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

by Дж. Р. Уорд

  Zsadist looked down. Bella was bleeding from the two wounds he’d given her, but her eyes were shining and the unmistakable scent of the female sex rose from her. He licked up both sides of her throat and kissed her, pushing into her mouth, taking, dominating what was his…marking her now not just with his scent but his will.

  He was drunk on her, greedy and needy. He was the dark, raw hole that had to be filled. He was the dry pit; she was the water.

  Z reared up and whipped off his shirt. Looking down at his nipples, he looped his pinkies into the piercings and pulled at them.

  “Suck on me,” he said. “Like you did before. Now.”

  Bella sat up, splaying her hands over his belly as he let himself fall back on the bed. When he was stretched out, she crawled onto his chest, putting her mouth just where he wanted it. As she took one of the hoops in, he roared again, not giving a shit who else in the house might hear him.

  He planned on being as loud as he wanted. Fuck it, he planned on yelling the damn door down.

  As she sucked, he shrugged out of his leathers and reached down, taking himself in his hand and stroking. He wanted her mouth there, but as wild as he was, he wouldn’t force her.

  But she knew what he wanted. Her hand took the place of his on his dick, and she fell into a rhythm that nearly killed him. She slid up and down on his shaft, slipping back and forth over his head, all the while licking and tugging at his nipple. She was in total control, playing him hard, and he loved it, loved the suffocation, the sweat, the agony of wanting to come while never wanting her to stop.

  “Oh, yeah, nalla…” He dug into her hair, panting. “Work me out.”

  And then she moved down his chest and onto his belly. In anticipation, he bit his lower lip so hard he tasted his own blood.

  “Is this okay with you?” she asked.

  “If you don’t mind—” She covered him with her lips. “Bella.”

  Her mouth was glorious. Wet and warm. But he wasn’t going to last more than thirty seconds like this. He sat up and tried to get her head out of his lap, but she fought him.

  “I’m going to come…” he moaned. “Oh, God…Bella, stop, I’m going to…”

  She didn’t. And he…

  The first convulsion snapped him in half so hard he fell back on the mattress. The second lifted his hips up, pushing him farther into her mouth. And the third took him to heaven.

  As soon as he could pull his shit together, he reached for her, bringing her mouth to his. He tasted his bonding scent on her lips and tongue and liked it there.

  Relished it there.

  He rolled her over. “Now it’s your turn. Again.”

  “Are you okay?” Zsadist said some time later.

  Bella opened her eyes. Z was lying next to her, his head on his curled arm.

  God, her neck was sore, and so was the inside of her. But the hedonistic glory he’d let loose was worth the creaks and groans. Zsadist had loved her hard, just as she’d always wanted him to.

  “Bella?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “You said you didn’t want to be avenged. You still mean that?”

  She covered her breasts with her hands, wishing real life had stayed away a little longer. “I can’t bear the idea of you going out and getting hurt because of me.”

  When he didn’t say anything, she reached out and touched his hand.

  “Zsadist? What are you thinking?” The silence went on and on until she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Talk to m—”

  “I love you.”

  “What…?” she breathed.

  “You heard me. And I’m not going to say it again.” He stood up, grabbed his leathers, and pulled them on. Then he went into the bathroom. He came back a moment later fully armed with his daggers on his chest and his gun belt fastened around his hips.

  “So here’s the damage, Bella. I can’t stop hunting that lesser who did those things to you. Or the bastards he works with. Can’t. So even if I were picture-perfect like Phury, even if I could pull his smooth moves with the polite shit, even if I wouldn’t make your family cringe, I can’t be with you.”

  “But if you—”

  “I’ve got war in my blood, nalla, so even if I hadn’t gotten all fucked-up in the past, I would still need to be in the field fighting. I stay with you, you’re going to want me to be different than I am, and I can’t turn into the kind of hellren you’re going to need. Eventually my nature would blow up in both our faces.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “If I follow that logic, why do you think I can be with Phury, then?”

