The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4

by J. R. Ward

  This made him anxious, like little bits of her were disappearing.

  Holy hell. If her family dismantled the house, he didn’t know where he would go to be with her anymore.

  With a hard eye, he stared at the front porch and the long windows of the living room. Maybe he should pack up some of her stuff for himself. It would be a bastard thing to do, but then, he wasn’t above being a thief.

  Once again, he wondered about her family. He knew they were aristocrats of the highest social order, but that was about it, and he didn’t want to meet them to find out more. Even on his best day, he was shit-awful with people, but the situation with Bella made him dangerous, not just nasty. No, Tohrment was the liaison with her blood ties, and Z was always careful not to run into them.

  He went around the back of the house, entered through the kitchen, and turned off the security alarm. As he did every night, he checked on her fish first. Flakes of food were scattered across the top of the water, evidence that someone had already taken care of them. He was pissed off that he’d been robbed of the opportunity.

  Truth was, he thought of her house as his space now. He’d cleaned it up after she’d been abducted. He’d watered the plants and taken care of the fish. He’d walked the floors and the stairs and stared out of the windows and sat on every chair and sofa and bed. Hell, he’d already decided to buy the damn thing when her family sold it. Though he’d never had a house before or many personal possessions, these walls and this roof and the shit sheltered inside—he would own it all. A shrine to her.

  Z made a quick trip through the house, cataloging the things that had been removed. It wasn’t much. A painting and a silver dish from the living room and a mirror from the front hall. He was curious why those particular objects had been chosen and wanted them back where they belonged.

  As he came into the kitchen again, he pictured the room after she’d been abducted, all the blood, the glass shards, the busted chairs and china. His eyes went down to a black streak of rubber on the pine floor. He could guess how it had been made. Bella struggling against the lesser, being dragged, the sole of her shoe squeaking as it left a trail.

  Anger crawled around his chest on all fours until he was panting from the ugly, familiar feeling. Except…Christ, the whole thing didn’t make sense: him searching for her and obsessing over her shit and walking around her house. They hadn’t been friends. Hell, they hadn’t even been acquaintances. And he hadn’t been nice to her on the two occasions he’d met her.

  Man, he regretted that. During those few moments he’d had with her, he wished he hadn’t been so…Well, not throwing up after he’d found out she was aroused by him would have been a good fricking start. Except there’d been no way to suck back the response. No female other than that sick bitch mistress of his had ever been wet for him, so he sure as hell didn’t associate slick female flesh with anything good.

  As he remembered Bella being up against his body, he still wondered why she’d wanted to lay with him. His face was a goddamned mess. His body wasn’t much better, at least not on the back. And his reputation made Jack the Ripper look like a Boy Scout. Damn it, he was angry at everyone and everything all the time. She’d been beautiful and soft and kind, a regal, aristocratic female from a privileged background.

  Oh, but their contradictions had been the point, hadn’t they? He’d been the change-of-pace male for her. The walk on the wild side. The savage creature who would shock her out of her nice little life for an hour or two. And even though it had hurt to be reduced to precisely what he was, he’d still thought she was…lovely.

  From behind him, he heard a grandfather clock start to chime. Five o’clock.

  The front door to the house opened with a creak.

  In a soundless rush, Z unsheathed a black dagger from his chest and flattened himself against the wall. He angled his head so he had a view down the hall to the foyer.

  Butch held up his hands as he walked inside. “Just me, Z.”

  Zsadist lowered the blade, then put it back in its holster.

  The former homicide detective was an anomaly in their world, the only human who’d ever been let into the Brotherhood’s inner circle. Butch was V’s roommate, Rhage’s lifting partner in the gym, Phury’s clothes-whore buddy. And for reasons of his own, he was obsessed with Bella’s abduction, so he had some shit in common with Z, too.

  “What up, cop?”

  “You heading back to the compound?” The guy’s question might have been framed as an inquiry, but it was more like a suggestion.

