The Black Dagger Brotherhood

by J. R. Ward

  All went well and goes well, though, because I let what’s in my head be the driver. Even when I get lost, I trust the stories . . . largely because I don’t have a choice. What I’m shown is always infinitely better than what I try to deliberately construct.

  Here’s a minor example of how I listened to my Rice Krispies when it came to Rhage’s book. As I started to write Lover Eternal, Vishous, keeper of visions of the future, popped up and told Rhage that he ended up with a virgin. When I saw this, I was like, Er . . . that’s going to be kind of tough, given that Mary’s been with someone before she met Hollywood. Still, I was like, Okay, V said it, so it’s going on the page. And then, throughout the book, V kept hinting about Mary’s name having a special significance. I had no idea what the hell he was going on about, but I kept seeing him in my head, always with the name. I figured, Well . . . just throw it in, and when it goes nowhere, I’ll trim it out.

  It wasn’t until I got to the end of the book when it all became clear. Mary and Rhage were holding each other after being reunited in his bedroom:She lifted her head. “You know, my mother always told me I’d be saved whether I believed in God or not. She was convinced I couldn’t get away from the Grace because of what she named me. She used to say that every time someone called out for me or wrote my name or thought about me, I was protected.”

  “Your name?”

  “Mary. She named me after the Virgin Mary.”

  —LOVER ETERNAL, p. 440

  I remember typing that and laughing out loud. Vishous is never wrong!

  Now, though, let me give you an example of when being true to what was in my head wasn’t so easy.

  In the course of doing Rhage’s outline, which was fifty-eight pages long, I saw a scene that ran counter to one of the big unspoken rules of romantic convention. In the vast majority of romance novels, the hero is never with another woman after he meets and gets physically involved with the heroine. It makes sense. After all, who in their right mind could fall in love with someone who goes around bed-hopping?

  Except Rhage went out and was with another woman after he and Mary had been together. The two of them had yet to make love, but the attraction was there and the bonding was in place—at least on Rhage’s part. The issue was his beast. In order to keep his curse under some measure of control, he was forced to burn off his excess energy with fighting and sex, using both as release valves. The night the “adultery” happened, he was in a tough crack. Being around Mary juiced him up because of his attraction for her, and he’d tried and failed to find a fight, so he was reaching a critical, dangerous level. He hated what he did and hated himself for his curse—and it was obvious that what happened was mandated by circumstance, never something he would have chosen. What went down was definitively not a case of a loose-moraled player just out for tail.

  The scene where Rhage comes back to their room was heart-wrenching to write. I can still picture him after he’d had his shower, sitting on the edge of the bed. He had a towel around his waist and his head was hanging down and he was utterly defeated, trapped by the realities of his curse and his love for Mary. The situation was tough all around, and it did create a stunningly difficult conflict between the two of them. Together they were able to get past it, but I knew this particular part of the story was not something all readers were going to be comfortable with. And I could understand why. Accordingly, when I wrote the book, I was very careful with how I handled the whole thing.

  When I started working on the Brotherhood series, I didn’t set out to be a firebrand or a convention breaker, and that is still not my goal. However I did, as I said, vow to keep true to what I see, and that remains my operating principle. The difficulty for me always is, How do I show what’s in my head without offending the genre I respect so much? It’s always a balance, and it’s the thing my editor and I spend the most time on in the revision process. Sometimes, with Rhage, I think I do a good job of walking the line. Other times . . . I wish I could have done better. But more on this later.

  Speaking about revision . . . a word on Butch. Originally the story of the cop and Marissa was supposed to be in Lover Eternal. The two were going to fall in love, and he was going to be made a Brother after his transition was jump-started—and that was that. As I started drafting Rhage, I was excited to write about Butch and Marissa because I thought they had great chemistry, and there were a lot of good scenes with the two of them in my head.

  Two hundred pages into the manuscript, though, I realized I had a problem. Butch and Marissa were competing for airspace against Rhage and Mary to such a degree that I was basically writing two separate books.

  The cop was no subplot.

  The idea of taking those scenes out terrified me, though, because I was afraid that a lot of the depth of the world would be compromised. I was also worried that I would lose the scenes forever and they were great—at that point, I wasn’t sure how many of the Brotherhood books I was going to get to do, and I totally wanted to put Marissa and Butch on the page. Finally, I just really, really, really liked what I had written. I mean, I really liked it. Removing those pages seemed like I was giving the material a demotion.

  But the book wasn’t working. No matter how much I hemmed and hawed and tried to make excuses, it just wasn’t coming together right.

  Let’s hear it for rule number three: Own your own work.

  If you know something isn’t working, no matter how much you like it, get rid of the stuff. Don’t wait for your editor to tell you what you know in your heart is true—and make those hard choices because it’s the right thing to do for the book you’re currently working on.

  I’m not saying it’s easy.

