by J. R. Ward
“Try heavy as fuck,” Rhage grunted. “My lord, didn’t you think there was a middle ground somewhere?”
“This coming from you?” Wrath said as he and George took two steps directly to the left and one back. With his hand, he felt for the drapes and anchored himself as the fringe brushed his palm.
The sound of people milling around in heavy boots got louder and was accompanied by a shitload of cursing. And more grunting. A lot more grunting. As well as some slurs about kings and their royal prerogatives being a pain in the ass.
Then there were a pair of booms as a pair of heavy things hit the floor, the sounds kind of like what you’d hear when two safes fell off a cliff and landed.
“Can we burn the rest of this nancy shit?” Butch muttered. “Like the sofas and the—”
“Oh, everything else is staying,” Wrath murmured, wondering if the path was clear to the new furniture. “I just needed an upgrade.”
“You’re going to keep shafting us?”
“The sofa has already been reinforced for your fat ass. You’re welcome.”
“Well, you got an upgrade, all right,” Vishous said. “That shit…is pretty boss.”
Wrath continued to hang back, standing to the side as Beth told his brothers exactly where the furniture needed to be rearranged.
“Okay, you want to give this a shot, my lord?” Rhage said. “I think it’s ready.”
Wrath cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
He and George went forward, and he put out his hand until he felt…
His father’s desk was hand-carved out of ebony, the fine filigree work around the edge done by a real master craftsman.
Wrath leaned down, feeling his way around, remembering what it had looked like to his young eyes, recalling how centuries of wear had only increased its imposing beauty. The massive legs of the desk were actually statues of males depicting the four seasons of life, and the smooth top they supported was marked with the same symbols of lineage that had been tattooed on the insides of Wrath’s forearms. As he traced along farther, he found the three wide drawers that ran beneath the surface and remembered his father sitting behind the thing with papers and edicts and feather quills all around.
“It’s extraordinary,” Beth said softly. “Good God, it’s—”
“The size of my frickin’ car,” Hollywood muttered. “And twice as heavy.”
“—the most beautiful desk I’ve ever seen,” his shellan finished.
“It was my father’s.” Wrath cleared his throat. “We got the chair, too, right? Where is it?”
Butch groaned and there was some heavy shuffling. “And…here…I…thought this…was an…elephant.” The sound of the thing’s legs hitting the Aubusson carpet was thunderous. “What is this fucker made out of? Reinforced concrete painted to look like wood?”
Vishous exhaled Turkish tobacco. “I told you not to try that one on your own, cop. You want to cripple yourself?”
“I did just fine. Stairs were a piece of cake.”
“Oh, really. So why are you bent over and rubbing your lower back?”
There was another groan, and then the cop muttered, “I’m not bent over.”
“Anymore.”
Wrath ran his hands up the arms of the throne, feeling the symbols in the Old Language that pronounced it not a mere chair, but a seat of leadership. It was exactly how he remembered…and, yes, at the pinnacle of the tall back he found cool metal and slick stones, and recalled the shimmering sight of gold, platinum, diamonds…and a rough, uncut ruby the size of a fist.
The desk and throne were the only surviving things from his parent’s house, and they had been brought over from the Old Country not by him, but by Darius. D had been the one who’d found the human who’d purchased the set after the lessers had sold it as loot, found them and brought them back.
Yeah…and Darius had also cared enough to make sure that when the Brotherhood had come across the ocean, the race’s throne and the king’s matching desk had come with them.
Wrath had never expected to use either.
But as he and George took up res and sat down…it felt right.
“Shit, does anyone else feel the need to bow?” Rhage asked.
“Yes,” Butch said. “But then again, I’m trying to take pressure off my liver. I think it got wrapped around my spine.”
“Told you you needed help,” V quipped.
Wrath let his brothers go on, because he sensed they needed the release and the distraction of verbal sparring.