  “Not right now.”

  “Close to daylight.”

  Whatever. “Phury send you for me?”

  “My choice. When you didn’t come back from what you paid for, I figured you might end up here.”

  Z crossed his arms over his chest. “You worried I killed that female I took into the alley?”

  “Nope. Saw her working the club before I left.”

  “So why am I looking at you right now?”

  As the male glanced down like he was putting words together in his head, his weight moved back and forth in those expensive loafers he liked. Then he unbuttoned his fancy black cashmere coat.

  Ah…so Butch was a messenger. “Spit it out, cop.”

  The human rubbed his thumb over his eyebrow. “You know Tohr’s been talking to Bella’s family, right? And that her brother’s a real hothead? Well, he knows someone’s coming in here. He can tell because of the security system. Every time it’s shut off or turned on, he gets a signal. He wants the visits to stop, Z.”

  Zsadist bared his fangs. “Tough.”

  “He’s going to put up guards.”

  “Why the hell does he care?”

  “Come on, man, it’s his sister’s place.”

  Son of a bitch. “I want to buy the house.”

  “That’s a no-go, Z. Tohr said the family’s not putting it on the market anytime soon. They want to keep it.”

  Z ground his molars for a moment. “Cop, do yourself a favor and get out of here.”

  “Rather drive you home. Damn close to daybreak.”

  “Yeah, I really need a human telling me that.”

  Butch cursed on an exhale. “Fine, go crispy if you want. Just don’t come back here again. Her family’s been through enough.”

  As soon as the front door shut, Z felt a flush come over his body, like someone had wrapped him up tight in an electric blanket and cranked the dial. Sweat broke out on his face and his chest, and his stomach rolled. He lifted his hands. The palms were wet and the fingers sported a fine tremble.

  Physiological signs of stress, he thought.

  He was clearly having an emotional reaction, although damned if he knew what it was. All he picked up on were the ancillary symptoms. Inside of himself there was nothing, no feeling that he could identify.

  He looked around and wanted to set fire to the farmhouse, just burn the thing down to the ground so no one could have it. Better that than knowing he couldn’t go in anymore.

  Trouble was, torching her place was like hurting her.

  So if he couldn’t leave a pile of ashes behind, he wanted to take something. As he thought about what he could carry with him and still dematerialize, he put his hand up to the slender chain stretched tight around his throat.

  The necklace with its tiny inset diamonds was hers. He’d found the thing in the rubble the night after she’d been abducted, on the terra-cotta floor under her kitchen table. He’d cleaned her blood off of it, fixed the broken clasp, and had worn it ever since.

  And diamonds were eternal, weren’t they? They lasted forever. Just like his memories of her.

  Before Zsadist left, he took one last look at the fish tank. The food was almost gone now, snipped off the surface by little gaping mouths, mouths that came at it from the underside.

  John didn’t know how long he stayed in Wellsie’s arms, but it took him a while to get back to reality. When he finally pulled back, she smiled at him.

 
“Sure you don’t want to tell me about the nightmare?”

  John’s hands started moving, and she stared at them hard because she was just learning American Sign Language. He knew he was going too fast, so he leaned over and picked up one of his pads and a pen from the bedside table.

  It was nothing. I’m okay now. Thanks for waking me up, though.

  “You want to go back to bed?”

  He nodded. It seemed as if he’d done nothing except sleep and eat for the last month and a half, but there was no end to his hunger or his exhaustion. Then again, he had twenty-three years of starvation and insomnia to make up for.

  He slid between the sheets, and then Wellsie eased down beside him. Her pregnancy didn’t show that much if she was standing, but when she was sitting there was a subtle swell under her loose shirt.

  “You want me to put the light on in your bathroom?”

  He shook his head. That would only make him feel more like a pansy, and right now his ego had pretty much taken all the shriveling up it could handle.