  Even though I knew Rhage’s story was in danger of losing focus, I just couldn’t bring myself to make the cuts, and the I-don’t-want-tos went on for weeks. What finally tipped the scales was that the nagging conviction I was fucking the book up refused to go away—and in fact just got louder and more persistent. When I finally grew a set and decided to man up, I put my work gloves on and did some heavy lifting. I cut the hell out of that manuscript, just sliced it to pieces, and in the process scared the crap out of myself because, as always, I was under a serious deadline: I knew if I robbed the book of its texture, I wouldn’t be able to fix things and still get Rhage in on time (which would lead to all sorts of scheduling complications for my publisher).

  The thing was, though, after I put Rhage’s material back together again, I read it through and knew I’d taken the correct action. The focus was where it needed to be, and the book worked better.

  The point is, listen to your internal editor like you listen to your Rice Krispies. Just because you think something is brilliant, don’t let it compromise the story you’re writing. I try to keep that in mind always, because there are so many moving parts to the Brotherhood books—I’m always in jeopardy of spiraling away from the main story or stories. And balance of plotlines remains tough.

  Let’s see, my favorite scene in Lover Eternal? Hard to say, but if I had to pick . . . I’d go with the one with the moon—that second one, after Mary has broken up with Rhage, left the Brotherhood’s mansion, and moved in with Bella. It happens right after Rhage goes to see Mary at the farmhouse and they have the official we’re-done conversation. Rhage leaves her in the bedroom upstairs and goes out the front door. He’s utterly ruined, completely at a loss. Up in the night sky there’s a big moon, and as he looks at it, he’s clearly thinking about what Mary did when they were in the park on their second date:Instead he stopped dead in his tracks. Ahead, the moon was rising just above the tree line, and it was full, a fat, luminescent disk in the cold, cloudless night. He extended his arm toward it and squeezed one eye shut. Angling his line of sight, he positioned the lunar glow in the cradle of his palm and held the apparition with care.

  Dimly, he heard a pounding noise coming from inside of Bella’s. Some kind of rhythmic beat.

  Rhage glanced behind him as it got louder.

  The
front door flew open, and Mary shot out of the house, jumping off the porch, not even bothering with the steps to the ground. She ran over the frost-laden grass in her bare feet and threw herself at him, grabbing on to his neck with both arms. She held him so tightly his spine cracked.

  She was sobbing. Bawling. Crying so hard her whole body was shaking.

  He didn’t ask any questions, just wrapped himself around her.

  “I’m not okay,” she said hoarsely between breaths. “Rhage . . . I’m not okay.”

  He closed his eyes and held on tight.

  —LOVER ETERNAL, p. 309

  I think it’s a great scene because it’s so poignant to see him echoing what she did during a happier time. And then when she comes out of the house and grabs on to him, it marks a turning point for her. She’s reaching out to Rhage, finally including someone in her life and her illness.

  The most erotic scene? Er . . . the bed scene. You know the one . . . with the chains? I’ll just put this passage in to remind you. This is right before it all goes down, and Rhage is over in the Pit looking for something to keep himself on the bed:Rhage nodded. “I only want Mary. I couldn’t even get hard for anyone else at this point.”

  “Ah, shit, man,” Vishous said under his breath.

  “Why’s monogamy a bad thing?” Butch asked as he sat down and popped open the can of beer. “I mean, that’s a damn fine woman you got. Mary’s good people.”

  V shook his head. “Remember what you saw in that clearing, cop? How’d you like that anywhere near a female you loved?”

  Butch put down the Bud without drinking from it. His eyes traveled over Rhage’s body.

  “We’re going to need a shitload of steel,” the human muttered.

  —LOVER ETERNAL, pp. 386-387

  And this reminds me of one of my favorite lines from the book. It happens fairly early on, when V and Butch have taken cover in the Escalade while Rhage’s beast goes postal on some lessers in a field:In short order, the clearing was empty of lessers. With another deafening roar, the beast wheeled around as if looking for more to consume. Finding no other slayers, its eyes focused on the Escalade.

  “Can it get into the car?” Butch asked.

  “If it really wants to. Fortunately, it can’t be very hungry.”

  “Yeah, well . . . what if it’s got room for Jell-O,” Butch muttered.

  —LOVER ETERNAL, p. 41

  One of the other scenes I love is when it becomes clear that the beast is a danger to everyone but Mary. The final showdown with the slayers has played out at her place, and the beast has done its thing with the lessers. After the carnage, it approaches her:Without warning, the beast whirled around and knocked her to the ground with its tail. It leaped into the air at her house, crashing its upper body through a window.

  A lesser was pulled out into the night, and the beast’s roar of outrage was cut off as it took the slayer between its jaws.

  Mary tucked into a ball, shielding herself from the tail’s barbs. She covered her ears and closed her eyes, cutting off the juicy sounds and the horrible sight of the killing.

  Moments later she felt her body being nudged. The beast was pushing at her with its nose.

  She rolled over and looked up into its white eyes. “I’m fine. But we’re going to have to work on your table manners.”

  The beast purred and stretched out on the ground next to her, resting its head between its forelegs. . . .

