Lover At Last: A Novel of the Black Dagger Brotherhood

by J. R. Ward

  No idea where he was going.

  Man, it was cold.

  Sitting in the flatbed, Blay focused on the lit end of his cigarette, the little orange glow going back and forth like a guitar string.

  Guess his hand was shaking.

  The whistle that went off next to him was John’s way of trying to get his attention, but he ignored it. Which got him slapped in the arm.

  This is a really bad stretch for him, John signed.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Blay muttered. “You’re absolutely fucking kidding me. He’s always wanted a conventional mating, and he’s knocked up a Chosen—I’d say this is a great—”

  No, here, right here. John pointed out to the asphalt. Here.

  Blay shifted his eyes to the windshield only because he was too tired to argue. Out in front of the flatbed, the headlights illuminated everything, the snow-covered landscape blindingly white, the figure walking at the side of the road like a shadow thrown.

  Red drops of blood marked the path of the footprints.

  Qhuinn’s hands were bleeding from when he’d bashed up the dash—

  Abruptly, Blay frowned. Sat up a little higher.

  Like puzzle pieces sinking into their proper slots, the random details about where they were, from the bend in the road, to the trees, to the stone wall beside them, came together and completed a picture.

  “Oh, shit.” Blay banged his head back against the rest. Closing his eyes briefly, he wanted to find another solution to this, anything other than him going out there.

  He came up with a big, fat nada.

  As he pushed open the door, the cold rushed into the warm interior of the truck cab. He didn’t say anything to John. No reason to. Things like going out into a snowfall after someone were self-explanatory.

  Taking a deep drag, he clomped through the accumulation. The road had been plowed earlier, but that was a much-earlier kind of thing.

  Which meant he probably had to act fast.

  Here in this rich part of town, where the tax base was as broad as the rolling lawns, you’d better believe that another one of those house-size yellow muni plows was going to come by right before dawn.

  No need to play this out in front of humans. Especially with the pair of leaking, dead-and-gones in the Hummer.

  “Qhuinn,” he said roughly. “Qhuinn, stop.”

  He didn’t yell. Didn’t have the energy. This…thing, whatever it was between them, had gotten exhausting long ago—and this current side-of-the-road showdown was just one more episode he didn’t have the strength for.

  “Qhuinn. Seriously.”

  At least the guy slowed down a little. And with any luck he was so pissed off, he wouldn’t put all the clues to their location together.

  Jesus Christ, what were the chances, Blay thought as he glanced around. It was right about in this next half mile or so where that Honor Guard had done their business—and Qhuinn had nearly died from the beating.

  God, Blay remembered tooling up that night, a different set of headlights picking out a dark figure, this time bleeding on the ground.

  Shaking himself, he gave the name game one more shot. “Qhuinn.”

  The guy stopped, his shitkickers planting in the snow and going no farther. He didn’t turn around, however.

  Blay motioned for John to kill the headlights, and a second later all he had to deal with was the subtle orange glow of the truck’s parking lights.

  Qhuinn put his hands on his hips and looked up to the sky, his head tilting back, his breath escaping upward in a cloud of condensation.

  “Come back and get in the flatbed.” Blay took another drag and released the smoke. “We need to keep moving—”

  “I know how much Saxton means to you,” Qhuinn said gruffly. “I get that. I really do.”

  Blay forced himself to say, “Good.”

  “I guess…hearing it out loud is still a shock.”

  Blay frowned in the dim light. “I don’t understand.”

  “I know you don’t. And that’s my fault. All of this…is my fault.” Qhuinn glanced over his shoulder, his strong, hard face set grimly. “I just don’t want you to think I’m in love with her. That’s all.”

  Blay went to take a hit off his Dunhill, but didn’t have enough draw in his lungs. “I’m…sorry—I don’t get…why…”

  Well, that was an awesome reply.

  “I’m not in love with her. She’s not in love with me. We are not sleeping together.”

