Blood Fury: Black Dagger Legacy

by J. R. Ward

  “Yes.” The little girl nodded.

  “Can we bring you anything?” Mary asked.

  “No. Thank you, though.”

  Other Brothers stopped by, asked for updates, chatted. Someone brought him a coffee, but when he tasted it, all he could think about was what Ruhn had made for him just twelve hours ago.

  That coffee had been perfect. Everything else was ruined.

  He was never going to be able to drink the stuff again.

  God, it seemed impossible that life had been going at such a happy pace…only to have this brick wall of horror slam into him—

  Down at the far end of the corridor, the office’s glass door opened and Wrath came charging through. The King’s face was cast in a dark fury, and his Queen, Beth, seemed to be holding him back—and getting nowhere.

  As Wrath came down and stopped in front of him, Saxton had trouble meeting his ruler’s eyes even though they were blind.

  “Who did this,” the King snarled. “Who fucking did this.”

  “I think it was the humans who…” Saxton took a deep breath. “Ruhn and I were staying at the house to help that homeowner who was getting harassed.”

  “Why the fuck didn’t you call for more help!”

  As that autocratic demand was barked out, Beth yanked at her hellren’s arm. “Wrath! For crissakes, will you back off—”

  “It’s okay,” Saxton said with exhaustion. “He is just upset this happened at all and it’s coming out badly. We go through this on the job, he and I—”

  The King’s arm shot out and dragged him forward so hard and so fast, Saxton’s head spun—at least until it banged into a chest of granite.

  “I am so sorry,” Wrath muttered. “I didn’t know you two were together.”

  Abruptly, Saxton found himself clinging to the far-larger male, Wrath’s undeniable physical and literal power exactly what he needed at that moment.

  “I didn’t know he was yours,” Wrath said tightly. “I would never have sent him out with you if I had known.”

  “He wasn’t mine then,” Saxton choked out. “When we started…he wasn’t yet mine.”

  At that moment, Manny and Doc Jane emerged from the operating room, sure as if they had been summoned by a royal decree. The two surgeons pulled their masks down in sync, and it was hard not to read into their tired expressions that things had not gone as they had hoped.

  “So this is what we’ve got,” Doc Jane said. “He’s stable, but in critical condition. He’s having a hard time finding a steady blood pressure and heart rate.”

  “He coded again,” Manny added. “And since we can’t give you all transfusions, it’s just tough. His brain has gone without oxygen for a couple of minutes, a couple of times.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Doc Jane concluded, “but we’re not sure…whether he’s going to wake up.”

  As Bitty ran to her parents, Saxton covered his mouth so he didn’t start screaming again.

  When he was able, he said, “Can I see him—can she and I see him?”

  Doc Jane glanced at Rhage and Mary. When they nodded, the doctor did as well. “Okay, but only the two of you. Talk to him, tell him how much you want him to fight. We’re not going to move him right now—and you can’t stay in there long. He needs to rest.”

  “All right. Okay.”

  He took Bitty’s hand and looked down at her. “You ready?”

  When the little girl nodded, Manny opened the door for them.

  It was cold inside the operating room, so much colder than he’d been prepared for. And there was a purpose to everything that was in the tiled space, from the medical equipment to the multi-light fixture overhead to the glass-front shelves with all their instruments and supplies.

  His only thought as they approached the table was that he didn’t want Ruhn to die in this horrible, clinical place. And not like this, with all these wires going in and out of him.

  He was so pale, he was gray. And there were bandages all around his throat.

  “What’s the beeping?” Bitty asked as they stopped.

  “His heartbeat.”

  Fates, maybe they shouldn’t let the girl see this, he thought as the pair of them looked down at him. Ruhn’s face was so hollow, and with that all-wrong color, his hair was so very dark in contrast. Further, his eyes were closed as if they were never opening again, and his breathing was unnaturally punchy—

  Oh, right. He was on a ventilator thanks to a tube that went in through the base of his throat.

  “Uncle, it’s Bitty and Saxton. We love you.”

  The girl took her uncle’s still hand in hers.

  “My love,” Saxton said as he bent over and kissed his male’s forehead. “Come back to us. We need you.”

  There were so many things to be said, pleaded, begged—

  Saxton recognized that his own mouth was moving and that he was continuing to speak. But that odd deafness had returned to him, his ability to hear evaporating.

  When a hand landed on his shoulder, he jumped.

  Doc Jane’s forest-green eyes were grave. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “but we’re going to ask you to leave for a little while.”

  It was like peeling his own flesh off in strips to turn away, but he allowed himself to be led out. And as he stepped from the operating room, he saw that Vishous, Blay, and Qhuinn had joined the crowd that had assembled.

  The door closed on his lover.

  In the silence, as everyone looked at him, something changed deep inside of Saxton. Gone was the nausea and the sorrow and the fear. All that was weak disappeared as if it had never been. In its place?

  The rage of a bonded male.

  In a voice that did not sound like his own, he heard himself say, “Will you all take Bitty for a moment?”

  Rhage nodded immediately, the male recognizing exactly what was going on. “Hey, Bit, I’m hungry. Can you and Mary take me down to the break room for something to eat?”

