The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4

by J. R. Ward

  When he shrugged off her grip, she stepped in his way. And really wished she hadn’t. His eyes were utterly cold. Chips of aqua-colored glass.

  The words he spoke were sharp-edged. “I’m sorry I offended you. I can imagine it’s a big goddamned burden to have someone want to get to know you.”

  “Hal—”

  He pushed her aside easily. “You say that one more time and I’m going to put a fist through the wall.”

  He strode outside, walking into the woods that ran down the left edge of her property.

  On impulse, Mary shoved her feet into a pair of running shoes, grabbed a jacket, and shot through the slider. She ran across the lawn, calling out for him. When she got to the forest’s edge, she paused.

  There were no branches snapping, no twigs cracking, no sounds of a big man walking. But he’d gone in this direction. Hadn’t he?

  “Hal?” she called out.

  It was a long while before she turned and went back inside.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You did well tonight, Mr. O.”

  O stepped out of the shed behind the cabin, thinking Mr. X’s approval was such bullshit. He kept the irritation to himself, though. He was barely a day out of the Omega’s clutches and not really in the mood to get all worked up.

  “But the male didn’t tell us anything,” he muttered.

  “That’s because he didn’t know anything.”

  O paused. In the dim dawn, Mr. X’s white face glowed like a night-light.

  “Excuse me, sensei?”

  “I worked him over myself before you got here. I had to be sure I could depend on you, but didn’t want to waste an opportunity in the event you were no longer solid.”

  Which explained the male’s condition. O had assumed the vampire had just fought hard when he’d been abducted.

  Wasted time, wasted effort, O thought, getting out his car keys.

  “You got any more tests for me?” You prick.

  “Not right now.” Mr. X checked his watch. “Your new squadron should be here soon, so put those keys away. Let’s go inside.”

  O’s revulsion at being anywhere near the cabin made him lose feeling in his feet. The damn things went totally numb on him.

  But he smiled. “Lead on, sensei.”

  When they were indoors, he went directly to the bedroom and propped himself against the doorjamb. Even though his lungs had turned into cotton balls, he kept his cool. If he’d avoided the space, Mr. X would have thought of a reason to send him into it. The bastard knew that poking fresh wounds was the only way to determine the extent of the healing or the festering.

  While slayers filed into the cabin, O took stock of them. He didn’t recognize a single one, but then the longer a member was in the Society, the more anonymous he became. With hair, skin, and eye colors fading to pale, eventually a lesser just looked like a lesser.

  As the other men checked him out, they glared at his dark hair. In the Society new recruits were at the bottom of the ladder, and it was unusual for one to be included in a group of seasoned men. Yeah, well, fuck that. O met each of them in the eye, making it clear that if they wanted to take him on he was more than happy to return the goddamned favor.

  Faced with the possibility of physical confrontation, he came alive. It was like waking up after a good night’s sleep, and he relished the surges of aggression, the good old need to dominate. It assured him that he was as he had always been. That the Omega hadn’t taken his core away, after all.

  The meeting didn’t last long, and it was standard stuff. Introductions. A reminder that every morning, each one of them had to check in via e-mail. There was also a refreshment of the persuasion strategy and some quotas for capture and killing.

  When it was over, O was the first to head for the door. Mr. X stepped in front of him.

  “You will stay.”

  Those pale eyes held on to his, watching, waiting to see a flash of fear.

  O nodded once and spread his stance. “Sure, sensei. Whatever you like.”

  From over Mr. X’s shoulder, O watched the others head out in the manner of strangers. No talking, eyes straight ahead, bodies not touching even casually. Clearly none of them knew one another, so they must have been called in from different districts. Which meant Mr. X was reaching down into the ranks.

  As the door closed behind the last man, O’s skin tingled with panic, but he held himself rock still.

