Lover At Last: A Novel of the Black Dagger Brotherhood

by J. R. Ward

“Yes. It is.”

  Trez wasted some time watching his brother be extra efficient with the packing. Shirts were stripped off the hangers, folded precisely, put in black LV Epi luggage. Pants, same. Guns and knives went into matching steel briefcases.

  At this rate, the guy was going to be done with his shit in a half hour.

  “You gotta tell me where we’re going.”

  iAm looked over. “We’re moving in with the Brotherhood.”

  Trez’s brain got flushed, the fog clearing in an instant. “I’m sorry. What.”

  “We’re moving in with them.”

  Trez’s eyes bulged. “I’m…wait, I didn’t hear that right.”

  “You did.”

  “By whose authority.”

  “Wrath, son of Wrath.”

  “Shiiiiiiiiit. How in the hell did you pull that off?”

  iAm shrugged, like he’d done nothing more than make a reservation at a Motel 6. “I talked to Rehvenge.”

  “Didn’t know the male had that kind of pull.”

  “He doesn’t. But he went to Wrath—who appreciated our backing him up at that Council meeting. The king feels as though we’d be additive on the home front.”

  “He’s worried about a raid,” Trez said softly.

  “Maybe he is. Maybe he isn’t. But what I do know is that no one’s going to find us there.”

  Trez exhaled. So that was the “why” of it all: His brother didn’t want him to be dragged back to the s’Hisbe any more than he did.

  “You are amazing,” he said.

  iAm just shrugged again, as was his way. “Can you start packing your stuff, or should I do the first shift on that?”

  “Nah, I’m good.” He knocked on the jamb and started to turn away. “I owe you, my brother.”

  “Trez.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

  His brother’s eyes were grim. “This is not a get-out-of-jail-free thing. You can’t run from the queen. I’m just buying us some time, here.”

  Trez looked down at his bare feet—and wondered how far, in fact, he could go if they were covered by Nike.

  Pretty fucking far.

  His brother was the one tie he hadn’t cut, the only thing he felt like he didn’t want to leave behind in order to save himself from a gilded life of sexual enslavement.

  And in a moment like this, with the guy once again having stepped up to the plate in a big way…he wondered if it was possible that he couldn’t walk away from iAm.

  Maybe he was going to have to cave in to his destiny, after all.

  Fucking queen. And her goddamn daughter.

  The traditions made no sense. He’d never met the young princess. No one had. That was the way it worked—the next in line to the throne was as sacred as her mother, because she was the one who was going to lead them in the future. And like a rare rose, nobody was allowed to see her until she was properly mated.

  Purity and all that.

  Blah, blah, blah.

  Once she was hitched, however, she was free to come out to society, free to live her life—within the s’Hisbe. The sad-sack motherfucker who married the bitch? He took her place inside the palace walls, doing whatever the hell she wanted, when she wanted—assuming he wasn’t worshipping at her mother’s feet at the moment.

  Yeah, that was a party.

  And they thought he should feel honored to strap that yoke on?

  Really.

  He’d turned his body into a garbage dump in the last decade, fucking all those humans—and what was truly whacked? He wished that all those pesky Homo Sapiens diseases were the kind of thing he could pick up. No-go on that one. He’d had as much unsafe sex as he could with the other species and he was still healthy as a horse.

  Pity.

  “Trez?” iAm straightened. “Trez? Talk to me. Where you at?”

  Trez stared at his brother, memorizing that proud, intelligent face and those bottomless, penetrating eyes.

  “I’m right here,” he murmured. “See?”

  He held out his hands and did a little circle in his bare feet, in his robe, in his spacey, fuzzy, post-migraine haze.

  “What’s going on in that mind of yours?” iAm demanded.

  “Nothing. I think it’s great what you did. I’ma go pack up and get ready. They sending a car or something?”

  iAm narrowed his stare, but he did answer. “Yeah. A butler named Fred? Or was it Foster?”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Trez walked off, the dregs of that headache draining from him as he looked into the future…and really worried about this one last tie of his.

  But this move was a good thing. iAm was right: He had been fooling himself these last few years, aware that the princess was aging, and time was passing, and his day of reckoning was fast approaching.

  There were things you could put off. This was not one of them.

  Fucking hell, maybe he was going to have to disappear. Even if it killed him.

  Besides, if his brother was with Rehv in the king’s household? iAm was going to have the kind of support he was going to need if Trez up and got ghost.

  And maybe, after the way shit was going?

  The guy would be relieved to get rid of him.

  SIXTY-NINE

  Qhuinn’s whole life took another corkscrew about fifteen hours after he lost his virginity. Later, he would decide that the comes-in-threes thing might be true. When the shit went down, though, all he wanted to do was live through it….

  Sometime during the hours of the day, he and Blay had woken up, split up, gone their separate ways.

