by J. R. Ward
His eyes stared up at her while she climaxed against his tongue, watching her as if storing precious memories.
“Let me take you to the bed.”
She nodded as he came up her body and buried his glossy lips in her neck. The scrape of his fangs gave her a momentary flash of hope. Maybe he would finally feed—
But then he picked her up and willed the door open . . . and the passion left her. She was leaving. And he wasn’t going to stop her.
Wasn’t going to take her vein now, either.
He sensed the change in her immediately. “Where have you gone?”
“Nowhere,” she whispered as he laid her down on the bed. “I’m going nowhere.”
Z paused, looming over her, perched on the precipice. But then he worked his fly, springing loose that huge arousal. As he got up on her, his pants around his thighs, she turned her face to the side.
His hands stroked her hair back. “Bella?”
“Do it and then let me go.” She opened her legs wider to accommodate him, and as his erection hit her core, he groaned, his weight shifting in a jerk. When he didn’t penetrate her, she closed her eyes.
“Bella . . .”
“I’d reach down and put you inside, but we both know you can’t stand to have me touch you. Or do you want me on all fours? More anonymous that way. You’d barely know what you were fucking.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Why not? Hell, you’re not even naked. Which makes me wonder why this needs to happen at all. Now that you know how to take care of yourself, you don’t have to have a female.” Her voice cracked. “You most certainly don’t need me.”
There was a long silence.
She heard a hissing sound. And then he bit her.
Zsadist sank his fangs in deep and shivered at the first rush of Bella’s blood. The richness, the thick, heavenly texture pooled in his mouth, and when he swallowed, it coated the back of his throat.
He couldn’t stop.
When he’d decided to take her vein, he’d told himself he was allowed only one single, great pull, but once he started he couldn’t break the connection. Instead, he gathered her in his arms and rolled her to the side so he could curl himself around her better.
Bella cradled him close, and he was sure she was crying again as she held him, because her breathing was raw.
Stroking her naked back, he tucked her hips into his, wanting to comfort her as he took from her, and she seemed to ease. Even as he didn’t. His dick was screaming, the tip about to blow off.
“Take me,” she moaned, “Please.”
Yes, he thought. Yes!
Except, oh God, he couldn’t stop the drinking long enough to get inside her: The strength pouring into him was too addictive and the response of his body was too incredible. As he fed, he felt his muscles knitting together, forming a steel weave over the hardening cage of his bones. His cells were absorbing the essential nutrients he had deprived them of for a century and putting them to immediate use.
Afraid he was going to take too much and kill her, Z eventually forced himself to release Bella’s throat, but she just grabbed onto the back of his head and pushed him down. He fought his impulse for a moment, but then growled, the sound loud and low as a mastiff’s. With a rough lift and twist, he repositioned her and nailed her on the other side of the neck, biting hard. Now he was crawling over her, trapping her underneath him, the bonding scent pouring out of him in waves. He was the carnivore standing over its prey while it fed, his arms flared and bent while he held himself up, his thighs spread over her lower body.
When he was finished he tilted his head back, took a deep breath, and roared loud enough to rattle the windows, his body twitching with the kind of power he’d known long ago, and only from the vile, forced feedings of the Mistress.
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 through 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.