  Mr. X looked him up and down. Then walked over to the laptop on the kitchen table and fired the thing up. Almost as an afterthought, he said, “I’m putting you in charge of both squadrons. I want them trained in the persuasion techniques we use. I want them working as units.” He looked up from the glowing screen. “And I want them to remain breathing, do you understand?”

  O frowned. “Why didn’t you announce this while they were here?”

  “Don’t tell me you need that kind of help?”

  The mocking tone had O’s eyes narrowing. “I can handle them just fine.”

  “You’d better.”

  “We done?”

  “Never. But you can go.”

  O started for the door, except he knew the moment he got to it there would be something more. As he put his hand on the knob, he found himself pausing.

  “There something you want to say to me?” Mr. X murmured. “I thought you were leaving.”

  O glanced across the room and pulled something out of his ass to justify his hesitation. “We can’t use the house downtown anymore for persuasion, not since that vampire escaped. We need another facility in addition to the one behind here.”

  “I’m aware of that. Or did you think I was sending you out to look at land for no reason?”

  So that was the plan. “The acreage I checked out yesterday wasn’t right. Too much swamp, and too many roads intersect around it. Do you have any other parcels in mind?”

  “I’ll e-mail the Multiple Listings to you. And until I decide where we will build, you’ll bring the captives here.”

  “There’s not enough room in the shed for an audience.”

  “I’m talking about the bedroom. It’s quite large. As you know.”

  O swallowed and kept his voice smooth. “If you want me to teach, I’ll need more space than that.”

  “You will come here until we build. That clear enough for you, or do you want a diagram?”

  Fine. He’d deal.

  O opened the door.

  “Mr. O, I believe you have forgotten something.”

  Jesus. Now he knew what people meant when they said their skin crawled.

  “Yes, sensei?”

  “I want you to thank me for the promotion.”

  “Thank you, sensei,” O said with a tight jaw.

  “Don’t disappointment me, son.”

  Yeah, fuck you, daddy.

  O bowed a little and left quickly. It felt good to get in his truck and drive away. Better than good. It felt like a goddamned liberation.

  On the way to his house, O pulled into a CVS. It didn’t take him long to find what he needed, and ten minutes later he shut his front door and deactivated his security alarm. His place was a tiny two-story in a not-so-hot residential section of town, and the location provided good cover. Most of his neighbors were elderly, and those who weren’t were green-carders who worked two and three jobs. No one bothered him.

  As he walked upstairs to the bedroom, the sound of his footsteps echoing up from the bare floors and bouncing off the empty walls was oddly comforting. Still, the house wasn’t a home and never had been. The thing was a barrack. A mattress and a Barcalounger were all he had for furniture. Blinds hung in front of every piece of glass, blocking any view. Closets were stocked with weapons and uniforms. The kitchen was completely empty, the appliances unused since he’d moved in.

  He stripped and took a gun into the bathroom along with the white plastic CVS bag. Leaning in toward the mirror, he parted his hair. His roots were showing about an eighth of an inch of pale.
/>   The change had started about a year ago. First a few hairs, right on top, then a whole patch that spread from front to back. His temples had held out the longest, though now even they were fading.

  Clairol Hydrience No. 48 Sable Cove took care of the problem, got him back to brown. He’d started with Hair Color for Men, but soon discovered that the shit for women worked better and lasted longer.

  He popped open the box and didn’t bother with the clear plastic gloves. Emptying the tube into the squeeze bottle, he shook the stuff up and threaded it through to his scalp in sections. He hated the chemical smell. The maintenance. The skunk stripe. But the idea of paling out repulsed him.

  Why lessers lost their pigmentation over time was an unknown. Or at least, he’d never asked. The whys didn’t matter to him. He just didn’t want to be lost in a great anonymity with the others.

  He put down the squeeze bottle and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like a total idiot, brown grease slathered all over his head. Jesus Christ, what was he turning into?

  Well, wasn’t that a stupid question. The deed was long done, and it was too late for regrets.

