The Black Dagger Brotherhood: An Insider's Guide (the black dagger brotherhood)

by Дж. Р. Уорд

  Sometimes, though, I leave plotlines out because I’m not sure how to deal with them. As I wrote the first three books, there were all these scenes between Butch and V, both on the page and in my head, and they fascinated me. The whole time, I was like…Okay, when’s Butch going to tweak to what’s doing with his roommate, and what’s his reaction going to be to the way V feels about him?

  As I kept banging away at the keyboard, the question in my mind was, Do I bring the dynamic out on the page? And if so, when? Eventually I decided to make the leap. The way I saw it, I had already tiptoed into some tricky waters over the course of the first three books, and it went okay—but more important, the story deserved that kind of honesty.

  Lover Revealed was the logical choice for it in terms of timing.

  When Butch was abducted at the beginning of his book, the single-minded focus with which V approached the rescue is reminiscent of the way Z went after Bella in Lover Awakened. The thing was, though, the obsession could have been explained by him and the cop being best friends. I knew I had to make it clear that things were beyond friends on V’s side, and the scene where he comes to see Butch to heal him in quarantine, and catches Butch and Marissa together, was when I exposed the feelings to the reader in V’s POV:

  Butch shifted and rolled Marissa over, making a move to mount her. As he did, the hospital johnny broke open, the ties ripping free and revealing his strong back and powerful lower body. The tattoo at the base of his spine flexed as he pushed his hips through her skirts, trying to find home. And as he worked what was no doubt a rock-hard erection against her, her long, elegant hands snaked around and bit into his bare ass. As she scored him with her nails, Butch’s head lifted, no doubt to let out a moan.

  Jesus, V could just hear the sound…Yeah…he could hear it. And from out of nowhere an odd yearning feeling flickered through him. Shit. What exactly in this scenario did he want?

  —LOVER REVEALED, p. 103

  It was pretty clear what (or who) he wanted by the description—and it wasn’t Marissa. I have to admit I was a little trepidatious. I’d previously hinted at V’s “unconventional interests,” but I had always led with the BDSM stuff, not the fact that he’d also been with males. And here he was, a primary hero in the series…who’s attracted to another primary hero.

  Butch is not bisexual. He’s never been into men. He is, if I were pushed to define him, a V-sexual, as it were. There’s something about his relationship with Vishous that crosses the line on both sides, and to the cop’s credit, he doesn’t bolt or get freaked out. He’s with Marissa, and he’s committed to her, and the V thing hasn’t made anyone uncomfortable because boundaries are respected.

  I have to say, I think the scene of Butch’s induction into the Brotherhood, when V bites him, is off-the-chain erotic:

  Without thinking, Butch tilted his chin up, aware that he was offering himself, aware that he…oh, fuck. He stopped his thoughts, completely weirded out by the vibe that had sprung up from God only knew where.

  In slow motion Vishous’s dark head dropped down, and there was a silken brush as his goatee moved against Butch’s throat. With delicious precision, V’s fangs pressed against the vein that ran up from Butch’s heart, then slowly, inexorably, punched through skin. Their chests merged.

  Butch closed his eyes and absorbed the feel of it all, the warmth of their bodies so close, the way V’s hair felt soft on his jaw, the slide of a powerful male arm as it slipped around his waist. On their own accord, Butch’s hands left the pegs and came to rest on V’s hips, squeezing that hard flesh, bringing them together from head to foot. A tremor went through one of them. Or maybe…shit, it was like they both shuddered.

  And then it was done. Over with. Never to happen again.

  —LOVER REVEALED, p. 443

  As I’ve said, I wasn’t sure how readers were going to take the whole V/Butch thing, and after the book came out I was surprised. Overwhelmingly, folks wanted more of the two of them! The fact that the readership was so incredibly supportive is a testament to their open-mindedness and I’m very grateful for it. I’m also thankful for trailblazers such as Suzanne Brockmann, who, with her Jules Cassidy character, paved the way so that males like Blay can get their happily-ever-afters, too, and Brothers like V are accepted for just who they are.