  “Because my twin is wearing out. He’s getting tired. I’m part of the reason, but I think it would have happened anyway. He likes teaching those recruits. I could see him training full-time, and we’re going to need that. That would be a good life for you.”

  Bella dropped her hands in anger and glared at him. “I really need you to shut up about what you think would be best for me. I’m totally uninterested in your theories about my future.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She stared up at him, focusing on the scar that ruined his face.

  No, not ruined, she thought. He would always be beautiful to her. A beautiful horror of a male…

  Getting over him was going to be as hard as getting past her captivity.

  “There’s never going to be anyone else like you,” she murmured. “For me…you will always be the one.”

  And that was her good-bye to him, she realized.

  Z came to her, and knelt by the side of the bed, keeping his yellow, glowing eyes downcast. After a moment he took her hand, and she heard a metallic sound…then he pressed one of his daggers into her palm. The thing was so heavy she almost needed two hands to hold it. She looked at the black blade, the metal reflecting light like a pool at night.

  “Mark me.” He pointed to his pectoral, right above the star-shaped scar of the Black Dagger Brotherhood. “Here.”

  With a quick lean, he reached to the bedside table for the little dish of salt that had come with her food. “And make it permanent.”

  Bella hesitated for only a second. Yes, she thought…she wanted to leave something that endured on him, some small thing that would serve to remind him of her for as long as he breathed.

  She shifted around and braced her free palm on his opposite shoulder. The dagger grew lighter in her hand as she took the vicious point of the weapon to his skin. He twitched as she dug into him and blood welled, trickling down onto his ribbed stomach.

  When she was finished, she put the knife aside, licked her palm, and sprinkled salt onto it. Then she pressed her open hand to the cuts she’d made over his heart.

  Their eyes held as the B she’d made in the Old Language fused permanently into him.

  This scene was taken out of the Butch/Marissa material that was moved from Lover Eternal to Lover Revealed. My reasoning was because of my usual length and pacing concerns—I thought this early visit to his family that I saw in my head was just too much. There was already a lot going on in Butch’s book, and leaving this in (and going further with it) was a distraction that was largely unnecessary, given the way the O’Neal dynamic gets tied up at the end of the story.

  That being said, it’s so cool to read. Remember, this was written back at the beginning of Rhage’s story, when Butch is still getting acclimated to the Brotherhood’s world—and its restrictions:

  Butch caught the remote as it came flying at him without moving from his prone position on the couch. His body was sublimely comfortable: Head on the padded armrest. Legs stretched out. Red Sox throw blanket tucked around his feet. As it was around seven a.m. the shutters were down, so the Pit was dark as midnight.

  “You turning in?” he asked as V stood up. “Right in the middle of Shaun of the Dead? How can you stand the suspense?”

  Vishous arched his back as he stretched his heavy arms. “You know, you sleep less than I do.”

  “That’s because you snore and I can hear it t
hrough the wall.”

  V’s eyes narrowed. “Talking about noise, you’ve been quiet the last couple of days. You want to tell me what’s doing?”

  Butch picked his glass of Scotch up from the floor, balanced it on his stomach, and reached for the bottle of Lagavulin that was on the coffee table. As he poured himself some more hooch, he watched the brown rush flicker in the blue-gray glow of the TV.

  Damn, he was really throwing back the stuff lately.

  “Talk, cop.”

  “My old life came calling.”

  Vishous scrubbed his hair until it stood up on its ends. “How so?”

  “My sister v-mailed me yesterday on my old phone. Her new baby’s getting baptized. Whole family’s going to be there.”

  “You want to go?”

  Butch tilted up his head and took a long drink. The Scotch should have burned its way to his stomach. Instead it just eased on down the well-trodden path.

  “Maybe.”

  Although he had no idea how to explain what had happened to him.

