Blood Fury: Black Dagger Legacy

by J. R. Ward

  Okay, those two words, in that erotic drawl, were sexier than all the actual sex he’d had for the last year.

  “Let me inside of you, Novo. You don’t have to explain anything or repeat it, but I just need to know what it’s like to finish in you.”

  “You’re admitting weakness.”

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  “Why start now.”

  He shook his head. “When have I lied to you?”

  There was a pause. “When it comes to Paradise, you’ve been lying to yourself.”

  Oh, no, he thought. That’s a wrong turn off a road he wanted to stay on, heading into a set of brambles he could totally do without.

  “I’m not in love with her.”

  “You’re just proving my point about the lying. Remember last night in that alley? Don’t pretend you weren’t being a bonded male with her, putting yourself and everyone else’s best interests aside to protect what you think of as your female.”

  “Why are we talking about this?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  There was a beat of silence, and before she could change her mind, he jumped into the quiet. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I just need to get through this dinner with my father. If I could leave, I would, but with him, everything is a goddamn problem.”

  A soft laugh came over the connection. “That exasperated tone in your voice is probably the only thing we will ever have in common.”

  “Family problems, too?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Tell me.”

  There was a long pause. “I thought you were having dinner with your sire. Why are you on this phone with me?”

  “I’m hiding in the bathroom. You’re giving me an excuse to stay a little longer.”

  This time, when Novo laughed, it was shockingly natural—and he realized he’d never heard her like that before.

  Lifting his hand, he found himself rubbing away an unexpected ache in his chest.

  “Come on,” he said. “Spill. It’ll be your humanitarian gesture for the night. Keep me in here some more.”

  The exhale was long and slow. “Come when you can. No hurries. Bye.”

  As the connection was cut, Peyton refocused on his face in the mirror. Even though he knew the address of the house he was in, the zip code and the street and the number…in spite of the fact that he had been in most every room in the mansion, for all of his life…he was utterly lost.

  And he had been for years.

  Closing his eyes, he pictured Paradise, with her blond hair and her lovely face and her quick smile. He remembered her laugh coming over the phone, her sorrow and her pain, too. He heard her voice and her accent, her consonants and her vowels.

  All those phone calls, all that time, day in and day out, while the raids forced them to stay indoors in their safe houses away from Caldwell.

  What he had fallen in love with was her constancy. Her reliability. Her always-there, and her kindness…and even more than all that, the fact that she had never, ever judged him. He had told her things that had made him feel pathetic and things that had frightened him. He had talked about nightmares and the demons in his own mind. He had related his father’s hatred of him, and his mahmen’s absentee dismissal, his drugs and his drinking, his females and his women.

  And still, she had stood by him. As if none of that ugliness made her think less of him.

  Talk about family issues. He’d never had that support from his bloodline or the glymera. He had kept his secrets to himself, not because they were particularly unusual or shocking or perverse, but because there had been no one to trust his underbelly with. No one to care. No one to accept him as he was and forgive him for not being perfect.

  That was why he had loved her.

  But that was less about her, wasn’t it.

  And more about what he’d needed.

  Paradise had been, for a time, the paint on his canvas, the compass in his pocket, the light switch he could flip on when he needed illumination in the scary dark. Her good nature had offered him those salvations, although similarly that was not about him; she would have done that for anybody, because that was the way she was.

  He had never been sexually obsessed with her.

  She had never been like Novo to him. Novo was a bonfire he wanted to jump into. Wearing a suit of firecrackers and carrying a gas tank on his back.

  No, he had stared at Paradise because he had mourned the loss of that tight connection, its absence thrusting him back into this world of gilded frames and plastic smiles and no grounding whatsoever.

  Sometimes gratitude could be mistaken for love. Both were warm feelings that endured. But the former was about friendship…the latter was something else entirely.

  And for some reason, he felt a driving need to explain this all to Novo.

  Turning away, he reached for the door. He was going to leave the second he could—

  Peyton jumped back. “Whoa!”

  “Forgive me,” Romina said softly.

  The young female was pale and shaky as she stood before him, and she checked over her shoulder with the paranoia of a field mouse in a cat’s path.

  “I must speak with you alone.” Her eyes clung to his. “There is little time.”

  As Saxton slid the door back into place, the resistance of the panel meeting its jamb was the kind of thing that dimly resonated through his hand and up his arm.

  Oh, you beautiful male, he thought as he noted Ruhn’s blush and lowered eyes. For all the power in that body, there was a vulnerability that made one want to offer the male a safe haven. Then again, Saxton had always had a soft spot for strays.

  “Forgive me,” Ruhn mumbled.

  “For what?” Saxton inhaled and held more of that delicious scent in his lungs. “Why do you apologize?”

  “I do not know.”

  “It is no imposition that you are attracted to me. At all. Look at me. Come now…raise your eyes.”

  It was forever before that glowing stare lifted to meet his own.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Ruhn whispered. Except then the male focused on Saxton’s mouth.

  Oh, yes, you do, he thought. You know perfectly well what to do.

  But it wasn’t in the male’s nature to take charge. Fortunately, Saxton had a remedy for that one.

