The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4

by J. R. Ward

  He didn’t answer her as he headed for the bedroom, couldn’t bear to talk about the horrible things she’d endured.

  “Do I look so bad to you?” she whispered into his shoulder.

  When he got to the bed, he set her on her feet. “The robe is wet. You should take it off. Use this to dry if you want.”

  She took the towel and started to loosen the tie at her waist. He quickly turned around, listening to a rush of cloth, some flapping, then the shifting of sheets.

  As she settled in, some very base, ancient core of him demanded that he lay with her now. And not as in hold her. He wanted to be inside of her, moving…releasing. Somehow that seemed like the right thing to do, to give her not just the blood in his veins but the completion of the sexual act, too.

  Which was totally fucked up.

  He dragged a hand over his hair, wondering where the hell that bad idea had come from. Man, he had to get away from her—

  Well, that was going to happen soon, wasn’t it. She was leaving tonight. Leaving to go home.

  His instincts went nuts, making him want to fight to make her stay in his bed. But screw that stupid, primeval core of him. He needed to go do his job. He needed to go out and find that one particular lesser and slaughter the fucker for her. That was what he had to do.

  Z headed for the closet, pulled on a shirt, and armed up. As he grabbed for his chest holster, he considered asking her for a description of the slayer who’d taken her. Except he didn’t want to traumatize her…No, he would get Tohr to ask, because the brother would handle that kind of thing well. When she was returned to her family tonight, he would have Tohr talk to her then.

  “I’m heading out,” Z said as he buckled the leather dagger holder across his ribs. “You want me to have Fritz bring you food before you go?”

  When there was no answer, he looked around the doorjamb. She was on her side, watching him.

  Another wave of heavy-handed instinct pounded through him.

  He wanted to see her eat. After the sex, after he came inside of her, he wanted to have her eat food he’d brought her, and he wanted her to take the stuff from his hand. Hell, he wanted to go out and kill something for her, bring the meat back, cook it himself, and feed her until she was full. Then he wanted to lie beside her with a dagger in his hand, protecting her as she slept.

  He ducked back into the closet. Man, he was going crazy. Straight-up loco.

  “I’ll have him bring you something,” he said.

  He checked the blades on his two black daggers, testing them on the inside of his forearm, slicing into his skin. As the pain tingled into his brain, he stared at the puncture marks Bella had left on his wrist.

  Shaking himself back into focus, he put his gun holster around his hips and ran through his twin SIG Sauers. Both nine-millimeters had full bullet loads, and there were another two clips of hollow tips on the belt. He slipped a throwing knife into a buckle at the small of his back and made sure he had some hira shuriken with him. Shitkickers were next. Light windbreaker to cover the portable arsenal was last.

  When he came out, Bella was still looking up at him from the bed. Her eyes were so blue. Blue as sapphires. Blue as night. Blue as—

  “Zsadist?”

  He fought the urge to smack himself. “Yeah?”

  “Am I ugly to you?” As he recoiled, she put her hands over her face. “Never mind.”

  While she hid from him, he thought of the very first moment he’d seen her, back when she’d surprised him in the gym so many weeks ago. She’d astounded him then, struck him dead-stupid in his boots, and she still had that effect on his brain. It was like he had an off switch that only she had the remote to.

  He cleared his throat. “You are as you have always been to me.”

  He turned away, only to hear a sob. Then another. And another.

  He looked over his shoulder. “Bella…holy hell…”

  “I’m sorry,” she said into her palms. “I’m s-sorry. Just go. I’m f-fine…. I’m sorry, I’m fine.”