  The little girl stepped in front of Saxton. “Do you promise to come and get me if he wakes up?”

  Saxton brushed her cheek. “I promise. With all that I am, dearest one.”

  She gave him a quick, fierce hug—that reminded him of her uncle—and then she was taking her father’s hand and leading the Brother and Mary down the corridor.

  Saxton waited until they were out of earshot to turn to Vishous. “Tell me you know who did this.”

  Vishous nodded. “I reviewed the security footage from the last couple of weeks. They were the same two human men who have showed up in a truck a number of times. One of them now has his arm in a sling. They came to the front door and they had weapons. Ruhn opened things up and they attacked him. The fight had to have been a brutal one because the total elapsed time was almost thirty minutes.”

  “They left in rough shape,” Blay tacked on. “Ruhn hurt them.”

  “Bad,” Qhuinn affirmed. “Like a true fighter.”

  In a voice that was all vengeance, Saxton said, “You find them. You bring them to me. I, and I alone, will take care of this.”

  All three of the males bowed low, paying deference to his position as bonded male.

  And then Vishous unsheathed one of the black daggers that were strapped, handles down, to his chest. Opening his ungloved hand, he gripped the blade and yanked it free, his blood welling, dripping, landing on the concrete floor.

  He extended his palm. “On my honor.”

  Saxton gripped the offering. “Alive. They come to me alive.”

  Blay and Qhuinn likewise cut themselves, and in turn, Saxton shook each of their bleeding palms.

  And so it was done.

  Whether Ruhn lived or died, he would be ahvenged.

  As the following night arrived, Novo recognized the sun’s descent and disappearance by the dropping of the temperature and a dimming of ambient illumination. A quick check of her watch told her what she already knew to be true and she got to her feet on a slow, stiff creep.

  She had spent the d
ay in the cold house, sitting on the kitchen floor, the boarded-up windows coupled with daytime cloud cover providing her with the protection she needed.

  She had not slept, her mind churning over things at a slow-and-steady that had consumed the hours.

  You’re choosing this. You’re picking all of this—and that means if it doesn’t feel right, you don’t have to do it.

  All of this…it’s on you.

  More than anything, she found that her own words haunted her, words that she had spoken to the male who had betrayed and hurt her.

  But she didn’t think about them in the context of Oskar. She thought about them as they related to Peyton.

  He was right. She hadn’t given him a chance to explain anything. She’d been so ready to replay the past, jump back into the I’ve-been-screwed pool, that she’d decided what had happened. Taken at face value what his father had said. Turned on a dime.

  All of which made a lot of sense.

  Except when she thought of Oskar’s new glasses. The ones that were for show.

  The ones that were just on the surface, not anything true or real.

  Leaving the house by the door she came in, she returned to Serenity’s grave and stood in the wind for a little bit.

  “I’ll be back to visit. You rest well.”

  With that, she was off, traveling to her apartment…where she showered, ate something that tasted like cardboard, and checked her phone. There were a bunch of messages on the trainee thread and she read through them quickly.

  Classes were canceled for the night. Something had happened, the Brothers didn’t go into what. Everyone checked in, though. Even Peyton.

  He had not called or texted her directly, but she hadn’t expected him to.

  When she called his number up out of her contacts, she knew he wasn’t going to answer, and started to compose a voicemail in her head—

  “Hello?”

  She coughed a little from shock. “Ah…hi. It’s me.”

  “Yup, that’s what my phone says.”

  “Listen, I…can I come see you?”

  “I’m a little busy right now.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “If you don’t mind carrying shit down stairs, though, come on over.”

  “I’m sorry—wait. Are you moving?”

  “Yup. Anyway, you know where I live. Or used to live. Come if you want.”

  As he ended the call, she nearly lost her nerve. But she was picking this, wasn’t she. She was going to choose the depth, not the surface. She was going to…trust in what her heart knew of the male, rather than what things appeared to be based on a two-minute interaction with a sire that Peyton didn’t respect.

  Her own past traumas aside, she owed the male a chance to explain. And from there…well, it was going to be what it was. But at least she wouldn’t be punishing him for sins he hadn’t committed, as he had said.

  Outside on the street, she needed a couple of tries before she could dematerialize, and when she re-formed on the lawn of his family’s mansion, she was surprised. There was a big white U-Haul truck with a sea lion and some facts about Maine on its side backed right up to the grand front entrance.

  Like the stately home was a college dorm or something and it was the end of the year.

  Walking up through the snow, she paused to look into the van’s open bay. There was a sofa in there. Boxes. Wardrobe stands with clothes on hangers. Shoes in laundry bins.

  “Hey, could you give me a hand with this?” came a distant voice.

  She wheeled around. Peyton was at the bottom of the stairs inside, trying to corral a love seat and all of its pillows in his arms.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  She stomped her combat boots on the mat, not because she cared about tracking dirt into his father’s house, but because she didn’t want to slip and fall on all the marble. As she jogged over, it was hard to have that scent of Peyton’s in her nose.

  Harder still to hear her own words in her head, the ones that she had thrown at him like daggers.