  And now a couple of random thoughts about Lover Revealed…

  Butch didn’t just make me blush; I had my first case of writer’s block with him.

  It wasn’t because he was getting naked all the time, though.

  With each succeeding title the books were getting longer, and I was becoming concerned. If the trend kept going? I’d be turning in tomes. The issue appeared to be that the world had started developing its own plot—something that was particularly true with Butch’s story—so the events weren’t just about the heroes and heroines anymore.

  For me as the author, the fact that I have the freedom to explore the ins and outs of the Omega and the Scribe Virgin and the war with the Lessening Society is part of what I like about the series. Bigger, however, is not necessarily better. During the revision process, my editor and I always check the pacing just to make sure there’s no fat on the page. It’s rewarding when we don’t find any—but also daunting when you see those little numbers in the upper corners getting higher and higher.

  Anyway, when I started drafting Lover Revealed, I decided I was going to be “smart,” given the complexity of all the plotting. I decided that I was going to consolidate a bunch of the up-front scenes to save page space.

  Right.

  Sure, this made sense practically, but the Brothers didn’t like it at all. As I tried to retrofit the beginning scenes, cramming them in together, the voices in my head dried up. It was the eeriest thing. Everything went dead quiet, and I confronted what I’ve always feared the most: Because I have no clue where my ideas come from or how I do what I do or why certain things happen in the world, I’m always afraid the Brothers will pack up their leathers and their daggers and leave me with nothing.

  Four days. The dead zone lasted for four days. And because I can be dense, it wasn’t immediately clear to me what the problem was. Finally, after I was going half-psychotic from the silence, it dawned on me…Huh, you don’t suppose I’m trying to jockey these scenes around too much just to save on page count?

  As soon as I stopped worrying about length, everything flowed again and the Brothers came back. Takeaway? Good old rule number eight trumps just about every other concern I might have. Every story demands different things, whether it’s pacing or description or dialogue…or page count. The best thing you can do is remain true to what you see. I’m not saying you should be inflexible during revisions. Not at all. But be brutally honest in that first draft—then you can worry about editing things out later.

  On another subject…a lot of people ask me what the deal with Butch’s father is. Specifically, they want to know if he’ll play a role later in the series. The answer is, I don’t know. I can see a pathway where there could be some very interesting family ties, but it’s a wait and see situation. I am quite sure of one thing, though: Butch’s father had to be a half-breed. The male had to either have gone through the transition, but been able to endure sunlight as Beth can, or the change didn’t hit him and he functioned in the world as an aggressive human.

  The other question that I often get about Butch’s background has to do with the rest of his family and whether he ever reunites with them. That answer I do know, and it’s no. He’s said his good-bye to his mother, and his brothers and sisters have been shutting him out for years. The one person from his old life he does miss is José de la Cruz—although something tells me the two of them aren’t done yet.

  Finally, of all the books, male readers tend to like Butch’s best, and that doesn’t really surprise me. It’s got a lot of good fight scenes, and the world building is more extensive than in some of the other stories, where the romance might take up more space. And some of the guys have c
ommented that they love the idea that there is a great force inside of them, one that rocks the world and puts them in a position of power, and with the Omega’s tinkering, Butch certainly has that.

  Plus, they think Marissa is hot.

  So that’s my take on Butch. Now…for V.

  *sigh*

  Vishous, Son of the Bloodletter

  “Vishous, could you stop grinning like that? You’re beginning to freak me out.”

  —LOVER UNBOUND, p. 443

  Age: 304

  Joined Brotherhood: 1739

  Height: 6′6″

  Weight: 260 lbs.

  Hair color: Black

  Eye color: White with navy blue rims

  Identifying physical marks: Scar of the Brotherhood on left pec; tattoo on right temple; tattoos on groin area and thighs; JANE carved across shoulders in Old English. Partially castrated. Wears black glove on right hand always. Goateed.