  As he went over and sat on the edge of the bed, he wished he had the gift of words. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

  “I’ve invaded your room, your b-bed. Forced you to sleep next me. M-made you give me your vein. I’m so…sorry.” She took a deep breath and collected herself, but even still her despair lingered, carrying the earthy scent of raindrops on a hot sidewalk. “I know I should leave here, I know you don’t want me here, but I just need…I can’t go to my farmhouse. The lesser took me from there, so I can’t stand the idea of going back. And I don’t want to be with my family. They won’t understand what’s going on for me right now, and I don’t have the energy to explain. I just need some time, I need some way to get what is in my head out of it, but I can’t be alone. Even though I don’t want to see anyone except…”

  As she petered out, he said, “You stay here for as long as you want.”

  She started sobbing again. Damn it. That was the wrong thing to say.

  “Bella…I…” What was he supposed to do?

  Reach out to her, asshole. Take her hand, you piece of shit.

  He couldn’t do it. “You want me to move out? Give you some space?”

  More crying, somewhere in the middle of which she mumbled, “I need you.”

  God, if he’d heard that right, he pitied her.

  “Bella, stop crying. Stop crying and look at me.” Eventually she took a deep breath and wiped her face. When he was sure he had her attention, he said, “You don’t worry about anything. You’re staying here as long as you want to. Are we clear?”

  She just stared at him.

  “Nod for me, so I know you heard that.” When she did, he stood up. “And I’m the last thing you need. So you just drop that bullshit right now.”

  “But I—”

  He headed for the door. “I’ll be back before dawn. Fritz knows how to find me—er, all of us.”

  After leaving her, Z strode down the corridor of statues, hung a louie, and shot past Wrath’s study and the grand staircase. Three doors down he knocked. No answer. He knocked again.

  He headed downstairs and found what he was looking for in the kitchen.

  Mary, Rhage’s female, was peeling potatoes. A lot of potatoes. Like, an army load of them. Her gray eyes lifted and her paring knife stilled on an Idaho golden. She glanced around, as if figuring he must be looking for someone else. Or maybe she just hoped she wasn’t alone with him.

  “Could you put this off for a while?” Z said, nodding at the pile.

  “Um, sure. Rhage can always eat something else. Besides, Fritz is having a conniption that I was going to cook, anyway. What…ah, what do you need?”

  “Not me. Bella. She could use a friend right now.”

  Mary put the knife and the half-naked potato down. “I’m so anxious to see her.”

  “She’s in my room.” Z pivoted around, already thinking about which alleys to hit downtown.

  “Zsadist?”

  He stopped with his hand on the butler’s door. “What.”

  “You’re taking very good care of her.”

  He thought of the blood he’d let her swallow. And the urge he had to orgasm in her body.

  “Not really,” he said over his shoulder.

  Sometimes you have to start at the beginning, O thought as he jogged through the forest.

  About three hundred yards from where he’d parked the truck, the trees gave way to a flat meadow. He stopped while still hidden among the pines.

  Across the white blanket of snow was the farmhouse where he had first found his wife, and in the fading light of day her home was all Norman Rockwell, Hallmark-card, Middle America perfect. The only thing that was missing was some smoke coming out of the redbrick chimney.

  He took out his binocs and scanned the area, then focused on the house. All the tire tracks in the driveway and the footprints to the door made him worry that the place had changed hands and movers had come. But there was still furnit
ure inside, furniture he recognized from when he’d been in there with her.

  He dropped the binocs, letting them hang around his neck, and crouched down. He would wait for her here. If she was alive, either she would go to her house or whoever was taking care of her would come for some of her things. If she was dead, someone would start moving her shit out.

  At least, he hoped something like that would happen. He had nothing else to go on, didn’t know her name or her family’s whereabouts. Couldn’t guess where else she might be. His only other option was to go out and question civilians about her. As no other female had been abducted lately, surely she’d have been a topic of conversation within her race. Trouble was, that route could take weeks…months. And information from persuasive techniques wasn’t always solid.

  No, watching her house was more likely to get him results. He would sit and wait until someone tipped a hand and led him back to her. Maybe his job would get even easier and that scarred brother would be the one who showed.

  That would be just about perfect.

  O settled back on his heels, ignoring the cold wind.