  Qhuinn would have preferred that they return to the main house together, but he’d had to stop by Luchas’s room, and Blay had been anxious to get back to his place and shower. And in a way, it hadn’t been all that bad, because Qhuinn had had a chance to check on Layla as well.

  When it came to his brother, and the Chosen, all was quiet on both fronts: The pair of them had been asleep in their respective beds—Luchas’s color was better, and for the first time, when Qhuinn had walked into Layla’s bedroom? He had sensed the pregnancy: The hormone wave had hit him as soon as he’d entered, and he’d stopped dead, it was so strong.

  Which had been really good.

  What he hadn’t been so happy about had been going by Blay’s door, and wanting to knock and duck inside—and go back to sleep.

  Instead, he’d ended up within his own four walls all by his lonesome.

  In bed. In the dark. Drifting in and out of REM-landia for the two hours he had before First Meal was served.

  So when his door was thrown wide and a lineup of tall males in hooded black robes came filing in, his past and his present collided, the two becoming interchangeable—such that the attack by the Honor Guard jumped up out of the graveyard of his memory and landed right in his room at the mansion.

  Unsure whether he was dreaming or any of this was real, his first thought was that he was glad Blay wasn’t with him. The guy had already found him dead at the side of the road once. No one needed a replay on that.

  His second was that he was going to take out as many as he could before they finally finished the job on him.

  With a battle cry, Qhuinn exploded out of his bed, his naked body going on the attack with such power, he actually plowed over the first two males. Spinning with his legs, he kicked and punched at anything that came at him, and there was a brief satisfaction as his targets cursed and jumped out of range—

  Something locked around his chest from behind, and swung him around with such force, his feet popped off the ground and flew in a crazy circle—

  Hellllllllllo, wall.

  The impact was a three-point bulletin to his fight-back bright idea, his face, torso, and hips slamming into the plaster so hard, he no doubt left a cartoon-style 3-D rep of himself on the shit.

  Instantly, he palmed the flat plane, prepared to shove his way off—

  The grip that latched onto his nape and held him in place might as
well have been steel. There was literally no give in the flesh and bone, even as he strained, his body refusing to be dominated—

  “Chill, asswipe. Just fucking chill before I’m forced to hurt you.”

  The sound of Vishous’s voice made no fucking sense.

  And then abruptly, from out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that a ring had formed around him, all those black robes surrounding him, just like that grip on his neck.

  But they were not attacking.

  “Just relax,” V said into his ear. “Breathe for me, come on, now—just breathe easy. No one’s going to hurt you.”

  The talking helped, that cool, calm voice reaching through the fight-or-flight response and turning down the volume on his panic’s roar.

  In the aftermath, Qhuinn started to shake, his muscles processing the adrenaline. “Vishous?”

  “Yup. It’s me, buddy. You need to keep breathing.”

  “Who…else?”

  “Rhage.”

  “Butch.”

  “Phury.”

  “Zsadist.”

  “Tohr.”

  The voices all matched the names, those deep, serious, no-bullshit tones sinking into his brain, helping to ground himself in a reality that didn’t involve the past.

  And then the last one was the final rung of the ladder that got him out of that mental tailspin and back to what was real. “Wrath.”

  Qhuinn went to jerk his head toward the king, but the impulse got him nowhere.

  “I’m going to let you go, buddy, okay?” V said. “You gonna mind your manners?”

  “Yeah.”

  “On three. One. Two. Three—”

  Vishous leaped back and landed in a hand-to-hand combat pose: arms up, fists ready, stance stable. In spite of the fact that the Brother’s face was covered by the hood, Qhuinn could just picture the expression: No doubt that if Qhuinn made any move, he’d be reintroduced to the wall—and that acquaintance had already been well and truly made, fuck him very much.

  He felt about six inches flatter.

  With a curse, Qhuinn turned around slowly, keeping his hands where the Brotherhood could see them. “Are you kicking me out of the house?”

  He had no clue what the hell he’d done, but with his history of pissing people off—on purpose and by default? Could be anything.

  “No, you idiot,” V said with a laugh.

  Facing the lineup of hooded, solemn figures, he searched where the faces were, making contact, reminding himself that these were the guys he had fought with side by side, that they’d always had his back, that they’d worked together.

  So what the hell was going—

  The third figure from the left lifted his arm, a long finger extending out and pointing to the dead center of Qhuinn’s chest.

  Instantly, Qhuinn was back in the carcass of the Cessna, the in-flight drama over, Zsadist alive and well, the goal reached…that male singling him out as he was now.

  In the Old Language, Wrath said, “You shall be asked a question. You shall be asked it only once. Your answer shall stand the test of time, extending out from this moment unto your bloodline forever more. Are you prepared to be asked.”

  Qhuinn’s heart began to thunder. Eyes bouncing around, he couldn’t believe that this was…

  Except…how was it possible? Based on his bloodlines and his defect, it wasn’t legal for someone like him to—

  From out of nowhere, the image of Saxton working in that library for all those nights hit him.