  “Do you want me to kiss you,” he prompted softly. “Just so you know what’s it’s like. Just so that you don’t have to wonder.”

  None of it was in question. The answers were in the sexual charge that leapt to life between them, a wall of fire that promised to melt their bodies…and maybe their souls.

  Except then Ruhn glanced outside.

  Saxton sighed. “No one will know. I promise.”

  It was sad to have to reassure the male of that, as if this were dirty business, the kind of thing that made others change their opinions about you and made you feel lesser about yourself—but there was no reason to be naive. Most civilians, like Ruhn, had a much more conservative view of these things than aristocrats did. In the glymera, there was a look-the-other-way sort of tolerance, provided you were willing to get properly mated to a female, produce an heir and a spare over time, and never, ever come out of the closet.

  None of which Saxton had been prepared to do in service to his sire and his bloodline. Which was one of the reasons why he and his father were estranged.

  Along that whole privacy note, he leaned to the side and triggered the interior drapes, the great swaths of blackout fabric swinging into place, shutting out the world, creating a vault of privacy.

  “No one will know,” he said in spite of the disappointment in his chest.

  In response, Ruhn reached out a trembling, workman’s hand…only to stop just short of touching Saxton’s mouth.

  “Is that what you want,” Saxton breathed.

  Ruhn lowered his arm. “Yes.”

  Saxton stepped in close, but not too close, keeping a distance between their pecs. Then he took R
uhn’s face in his palms.

  The male’s entire body shook, all those muscles and heavy bones poised to jump—but whether it was to him or away from him, he did not know.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Saxton vowed. “I promise.”

  And then he drew the taller male down slowly, the subtle pressure something that Ruhn gave readily into.

  Tilting his head to the side, Saxton pressed his lips to Ruhn’s—and the gasp that came out of the other male was that of a lover surprised. Saxton felt the shock, too, and he would have said something.

  But he didn’t want to stop to speak.

  Gently, softly…he brushed over that mouth again and again. At first, there was no response, the lips against his own frozen. But then they parted, and stroked back, with a sweet hesitation.

  Saxton’s body roared, his erection straining to get out and be stroked, and sucked. And in return, he wanted to learn every square inch of the male rightfuckingnow. Patience was a virtue more likely to be rewarded than fumbling greed, however.

  Saxton inched back and searched Ruhn’s face. “How was that?”

  “More,” came the moaned response.

  A purring sound left Saxton as he brought himself against Ruhn’s body. Wrapping an arm way up over those big shoulders, he urged that sweet mouth back to his own as he slid his other arm around a waist that was tight and smooth as polished stone.

  The shaking in Ruhn’s torso was erotic as fuck. What was even better? At those hips, an erection in total proportion to that tremendous body was a hard ridge, ready to be set free. Saxton knew not to rush things, though—because he didn’t want to seduce the male against Ruhn’s hesitations. Rather, he wanted the male to come along willingly on what was surely going to be an incredible sexual ride—

  As Saxton’s phone started to ring in the kitchen, they both jumped.

  “Shouldn’t you get that?” Ruhn asked in a husky voice.

  Perhaps, yes, Saxton thought. But only to flush the goddamn thing down the toilet—or maybe hit it with a hammer. Except…

  “It may be the King.” Saxton eased back. “Wait for a moment.”

  With quick feet, he rushed to the black granite counter where he’d left his cell by the coffeepot. “Hello—oh, yes, but of course, my Lord. Tell me? Uh-huh. Yes. Right…”

  Saxton closed his eyes. He could not be rude or shirk his duties, but he needed to get Wrath off the phone so he could pick up where he’d left things—and hopefully take the kissing further.

  “Yes, my Lord. I will prepare the appropriate documentation and will serve it to the other party tomorrow evening—when? Now?” Saxton mouthed a word silently that was not appropriate. “Yes, I will come to the Audience House now and bring—what? Yes, that, too. Thank you, my Lord. My pleasure.”

  As he hung up, he thought, actually, his pleasure was standing right over—

  “Goddamn it,” he muttered as he turned back around.

  Ruhn had disappeared through the sliding glass door, leaving nothing but the subtle undulations of those drapes in his wake, the cold evening air ruffling the fabric as it blew away the lingering scent of sexual awakening.

  There was an instinct to follow, but he let it go. Ruhn had made his choice, at least for now.

  No telling if he would come back.

  Saxton touched his mouth. “But I hope you do,” he whispered into the vacant penthouse.

  —

  The bus trundled into the training center at a pace that seemed only slightly slower than that of water evaporating from a glass. In a refrigerator. Over the span of a hundred and fifty motherfucking years.

  As Peyton sat on the left-hand side of the aisle, right up against the window, he focused on the black glass while trying to ignore his own reflection. There was no one else riding with him, and he couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad. A distraction might have been nice…but then again, chatter in his ear would have irritated the hell out of him—and no, thanks, on having to respond to anything or anyone.

  Relief came when the vehicle slowed to a stop. And resumed. And then a little farther on…decelerated again.

