The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4

by J. R. Ward

  “You getting married?” Butch tossed back half the new Lag. “Where you registered? Crate and Bury ’Em?”

  “Try Heckler and Koch.” The Reverend opened his jacket and flashed the butt of a forty.

  “Nice little poodle shooter you got there, vampire.”

  “Put a hell of a—”

  V cut in. “You two are like watching tennis, and racquet sports bore me. What’s the news?”

  Rehv looked at Butch. “He has such phenomenal people skills, doesn’t he.”

  “Try living with him.”

  The Reverend smirked, then grew serious. As he spoke, his mouth barely moved and his words didn’t carry far. “The Princeps Council met night before last. Issue was mandatory sehclusion for all unmated females. The leahdyre wants a recommendation passed and submitted to Wrath ASAP.”

  V whistled under his breath. “A lockdown.”

  “Precisely. They’re using my sister’s abduction and Wellesandra’s death as the rationales. Which is some powerful shit, as it should be.” The Reverend locked eyes with V. “Word to your boss. The glymera is pissed off at these civilian losses all around town. This motion is their warning shot across Wrath’s bow and they are dead serious about passing it. The leahdyre’s all up in my grill because they can’t hold a vote unless every member of the council is in the room, and I’m a consistent no-show. I can put off the meeting for a little while, but not forever.” At that moment, a cell phone went off in the Reverend’s jacket and he took the thing out. “And what do you know, here’s Bella now. Hey, sister mine—” The male’s eyes flashed and his body shifted. “Tahlly?”

  Butch frowned, getting the distinct impression that whoever was on that line was a female and not of the sister kind: Rehvenge’s body was suddenly throwing off heat like a banked fire.

  Man, you had to wonder what kind of woman would tangle with a piece of work like the Reverend. Then again, V was obviously getting laid, so those kind of females were out there.

  “Hold on, tahlly.” Rehv frowned and got to his feet. “Later, gentlemen. And drinks are on me tonight.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” V said.

  “I’m such a model fucking citizen, aren’t I?” Rehv sauntered down to his office and shut himself away.

  Butch shook his head. “So the Reverend’s got a chippie, huh?”

  V grunted. “Pity that female.”

  “For real.” As Butch’s stare drifted, he tensed up. That hard-ass female with the men’s haircut still had her eyes on him in the shadows.

  “Did you do her, cop?” V asked softly.

  “Who.” He kicked the tail end of the shot.

  “You know exactly who I’m asking about.”

  “None of your biz, roommate.”

  As Marissa waited for Rehvenge’s voice to come back on the line, she wondered where he was. There was a din coming over the connection—music, voices. A party?

  The noise cut off sharply, as if he’d closed a door. “Tahlly, where are you? Or did Havers get his phones really encrypted?”

  “I’m not at home.”

  Silence. Then, “Are you where I think you are? Are you with the Brotherhood?”

  “How did you know?”

  He muttered something, then said, “Only one number on the planet this phone can’t trace, and it’s where my sister calls me from. Now you’re pulling the same no-show thing for an I.D. What the hell’s going on?”

  She glossed over the situation, telling him only that she and Havers had argued and she’d needed somewhere to stay.

  Rehv cursed. “You should have called me first. I want to take care of you.”

  “It’s complicated. Your mother—”

  “You don’t worry about her.” Rehv’s voice smoothed out into a purr. “Come stay with me, tahlly. All you have to do is materialize to the penthouse and I’ll have you picked up.”

  “Thank you, but no. I’m only going to be here long enough to get settled somewhere else.”

  “Settled somewhere—what the hell? This stuff with your brother is permanent?”

  “It’ll be fine. Listen, Rehvenge, I…need you. I need to try again to…” She put her head in her hand. She hated using him, but who else could she go to? And Butch…God, Butch…she felt like she was betraying him. Except what was her alternative?

  Rehvenge growled, “When, tahlly? When do you want me?”

  “Now.”