  Blay laughed harshly. “Bullshit.”

  “Dead serious. I serviced her in her needing because I want a young, and so does she, and it began and ended there.”

  Blay closed his eyes as the wound in his chest got ripped open all over again. “Qhuinn, come on. You’ve been with her this whole last year. I’ve seen you—everyone’s seen you two—”

  “I took her virginity four nights ago. No one had been with her before that, including myself.”

  Oh, there was a picture he needed in his head.

  “I am not in love with her. She is not in love with me. We are not sleeping together.”

  Blay couldn’t hold still any longer, so he paced around, the snow packing under his boots. And then from out of nowhere, the voice of the Church Lady from SNL came into his head: Well, isn’t that speeeeeeeeeecial.

  “I’m not with anybody,” Qhuinn said.

  Blay laughed again with an edge. “As in a relationship? Of course not. But do not expect me to believe that you’re spending your off time crocheting doilies and alphabetizing a spice rack with that female.”

  “I haven’t had sex in almost a year.”

  That stopped him cold.

  God, where the fuck was all the air in this part of the universe?

  “Bullshit,” Blay countered in a cracked voice. “You were with Layla—four nights ago. As you said.”

  In the silence that followed, the horrible truth raised its ugly-ass head again, the pain making it impossible for him to hide what he had so diligently been burying for the last few days.

  “You were really with her,” he said. “I watched the library chandelier going back and forth under your room.”

  Now Qhuinn was the one closing his eyes like he wanted to forget. “It was for a purpose.”

  “Listen…” Blay shook his head. “I’m really not clear on why you’re telling me all this. I meant what I said—I don’t need any explanation about what you do with your life. You and I…we grew up together, and that’s it. Yeah, we shared a lot of stuff back then, and we were there for each other when it mattered. But neither one of us can fit into the clothes we used to wear, and this relationship between us is just the same. It doesn’t fit in our lives any longer. We don’t…fit anymore. And listen, I didn’t mean to get pissy in the truck, but I think you need to be clear on this. You and I? We have a past. That’s it. That’s…all we’ll ever have.”

  Qhuinn looked away, his face once again in the shadows.

  Blay forced himself to keep talking. “I know this…Layla thing…is a big deal to you. Or I’m guessing it is—how could it not be, if she’s pregnant. For me? I honestly wish you both well. But you don’t owe me any explanations—and what’s more, I don’t require them. I’ve moved on from childish crushes—and that’s what I had for you. Back then, it was just an infatuation, Qhuinn. So please take care of your female, and don’t worry that I’m slitting my wrists because you’ve found someone to love. As I have.”

  “I told you. I’m not in love with her.”

  Wait for it, Blay thought to himself. Because it’s coming.

  This was classic Qhuinn, right here.

  The male was incredible in the field. And loyal to the point of psychosis. And smart. And sexual to distraction. And a hundred thousand other things that Blay had to admit nobody else came close to. But he had one serious defect, and it wasn’t his eye color.

  He couldn’t handle emotion.

  At all.

  Qhuinn had always run from anyt
hing deep—even if he didn’t move. He could sit right in front of you and nod and talk, but when the emotions got strong for him, he would leave the inside of his skin. Just check right out. And if you tried to force him to confront them?

  Well, that wasn’t possible. No one forced Qhuinn to do anything.

  And yeah, sure, there were a lot of good reasons for the way he was. His family treating him like a curse. The glymera looking down on him. Him having been rootless all his life. But whatever the stressors, at the end of the day, the male was going to run from anything that was too complicated, or required something from him.

  Probably the only thing that could change that was a young.

  So no matter what he said now, there was no doubt he was in love with Layla, but having been through the needing with her, and now waiting for the results, he was losing his mind from worry and pulling away from her.

  And therefore standing here at the side of the road, blabbering about things that made no damned sense.