  Yeah, see, I got fired from Homicide. And then I met these vampires. And now I kind of live with them. I’m also in love with one of their kind, but that’s sort of dead in the water. Am I happy? Well, it’s the first vacation I’ve ever had in my life, I’ll tell you that much. Plus the clothes are better.

  “V, man, why me? Why you boys letting me hang in here?”

  V leaned forward and took a hand-rolled off the little stack he’d made next to his couch. His gold lighter made a hiss before it spit flame.

  The Brother stared straight ahead as he exhaled, his profile getting obscured by the smoke.

  Which was the same color as the TV, Butch thought randomly. Blue-gray.

  “You want to leave us, cop?”

  Well, wasn’t that a good goddamned question. The call from his sister had reminded him this couldn’t last; this odd interlude with the Brotherhood couldn’t be his whole life.

  But where did that leave him? And them? He knew all about the Brothers. Where they lived, what the rhythms of their nights and days were. Who their women were, if they had one.

  The very fact they existed.

  “Didn’t answer my question, V. Why’m I here?”

  “You’re supposed to be with us.”

  “According to who?”

  V shrugged and took another drag. “According to me.”

  “That’s what Rhage said. You going to tell me the why of it?”

  “You’re in my dreams, cop. That’s all I’m going to tell you.”

  Okay, that was hardly reassuring. He’d heard the moaning sound track to whatever V conjured up when he was asleep. Not exactly the kind of thing that made a guy optimistic about his future.

  Butch took another deep one from his glass. “And if I want to leave? What happens then? I mean, my memories are long-term by now, so you can’t scrub me. Right?”

  The flicker of the TV played over the hard lines of Vishous’s face.

  “You want to look at me, V?” When that profile didn’t turn, Butch cupped his glass and sat up. “Tell me something, if I leave, which one of you is supposed to kill me?”

  V put his fingers on the bridge of his nose. Closed his eyes. “Damn it, Butch.”

  “You, right? You’ll do it.” Butch drained his glass. Stared into the bottom of it. Refocused on his roommate. “You know, it would help if you’d look at me.”

  V’s ice white eyes flashed across the way. And they glowed with regret.

  “It would really kill you, wouldn’t it?” Butch murmured. “Putting me in the ground.”

  “It would absolutely kill me.” Vishous cleared his throat. “You’re my friend.”

  “So what’s it going to cost me?”

  V frowned. “Cost you?”

  “To go to my sister’s kid’s baptism.” Butch cracked a smile. “A foot? No, an arm. An arm and a leg?”

  Vishous shook his head. “Shit, cop. That isn’t funny.”

  “Ah, come on. It’s a little funny.”

  V laughed in a burst. “You’re sick, you know that?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Butch put his glass back down on the floor. “Look, V, I’m not going anywhere. Not in a disappearing way. Not right now. I’ve got nothing out there waiting for me, and I never fit in all that well anyhow. I am going to go up to Boston at the crack of dawn Sunday morning, however. I’ll be back Sunday night. You got a problem with that, well, tough.”

  V blew out some more smoke. “I would miss you.”

  “Don’t be a sap. I’ll be away twelve hours.” When V looked down, Butch grew serious. “Unless…we have a problem?”

  After a long while V walked over to where all his computer shit was. Picked something off the desk.

  Butch caught what was thrown at him.

  Keys. To the Escalade.

  “Drive safe, cop.” V smiled a little. “Don’t say hi to the family for me.”

  Butch laughed. “That’s not going to be a problem.”

  Now it was V’s turn to get good and grim. “If you’re not back by Sunday night, I’m coming after you. And not to bring you back, true?”

  Butch realized in the silence that followed that this was a fish or cut bait moment. He was in the Brotherhood’s world for good. Or he was fertilizer.

  He nodded once. “I’ll be back. Don’t you worry about that.”

