The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4

by J. R. Ward

  As their stares met, Butch knew V was thinking the same thing he was: No matter what the risks were, anything was better than Vishous having to kill him outright because he had to leave.

  “I’m going to Marissa now.”

  Butch paused on his way out the door to the tunnel. “You sure there isn’t something we can do about these dreams of yours?”

  “You got enough on your plate.”

  “I’m an excellent multitasker, buddy.”

  “Go to your female, cop. Don’t worry about me.”

  “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

  “Said the SIG to the Glock.”

  Butch cursed and hit the tunnel, trying not to be totally pumped. When he got to the big house, he went up to the second floor and passed by Wrath’s study. On impulse, he knocked on the jamb. After the king called out, Butch was in there maybe ten minutes tops before he went on to Marissa’s room.

  He was about to knock when someone said, “She’s not there.”

  He pivoted around and saw Beth coming out of the sitting room at the end of the hall, a vase of flowers in her hands.

  “Where is Marissa?” he asked.

  “She went with Rhage to check out her new place.”

  “What new place?”

  “She’s rented a house for herself. About seven miles from here.”

  Shit. She was moving out. And she hadn’t even told him. “Exactly where is it?”

  After Beth gave him the address and assured him the rental was safe, his first instinct was to race over there, but he canned that idea. Wrath was going to the Scribe Virgin right now. Maybe they could get the regression over with and there’d be good news to share on the other side.

  “She’s coming back tonight, right?” Man, he wished she’d told him about the move out.

  “Definitely. And Wrath is going to ask Vishous to work on the security system, so she’ll stay here until that’s done.” Beth frowned. “Hey…you don’t look so good. Why don’t you come down and get some food with me?”

  He nodded, even though he had no idea what she’d said to him. “You know I love her, right?” he blurted, not sure why he was going there.

  “Yes, I do. And she loves you.”

  Then why didn’t she talk to him?

  Yeah, and just how easy had he made that for her lately? He’d freaked out about the feeding. Taken her virginity while he was drunk. Hurt her in the process. Christ.

  “I’m not hungry,” he said. “But I’ll watch while you eat.”

  Back at the Pit, Vishous stepped out of the shower and yelped like a nancy, slamming back against the marble wall. Wrath was standing in the bathroom, a big leather-clad male the size of the goddamned Escalade.

  “Christ, my lord. Scare a brother, why don’t you.”

  “Little jumpy there, V, huh?” Wrath handed over a towel. “So I just came back from the Scribe Virgin.”

  V paused with the terry cloth under an arm. “What did she say?”

  “She wouldn’t see me.”

  “Goddamn it, why?” He wrapped up his hips.

  “Some shit like ‘wheels turning.’ Who knows. One of the Chosen met me.” Wrath’s jaw went so tight it was a wonder he could talk at all. “Anyway, I go back tomorrow night. Straight up, it doesn’t look good.”

  As frustration spiked, V felt his eyelid start to flicker. “Shit.”

  “Yeah.” There was a pause. “And while we’re on the subject of crap, let’s talk about you.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re strung tighter than cable and your eye’s twitching.”

  “Yeah, because you just Friday-the-thirteenthed me.” V pushed past the king and went into his bedroom.

  As he put his glove on his hand, Wrath leaned against the jamb. “Look, Vishous…”

  Oh, they were so not doing this. “I’m fine.”

  “Sure you are. So here’s the deal. I’m giving you till the end of the week. If you haven’t straightened up by then, I’m taking you out of rotation.”

  “What?”

  “Vacation time. Can you say R&R, my brother?”

  “Are you out of your mind? You realize we’re down to four of us now with Tohr being gone, true? You can’t afford to—”

  “Lose you. Yeah, I know. And so you’re not going to get killed because of whatever’s going on in that head of yours. Or not going on, as is the case.”

  “Look, we’re all on edge, what with—”

  “Butch came by a little while ago. Told me about your repeating nightmare.”