Things had not gone well during the trip up north to the colony. Yes, Rehv was out, and that was great, but the Brotherhood did not leave fighters behind. And Xhex was nowhere to be found.
The next knock that came was another one Wrath had been waiting for. As Rehv and Ehlena came in, there was a lot of oohing and ahhing from the pair, and then the Brotherhood filed out, leaving Wrath and Beth and George alone with the couple.
“When are you going back north?” Wrath asked the male. “To find her.”
“Second I can stand the fading light in the sky.”
“Good. Do you want backup?”
“No.” There was a soft rustling, as if Rehv had drawn his mate to his side because she was uncomfortable. “I go alone. It’s better. Apart from looking for Xhex, I’m also going to tap a successor, and that means things could get dicey.”
“A successor?”
“My life is here. In Caldwell.” Even though Rehv’s voice was steady and strong, the guy’s emotions were bouncing all over the place, and Wrath was not surprised. The blender of life had been spinning the motherfucker but good the last twenty-four hours, and if there was one thing Wrath knew firsthand, rescue was sometimes just as disorienting as a capture.
Of course, the outcome of the former was far more palatable. May the Virgin Scribe grant such a thing to Xhex.
“Look, about Xhex,” Wrath said. “Anything you need to find her, any kind of support we can offer, you have it.”
“Thanks.”
As Wrath thought about that female and realized it would be kinder to wish her dead rather than alive at this point, he reached out and put his arm around his shellan’s waist so he could feel Beth safe and warm beside him.
“Listen, about the future,” he said to Rehv. “I need to throw my hat in the ring on that one.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to lead up there.”
“What?”
Before the male could get rolling with the NFWs, Wrath cut in. “The last thing I need right now is instability in the colony. I don’t know what the fuck is going on with Lash and the lessers, or why he was up there, or what the hell he was doing messing around with that princess, but I’m sure about this—from what Z told me, that group of sin-eaters is scared to death of you. Even if you don’t live up there full-time, I want you in charge of them.”
“I get where you’re coming from, but—”
“I agree with the king.”
It was Ehlena who spoke, and evidently she surprised the shit out of her mate because Rehv’s speech devolved into a whole lot of stuttering.
“Wrath is right,” Ehlena said. “You’re the one who needs to be king.”
“No offense,” Rehv muttered. “But that wasn’t the kind of future I had in mind for you and me. For one thing, if I never go up there again, it’s too fucking soon. For another, I’m not interested in leading them.”
Wrath felt the hard throne under his ass and had to smile. “Funny, sometimes I feel the same way about my citizens. But destiny has other plans for the likes of you and me.”
“The hell it does. I got no clue how to do the king thing. I’d be flying blind—” There was a quick pause. “I mean…shit…not that being unable to see is…Damn it.”
Wrath smiled again, imagining the chagrin on the guy’s face. “Nah, it’s cool. I am what I am.” As Beth’s grip found his hand, he gave her a squeeze to reassure her. “I am what I am, and you are what
you are. We need you up there taking care of business. You didn’t let me down once before, and I know you won’t disappoint me now. As for the leading thing…news flash—all kings are blind, buddy. But if you get your heart in the right place, you can always see your way clear.”
Wrath lifted his sightless eyes to his shellan’s face. “An extraordinarily wise female told me that once. And she was very, very right.”
Son of a bitch, Rehv thought as he stared at the vampire race’s great, revered Blind King. The guy was jacked into the kind of old-school throne you’d expect a leader to be in…. The thing was a hell of a piece of hardware, and the desk wasn’t shabby either. And what do you know, while sitting all regal and shit, the motherfucker dropped bombs with the casual surety of a monarch whose demands were always met.
Christ, it was like he expected to always be obeyed, even if he were talking out his ass.
Which meant…well, he and Wrath kind of had shit in common, didn’t they.
For no particular reason, none at all, whatsoever, Rehv pictured where the king of the symphaths ruled from. Just a white marble pedestal seat. Nothing special, but then, what was respected up there were the powers of the mind—external shows of authority were not viewed as that impressive.