  This was taken out of Lover Enshrined. Originally it was where Phury and Cormia see each other when he comes back from his rescue efforts during the sack of Havers’s clinic. What it grew into, however, was their walk down the hall of statues and then his shower and her feeding from him…all of which went further than the below in terms of developing their relationship. This is the problem with what I see in my head: I saw the below play out…but I also saw all of the scenes that are in the book as well. Fitting everything that happens in together and deciding what’s more material to the story to protect pacing is always a judgment call.

  Phury left Fritz to keep tidying up Wrath’s study. It was just as well the king wasn’t there. The head of the Brotherhood should get a report on what went down from a Brother.

  As he came up to his room, Cormia was standing in the hallway, hand at her throat, looking as if she were waiting for him. Or maybe he just hoped that was the case.

  “Your grace,” she said with a bow.

  He was too tired to correct her on her formality. “Hey.”

  As he went into his room he left the door open, because he never wanted her to feel as if she couldn’t talk to him, no matter how exhausted he was. He figured if she had something to say she’d follow him, and if she didn’t she’d go on to her room.

  He went around and sat down on his bed, reaching for his gold lighter and a blunt before his weight had settled on his ass. He lit up, thinking that after a night like tonight there was no way in hell he was going to cut back on the red smoke. This was exactly why he needed the stuff.

  As that first draw went down into his lungs, Cormia appeared in his doorway. “Your grace?”

  He looked down at the blunt, focusing on the glowing orange tip. It was better, safer, to keep his eyes off her slim body in that long flowing robe. “Yes?”

  “Bella is well. Jane says so. I thought you’d want to know.”

  Now Phury glanced over his shoulder at her. “Thank you.”

  “I prayed for her.”

  He exhaled. “You did?”

  “It was right and proper to do so. She is…lovely.”

  “You’re a very kind person, Cormia.” He went back to staring at the hand-rolled, thinking that he was raw tonight. Absolutely wild on the inside, and the inhaling wasn’t helping much. “Very kind.”

  When his stomach growled, she murmured, “May I make you something to eat, your grace?”

  Even though his stomach rumbled again, as if it were thrilled with the prospect, he said, “I’m okay, but thank you.”

  “As you wish. Sleep well.”

  “You, too.�
� Just as the door was shutting, he called out, “Cormia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you again. For praying for Bella.”

  She made some kind of noncommittal noise, and the door clicked into place.

  Even though he needed a shower, he slid his legs up onto the mattress and leaned back into the pillows. As he smoked, he was relieved as his shoulders gradually loosened and his thigh muscles relaxed and his hands released from the claws they’d turned into.

  Closing his eyes, he let himself drift along, and images played on the backs of his lids, quickly at first, slowing as they continued. He saw the bodies in the clinic and the fight that happened and the rapid evac. Then he was back here looking for Wrath—

  A picture of Cormia bending down over the roses barged into his brain.

  With a curse he rolled up another chub, lit it, and settled back against the pillows.

  Man, she had been so beautiful in that reflected light on the terrace.

  And he thought of her standing in the hallway just now, her robing wrapped around her such that it formed a V between her breasts.

  In a hot flash of insanity, he fantasized that instead of letting her walk out of his room, he’d taken her hand and drawn her farther inside. He pictured himself tugging her gently over to his bed and laying her down where he was now. Her hair would be all over the pillowcases in gold strands, and her mouth would be parted just as it had been in the movie theater when he’d approached her.

  Of course, he’d have to take a shower first. Naturally. There was no way he’d expect her to put up with a male who’d not only been humping boxes of bandages for a couple of hours, but had also been in a fistfight with a lesser.

  Yada, yada, yada…fast-forward through him scrubbing down under the hot water.

  He’d come back in his own white robe and he’d sit on the bed next to her. In order to calm her—well, to calm them both—he’d start by stroking her face and her neck and her hair. And when she tilted her head back to give him access, he’d put his lips to hers. At this point his hands would work down the robe’s two halves until he got to the sash. He would loosen that slowly, so slowly she wouldn’t be shy about the fact that he was about to see her breasts and her stomach and her…everything.