  Grabbing the edge of the love seat, they both grunted as they got it stabilized between them, and then they were crab-walking the thing across the Smithsonian foyer and out onto the ramp that led into the truck’s belly.

  “Where do you want this?” she asked.

  “Right here is fine. I’m not taking much else.”

  As they lowered the weight, she said, “So…you’re leaving.”

  “Yeah.” He slapped his palms on the seat of his jeans. “It’s about time. My father and I were done a long while ago.”

  He refused to look at her. Not because he seemed mad, though. More like he was finished with drama.

  Unease rippled through her like a toxin. “Where are you going?”

  “A buddy of mine has a penthouse with an extra room. I’m going to stay with him for a while until I find a place of my own.”

  “So you’re at least staying in Caldwell. What about the training program?”

  “Oh, I’m not leaving that. Why would I. I am not a quitter anymore.” He measured his things. Then focused on her. “So. What can I do you for.”

  His affect was calm and centered, not hostile or emotional. Just as he would be with a stranger on the street: polite but not wrapped up in anything.

  Her heart pounded. And not from love seat–related exertion.

  “I wanted to apologize.”

  “It’s cool. You don’t have to.” He turned away. “I’m not going to be weird in class or anything.”

  She reached out and took his arm. “Please. Let me talk.”

  With a deliberate move, he took himself out of her reach—and she was reminded of all the times she had done that to him, literally and figuratively.

  “Actually,” he intoned, “maybe it’s best that you don’t.”

  “Peyton, I said things I didn’t mean last night—”

  “You sounded very lucid to me, FYI. And listen, you’re not the first person to call me out for having no substance, for being a flaker.” Suddenly, his face got serious. “You will be the last one, though. I promise you that.”

  “I didn’t mean it. I was hurt and I jumped to conclusions after I—”

  “Oh. By the way, I am sorry for what my father said to you. When I came back here after you and I had our little—discussion, shall we call it—he told me what he’d done and we had it out. I broke his favorite Tiffany lamp, but at least it wasn’t over the motherfucker’s head.” He shrugged. “Incidentally, not that you care, that’s the reason I’m leaving. He’s not going to force me into mating anybody, and I am sure as shit done with living under the same roof with a male who could accuse you of being a goddamn prostitute to your face.”

  “So it was all a lie?”

  “About the female? Why ask me that?”

  “You rightfully accused me of not giving you a chance to explain—”

  “No, why ask me a question when you won’t believe the answer? I am very sure I could talk until I’m blue in the face, and you will do what you want with the words.” He pivoted away and headed back into the house. “You know, recast them to suit yourself. Play a game of chess and move ’em around until you get the answer you’ve pre-decided is the truth—”

  She caught up with him on the fancy stairs. “I went to see Serenity.”

  At that, he stopped.

  “That’s what I named her. I spent the day at the house. In the kitchen.”

  It seemed like a lifetime before Peyton slowly turned back around.

  And oh, man, she was not going to waste this chance. She spoke fast and with the kind of urgency that came from desperation.

  “You were right. I’ve been punishing you and everyone around me for what Sophy did to me and what Oskar wasn’t strong enough to fight against. And then I’ve been punishing me for the miscarriage even though I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve had this…fury in my blood that I haven’t been able to handle. And I’m so sorry. You told me last night you hoped I’d figu
re it out for myself and I’m trying, I really am. I just…I love you. Even though I’m broken, I love you. And not like I did Oskar. I was with him because he was the first male who paid any attention to me and I was too fucking stupid to know the difference between hope and reality. But you…you were the only person I wanted to see when it was time to tell my truth. You were the only place I wanted to go. And that’s because this,” she pointed to her heart, “knows more than this.”

  As she indicated her head, she prayed she was getting through to him. “I would do anything to take back those words I threw at you. You didn’t deserve any of it. You have more than earned a chance to explain what actually was going on about that mating thing, but in my anger, I didn’t have the ability to give you that. I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but—”

  “Shh. Just stop talking for a minute.”

  He put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. Then he focused beyond her, looking around her.

  Novo’s heart beat so hard, it rivaled an entire rhythm section.

  “Let me ask you one thing,” he said after a long time.

  “Anything. I don’t care what it is.”

  He shifted his eyes to hers. “Do you think we can fit my love seat and my couch at your place? Or just the love seat.”

  Novo shook her head to clear it. “I’m sorry, what—”

  “I mean, how much square feet do you have?” As she stared at him in total confusion, he held out his arms and smiled. “Come on, the female of my dreams tells me she loves me and then she thinks that I, a homeless indigent, am not going to take advantage of that and move in with her? Really? Like, seriously? Even if I wasn’t in love with you, too, you’re bound to be a better roommate than Nickle.”

  Novo couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.

  So she did both as she leapt into Peyton’s loving arms. “I don’t deserve you,” she choked. “I really don’t.”

  —

  As Peyton held Novo to his chest, he closed his eyes and breathed in. “Deserve me? Well, considering that many people think I’m a curse of Biblical proportions—”

  She pushed back. “Says who. I’ll cut a bitch.”

  “My father, for one. But he has poor taste.”