  —LOVER ETERNAL, p. 409

  Mary has captured both Rhage’s and the beast’s hearts, and the two of them are utterly devoted to her. And as she says, she loves the beast—’cuz he’s cute in a Godzilla sort of way.

  In the scenes that I’ve seen of Rhage and Mary and the beast since the end of Lover Eternal, it’s been great to find that Rhage and his alter ego have become more integrated. The beast is never going to be an escort for a debutante ball (his table manners haven’t improved much at all), but he’s not as uncontrollable as he was. Rhage is happier and calmer. Mary is fulfilled and living her life. S’all good.

  Which brings me to a final thought. After each of the Brothers’ books, they and their shellans continue to live their lives and keep changing and evolving as people do over the course of time. I wish I could show more of where they are and what new challenges they are facing and how their relationships have deepened. The Slices of Life (SOLs) that I post from time to time on the message board give me the opportunity to put out these new scenes, and to me, it’s comforting to see everyone continue on and keep living. Just as we all do.

  So that’s Rhage . . . and now thoughts on my favorite Brother, Z.

  Zsadist, Son of Ahgony

  “I was dead until you found me, though I breathed. I was sightless, though I could see. And then you came . . . and I was awakened.”

  —LOVER AWAKENED, p. 424

  My Interview with Zsadist

  After I leave Rhage’s room, I stand for a moment in the hall and listen to the sounds of the mansion. Down below, I hear T-Pain rolling out of the billiards room, and pool balls knocking into each other. On the other side of the foyer, in the dining room, doggen are clearing the dishes after First Meal, their voices soft and supercheerful—which I take to mean there is a lot of china and silverware to clean up. Behind me, through the closed doors of Wrath’s study, the king and Beth are discussing—

  Zsadist:

  Hey.

  J.R.:

  (wheels around) Hi—

  Z:

  Didn’t mean to spook you.

  Zsadist makes a hell of an impression in person. He’s really big now, so very different than he was before he met Bella. If I were to put my hand on his chest? It might cover one of his pecs, but it would be a stretch. Along with his body, his face has filled out, and that scar, though very noticeable, as always, doesn’t seem as stark because his cheeks aren’t cut so sharply. Tonight he’s wearing low-slung jeans (Sevens, I believe) and a black TEAM PUNISHMENT shirt. He has shitkickers on his feet and holstered SIGs under each arm.

  J.R.:

  Didn’t mean to jump like I did.

  Z:

  You want to interview me?

  J.R.:

  If it’s okay with you.

  Z:

  (shrugs) Meh. I don’t have any real problem with it. As long as I can choose what to answer.

  J.R.:

  Of course you can. (Looks over balcony.) We could do it in the lib—

  Z:

  Let’s go.

  When a male like Z says, Let’s go, you follow for two reasons: One, he’s not going to hurt you, and two, he’s not going to let anything hurt you. So there’s no reason not to go. Also no reason to ask about the whole where thing. Sure, he’s not going to hurt you, but do you really want to bug him? Nope.

  We go down the grand staircase at a brisk pace, and when we hit the foyer, we cross over the depiction of the apple tree, heading in the direction of the vestibule. The doggen in the dining room look up, and though they are dressed in formal black-and-white butlers’ uniforms, their smiles are as easy and relaxed as a summer day. Z and I wave back at them as we pass.

  Z holds both of the vestibule’s doors open for me.

  Outside in the courtyard, I take a deep breath. Fall air in upstate New York is like ice-cold sparkling water. It gets into your sinuses and down to your lungs with a sizzle. I love it.

  Z:

  (Taking out car key from his pocket.) Thought we’d take a drive.

  J.R.:

  What a fabulous idea. (Follows him over to iron gray Porsche 911 Carrera 4S.) This car is . . .

  Z:

  My only possession, really. (Opens my door and waits as I slide into the passenger seat.)

  As he comes around to the driver’s side and gets in, I have a serious case of the joneses. Porsches are luxury sports cars, but their roots are in racing, and you can tell. There’s no over-the-top gadgetry cluttering things up on the dash. No flabby seating. No fussy styling. It’s all about high-lev
el function and power.

  This truly is the perfect car for him.

  Z starts the engine, and the calibrated vibration that comes from the back is a loud-and-clear about the number of horses in the trunk. As he K-turns on the pebbles, working neatly around the fountain which has been drained for the winter, he works the clutch and the gearshift seamlessly.

  We head out past the compound’s gates, and the trip down whatever mountain we’re on is a blur to me because of the mhis. After we get level there are turns and straightaways, and when the landscape comes into focus again for me, we’re at one of the countless intersections on Route 22. Z hangs a left and floors it. The Porsche is psyched by the demand and digs into the pavement like its tires have metal spikes and its engine is powered by jet fuel. As we blast forward, my stomach pools in the cradle of my hips and I grip the door handle, but not from fear that we’ll crash—even though Z doesn’t have the headlights on and the dashboard isn’t lit. No, in the moonless night, there is nothing but the Porsche and the smooth road, and I feel like I’m flying. My grip is an attempt to ground myself against the weightlessness.