Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood, #9)

by J.R. Ward

Still his kind of woman. But that was never happening now. Aside from the whole liar-liar-pants-on-fire about her death, there was a gunmetal gray ring on her left hand. “You got married,” he said.

While they progressed at a snail’s pace, a strange fog rolled in from nowhere in particular, the landscape blurring until he couldn’t see more than twelve inches ahead of the car’s grille. For chrissakes, it was like they were in a Scooby-Doo episode out here.

Qhuinn entered the mansion through the vestibule. Which was a mistake. He should have gone into the mansion through the garage, but the truth was, those coffins stacked up in the corner freaked him out. He always expected their lids to open and some kind of Night of the Living Dead to whassup the ever living crap out of him. He so needed to get over being a pussy, however.

That snarky half smile evaporated. “And why the hell is that.” “Because my patient just sat herself up—and I’m not talking about her raising her torso off the damn pillows. I wasn’t there when she did it and I need to see how it happened.” Red Sox seemed to stop breathing. “What . . . I’m sorry. What the fuck are you saying.” “Do I need to reenact it in charades or some shit?”

Check his shit out—looked like he was finally prepared to try a psychiatric version of Proactiv. Next thing he knew he was going to be on TV, staring into a camera and saying, “All it takes is a little dab of Self-awareness . . . and then I rinse with the patented Defining Yourself Wash, and my mind and emotions are clean and glowing—” Okay, now he was really losing his damn marbles, true.

“What of the female,” Zypher said with a dark smile. Xcor shook his head. “Absolutely not. She deserves no punishment.” The male’s brows popped. “Fine. I can make it good for her, instead.” Oh, for chrissakes, he was just too much like the damned Lhenihan . “No. You shall not touch her.