The last time Rehv had been in the throne room had been when he’d slit his father’s throat open, and he remembered how the male’s blue blood had dripped down the fine-grained, pristine stone like an ink bottle that had been spilled.
Rehv didn’t like the image, although not because he was ashamed of what he’d done. It was just…if he caved in to what Wrath wanted, would that be his future? Would one of his extended family someday slice him down?
Was that the fate that waited for him?
All in his head, he looked at Ehlena for help…and she gave him precisely the kind of strength he needed. She stared up at him with such a steady, burning love that he decided maybe he shouldn’t take such a dim view of destiny.
And when he glanced back over at Wrath, he saw that the king had the same kind of hold on his shellan as Rehv did on his.
That was the model to work off of, Rehv thought. Right in front of him was who and what he wanted to be: a good, strong leader with a queen who stood beside him and ruled as much as he did.
Except his civilians were nothing like Wrath’s. And Ehlena could have no part up in the colony. Ever.
Although she would be great at advising him: There was no one he’d rather seek counsel from…except for the vampire motherfucker in that throne across the room.
Rehv took his mate’s hands in his. “Listen to me carefully. If I do this, if I rule, I interact with the colony by myself. You cannot go up there. And I promise you, there are going to be ugly parts. Really ugly parts. Things are going to happen that might change your opinion of me—”
“’Scuse me—been there, done that, got the T-shirt.” Ehlena shook her head. “And no matter what happens, you’re a good male, and that’s always going to win out—history’s proven it over again and over again, which is the only guarantee anyone’s ever going to get.”
“God, I love you.”
And yet even as she beamed up at him, he felt the need to double-check. “Are you sure, though. Once we jump—”
“I’m absolutely, positively”—she lifted up onto her tiptoes and kissed him—“sure.”
“Hot damn.” Wrath clapped his hands like the home team had just scored. “I love a good female.”
“Yeah, me too.” With a small smile, Rehv gathered his shellan into his arms, feeling like the world had righted itself in so many ways. Now if they could just get Xhex back—
Not if, he told himself. When.
As Ehlena laid her head against his chest, he rubbed her back and stared over at Wrath. After a moment, the king’s face shifted away from his queen, like he knew that Rehv was looking at him.
In the quiet of the lovely, pale blue study, an odd communion was struck between them. Even though they were so different on so many levels, even though they shared little and knew each other even less, they were united by a commonality that neither had with any other person on the planet.
They were rulers who sat alone on their thrones.
They were…kings.
“Life is such a glorious trauma, is it not,” Wrath murmured.
“Yeah.” Rehv kissed the top of Ehlena’s head, thinking that before he had met her, he would have cut the glorious out of that statement. “That’s exactly what it is.”
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
GLOSSARY OF TERMS AND PROPER NOUNS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
FIFTY-SIX
FIFTY-SEVEN
FIFTY-EIGHT
FIFTY-NINE
SIXTY
SIXTY-ONE
SIXTY-TWO
SIXTY-THREE
SIXTY-FOUR
SIXTY-FIVE
SIXTY-SIX
SIXTY-SEVEN
SIXTY-EIGHT
SIXTY-NINE
SEVENTY
SEVENTY-ONE
SEVENTY-TWO
SEVENTY-THREE
SEVENTY-FOUR
NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY
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First published by New American Library,
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First Printing, May 2010
Copyright © Jessica Bird, 2010
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
Ward, J. R. (Jessica Bird)
Lover mine: a novel of the Black Dagger Brotherhood/J. R. Ward.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-18709-8
1. Vampires—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3623.A73227L69 2010
813’.6—dc22 2009052749
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DEDICATED TO YOU:
I cannot believe you and I have come so far.
Your book is not a goodbye, however-
just another beginning.
But you’re used to that . . .
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With immense gratitude to the readers of the Black Dagger Brotherhood and a shout-out to the Cellies!