  “I’m just going to be at my desk in the study, okay?”

  As she left, he felt bad that he was kind of relieved, but with the panic gone he was ashamed of himself. A man didn’t act like he had just now. A man would have fought the pale-haired demon in the dream and won. And even if he’d been terrified, a man wouldn’t have cowered and shook like a five-year-old when he woke up.

  Then again, John wasn’t a man. At least not yet. Tohr had said the change wouldn’t come to him until he was closer to twenty-five, and he couldn’t wait for the next two years to pass. Because even though he now understood why he was only five feet, six inches tall and 112 pounds, it was still tough. He hated facing his bony body every day in the mirror. Hated wearing boy-sized clothes though he could legally drive and vote and drink. Cringed at the fact that he’d never had an erection, even when he woke up from one of his erotic dreams. And he’d never even kissed a woman, either.

  No, he just didn’t feel like much in the masculine department all the way around. Especially given what had happened to him almost a year ago. God, the anniversary of that attack was coming up, wasn’t it? With a wince he tried not to think of that dirty stairwell or the man who’d held a knife to his throat or those horrible moments when something irretrievable had been taken from him: His innocence violated, gone forever.

  Forcing his mind out of that tailspin, he told himself that at least he was no longer hopeless. Sometime soon he would change into a man.

  Itchy from thinking about the future, he threw the covers off and went to his closet. As he opened the double doors, he was still unused to the display. He’d never owned this many pants and shirts and fleeces in his whole life, but here they were, so fresh and new…all their zippers working, no buttons missing, no fraying, no tears at the seams. He even had a pair of Nike Air Shox.

  He took out a fleece and pulled it on, then pushed his spindly legs into a pair of khakis. In the bathroom he washed his hands and face and combed his dark hair. Then he headed for the kitchen, walking through rooms that had clean, modern lines but were decorated with Italian Renaissance furniture, textiles, and art. He stopped when he heard Wellsie’s voice coming out of the study.

  “…some kind of nightmare. I mean, Tohr, he was terrified…. No, he fudged when I asked him what it was, and Ididn’t press. I think it’s time he sees Havers. Yes…Uh-huh. He should meet Wrath first. Okay. I love you, my hellren. What? God, Tohr, I feel the same way. I don’t know how we ever lived without him. He is such a blessing.”

  John leaned against the wall in the hall and closed his eyes. Funny, he felt the same way about them.

  Chapter Four

  It was hours later, or at least it seemed like hours, when Bella awoke to the sound of the mesh plate sliding back. The sweet smell of the lesser drifted down to her, overpowering the pungent, damp earth.

  “Hello, wife.” The harness around her torso tightened as he lifted her out.

  One look into his pale brown eyes and she knew now was not the time to push any limits. He was wired, his smile way too excited. And unbalanced was not good with him.

  Just as her feet hit the floor, he jerked the harness so she fell against him. “I said hello, wife.”

  “Hello, David.”

  He closed his eyes. He loved it when she said his name. “I have something for you.”

  He left the straps on her and led her over to the stainless-steel table in the center of the room. When he handcuffed her to the thing, she knew it must be dark out still. He got lax about restraining her only during the day, when she couldn’t run.

  The lesser went out the door and left it open wide. Shuffling and grunting noises followed, and then he came back dragging a groggy civilian vampire. The male’s head rolled on his shoulders as if it were on a loose hinge, his feet trailing behind at the toes. He was dressed in what had been nice black slacks and a cashmere sweater, but now the clothes were torn and wet and blood-marked.

  With a moan choking in her throat, Bella backed away until her tether prevented her from going any farther. She couldn’t watch the torture; she just couldn’t.

  The lesser muscled the male over to the table and laid him out flat on it. Chains were looped with efficiency around his wrists and ankles, and the links were secured with metal clips. As soon as the civilian’s hazy eyes latched on to the shelves with the tools, he began to panic. He pulled against his steel binds, making them rattle against the metal table.