  Note: Is born son of the Scribe Virgin and carries her glow in his right hand—which is a powerful energy force capable of vast destruction. Sees visions of the future. Possesses healing capabilities.

  Weapon of choice: His right hand.

  Description:

  After having talked with V At the party, [Bella] liked him tremendously. He had the kind of smarts that usually sucked the social skills right out of a vampire, but with (hat warrior, you had the whole package. He was sexy, all-knowing, powerful, the kind of male that made you think of having babies just to keep his DNA in the gene pool.

  She wondered why he wore that black leather glove. And what the tattoos on the side of his face were about. Maybe she’d ask him about those, if it seemed okay.

  —LOVER ETERNAL, p. 375–376

  Mated to: Dr. Jane Whitcomb

  Personal Qs (answered by V):

  Last movie watched: Flicka with Dakota Fanning

  List book read: The Secret of the Old Clock by Carolyn Keene

  Favorite TV show: The Golden Girls

  Last TV show watched: The Young and the Restless

  Last game played: “This little piggy goes to market…”

  Greatest fear: Being by myself in the dark

  Greatest love: Knitting

  Favorite quote: “The plane! The plane!”

  Boxers or briefs: Panties

  Watch: Ladies’ Seiko

  Car: Don’t have a car—I ride a Vespa

  What time is it while you’re filling this out: 1:16 a.m.

  Where are you? In the bath

  What are you wearing? Suds that smell like coconut and vanilla

  What’s in your closet? Floral prints, no stripes (because I’m a bit “hippy”), pumps in size 16, and a dresser full of Spanx

  What was the last thing you ate? An entire bag of Lindt dark chocolate truffles. I think I’m about to go into my needing soon. I always get cravings right before it hits.

  Describe your last dream? I was in a field of wildflowers, running about—nay, frolicking—with a unicorn who had a pink mane and tail. I had gossamer wings and a wand, and everywhere I went I left clouds of fairy dust.

  Coke or Pepsi? Orangeade

  Audrey Hepburn or Marilyn Monroe? Audrey, because I want to BE her

  Kirk or Picard? Riker. Goatees are SO attractive

  Football or baseball? I’m not really interested in sports. All I can think about is how much laundry will need to be done at the end—all those yucky grass stains and ground-in dirt. I mean, honestly.

  Sexiest part of a female? Her underwear drawer

  What do you like most about Jane? The way she polishes my nails

  Best friend (excluding shellan): Rhage. Definitely Rhage. He is the strongest, smartest vampire I’ve ever met. I worship him. In fact, I’m starting a religion based on him, because everyone needs to know how perfect he is.

  Last time you cried: Yesterday. That meanie Butch took my knitting needles and hid them. I curled up into a little ball on my bed and wept tor HOURS.

  Last time you laughed: Yesterday, when—

  *At this point, the answer is scribbled out and below is written:

  Actually, it was ten minutes ago, when I beat the ever-living shit out of Rhage for macking my interview, thank you very much. What a freak. Here’s my real answers-oh, and BTW, Dakota Fanning isn’t in Flicka-and I know it because I looked the DVD up NOT because I saw the damn movie.

  Last movie watched: Stripes (great flick, Rhage is a fidiot, but he knows his films)

  List book read: Richard Scarry’s Lowly Worm Storybook to Nalla

  Favorite TV show: CSI (LV, of course) or House if you’re talking, like, fiction shit. Otherwise, SportsCenter.

  Last TV show watched: Some fakakta episode of Columbo with Butch (actually it was good, just don’t tell him that)

  Last game played: Pin the tail on the ass—guess who was the donkey?

  Greatest fear: Don’t have one anymore. Lived through the worst thing that could happen to me, and now I don’t need to worry about it.

  Greatest love: Duh

  Favorite quote: “Rhage is a fucktwit.”

  Boxers or briefs: Commando

  Watch: Nike Sport in black

  Car: Escalade, black, I share with the cop

  What time is it while you’re filling this out: 9:42 a.m.

  Where are you? The Pit in front of my Four Toys.

