Dark Lover (Black Dagger Brotherhood, #1)

by J.R. Ward

Out of the messy jumble of images clanging around his mind, one popped forward that brought tears to his eyes. A young girl, no more than fifteen. Getting into an unfamiliar car. Waving at him from the window as she disappeared down their street. His older sister. Janie. Her body had been found in the woods behind the local baseball field the following morning. She’d been raped, beaten, and strangled. Not in that order.

“Would you like something to drink?” She winced. Not blood. Please don’t say blood. He grinned at her, as if he knew what she was thinking. “You got any beer?”

And Vishous, while he didn’t have Hollywood’s outrageous good looks, had plenty of pimp juice.

Ew

“I’m sorry,” he’d said. “And you have never disgusted me. You’re beautiful—” “Don’t say that. Not now.” Marissa’s voice had hardened then. “If anything, just be sorry that it took this long for me to see what has always been true.”

Stand your ground girl

He’d never loved her, true. But he hadn’t wanted to hurt her, which was why he’d told her to leave him so often. If she pulled out, if she made it clear she didn’t want him, she would still be able to hold her head up in the catty aristocratic circle she was from. In her class, a shellan who was rejected by her mate was perceived as damaged goods.

The need to avenge Darius burned. And the closer Wrath got to Beth, the hotter the fire.

He’d been brushing up on his torture techniques. And this morning, before leaving for the academy, he’d visited the workspace he’d set up in his barn. His tools were gathered and gleaming: a dentist’s drill set; knives of various sizes; a ball-peen hammer and a chisel; a Sawzall. A melon baller. For the eyes.

It was the receptionist, the jacked woman who had arms big as a man’s and no breasts to speak of. Her contradictions never ceased to amaze him. In spite of the fact that a raging case of penis envy caused her to take steroids and pump iron like a gorilla, she insisted on wearing makeup. And doing her hair. In her cropped T-shirt and leggings, she looked like a bad drag queen. She disgusted him.

Jackass

Here he was, a man with no soul who killed vampires, and he was calling her a freak?

Yeah, asshole. And at least she can fuck

He’d gone to both martial-arts academies and talked with the directors. One guy had been obnoxious. Your typical ass-kiss-craving, self-defense lunatic who’d convinced himself he was actually Asian. In spite of the fact that he was as white as Butch was.

Her hair was up. He thought about what it would be like to take it down.

Calm down

She looked lovely, and he felt a flush of animosity. It was a total insult that Wrath couldn’t appreciate all she had to offer, that this exquisite female of noble blood was not good enough for him.

Bro that is your sister...

The burgundy should have been a perfect accompaniment to the beef, but it tasted off to him. Everything on his plate was sour on his tongue as well. “I transfused myself with stored blood this afternoon, and I feel fine.”

Havers gripped the arms of his chair. His sister, his beautiful, pure sister, had been ignored. Used. Brutalized as well.

Bro that is YOUR SISTER

“Look at you,” Tohr said, moving around him. “Bite me.” “No, thanks. I prefer the females.” The brother laughed.

“You got a point or are you just shooting your lip off?” It wasn’t an invitation to elaborate, but Tohr marched right through the opening anyway. “You’re way into her.” He should have stuck with “Fuck you” as a response, Wrath thought.

“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” he demanded. “Nope.” “Just my luck.”

“He’s dead. I owe him.” “You owed him when he was alive, too.”

“But do yourself a favor. Cop to what’s going on with that female. An unacknowledged weakness is deadly.” Wrath growled and leaned into his attack pose, upper body jutting forward on his hips. “Weakness? This coming from a male who’s dumb enough to love his shellan? You gotta be kidding me.” There was a long silence. And then Tohr said softly, “I’m lucky to have found love. I thank the Scribe Virgin every day that Wellsie is in my life.”

Wrath’s temper surged, set off by something he couldn’t put his finger on. “You’re pathetic.” Tohr hissed. “And you’ve been dead for hundreds of years. You’re just too mean to find a grave and lie down.”

Prowling around the house, he stopped at the dining room table. It had been set as he’d asked. Two places at one end. Crystal and silver. Candles.

Perfect date material, she thought. A vampire with the social equivalent of road rage.

“This was a mistake.” She put her napkin down next to her plate and stood. He cursed. “Sit down.” “Don’t tell me what to do.” “Let me amend that. Sit down and shut up.”

“How can life mean so little to you?” she wondered aloud. The smile he gave her was cold. “How can death mean so much to you?”

return for a free reign of terror.” “Who—or what—is the Omega?” As she spoke the word, the candles flickered wildly, as if tormented by invisible hands. Wrath hesitated. He actually seemed uncomfortable with the subject. He, who wasn’t afraid of anything. “You mean the devil?” she prompted. “Worse. You can’t compare them. One’s just a metaphor. The other’s very, very real. Fortunately, the Omega has a counterpart, the Scribe Virgin.” He smiled wryly. “Well, maybe fortunately is too strong a word. But there is a balance.” “God and Lucifer.” “Maybe according to your lexicon. Our legend has it that vampires were created by the Scribe Virgin as her one and only legacy, as her chosen children. The Omega resented her ability to generate life, and he despised the special powers she gave to the species. The Lessening Society was his defensive response. He uses humans because he is incapable of creation and because they are a readily available source of aggression.”