  “Just go to—ah, hell, I’ve got to meet the Princeps leahdyre. And then I’ve got some work-related issues I have to take care of.”

  She gripped the phone. Waiting was bad. “Tomorrow, then?”

  “At nightfall. Unless you want to come and stay at my home. Then we could have…all day long.”

  “I’ll see you first thing tomorrow evening.”

  “I can’t wait, tahlly.”

  After she hung up, she stretched out on the bed and sank into utter exhaustion, her body becoming indistinguishable from the sheets and blankets and pillows, just another inanimate object on top of the mattress.

  Oh, hell…maybe waiting until tomorrow was better. She could rest up then talk to Butch and let him know what was going on. As long as she wasn’t sexually charged, she should be able to control herself around him and this was one conversation that was better to have in person: If humans who were in love were anything like bonded male vampires, Butch wasn’t going to handle the fact that she needed to be with someone else well.

  With a sigh, she thought about Rehv. Then the Princeps Council. Then her sex in general.

  God, even if that sehclusion motion was defeated by some miracle, there really was no safe place for females to go if they were threatened at home, was there? With the disintegration of vampire society and all the fighting with the lessers, there were no social services for the race. No safety net. No one to help females and their young if the hellren in their house was violent. Or if the family turned the female away.

  Good Lord, what would have happened to her if Beth and Wrath hadn’t taken her in? Or if she didn’t have Rehvenge?

  She might well have died.

  Down in the compound’s training center, John was the first in the locker room after the in-class session was done. He changed quickly into his jockstrap and his ji, impatient for the fighting practice to begin.

  “What’s the hurry, John? Oh, wait, you like to get your ass kicked.”

  John looked over his shoulder. Lash was standing in front of an open locker, taking off a fancy silk shirt. His chest was no bigger than John’s and his arms just as thin, but as the guy stared back, his eyes burned like he was the size of a bull.

  John met that glare head-on, his body heating up. Man, he was jonesing for Lash to open his mouth and say something else. Just one more thing.

  “You gonna pass out on us again, John? Like the pansy you are?”

  Bingo.

  John launched himself at the kid but didn’t get far. Blaylock, the redhead, caught him and held him back, trying to derail the fight. But Lash didn’t have any such deadweight. The bastard drew his fist back and threw a right hook so hard that John spun out of Blaylock’s hold and hit the bank of lockers with a metal bang.

  Stunned, breath knocked out of him, John reached out blindly.

  Blaylock caught him again. “Jesus Christ, Lash—”

  “What? He was coming at me.”

  “Because you were begging for it.”

  Lash’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

  “You don’t have to be such an asshole.”

  As Lash pointed at Blaylock, his Jacob & Co. watch sparkled under the lights like it was a battery-powered twinkler.

  “Careful, Blay. Playing on his team ain’t such a hot idea.” The guy shook out his hand and dropped his pants. “Man, that felt good. How was it on your end, John-boy?”

  John let that one go and pushed himself free. As his face throbbed to the beat of his heart, he thought of a car blinker for some absurd reason.

  Oh, L
ord…how bad was the damage? He stumbled over to the row of sinks, and in the long mirror that ran down the length of the wall, he got a look at his puss. Great. Just great. His chin and lip were already swelling.

  Blaylock appeared behind him with a cold bottle of water. “Put this on it.”

  John took the icy Aquafina and eased it onto his face. Then he closed his eyes to avoid seeing either himself or the redhead.

  “You want me to tell Zsadist you’re not training tonight?”

  John shook his head.

  “You sure?”

  Ignoring the question, John gave the water back and walked out to the gym. The other guys followed in a tense group, stomping over the blue mats and lining up next to him.

  Zsadist came out of the Equipment Room, took one look at John’s face and got good and pissed off. “Everyone put their hands out, palms down.” He walked past each trainee until he stopped in front of Lash. “Nice knuckles. Over against the wall.”