  “I wish you both the very best,” Blay said, his heart hammering in his chest. “I honestly do. I really hope this works out well for both of you.”

  In the tense quiet, Blay pulled himself out of the hole he’d once again fallen into, clawing his way back to the surface, away from the painful, burning agony at the center of his soul.

  “Now, can we get in the truck and finish our job?” he said evenly.

  Qhuinn’s hands lifted briefly to his face. Then he ducked his head, shoved those bleeding knuckles into the pockets of his leathers, and started back for the flatbed.

  “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

  SIX

  “Oh, my God, I’m going to come—I’m going to come—”

  Farther south, in downtown Caldwell, in the parking lot behind the Iron Mask, Trez Latimer was happy to hear the newsflash—and not surprised. But nobody else in the tricounty area needed the update.

  As he worked himself in and out of the very willing participant underneath his body, he shut her up by kissing her hard, his tongue entering that hot mouth, all that unnecessary commentary getting cut off.

  The car they were in was cramped and smelled like the woman’s perfume: sweet and spicy and cheap—shit, next time he was going to pick a volunteer with an SUV or, better yet, a Mercedes S550 with some proper space in the back.

  Clearly, this Nissan product had not been built to house two seventy-five fucking the brains out of a half-naked dental assistant. Or had she been a paralegal?

  He couldn’t remember.

  And he had more immediate issues to worry about. With an abrupt shift, he broke off the liplock because the closer he got to his own release, the farther his fangs extended from his upper jaw—and he didn’t want to nick her by mistake: The taste of fresh blood would pitch him right over another more dangerous kind of edge, and he wasn’t sure that feeding from her was a good idea—

  Scratch that.

  It was a bad idea. And not because she was just a human.

  Someone was watching them.

  Lifting his head, he looked out of the backseat window. As a Shadow, his eyes were three to four times more perceptive than those of a normal vampire, and he was easily able to penetrate the darkness.

  Yup, someone was popcorn-and-Milk-Dudding it from over on the left by the staff entrance.

  Time to wrap this up.

  Immediately he took control, reaching in between their bodies, finding the woman’s sex, and teasing her up as he continued to penetrate her, making her come so hard she jacked her head back and slammed it into the door.

  No orgasm for him.

  But whatever. Somebody loitering around took this fun-and-games quickie into different territory, and that meant he had to cut the crap. Even if he didn’t get off.

  He had a number of enemies thanks to his various associations.

  And then there were…complications…that were all his own.

  “Oh, my fucking God—”

  Going by the explosive exhale, all that torquing, and those pulses that gripped Trez’s thick cock, the dental assistant–paralegal–vet tech was having a rocking good time. He, however, had already pulled out of this nonsense mentally and might as well have been stalking out of the car, gunning for that—

  It was a female. Yeah, whoever it was was definitely of feminine derivation—

  Trez frowned as he realized who it was.

  Shit.

  Then again, at least it wasn’t a lesser. A symphath. A drug dealer he needed to take care of. A rival pimp with an opinion. A vampire who was out of line. iAm, his brother—

  But nah. Just a harmless woman, and too bad there was no going back to his slice of bliss. Mood was ruined.

  The dental assistant/paralegal/vet tech/hairdresser was panting like she’d tried to put a fireman hold on a piano. “That was…amazing…that…was…”

  Trez pulled out and tucked his cock back behind his fly. Chances were good he was going to have a case of neon balls in a half hour, but he’d deal with that when it came.

  “You’re incredible. You’re the most incredible—”

  Trez let the barrage of silly words fall over him. “You, too, baby girl.”

  He kissed her to make it seem like he cared—and he did, in a way. These human women he used mattered in the sense that they were living beings, worthy of respect and kindness by the simple virtue of their beating hearts. For a small while they let him use their bodies, and sometimes their veins, and he appreciated these gifts, which were always given willingly, and sometimes more than once.

  And the latter was the problem that was standing over there.