  God…he hoped she was alive.

  Chapter Nineteen

  John kept his head down and tried to pull it together.

  The locker room was filled with steam and voices and the snapping of wet towels on bare butts. The trainees had ditched their sweaty jis and were showering before they took a food break and then hit the classroom part of the session.

  It was all standard guy stuff, except John so did not want to get naked. Even though they were all his size, this was straight out of every high school nightmare he’d ridden out until he’d quit the system when he was sixteen. And right now he was just too flat-out exhausted to deal with the scene.

  He figured it was about midnight by now, but he felt as though it were four A.M…. like, the day after tomorrow. Training had been grueling for him. None of the other guys was strong, but all of them could keep up with the stances Phury and then Tohr introduced. Hell, a few were even naturals. John was a mess. His feet were slow, his hands were always in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he had no physical coordination. Man, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find his balance. His body was like a shifting, lurching bag of water; if he moved in one direction, the whole thing flopped over on him.

  “You’d better hurry,” Blaylock said. “We’ve only got eight more minutes.”

  John eyed the shower’s doorway. The jets were still on but there was no one in it as far as he could see. He stripped out of the ji and the jockstrap and walked quickly into the—

  Shit. Lash was in the corner. Like he’d been waiting.

  “Hey, big man,” the guy drawled. “Really showed us a thing or two out—”

  Lash stopped talking and just stared at John’s chest.

  “You little kiss-ass,” he snapped. And then stormed out of the shower.

  John looked down at the circular mark over his left pectoral, the one he’d been born with…the one that Tohr had told him members of the Brotherhood received on their initiations.

  Terrific. Now he could add that birthmark to the growing list of stuff he didn’t want to hear about from his classmates.

  When he came out of the shower with a towel around his waist, all the guys, even Blaylock, were standing together. While they looked him over as a solid, silent unit, he wondered whether vampires had pack instincts, like wolves or dogs.

  As they continued to stare at him, he thought, Um, yeah. That would be a big affirmative.

  John ducked his head and went to his locker, desperate for the day to be over.

  Around three A.M., Phury walked quickly down Tenth Street to ZeroSum. Butch was waiting outside the club’s glass-and-chrome entrance, lounging casually in spite of the cold. In his full-length cashmere coat and with his Red Sox hat pulled down low, he looked good. Anonymous, but good.

  “What’s doing?” Butch asked as they clapped palms.

  “Night was for crap on the lesser side. No one found any. Hey, man, thanks for company, I need it.”

  “No problem.” Butch tugged his Sox cap down even more. Like the Brothers, he kept a low profile. As a homicide detective, he’d helped send a number of drug-trade folks to jail, so it was better for him not to be too conspicuous.

  Inside the club, the techno music was annoying. So were the flashing lights and all the humans. But Phury had his reasons for coming, and Butch was being polite. Sort of.

  “This place is just too frickin’ precious,” the cop said, eyeing a guy dressed in a hot pink leisure suit with makeup to match. “Give me rednecks and home-grown beer any day of the week over this X-culture bullshit.”

  When they got to the VIP section, the satin rope was lowered immediately so they could pass.

  Phury nodded to the bouncer, then looked at Butch. “I won’t take long.”

  “You know where to find me.”

  As the cop went for their table, Phury walked to the back of the high-ticket area, stopping in front of the two Moors who guarded the Reverend’s private door.

  “I’ll tell him you’re here,” the one on the left said.

  A split second later Phury was let in. The office was a cave, dimly lit with a low ceiling, and the vampire behind the desk dominated the space, especially as he got to his feet.

  The Reverend was a jacked-up six foot six, and the tight mohawk he wore his hair in suited him as well as his fancy-ass Italian threads did. His face was pitiless and intelligent, placing him rightfully in the dangerous business he was in. His eyes, though…his eyes didn’t fit. They were curiously beautiful, the color of amethysts, a deep purple that glowed.

  “Back so soon?” the male said, his voice low, deep, harder than usual.

