrow. And to think he’d gotten between that guy and a woman he wanted. Never pulling that kind of stupidity again.

  As the carnage continued, Butch began to feel as if he were watching the Sci-Fi Channel with the sound on mute. Man, this kind of violence was out of even his league. In all his years as a homicide detective, he’d seen plenty of dead bodies, some of which had been hard-core gruesome. But he’d never witnessed a slaughter in live action before, and oddly, the shock of it removed the experience from reality.

  Thank God.

  Although he had to admit the beast was a smooth mover. The way it spun that lesser up into the air and caught the slayer with its…

  “Does it happen often?” he asked.

  “Often enough. That’s why he goes for the sex. Keeps him calm. I’ll tell you this, you don’t screw around with the beast. It doesn’t know who’s a friend and who’s lunch. All we can do is wait around until Rhage comes back and then take care of him.”

  Something bounced on the hood of the Escalade with a bang. Oh, God, was that a head? No, a boot. Maybe the creature didn’t like the taste of rubber.

  “Take care of him?” Butch murmured.

  “How’d you like it if every bone in your body was broken? He goes through a change when that thing comes out, and as it leaves, he gets nailed again.”

  In short order, the clearing was empty of lessers. With another deafening roar, the beast wheeled around as if looking for more to consume. Finding no other slayers, its eyes focused on the Escalade.

  “Can it get into the car?” Butch asked.

  “If it really wants to. Fortunately, it can’t be very hungry.”

  “Yeah, well…what if it’s got room for Jell-o,” Butch muttered.

  The beast shook its head, black mane tossing in the moonlight. Then it howled and charged at them, running on two legs. The pounding of its stride called thunder and tremors out of the earth.

  Butch checked the door lock one more time. Then thought about being a pansy and maybe hitting the floor.

  The creature stopped right next to the SUV and fell into a crouch. It was close enough so its breath fogged Butch’s window on the exhale, and up close, the thing was hideous. White narrowed eyes. Snarling jowls. And the full set of fangs in its gaping mouth was right out of a fever nightmare. Black blood ran down its chest like crude oil.

  The beast lifted its muscled forelegs.

  Jesus, those claws were like daggers. Made Freddie Krueger’s set of fun and games look like pipe cleaners.

  But Rhage was in there. Somewhere.

  Butch put his hand to the window, as if he could reach the brother.

  The creature cocked its head, white eyes blinking. Abruptly it heaved a great breath, and then the massive body started to shake. A high, piercing cry came out of its throat, cracking through the night. There was another flash of brilliance. And then Rhage was lying naked on the ground.

  Butch threw open the car door and knelt by his friend.

  Rhage shook uncontrollably on the dirt and grass, his skin clammy, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth moving slowly. There was black blood all over his face, in his hair, down his chest. His stomach was horribly distended. And there was a small hole in his shoulder where the bullet had hit him.

  Butch yanked off his jacket and put it over the vampire. Leaning down, he tried to catch the words that were being mumbled. “What was that?”

  “Hurt? You…V?”

  “Nah, we’re doing good.”

  Rhage seemed to relax a little. “Take me home…. Please…get me home.”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing. We’re gonna take care of you.”

  O moved fast across the clearing, heading away from the slaughter, running low to the ground. His truck was parked down the road, about a mile away. He figured he had another three to four minutes before he got to it, and so far nothing was chasing him.

  He’d taken off the instant that flash of light had ripped through the clearing, knowing damn well that nothing good came after a sparkler like that. He’d figured it was either nerve gas or the precursor to one fuck of an explosion, but then he’d heard a roar. As he’d looked over his shoulder, he’d stopped dead. Something had been doing a number on his fellow lessers, picking them off like flies.

  A creature. From out of nowhere.

  He hadn’t watched for long, and as he ran now, O glanced back once again to make sure he wasn’t being followed. The path behind was still clear, and up ahead he saw the truck. When he got to it, he threw himself inside, cranked the engine over, and hit the gas.

  First order of business was to separate from the scene. A massacre like that was going to attract attention, either because of what it looked and sounded like while it was happening or because of what was left when it was over. Second was to reconnoiter. Mr. X was going to be split-personality pissed at this. O’s squadron of primes was gone, and the other lessers that he’d invited to watch E’s discipline were dead, too. Six slayers in little over a half hour.

  And goddamn it, he didn’t know much about the monster who’d done the damage. They’d been hanging E’s body in the tree when the Escalade had pulled over to the side of the road. A blond warrior had gotten out, so big, so fast, he was obviously a member of the Brotherhood. There had been another male with him, also incredibly lethal, as well as a human, although Christ only knew what that guy had been doing with the two brothers.

  The fight had gone on for about eight or nine minutes. O had taken on the blond, had punched him a number of times with no measurable effect on the vampire’s stamina or strength. The two of them had been deep in hand-to-hand when one of the other lessers had fired a gun. O had ducked and rolled, nearly getting shot himself. When he’d looked up, the vampire was clutching his shoulder and falling backward.