  Finally, they were getting to the sequence of gates. Like all the other trainees, he’d never seen what they looked like, and he couldn’t have told even the Scribe Virgin herself how to get onto the road that led into the training center. But he was well-familiar with this stop-and-go as they entered the Brotherhood’s property and descended underground to the facility.

  I must speak with you alone. There is little time.

  The image of Romina standing outside of that bathroom, her blue dress gathered in her hands, her eyes wide, her pale face drawn in haunted, hunted lines, made him shake his head and rub the bridge of his nose.

  Romina needed a friend, badly. She also needed Peyton.

  I’m afraid you’re being sold a bad bill of goods. Declare tonight that I am not to your approval, and then you will be spared.

  When he had demanded to know what the hell she was talking about, she had told him a terrible story, one so horrible, he couldn’t bear thinking about it.

  And in the end, she had not lied. She was indeed spoiled in the eyes of the glymera—and not as in privileged and pampered. According to all standards, Romina was ineligible for mating, although not by her own fault—assuming she was telling the truth, and really, considering what had happened to her? Why would you admit that to a stranger otherwise?

  He admired her honesty. And he felt broken, too, unmateable for a lot of reasons, so they shared that.

  I know that you will do the right thing for yourself. I just didn’t want anyone else hurt.

  With that, she had returned to the table. And he had tried to follow in her footsteps—only to fail at the finish line. Instead of going back into the dining room, he’d kept right on going out the front door. His father had yelled after him, but nope, Peyton was done. He’d dematerialized to the pickup location, texted his arrival, and waited twenty-five minutes in the cold without a winter jacket for the bus to arrive.

  By the time he’d gotten on the transport, his fingers had frozen into claws in his pockets and his jaw had locked down on his clapping molars. The warm-up of all his corporeal merchandise had been an exercise in burning pain, but he’d barely noticed.

  It was a sad commentary on where he and Romina came from that both of them were nothing but pawns in a social chess game to their families.

  God, that poor female.

  And he had no idea what he was going to do about it.

  What was clear? His absence during that cheese and fruit course had been duly noted. His phone had rung three times, and his father had left him voice messages. Peyton didn’t listen to them. Why bother? He knew what they said; he could dub the words and the tone in just fine—

  “We have arrived, sire.”

  Peyton jumped in his seat. Fritz, the loyal doggen butler who served as the bus driver most nights, was both concerned and smiling, his wrinkled face peeled back like a set of curtains in a friendly house.

  “Sire? Are you all right? May I get you anything?”

  “Sorry.” Peyton rose to his feet. “Sorry—I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Bullshit, he was fine. Matter of fact, he was so far from fine, he couldn’t see goddamn Fine-landia from where he was.

  As he got off the bus, the butler escorted him over to the reinforced steel door, their footfalls echoing throughout the multi-layered concrete parking area. And then they were inside, proceeding down the long, wide corridor. When Peyton stopped in front of the closed door to Novo’s hospital room, Fritz bowed low and kept on going to his next duty.

  Before Peyton knocked, he brushed his hair back with his fingers. Made sure his cuffs were down. Checked his—

  “You can come in.”

  At the dry sound of Novo’s voice, Peyton straightened his spine and pushed into the hospital room.

  Okay…wow.

  She looked so much better. She was sitting up, a couple of the monitors wer
e gone, and there was a tray with the remnants of food on it: fresh Danish, a half-eaten bowl of fruit, toast points, and a little pot of strawberry jam. She’d obviously eaten the scrambled eggs.

  Hospital food here was not “hospital” at all.

  “So formal,” she murmured. “You didn’t have to dress for the occasion.”

  He glanced down at himself. “I’m wearing my tux.”

  “You sound surprised. What did you think you had on?”

  When he looked back at her, Novo sat up a little higher on the stack of pillows that was holding her to the vertical—and the grunt and grimace she tried to hide told him that much as she might appear stronger, she wasn’t going home at the end of the night.

  Feeding or no feeding.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He considered tossing a jocular fish back, but then thought about Romina. “No, I’m really not.”

  “Unrequited love got you down? You want me to get you a card or something. Teddy bear to cuddle. No, wait…chocolate and a glass of wine?”

  Peyton ignored all that and went over to the far corner, his legs going loose right on schedule so that he fell into the chair there. Putting his head in his hands, he just stared at the floor. He wanted Novo like all get-out. But he couldn’t get his head away from what he’d been told by that other female. Where he was with his own family. How bad things could get when you had money, but nothing else, to back you up in the world.

  “Jesus,” Novo murmured, “you look like you’re having a nervous breakdown.”

  “Tell me about your family,” he heard himself say. “What are they like? What do they do that hurts you?”

  Novo looked away. “We don’t need to go into that.”

  As disappointment surged, he told himself he shouldn’t try to re-create that friendship he’d had with Paradise with anybody else. That had been a time-limited period in his life, something that had passed now that she had moved on and he was still where he had always been.

  God, he wanted a smoke.

  Patting the inside pocket of his jacket, he felt around—oh, thank you, motherfucker, he thought as he discovered a couple of old joints in there.

  He took one out and snagged the gold lighter he kept in his slacks.