  What are you wearing? Leather mask, ball gag, restraining harness, latex uni, handcuffs, and some metal clips, the strategic placement of which I’ll detail only if you ask nicely. Kidding. Black muscle shirt and nylon sweats.

  What’s in your closet? Leathers, shirts, shitkickers, and weapons.

  What was the last thing you ate? I bit Rhage’s head off just now. Does that count?

  Describe your last dream? It was about Rehvenge. So it’s none of your biz, true?

  Coke or Pepsi? Coke.

  Audrey Hepburn or Marilyn Monroe? Neither.

  Kirk or Picard? Both.

  Football or baseball? Baseball.

  Sexiest part of a female? I’ll tell you what the sexiest part of Jane is: her grip.

  What do you like most about Jane? Her mind.

  First words spoken to her were: “Are you going to kill me?”

  Her response was: “No.”

  Last gift given to her: Was nothing special.

  Most romantic thing you’ve ever done for her: I don’t do romance. It’s schmaltzy.

  Most romantic thing she’s ever done for you: I don’t know. Like, I said, I’m not into romance. Shit…well, I guess it’s what she did with that thing I made her, even though it was nothing special. It’s just a necklace made of these gold links…see, she likes my name for some reason. The way it’s spelled. So I took the characters from the Old Language and turned them into links for a necklace down in my forge. I wanted the chain to be delicate enough so she wouldn’t feel like she had a noose around her throat, but still readable…man, it took for-fucking-ever to get the weight right and the design correct. I ended up having to spell out my name twice, and there still wasn’t enough length on the thing. So I added her name in the Old Language in the middle—so she’s surrounded by me. Anyway. She never takes it off. Whatever.

  Anything you’d change about her? Yes, but it’s private.

  Best friend (excluding shellan): Butch, then that asshole Rhage. Plus I get along okay with Wrath when we don’t want to kill each other.

  Last time you cried: Yeah right I’m answering that.

  Last time you laughed: I dunno, cracking Rhage was kind of fun—put a smile on my piehole just fine, true?

  My Interview with Vishous:

  Out on the compound’s lawn, Butch and I pack up the duffel and take Edna back to the mansion, where we spend about fifteen minutes weeding through the rose garden picking up the rockets. After we find all four and detach their parachutes, we go into the library and Butch gives me a hug. He smells good.

  Butch: Himself is waiting for you in the basement.

  J.R.: I�
��m not looking forward to this.

  Butch: (smiles a little) Neither is he. But look at it this way, it could be worse. You could have to write another book on him.

  J.R.: (laughs) Roger that.

  I head off, crossing the foyer and going into the dining room, which has been cleaned up. On the other side of the flap door into the kitchen, Fritz, butler extraordinaire, is polishing silver with two other doggen. I chat with them and end up trying to fend off offers of food and drink. I fail. As I go down into the basement, I have a mug of coffee and a homemade raisin scone wrapped in a damask napkin. The scone is delicious and the coffee is just the way I like it: superhot with a little sugar.

  At the bottom of the basement stairs I look left and right. The cellar is huge, with great stretches of open space broken up by storage rooms and HVAC piping. I have no idea where V could be, and I listen, hoping for direction. At first all I hear is the sound of the ancient coal furnace that is up ahead, but then I catch a beat.

  It’s not rap. It’s a rhythmic, metal-on-metal clanging.

  I follow the sound all the way down to the far end of the basement. It takes me a good five minutes of walking to get to where V is, and along the way I finish the scone and the coffee. As I go, I try to think what the hell I’m going to ask him. He and I don’t really mix all that well, so I figure this is going to be short and not-so-sweet.

  As I come around the last corner I stop. V is seated on a stout wooden stool wearing heavy leather chaps and a muscle shirt. In front of him is an anvil on which is a deep red dagger blade that he’s holding with a pair of calipers. He has a blunt hammer with a special grip in his glowing hand and is pounding the tip of the weapon. Between his lips is a hand-rolled, and my nose registers the woody smell of Turkish tobacco, the sharp acid of hot metal and dark spices.