  O had lunged for him, wanting to have the kill, but as he sprang forward, the lesser with the gun had tried to get at the vampire himself. The idiot had tripped on O’s leg and knocked both of them to the ground. Then that light had gone off and the monster had appeared. Was it possible that the thing had come out of the blond warrior somehow? Man, what a secret weapon that would be.

  O pictured the warrior, recalling every aspect of the male from his eyes to his face to the clothes he wore and the way he moved. Having a good description of the fair-haired brother was critical for use in the Society’s interrogations. Specific questions posed to captives were more likely to lead to good answers.

  And information on the brothers was what they were looking for. After decades of just knocking off civilians, the lessers were now targeting the Brotherhood specifically. Without those warriors, the vampire race would be completely vulnerable, and the slayers could finally finish their job eradicating the species.

  O pulled into the parking lot of the local laser-tag place, thinking that the only good thing about the evening had been when he’d killed E slowly. Taking out his irritation on the slayer’s body had been like drinking a cool beer on a hot summer day. Satisfying. Calming.

  But what had happened afterward had put him right back on edge.

  O flipped open his phone and hit speed dial. There was no reason to wait until he got home to make a report. Mr. X’s reaction was going to be worse if he thought the news had been delayed.

  “We’ve had a situation,” he said when the call was answered.

  Five minutes later he hung up, turned the truck around, and headed back to the rural part of town.

  Mr. X had demanded an audience. At his private cabin in the woods.

  Chapter Six

  Rhage could see only shadows, as his eyes were incapable o
f focusing or processing much light. He hated the loss of faculty and did his best to track the two big shapes moving around him. When hands gripped under his armpits and latched onto his ankles, he groaned.

  “Easy there, Rhage, we’re just gonna lift you for a sec, true?” V said.

  A fireball of pain shot through his body as he was taken up off the ground and carried around to the back of the Escalade. They laid him down. Doors shut. The engine turned over with a low purr.

  He was so cold his teeth knocked together, and he tried to draw whatever was across his shoulders closer. He couldn’t make his hands work, but someone pulled what he assumed was a jacket more tightly around him.

  “Just hang in there, big guy.”

  Butch. It was Butch.

  Rhage struggled to speak, hating the foul taste in his mouth.

  “Nah, relax, Hollywood. You’re cool. V and I are going to get you home.”

  The car started to move, bumping up and down as if it were getting off the shoulder and onto the road. He moaned like a sissy, but he couldn’t help it. His body felt as though it had been beaten all over with a baseball bat. A bat with a spike on the end.

  And the bone and muscle aches were a minor problem compared to his stomach. He was praying he’d make it back to the house before he threw up in V’s car, but there was no guarantee he’d hold out that long. His salivary glands were working overtime, so he had to swallow repeatedly. Which made his gag reflex fire up. Which spurred on the churning nausea. Which made him want to…

  Trying to pull himself out the spiral, he breathed slowly through his nose.

  “How we doing there, Hollywood?”

  “Promise me. Shower. First thing.”

  “You got it, buddy.”

  Rhage figured he must have passed out, because he came awake as he was being hauled from the car. He heard familiar voices. V’s. Butch’s. A deep growl that could only be Wrath.

  He lost consciousness again. When he came back, something cold was against his back.

  “Can you stand up for me?” Butch asked.

  Rhage gave it a shot and was grateful when his thighs accepted his weight. And now that he was out of the car, the nausea was a little better.

  His ears caught a sweet chiming noise, and a moment later a warm rush fell over his body.

  “How we doing, Rhage? Too hot?” Butch’s voice. Up close.

  The cop was in the shower with him. And he smelled Turkish tobacco. V must be in the bathroom, too.

  “Hollywood? This too hot for you?”

  “No.” He reached around for the soap, fumbling. “Can’t see.”

  “Just as well. No reason for you to know what we look like naked together. Frankly, I’m traumatized enough for the both of us.”

  Rhage smiled a little as a washcloth scrubbed over his face, neck, chest.

  God, that felt fantastic. He craned his head back, letting the soap and water wash away the remnants of the beast’s doing.

  Too soon the shower was off. A towel was wrapped around his hips while another one dried him off.

  “There anything else we can do for you before you get horizontal?” Butch asked.

  “Alka-Seltzer. Cabinet.”

  “V, fire up some of that shit, would you?” Butch’s arm came around Rhage’s waist. “Lean on me, buddy. Yeah, that’s right—whoa. Damn, we’ve got to stop feeding you.”

  Rhage let himself be led across the marble floor and onto the carpet in the bedroom.

  “All right, big guy, down you go.”

  Oh, yeah. Bed. Bed was good.

  “And look who’s here. It’s Nurse Vishous.”

  Rhage felt his head get tilted up and then a glass was put to his lips. When he’d taken all he could, he collapsed against the pillows. He was about to pass out again when he heard Butch’s hushed voice.

  “At least the bullet went through him clean. But, man, he doesn’t look good.”

  V answered quietly. “He’ll be all right in a day or so. He recovers quickly from anything, but it’s still tough.”

  “That creature was something else.”

  “He worries a lot about it coming out.” There was the rasp of a lighter and then a fresh waft of that wonderful tobacco. “He tries not to show how afraid of it he is. Gotta keep up that glossy front and all. But he’s terrified of hurting someone.”