  Lash sauntered across the gym, looking self-satisfied that he wasn’t going to have to work out.

  Zsadist stopped in front of John’s hands. “Turn ’em over.”

  John did. There was a heartbeat of silence. Then Zsadist gripped John’s chin and forced his head up. “Seeing double?”

  John shook his head.

  “Nauseous?”

  John shook his head.

  “This hurt?” Zsadist prodded the jaw a little.

  John winced. Shook his head.

  “Liar. But that’s what I want to hear.” Z stepped away and addressed the trainees. “Laps. Twenty. And each time you get to your classmate over there, you drop in front of him and do twenty push-ups. Marine style. Move it.”

  The groans were loud.

  “Do I look like I care?” Zsadist whistled through his teeth. “Move it.”

  John started off with the rest of them, thinking this was going to be a really long night. But at least Lash wasn’t looking quite so pleased with himself…

  Four hours later, it turned out John was right.

  By the end of the session, they were all exhausted. Z not only ground them into the mats, he kept them longer than usual. Like, centuries longer than usual. The damn training was so grueling that not even John had the energy to keep practicing after they broke for the night. Instead, he went directly to Tohr’s office and collapsed in the chair without even showering.

  Curling his legs up tight, he figured he would just rest a minute, then go rinse off—

  The door swung open. “You okay?” Zsadist demanded.

  John didn’t look over, just nodded.

  “I’m recommending that Lash get kicked out of the program.”

  John jerked upright and started shaking his head.

  “Whatever, John. That’s the second time he’s gone after you. Or do I have to remind you of the nunchakus thing a few months back?”

  No, John remembered. Shit, though.

  With too much to say to be able to sign and have Z catch everything, he reached for his pad and wrote with extra neatness: If he gets kicked out, I look weak to the others. I want to fight with these guys someday. How can they trust me if they think I’m a lightweight?

  He handed the pad to Zsadist, who held the pages with care in his big hands. The Brother’s head dropped low and his brows crunched together, his distorted mouth moving a little as if he were sounding out each word.

  When Z was finished, he tossed the pad on the desk. “I won’t have that little shit beating on you, John. Just won’t have it. But you got a point. I’ll slap Lash with some serious probation. But one more of these happy little episodes, and he’s out.”

  Zsadist walked over to the closet where the tunnel access was hidden, then looked over his shoulder. “Listen up, John. I don’t want a free-for-all during training. So no going after the bastard even though he deserves it. You just keep your head down and your hands to yourself. Phury and I’ll watch him for you, okay?”

  John looked away, thinking of how badly he’d wanted to clock Lash. How badly he still wanted to do that.

  “John? We clear? No brawling.”

  After a long moment, John nodded slowly.

  And hoped he’d be able to keep his word.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Hours and hours and hours later, Butch’s ass was so numb he couldn’t tell where the floor ended and his butt began. All day long, he’d been sitting in this hallway outside of Marissa’s bedroom door. Like the dog he was.

  He couldn’t say it had been wasted time. He’d done a lot of thinking.

  And had made a phone call that had been the right thing to do, though a cringer to get through: He’d bitten the bullet and called his sister Joyce.

  Nothing had changed at home. Evidently his family back in South Boston still had no interest in having anything to do with him. And that didn’t really bother him because it was the status quo. But it did make him feel bad for Marissa. She and her brother had been tight, so getting turned out by him must have been a truly nasty surprise.

  “Master?”

  Butch looked up. “Hey, Fritz.”

  “I have what you asked for.” The doggen bowed low and held out a black velvet bag. “I believe it matches your specifications, but if it does not, I can find another.”

  “I’m sure it’s perfect.” Butch took the heavy satchel, split it open at the mouth, and poured the contents into his hand. The solid gold cross was three inches long and two inches wide, thick as a finger. Suspended at the end of a long, gold chain, it was exactly what he’d wanted and he put it around his neck with satisfaction.