  “That cocksucker.” Man, he was going to pound his roommate into the ground like a stake for blabbing.

  “He was right to tell me. You should have told me.”

  V went over to his bureau, where his rolling papers and his tobacco were. He spun one up fast, needing something in his mouth. It was either plug himself up or keep swearing.

  “You need to get checked out, V.”

  “By who? Havers? No CAT scan or lab workup is going to tell me what’s wrong, because it’s not physical. Look, I’ll get it together.” He glanced over his shoulder and exhaled. “I’m the smart one, remember? I’ll figure this out.”

  Wrath lowered his wraparounds, his pale green eyes burning like neon penlights. “You’ve got a week to fix this, or I’m going to the Scribe Virgin about you. Now get your ass dressed. I need to talk to you about something else involving the cop.”

  As the king took off for the living room, V drew hard on his cigarette and then looked around for his ashtray. Goddamn it, he’d left the thing out front.

  He was about to head to the living room when he looked at his hand. Bringing the gloved nightmare up to his mouth, he peeled the leather off with his teeth and stared at his radiant curse.

  Shit. The illumination was getting brighter and brighter every day.

  Holding his breath, he pressed the lit cigarette into his palm. As the flaming end met his skin, the white glow beneath flared even stronger, backlighting the tattooed warnings until they appeared to be in 3-D.

  The hand-rolled was consumed in a burst of light, the sting tingling his nerve endings. When only dust remained, he blew it off into the air, watching the little cloud rush forward and disintegrate into nothing.

  Marissa took a tour through the vacant house and ended up back in the living room, where she’d started. The place was much bigger than she’d thought, especially given the six underground bedroom suites. God, she’d taken the lease because it had seemed so much smaller than her brother’s—than Havers’s—but size was so relative. This Colonial felt huge. And very empty.

  As she pictured herself moving in, she realized that she’d never actually been in a house alone before. Back home, there had always been servants and Havers and patients and medical staff. And the Brotherhood’s mansion was likewise full of people.

  “Marissa?” Rhage’s heavy boots came up behind her. “Time to go.”

  “I haven’t measured the rooms yet.”

  “Have Fritz come back and do it.”

  She shook her head. “This is my house. I want to.”

  “Then there’s always tomorrow night. But we have to get going now.”

  She took a last look around, then headed for the door. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

  They dematerialized back to the mansion, and as they came in through the vestibule, she could smell roast beef and hear talk drifting out of the dining room. Rhage smiled at her and started to disarm, stripping his dagger holster off his shoulders as he called out for Mary.

  “Hey.”

  Marissa wheeled around. Butch was in the shadows of the billiards room, leaning on the pool table, a squat crystal glass in his hand. He was dressed in a fine suit and a pale blue tie…but as she stared at him, all she saw was him naked and propped up on his arms over her.

  Just as heat swirled, his eyes shifted away. “You look different in pants.”

  “What—oh. They’re Beth’s.”

  He took a drink from his glass
. “Heard you’re renting a place.”

  “Yes, I’ve just come from—”

  “Beth told me. So how much longer have you got here? A week? Less? Probably less, right.”

  “Probably. I was going to tell you, but I just rented it, and with all the other drama, I didn’t have time to. I wasn’t hiding it from you or anything.” When he didn’t reply, she said, “Butch? Are you—are we…okay?”

  “Yeah.” He looked down into his Scotch. “Or at least we’re going to be.”

  “Butch…Look, about what happened—”

  “You know I don’t care about the fire.”

  “No, I mean…in your bedroom.”

  “The sex?”

  She flushed and dropped her eyes. “I want to try it again.”

  When he said nothing, she glanced up.

  His hazel stare was intense. “You know what I want? Just once, I want to be enough for you. Just…once.”

  “You are—”

  He spread out his arms and glanced down at his body. “Not like this I’m not. But I’m going to make it so I can be. I’m going to take care of this problem of me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Will you let me escort you in to dinner?” As if to distract her, he came forward and offered her his arm. When she didn’t take it, he said, “Trust me, Marissa.”