  Get the product, then get a move on, Phury thought.

  He took out his roll and peeled off three large. He fanned out the thousand-dollar bills on top of the chrome desk. “Twice the usual. And I want it quartered.”

  The Reverend smiled coolly and swiveled his head to the left. “Rally, get the male what he needs. And pad those O-Zs.” A minion came out of the darkness and scooted through a pocket door in the far corner of the room.

  When they were alone, the Reverend came around the desk slowly, moving like he had oil in his veins, all sinuous power. As he circled, he closed in enough to have Phury slip his hand into his coat and find one of his guns.

  “Sure we can’t interest you in something more hard-core?” the Reverend said. “That red smoke is for low dosers.”

  “If I wanted something else, I’d ask for it.”

  The vampire stopped beside him. So very close.

  Phury frowned. “There a problem?”

  “You have beautiful hair, you know that? It’s like a female’s. All those different colors.” The Reverend’s voice was strangely hypnotic, his purple eyes purely cunning. “Speaking of females, I hear you don’t take advantage of what’s offered by my ladies here. That true?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Just want to make sure your needs are served. Customer satisfaction is so damned important.” The male moved even closer and nodded at Phury’s arm, the one that disappeared into his coat. “Your hand’s on a gun butt right now, isn’t it? Afraid of me?”

  “Just want to make sure I can take care of you.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah. In case you need a little Glock-to-mouth resuscitation.”

  The Reverend grinned, his fangs flashing. “You know, I’ve heard this rumor…about a member of the Brotherhood who’s celibate. Yeah, go figure, a warrior who abstains. And I’ve heard a few other things about this male. He’s down to one leg. Has a scarred sociopath for a twin. You wouldn’t by any chance know of such a Brother?”

  Phury shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Huh. Funny, I’ve seen you hanging around with a guy who looks like he’s wearing a Halloween mask. Actually, I’ve seen you with a couple of big males who kind of fit some descriptions I’v
e heard. You don’t suppose—”

  “Do me a favor and get me my leaves. I’ll be outside waiting.” Phury turned away. He was in a bad mood to begin with: frustrated that he hadn’t found a fight, bleeding inside over being shut down by Bella. Now was not the time for conflict. He was on his last fucking nerve.

  “Are you celibate because you like males?”

  Phury glared over his shoulder. “What is with you tonight? You’re always shifty, but right now you’re also being a real asshole.”

  “You know, maybe you just need to get laid. I don’t traffic in the males, but I’m sure we could find you one who’d be obliging.”

  For the second time in twenty-four hours, Phury snapped. He surged across the office, took the Reverend by his Gucci lapels, and nailed him into the wall.

  Phury leaned on the guy’s chest. “Why are you picking a fight with me?”

  “You going to kiss me before the sex?” the Reverend murmured, still playing. “I mean, it’s the least you can do, considering we only know each other professionally. Or aren’t you into foreplay?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Now there’s an original comeback. I would have expected something a little more interesting from you.”

  “Fine. How’s this?”

  Phury laid a hard one on the male’s mouth, the kiss a punch between faces, not anything even remotely sexual. And he did it only to wipe the expression off the bastard’s face. It worked. The Reverend stiffened and growled, and Phury knew he’d called the guy’s bluff. But just to make sure the lesson was learned, he clipped the male’s lower lip with a fang.

  The instant blood hit his tongue, Phury yanked back, his mouth falling open. Through his shock, he breathed, “Well, what do you know, sin-eater.”

  At the sound of the word the Reverend cut all the bullshit, getting good and dead serious. In the silence he seemed to be considering his plausible denials.

  Phury shook his head. “Don’t even try. I can taste it.”

  Amethyst eyes narrowed. “The politically correct term is symphath.”

  Phury’s hands tightened on the male out of reflex. Holy shit. A symphath. Here in Caldwell and living among the species. Trying to pass itself off as just another civilian.