  The substantial weight was just as he’d hoped it would be, a tangible protection.

  “Master, how is it?”

  Butch smiled up at the doggen’s wrinkled face while unbuttoning his shirt and dropping the necklace inside. He felt the cross slide down his skin until it lay right over his heart. “Like I said, perfect.”

  Fritz beamed, bowed, and took off, just as the grandfather clock started chiming down at the other end of the corridor. Once, twice…six times.

  The bedroom door in front of him swung open.

  Marissa appeared before him as an apparition. After so many hours of thinking about her, his eyes were momentarily snowed, seeing her not as real but as a figment of his desperation, her dress ether not cloth, her hair a glorious golden aura, her face a haunting well of beauty. As he stared up at her, his heart transformed her into an icon from his Catholic childhood, the Madonna of salvation and love…and him her unworthy servant.

  He dragged himself off the floor, his spine cracking as it supported his weight. “Marissa.”

  Ah, shit, his emotions were all right there in his rusted-out voice, the pain, the sadness, the regret.

  She held her hand up. “I meant what I said in that message last night. I loved being with you. Every moment. That wasn’t why you had to leave and I wish I could have explained myself better at the time. Butch, we need to talk.”

  “Yeah, I know. But do you mind if we go down the hall for this?” Because he had no intention of having an audience, and no matter what she said, he figured she’d prefer not to be in a bedroom alone with him. She was tense as hell.

  When she nodded, they headed to the sitting room at the end of the corridor, and on the way, he was stunned by how weak she was. She moved slowly, as if she couldn’t feel her legs, and she was terribly pale, nearly transparent from a lack of energy.

  Once inside the peach and yellow room, she went over to the windows, away from him.

  Her words were thin as breath as she spoke. “Butch, I don’t know how to say this…”

  “I know what’s doing.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.” He started toward her, arms out. “Don’t you know I would do anything—”

  “Don’t come any closer.” She stepped back. “You’ve got to stay away from me.”

  He dropped his hands. “You need to feed, don’t you?”

  Her eyes wide
ned. “How did you—”

  “It’s all right, baby.” He smiled a little. “It’s very all right. I talked with V.”

  “So you know what I’ve got to do? And you don’t…mind?”

  He shook his head. “I’m fine with it. More than fine.”

  “Oh, thank the Scribe Virgin.” She lurched over to a sofa and sat down as if her knees had buckled. “I was so afraid you’d be offended. It’ll be hard on me as well, but it’s the only safe way. And I can’t wait any longer. It has to be tonight.”

  When she patted the couch seat, he went over with relief and sat beside her, taking her hands in his. God, she was so cold.

  “I’m really ready for this,” he said, with thick anticipation. Man, he was suddenly dying to head back to her bedroom. “Let’s go.”

  A curious expression crossed her face. “You want to watch?”

  He stopped breathing. “Watch?”

  “I, ah…I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  As her words hit him, Butch became aware of a sinking feeling in his gut. Like someone had popped the stoppers on a number of his internal organs. “What are you talking about, watch?”

  “When I’m with the male who lets me take his vein.”

  Abruptly, Marissa recoiled, giving him a good idea of what the expression on his face must be like.

  Yeah, or maybe she was reacting to the fact that he’d started to growl.

  “The other male,” he said slowly, as he put it all together. “The one you told me you’ve been seeing. You’ve fed from him.”

  She nodded slowly. “Yes.”

  Butch jacked up to his feet. “Often?”

  “Ah…four or five times.”

  “And he’s an aristocrat, of course.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “And he’d make a socially acceptable mate for you, wouldn’t he.” Unlike a POS human. “Wouldn’t he?”

  “Butch, it isn’t romantic. I swear.”

  Yeah, maybe on her side it wasn’t. But it was damn hard to imagine any male not sexing her. The bastard would have to be impotent or some shit. “He’s into you, isn’t he. Answer the question, Marissa. Flyboy with the superhero plasma…he wants you, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he?”