  “First question he asked when he came back was whether you and I were okay.”

  Rhage tried to force himself to sleep. The black void was a hell of a lot better than listening to his friends pity him.

  Ninety-one years, eight months, four days. And then he would be free.

  Mary was desperate to get to sleep. She closed her eyes. Did the deep breathing thing. Relaxed her toes one by one. Ran through all the telephone numbers she knew. None of it worked.

  She rolled over and stared at the ceiling. When her mind kicked up an image of John, she was grateful. The boy was better than so many other subjects she could dwell on.

  She couldn’t believe he was twenty-three, although the more she thought about him, it did seem possible. Matrix fixation aside, he was incredibly mature. Old, really.

  When it had come time for him to go, she’d insisted on driving him back to his apartment. Bella had asked to come, too, so the three of them had gone downtown with his bike sticking out of the back of the Civic. Leaving the boy in front of that miserable apartment building had been hard. She’d almost begged him to come home with her.

  But at least he’d agreed to be at Bella’s tomorrow night. And maybe the martial-arts academy would open some doors for him. She had a feeling he didn’t have many friends, and thought Bella was sweet to make the effort on his behalf.

  With a little grin, Mary pictured the way John had looked at the other woman. Such shy admiration. And Bella handled the attention gracefully, though she was no doubt used to those kind of stares. Probably got them all the time.

  For a moment Mary indulged herself and imagined looking out at the world through Bella’s flawless eyes. And walking on Bella’s flawless legs. And swinging Bella’s flawless hair over a shoulder.

  The fantasizing was a good diversion. She decided she’d go to New York City and strut down Fifth Avenue wearing something fabulous. No, the beach. She’d head for the beach in a black bikini. Hell, maybe a black bikini with a thong.

  Okay, this was getting a little creepy.

  Still, it would have been great, just once, to have a man stare at her with total adoration. To have him be…enthralled. Yes, that was the word. She would have loved for a man to be enthralled by her.

  Except it was never going to happen. That time in her life, of youth and beauty and dewy sexuality, had passed. Had never been, actually. And now she was a nothing-special thirty-one-year-old who’d led a very hard life, thanks to the cancer.

  Mary groaned. Oh, this was great. She wasn’t panicking, but she was knee-deep in self-pity. And the shit was like sludge, clingy and disgusting.

  She clicked on the light and reached for Vanity Fair with grim resolve. Dominick Dunne, take me away, she thought.

  Chapter Seven

  After Rhage fell asleep, Butch walked with V down the hall to Wrath’s private study. Usually Butch didn’t hang around for Brotherhood business, but Vishous was going to report on what they’d found on the way home, and Butch was the only one who’d gotten a look at the lesser in the tree.

  As he came through the door, he had the same reaction he always did to the Versailles decor: It just didn’t fit. All the gold curlicue things on the walls and the paintings of little fat boys with wings on the ceiling and the flimsy, fancy furniture. The place looked like a hangout for those old-fashioned, powdered-wig French guys. Not a war room for a bunch of heavy-duty fighters.

  But whatever. The Brotherhood had moved into the mansion because it was convenient and secure, not because they liked the way it was tricked up.

  He picked a chair with spindly legs and tried to sit down without letting all of
his weight go. As he settled in, he shot a nod to Tohrment, who was on the silk-covered couch across the way. The vampire took up most of the piece of furniture, his big body sprawled across the powder-blue cushions. His military-cut black hair and his thick shoulders pronounced him a hard-ass, but that navy-blue gaze of his told another story.

  Underneath all the warrior tough stuff, Tohr was a really nice guy. And surprisingly empathic, considering he kicked around the undead for a living. He was the official leader of the Brotherhood since Wrath had ascended to the throne two months ago, and the only fighter who didn’t live at the mansion. Tohr’s shellan, Wellsie, was expecting their first child and not about to move in with a bunch of single guys. And who could blame her?

  “So I guess you boys had some fun on the way home,” Tohr said to Vishous.

  “Yeah, Rhage really let loose,” V replied as he poured himself a shot of vodka from the wet bar.

  Phury came in next and nodded hello. Butch liked the brother a lot, even though they didn’t have much in common. Well, except for their wardrobe fetish, although even there they differed. Butch’s clotheshorse routine was a fresh coat of paint on a cheap house. Phury’s style and masculine elegance were down to the bone. He was lethal, there was no doubt about it, but he had a metrosexual vibe to him.

  The refined-gentleman impression wasn’t just a result of his sharp duds, like the black cashmere sweater and fine twill slacks he was sporting right now. The brother had the most amazing head of hair Butch had ever seen. The long, thick waves of blond and red and brown were outrageously beautiful, even for a woman. And his odd yellow eyes, that shone bright as gold in the sunshine, added to his whole deal.

  Why he was celibate was a total mystery.

  As Phury went over to the bar and poured himself a glass of port, his limp was barely noticeable. Butch had heard that the guy’s lower leg had been lost somewhere along the line. He had an artificial limb now, and evidently it didn’t hinder him on the battlefield in the slightest.