  Man, on the night of his initiation, when he’d traded a part of himself for the chance to kill for years and years and years, he’d thought he’d known what he was giving up and what he was getting in return. The deal had seemed more than fair.

  And for three years, it had continued to strike him as a good one. The impotence hadn’t bothered him much, because the woman he wanted was dead. The not eating and drinking had taken some getting used to, but he’d never been a big chowhound or a drunk. And he’d been eager to lose his old identity, because the police were looking for him.

  The plus side had seemed tremendous. The strength had been more than he’d expected. He’d been one hell of a skull-cracker when he’d worked as a bouncer back in Sioux City. But after the Omega was through doing his thing, O had inhuman tensile power in his arms, legs, and chest, and he’d liked using it.

  Another bonus was the financial freedom. The Society gave him everything he needed to do his job, covering the costs of his house, his truck, his weapons and clothes, his electronic toys. He was utterly free to hunt his prey.

  Or he had been for the first couple of years. When Mr. X had taken command, that autonomy had come to an end. Now there were check-ins. Squadrons. Quotas.

  Visits with the Omega.

  O got in the shower and washed the crap out of his hair. As he toweled off, he went back to the mirror and peered at his face. His irises, once brown like his hair, were turning gray.

  In another year or so, everything that used to be him would be gone.

  He cleared his throat. “My name is David Ormond. David. Ormond. Son of Bob and Lilly. Ormond. Ormond.”

  God, the name sounded weird as it left his mouth. And in his head, he heard Mr. X’s voice referring to him as Mr. O.

  A tremendous emotion swelled in him, panic and sorrow combined. He wanted to go back. He wanted…to go back, to undo, to erase. The deal for his soul had only seemed good. In reality, it was a special kind of hell. He was a living, breathing, killing ghost. No longer a man, but a thing.

  O dressed with trembling hands and jumped into his truck. By the time he was downtown, he was no longer thinking logically. He parked on Trade Street and started walking the alleys. It took some time before he found what he was looking for.

  A whore with long, dark hair. Who, as long as she didn’t flash her teeth, looked a little like his Jennifer had.

  He slipped her fifty bucks and took her behind a Dumpster.

  “I want you to call me David,” he said.

  “Sure thing.” She smiled as she undid her coat and flashed her bare chest. “What do you want to call—”

  He clamped a hand over her mouth and started to squeeze. He didn’t stop until her eyes were popping.

  “Say my name,” he commanded.

  O released his grip and waited. When all she did was hyperventilate, he took out his knife and pressed it into her throat.

  “Say my name.”

  “David,” she whispered.

  “Tell me that you love me.” When she hesitated, he pricked the skin of her neck with the tip of the blade. Her blood welled up and slid down the shiny metal. “Say it.”

  Her sloppy breasts, so unlike Jennifer’s, pumped up and down. “I…I love you.”

  He closed his eyes. The voice was all wrong.

  This just wasn’t giving him what he needed.

  O’s anger rose to an uncontrollable level.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rhage heaved the barbell up from his chest, teeth bared, body shaking, sweat pouring off him.

  “That’s ten,” Butch called out.

  Rhage set the load back on the stand above him, hearing the thing groan as the weights rattled and fell still.

  “Add another fifty.”

  Butch leaned over the bar. “You got five-twenty-five on there already, my man.”

  “And I need another fifty.”

  Hazel eyes narrowed. “Easy, Hollywood. You want to shred your pecs, that’s your business. But don’t take my head off.”

  “Sorry.” He sat up and shook out his burning arms. It was nine in the morning, and he and the cop had been in the weight room since seven. There wasn’t one part of his body that wasn’t on fire, but quitting was a long way off. He was shooting for the kind of physical exhaustion that went into the bone.

  “Are we there yet?” he muttered.

  “Let me tighten the clamps. Okay, good to go.”

  Rhage laid back down, hoisted the barbell off the stand, and let it rest on his chest. He marshaled his breathing before pumping the weight.