  After a long moment, she accepted his courtesy, thinking that at least he hadn’t pulled away from her. Which was what she could have sworn he’d been doing just after the fire.

  “Hey, Butch. Hold up, my man.”

  Both she and Butch looked over. Wrath was coming out of the hidden door underneath the stairs and Vishous was with him.

  “Evening, Marissa,” the king said. “Cop, I need you a sec.”

  Butch nodded. “What up?”

  “Will you excuse us, Marissa?”

  The expressions on the Brothers’ faces were bland, their bodies relaxed. And she didn’t buy the nothing special for an instant. But like she was going to hang around?

  “I’ll wait for you at the table,” she told Butch.

  She headed to the dining room, then paused and looked back. The three males were standing together, Vishous and Wrath towering over Butch as they did the talking. A surprised look hit Butch’s face, his brows lifting up into his forehead. Then he nodded and crossed his arms over his chest—like he was braced and ready to go.

  Dread washed over her. Brotherhood business. She just knew it.

  When Butch came to the table ten minutes later, she said, “What did Wrath and V talk to you about?”

  He snapped his napkin loose of its folds and put the damask in his lap. “They want me go through Tohr’s house and pull a CSI. Try and see if the guy’s been back or left any clues as to where he’s gone.”

  Oh. “That’s…good.”

  “It’s what I did for a living for many years.”

  “Is that all you’ll be doing?”

  As a plate of food was set in front of him, he finished his Scotch. “Yup. Well…the brothers are going to start patrolling rural areas, so they’ve asked me to work up a route for them. I’m going to go with V and do that after sundown tonight.”

  She nodded, telling herself it was going to be fine. As long as he wasn’t fighting. As long as he didn’t—

  “Marissa, what’s wrong?”

  “I, ah, I just don’t want you to get hurt. I mean, you’re human and all and—”

  “So today I need to do some research.”

  Well…if that wasn’t a door getting shut on her. And if she pressed the point, she’d only make it sound like she thought he was totally weak. “Research on what?”

  He picked up his fork. “What happened to me. V’s already been through the Chronicles, but he said I could give it a shot, too.”

  As she nodded, she realized they would not spend the day sleeping together, side by side, in his bed. Or hers.

  She took a sip from her water glass and marveled at how you could sit so close to someone and still have him be totally far away from you.

  Chapter Thirty

  The following afternoon, John took a seat in the classroom, all impatient for things to get rolling. The schedule of classes ran on a three-days-on, one-day-off rotation, and he was ready to get back to work.

  While he went through his notes on plastic explosives, the other trainees yakked it up as they came in and got settled, the horsing around business as usual…until everyone fell silent.

  John glanced up. There was a man in the doorway, a man who looked a little unsteady, or maybe drunk. What the hell—

  John’s mouth went slack as he stared at the face and the red hair. Blaylock. It was…Blaylock, only better.

  The guy looked down and awkwardly walked to the back. Actually, he shuffled more than walked, as if he couldn’t really control his arms and legs all that well. After he sat down, he moved his knees around under the table until they fit, then he hunched over as if trying to make himself look smaller.

  Yeah, good luck on that. Jesus, he was…huge.

  Holy crap. He had gone through the transition.

  Zsadist walked into the classroom, shut the door, and glanced at Blaylock. Following a quick nod, Z went right into the teaching.

  “Today we’re going to do an intro to chemical warfare. We’re talking tear gas, mustard gas—” The Brother paused. Then cursed as he obviously realized no one was paying any attention because they were all staring at Blay. “Well, shit. Blaylock, you want to tell them what it was like? We’re not going to get anything done here until you do.”

  Blaylock turned beet red and shook his head, tucking his arms around his chest.

  “Okay, trainees, shoot your eyes up here.” They all looked at Z. “You want to know what it’s like, I’ll tell you.”