  Bella met the vampire’s blue eyes. He was terrified, and she wanted to reassure him, but she knew that wasn’t smart. The lesser was watching her reaction, waiting.

  And then he took out a knife.

  The vampire on the table screamed as the slayer leaned over him. But all David did was yank up the male’s sweater and slit it open, exposing his chest and throat.

  Though Bella tried to fight it, bloodlust stirred in her gut. It had been a long time since she’d fed, maybe months, and all the stress she’d been under meant her body needed badly what only drinking from the opposite sex could give her.

  The lesser took her arm and pulled her around, the handcuff sliding down the table’s rail with her.

  “I figured you must be thirsty by now.” The slayer reached out and rubbed her mouth with his thumb. “So I got this for you to feed from.”

  Her eyes rounded.

  “That’s right. He’s just for you. A present. He’s fresh, young. Better than the two I have in the holes now. And we can keep him as long as he serves you.” The lesser pushed her upper lip off her teeth. “Goddamn…look at those fangs getting longer. Hungry, aren’t you, wife?”

  His hand clamped on the back of her neck and he kissed her, licking at her with his tongue. Somehow she kept her gag reflex down until he lifted his head.

  “I’ve always wondered what this looks like,” he said, eyes roaming around her face. “Is it going to turn me on? I’m not sure whether I want it to or not. I think I like you pure. But you’ve got to do this, right? Or you’re going to die.”

  He pushed her head down toward the male’s throat. When she resisted, the lesser laughed softly and spoke into her ear.

  “That’s my girl. If you’d gone willingly to him, I think I would’ve beaten you out of jealousy.” He stroked her hair with his free hand. “Now drink.”

  Bella looked into the vampire’s eyes. Oh, God…

  The male had stopped struggling and was staring up at her, his eyes about to pop out of his skull. Hungry though she was, she couldn’t bear the idea of taking from him.

  The lesser gripped her neck hard, and his voice got nasty. “You better drink from him. I went to a lot of fucking trouble to get this for you.”

  She opened her mouth, her tongue like sandpaper from the thirst. “No…”

  The lesser put the knife up to her eyes. “One way or the other he’s going to bleed in the next minute and a half. If I go to work on him, he’s not going to last long. So maybe you want to try, wife?�
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  Tears speared her eyes at the violation she would perpetrate.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the chained male.

  Her head was yanked back, and the lesser’s palm came at her face from the left. The slap snapped her upper body around, and the slayer grabbed a chunk of her hair to keep her from falling. He pulled hard, arching her against him. She had no idea where the knife he’d had went.

  “You do not apologize to that.” He clapped his hand on her chin, digging his fingertips into the hollows under her cheekbones. “I’m the only one you worry about. We clear? I said, are we clear?”

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, David.”

  He took her free arm and bent it behind her back. Pain shot into her shoulder. “Tell me you love me.”

  From out of nowhere, anger lit off a firestorm in her chest. She would never say that word to him. Never.

  “Tell me you love me,” he yelled, blasting the demand into her face.

  Her eyes flashed and she bared her fangs. The instant she did his excitement shot out of control, his body starting to tremble, his breath falling into a fast pant. He was instantly primed to fight her, aroused for the battle, ready as if he were erect for sex. This was the part of the relationship he lived for. He loved to fight her. Had told her that his former woman hadn’t been as strong as she was, hadn’t been able to last as long before passing out.

  “Tell me you love me.”

  “I. Despise. You.”

  As he lifted his hand and made a fist out of it, she glared up at him, steady, calm, ready to take the hit. They stayed like that for a long time, their bodies suspended in twins arcs like a heart, tied by the strings of violence that ran between them. In the background the civilian male on the table whimpered.

  Suddenly the lesser’s arms shot around her and he buried his face in her neck. “I love you,” he said. “I love you so much…. I can’t live without you—”