Humans are threatened by anything different, and their response is to fight. They’re bullies, picking on the weak, cowering from the strong.”

Wow. Her emotions were breaking all kinds of land speed records tonight. She’d been terrified, pissed off, insanely jealous. She had to wonder what was next. Happiness, she had a feeling, probably wasn’t it.

“Here.” He picked a berry off his plate and leaned toward her. “Let me feed you.”

oooh, i hate that shit lmaooooo

Sexual heat came out of him in a rush. She could actually feel a hot gust move the air.

“How long does it last?” she asked in a husky voice. “Two days. If the female is…serviced well and fed properly, she rebounds quickly.” “And the man?” “The male’s totally used up when it’s over. Milked dry. Drained of blood, too. It takes longer for him to recover, but I’ve never heard one complain. Ever.”

now THIS i'd read about all day

What if she didn’t make it through the transition? Wrath felt his stomach lurch. He, who was all chummy with the Grim Reaper, suddenly got cracked in the gut with some base mortal fear.

He’d slept on that side. She went over and picked up the hardcover. It was in French. Underneath the book there was a magazine. Forbes. She put them back and then looked at the glass. There was still an inch of water in it. Either someone was sleeping here…or her father had died very recently.

This was more like it, Mr. X thought as he humped an unconscious civilian vampire up onto his shoulder.

PHRASING

A fine shine of anticipatory sweat broke out above his upper lip. The arousal, all the adrenaline pumping through him, made him miss the days when he could still have sex. Even if the vampire had no information to give, the rest of the evening was going to be enjoyable. He’d start with the hammer, he thought. No, the dental drill would be better. Under the fingernails. That should wake the male right up. After all, there was no sense torturing the unconscious. Like kicking a corpse, that would just be an aerobic workout, and even then, only a mild one. He should know. Considering what he’d done to his father’s body when he’d found it.

“So what were you like then?” She smoothed his hair back. “It’s hard to imagine you fitting in a crawl space, the size you are now.” “I was different.” “You said you were weak.” “I was.” “So maybe you needed to be protected.” “No.” His temper flared. “A male protects. Never the other way around.” Abruptly, she backed off.

On the slow float back to earth, he realized it was the first time anyone had ever taken such care to pleasure him. He wanted to weep that she would still have him at all.

“Nobody kills the human but me,” he barked. “And he does not leave this house until I come back.”

Butch stared at the scarred face. Black eyes glared back. This fella, he thought, was the one to really watch out for.

“Maybe I’ll find your wife,” the guy said, “and do her a couple of times. How’s that sound?” “Don’t have one.” “Then I’m coming after your girlfriend.” Butch dragged in some air. “Got no woman.” “So if the chicks won’t do you, what makes you think I’d want to?”

“Why do you hate him, son?” “Because he breathes.”

The human laughed, a burst of sound that came from deep inside his chest. “And how ’bout I try not to stare? That’d be good.” He crammed his hands in the pockets of his pants and focused on the floor. “Look at me. Not staring. Not staring at all. Hey, this is a nice rug. You ever notice it before?”

She had to be playing him. No one looked like she did, and hung out with those boys, without knowing every trick in the book. And pulling a lot of them on her back.

Rude

Nothing the son ever did was good enough. Mr. X’s personal favorite was the story of Billy’s mother’s death. The woman had fallen into the pool after drinking too much one afternoon, and Billy had found her floating facedown. He’d pulled her out of the water and attempted CPR before calling 911. At the hospital, as the toe-tagged body had been wheeled to the morgue, the distinguished senator from the great state of New York had suggested his son had killed her. Evidently, Billy should have known to get an ambulance on the scene first rather making a half-assed attempt to play paramedic himself.

Whoa. Fangs. She had fangs. She leaned in, prodded them a little. Eating with those puppies was going to take some getting used to, she thought. On impulse, she brought up her hands, turned her fingers into claws. Hissed. Cool.

Honestly, same lmaooo

“Can we have dinner?” He leaped up. “Lunch? What are you doing tomorrow?” She had to laugh. “I don’t know.” She’d never been pursued before. It was nice.

“Holy Mary, mother of God,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I’m…I’m a total asshole, and I totally misjudged you.” His horror at what he’d said to her was so palpable, she smiled a little. “You truly mean that.”

He liked the laws of physics just as he knew them. Gravity keeping everything on the flipping planet where it should be. E=mc2 telling him how fast he could get to a bar. People not poofing the hell out of a goddamned room.

The guy stroked his goatee. “What do you call twenty guys watching the World Series?” “The New York Yankees,” Butch replied. The vampire laughed in a loud burst, whipped the baseball cap off his head, and slapped it on his thigh. Just like that, the tension was broken.

He had no clue how to rule. He could kill a hundred different ways, handle himself in any kind of battle, keep his head cool when the goddamned world was on fire. But ask him to address a thousand of his people in a crowd? His stomach rolled.

V’s left hand was actually in the breeze, its sacred tattoos spelling out the dire consequences if anyone came into contact with it. Wrath wondered whether the human had any conception what V could do with that thing.