  John got good and fixated. Z kept everything general, revealing nothing of himself, but it was all good information. And the more the Brother talked, the more John’s body vibrated.

  That’s right, he told his blood and bones. Take notes and let’s do this soon.

  He was so ready to be a man.

  Van got out of the Town & Country, shut the passenger-side door quietly, and stayed in the shadows. What he was looking at some hundred yards away reminded him of where he’d grown up: run-down house with a tar-paper roof and a rotting car in the side yard. The only difference was that this was in the middle of nowhere, and his neighborhood had been closer to town. But it was the same two steps up from poverty.

  As he scanned the area, the first thing he noticed was an odd sound cutting through the night. It was a rhythmic hitting…like someone was chopping logs? No…it was closer to pounding. Someone was pounding on what was probably the back door of the house in front of him.

  “This is your target for tonight,” Mr. X said as two other lessers stepped out of the minivan. “The daylight details have been watching this place for the past week. No activity until after dark. Iron bars over the windows. Drapes are always drawn. Goal is capture, but kill if you think they’re going to get away from you—”

  Mr. X stopped and frowned. Then looked around.

  Van did the same and saw nothing out of whack.

  Until a black Cadillac Escalade came down the drive. With its tinted windows and its spinning chrome, the thing looked like it was worth more than the house. What the hell was it doing out here in the sticks?

  “Get armed,” Mr. X hissed. “Now.”

  Van drew his fancy new Smith & Wesson forty, feeling the weight fill his palm. As his body primed for the fight ahead, he was so ready to engage an opponent.

  Except Mr. X pegged him with hard eyes. “You stay back. I do not want you to engage. Just watch.”

  You fucker, Van thought, dragging a hand through his dark hair. You miserable fucker.

  “We clear?” Mr. X’s face was deadly cold. “You do not go in.”

  The best Van could manage was a dip of the chin and he had to look away to keep from cursing out
loud. Training his eyes on the SUV, he watched as the thing got to the end of the ratty little cul-de-sac and stopped.

  Clearly, it was some kind of patrol. Not cops, though. At least, not human ones.

  The Escalade’s engine was cut and two men got out. One was relatively normal-sized, assuming you were talking about linebackers. The other guy was enormous.

  Jesus Christ…a Brother. Had to be. And Xavier was right. That vampire was bigger than anything Van had ever seen—and he’d gone into the ring with some monster-sized mofo’s in his day.

  Just like that, the Brother was gone. Poof! into thin air. Before Van could ask what the holy hell that was about, the vampire’s partner turned his head and stared right at Mr. X. Even though they were all in the shadows.

  “Oh, my God…” Xavier breathed. “He’s alive. And the master…is with…”

  The Fore-lesser lurched forward and kept walking. Right into the moonlight. Right into the middle of the road.

  What the fuck was he thinking?

  Butch’s body trembled as he looked at the pale-haired lesser who emerged from the darkness. No question, this was the one who’d worked him over: Even though Butch had no conscious memories of the torture, his body seemed to know who had done the damage, its recollection embedded in the very flesh that had been torn and bruised by the bastard.

  Butch was so ready to have at the Fore-lesser.

  Except the shit hit the fan before he ever had the chance.

  From somewhere behind the house, a chain saw started up with a roar, then settled into a high, whining scream. And at that exact moment, a second pale-haired lesser stepped out from the woods with his gun aimed at Butch.

  As the semiautomatic went off and bullets whizzed by his head, Butch palmed his own Glock and jammed for cover behind the Escalade. Once he had some shield, he returned the hi-how-are-yas, squeezing out rounds, his Glock kicking in his palm as he kept his vital organs out of the line of fire. When there was a breather in the exchange, he peered through bulletproof glass. The shooter was behind a rusted-out car carcass, no doubt reloading. Like Butch was.

  And yet the first slayer, Butch’s torturer, still hadn’t armed himself. The guy was just standing in the middle of the road, staring at Butch.