  Stray. Dog.

  Stray. Dog.

  Stray. Dog.

  He controlled the load until the last two reps, when Butch had to step in and spot.

  “You finished?” Butch asked as he helped settle the bar on the stand.

  Rhage sat up and panted, resting his forearms on his knees. “One more set of reps after this break.”

  Butch came around in front, twisting the shirt he’d taken off into a rope. Thanks to all the lifting they’d been doing, the male’s chest and arm muscles were thickening up, and he hadn’t been small to begin with. He couldn’t pull the kind of iron Rhage did, but for a human, the guy was a bulldozer.

  “You’re getting into some kind of shape, cop.”

  “Aw, come on, now.” Butch grinned. “Don’t let that shower we took go to your head.”

  Rhage fired a towel at the male. “Just pointing out your beer gut’s gone.”

  “It was a Scotch pot. And I don’t miss it.” Butch ran a hand over his six-pack. “Now, tell me something. Why are you beating the crap out of yourself this morning?”

  “You have much interest in talking about Marissa?”

  The human’s face tightened up. “Not particularly.”

  “So you can understand if I don’t have a lot to say.”

  Butch’s dark brows rose. “You’ve got a woman? As in, one specific woman?”

  “I thought we weren’t talking about females.”

  The cop crossed his arms and frowned. Kind of like he was assessing a blackjack hand and trying to decide whether to take another hit from the dealer.

  He spoke fast and hard. “I’ve got it bad for Marissa. She won’t see me. That’s it, the whole story. Now tell me about your nightmare.”

  Rhage had to smile. “The idea I’m not the only one on the skids is a relief.”

  “That tells me nothing. I want details.”

  “The female threw me out of her house early this morning after doing a job on my ego.”

  “What kind of hatchet did she use?”

  “An unflattering comparison between me and a free-agent canine.”

  “Ouch.” Butch twisted the shirt in the other direction. “So naturally, you’re dying to see her again.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “You’re
pathetic.”

  “I know.”

  “But I can almost beat that.” The cop shook his head. “Last night, I…ah…I drove out to Marissa’s brother’s house. I don’t even know how the Escalade got there. I mean, the last thing I need is to run into her, you feel me?”

  “Let me guess. You waited around in hopes of catching a—”

  “In the bushes, Rhage. I sat in the bushes. Under her bedroom window.”

  “Wow. That’s…”

  “Yeah. In my old life I could have arrested me for stalking. Look, maybe we should change the topic.”

  “Great idea. Finish the update about that civilian male who escaped from the lessers.”

  Butch leaned back against the concrete wall, crossing one arm over his chest and pulling it into a stretch. “So Phury talked with the nurse who’d treated him. The guy was pretty well gone, but he managed to tell her that they were asking questions about you brothers. Where you live. How you get around. The victim didn’t give a specific address where he’d been worked over, but it has to be somewhere downtown, because that’s where he was found, and God knew he couldn’t have gotten far. Oh, and he kept mumbling letters. X. O. E.”

  “That’s how lessers refer to themselves.”

  “Catchy. Very 007.” Butch went to work on his other arm, his shoulder cracking. “Anyway, I peeled a wallet off the lesser who’d been strung up in that tree, and Tohr went over to the guy’s place. It had been cleaned out, like they knew he was gone.”

  “Was the jar there?”

  “Tohr said no.”

  “Then they’d definitely been by.”

  “What’s in those things anyway?”

  “The heart.”

  “Nasty. But better than other parts of the anatomy, considering someone told me they can’t get it up.” Butch dropped his arms and sucked his teeth, a little thinking noise released from his mouth. “You know, all this is starting to make sense. Remember those dead prostitutes I investigated in the back alleys this summer? The ones with the bite marks on their necks and the heroin in their blood?”

  “Zsadist’s girlfriends, man. It’s the way he feeds. Humans only, although how he stays alive on that weak blood is a mystery.”