  Zipping up, Trez carefully maneuvered his big body around so he didn’t crush his ten-minute partner or give himself a craniotomy on the roof of the car.

  Baby girl didn’t seem to want to move, however. She just lay there like a throw pillow against the seats, her legs still spread, her sex still ready, her breasts still out and about and defying gravity like two cantaloupes glued onto her rib cage.

  Must be under the muscle, he thought.

  “Let’s get you dressed,” he suggested, pulling the halves of her lace-up bustier together.

  “You were so fantastic….”

  She was like jelly—well, except for the hard-as-a-rock fake boobs—all malleable and agreeable, but utterly unhelpful as he put her back together, sat her up, and smoothed her extensions.

  “This was fun, baby girl,” he murmured, and he meant it.

  “Can I see you again?”

  “Maybe.” He smiled at her tightly so that his fangs didn’t show. “I’m around.”

  She purred like a cat at that, and then proceeded to recite her number, which he didn’t bother to memorize.

  The sad truth about women like her was that they were a dime a dozen: In this city of several million, there had to be a couple hundred thousand twenty-somethings with tight asses and loose legs who were looking for a good time. In fact, they were all just variations of the same person, which was why he needed to keep them fresh.

  With so much in common, a revolving door of new supply was required to keep him interested.

  Trez was out of the car a minute and a half later, and he didn’t bother scrubbing her memories. As a Shadow, he had many mind tricks he could call upon, but he’d stopped bothering with that years ago. Not worth the effort—and occasionally he did like a repeat.

  Quick check of the watch.

  Damn it, he was already going to be late getting over to iAm’s—but he clearly had to deal with the problem by the back door before he closed up shop.

  As he went over and stopped in front of the woman, she tilted her chin up and put one hand on her hip. This particular version of ready-and-willing had blond hair extensions and liked hot pants as opposed to skirts—so she looked ridiculous in the cold, with her fluffy pink Patagonia parka and her bare-ass legs in the breeze.

  Kind of like a Sno Ball on two toothpicks.

  “Getting busy?” she demanded. She was
obviously trying to keep cool, but given the way her stiletto was tapping, she was hot and bothered—and not in a good way.

  “Hey, baby girl.” He called them all that. “You having a good night?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s too bad. Listen, I’ll see you around—”

  The woman made the colossal mistake of grabbing his arm as he went by her, her nails sinking into his silk shirt and clamping onto his skin.

  Trez’s head snapped around, his eyes flaring. But at least he managed to catch himself before he bared his fangs.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she said, leaning into him.

  “Trez!” someone barked.

  Abruptly, his head of security’s voice cut into his brain. And good thing. Shadows were a peaceable species by nature—provided they were not aggressed upon.

  As Xhex rushed over, like she knew murder was not one hundred percent out of the realm of possibility, he ripped his arm free of that hold, feeling five blazes of pain from the woman’s nails. Locking down his fury, he stared into the woman’s face. “Go on home now.”

  “You owe me an explanation—”

  He shook his head. “I’m not your boyfriend, baby girl.”

  “Damn straight, he know how to treat a woman!”

  “So go on home to him,” Trez said grimly.

  “What do you do, fuck a different girl every night of the week?”

  “Yeah. And sometimes twice on Sundays.” Shit, he should have scrubbed this one. When had he been with her? Two nights ago? Three? Too late now. “Go on home to your man.”

  “You make me sick! You fucking cocksucking motherfucker—”

  As Xhex stepped in between them and started speaking in a low voice to the hysteric, Trez was more than happy to have the backup…because what do you know, the chick in the Nissan picked that exact moment to K-turn in the parking lot and drive right on over.

  Putting her window down, she smiled like she was into being the other woman. “I’ll see you soon, lover.”

  Cue the crying: Baby girl with the pink parka, the boyfriend and the attachment disorder burst into a weeping jag worthy of a grave site.