Blood Truth (Black Dagger Legacy #4)

by J.R. Ward

V sucked at sympathy. What was that saying? It was just a word between “shit” and “syphilis” in the dictionary. Okay, fine, he wasn’t that bad.

Okay, so, V hated cheerful people. Spunky people. Folks that would be described as “happy,” “chirpy,” “perky,” and/or “peppy.” Especially those peppy fuckers. But Fritz, the Brotherhood’s head of household, was another story. The old butler was just so unreservedly delighted by all the people around him. He lived to serve the needs of his masters and mistresses, and how could anyone, even a misanthropic motherf’er like Vishous, not love the guy? After all, just because 99 percent of the mansion’s occupants could not tolerate sunlight, that didn’t mean the place couldn’t use a little sunshine. And all Fritz had to do was walk into a room, and the doggen brought that kind of warmth and optimism with him.

Men were physically stronger, true. But the women? They were the warriors. As much as those males who had come with her would have run into a burning building to save her, not one of them was strong enough to take her place for this heartbreaking duty. Because they couldn’t handle it.

Butch had to laugh to himself. One good thing about his closest friends? You could depend on Rhage always wanting something to eat and V suggesting bodily harm as a conflict resolution and Tohr telling everyone to calm down. It was good to know where things stood in this dangerous and confusing world they were all in.

All he needed—all he wanted—was her. She was the gravity that kept him on the earth and the oxygen in his lungs and the blood that filled his veins.

He smiled so broadly that his cheeks hurt. “You are amazing. I know . . . I know that sounds like a line, but it’s not. You bring me to my knees and lift me up at the same time. It’s the definition of magic.”

“Just so you know, you don’t have to be good at relationships with me. Be yourself. I’ll be myself, and as long as we keep talking? We should be okay.”