  Holy…fuck.

  So many questions: Why him? Why now? What about John Matthew, whose chest already, magically, bore the marking of the Brotherhood?

  As his mind raced, he knew he had to answer, but shit, he couldn’t—

  With a sudden clarity, he thought of his daughter, picturing that image that he’d seen in the door to the Fade.

  Qhuinn looked at each of the hoods again. How ironic, he thought. Nearly two years ago, an Honor Guard of black robes had been sent to him to make sure he knew his family didn’t want him. And now, here these males were, come to draw him into a different kind of fold—that was every bit as strong as that of blood.

  “Hell, yeah,” he said. “Ask me.”

  Blay’s first clue that something big was up was the sound of footfalls going by his room: He was in front of his mirror, shaving, when he heard them come down the hall of statues, heavy, repetitive—a lot of them.

  Had to be the Brotherhood.

  Then, as he bent over the sink to rinse the residual shaving cream off his cheeks, something hard dropped to the floor next door—or was thrown at a wall. In what sure as shit seemed like Qhuinn’s room.

  Cranking off the hot and cold mix, he snagged a towel and wrapped it around his hips as he jogged out of his suite and headed down to—

  Blay skidded to a halt. Qhuinn’s room was dark, but the light from the corridor shone in…on a circle of black robes that surrounded the guy. As he was held face-first against the wall.

  Blay’s only thought was that a second Honor Guard had come for the fighter—even though he knew damn well that it was the Brotherhood under all those robes. Had to be, right?

  Vishous’s voice solved that one, the male’s words slow and even.

  Then Qhuinn was released. As he turned around, he was white as a sheet, shaking as he stood naked in the center of that circle of hooded figures.

  Wrath cut through the silence, the king’s deep baritone filling the darkness. “You shall be asked a question. You shall be asked it only once. Your answer shall stand for the test of time, extending out from this moment unto your bloodline forever more. Are you prepared to be asked.”

  Blay put his dagger hand up to his mouth as the thing fell open. This couldn’t be…could it? They were inducting him into the Black Dagger Brotherhood?

  Instantly, he put it all together—Saxton working for all those months; Qhuinn’s acts of heroism; John getting informed that the guy was no longer his ahstrux nohtrum.

  Wrath must have changed the Old Laws.

  Holy fucking shit.

  “Hell, yeah. Ask me.”

  Blay had to smile as he ducked away and went back to his room. Leave it to Qhuinn to be blunt.

  As he shut his door, he stayed against it, waiting. Moments later, those heavy footsteps came again, filing past his room, going down the hall, disappearing…changing history forever.

  In all the aeons of the Brotherhood, there had never been anyone inducted who wasn’t the son of a Brother and a female of Chosen blood. Qhuinn was technically an aristocrat —even with him forsaken by his family, and with his “defect,” his lineage was what it was. But he didn’t have the kind of DNA credentials—or the warrior name—that the others did.

  And yet, assuming he lived through the ceremony, he would return to the mansion as a male among equals, forsaken no more.

  It was good that Luchas was alive to see this. That was going to matter.

  Blay got dressed, and when he checked his phone, he saw the group text that had gone out from Tohr, saying that no one was going out into the field tonight—and that they were getting a pair of new roommates: The Shadows were coming to stay at the mansion.

  Cool. Given the disquiet with the aristocracy, and that attempt on Wrath’s life? Nothing better than having those two killers under the roof. Coupled with Lassiter’s antics, that meant the king had a trio of guys with extra skills protecting him.

  With any luck, Trez and iAm would be permanent fixtures.

  Leaving his room, he jogged down the stairs and was not surprised to find the doggen running around, setting up a feast.

  How long was it going to take, he wondered.

  And man, he wished he had something to occupy the time.

  Wandering into the billiards room, because he knew better than to approach Fritz with an offer to help with the preparations, he picked up a cue and racked a set of balls. As he was chalking the tip, the bell at the vestibule’s door went off.

  “I�
��ve got it,” he hollered out as he took his cue with him, striding over to the security check-in screen.

  Saxton was on the stoop, the male looking rested and healthy.

  Blay opened the way in. “Welcome back.”

  There was a moment of surprise on the other male’s face, but he recovered fast with a smile. “Hello.”

  Blay wasn’t sure whether they should embrace or not. Did they shake?

  “We need to stop this awkwardness,” Saxton announced. “Come here.”

  “I know, right?”

  After a quick hug, Blay grabbed the male’s matching Gucci bags, and the pair of them hit the grand staircase, ascending side by side.

  “So how was the vacation?” Blay asked.

  “Wonderful. I went to my aunt’s—the one who still talks to me? She has a place down in Florida.”

  “Dangerous place for vampires. Not a lot of basements.”

  “Ah, but she lives in a stone castle.” Saxton nodded around at the foyer. “Not unlike this one. The evenings were warm, the ocean was wonderful, and the nightlife was—”

  As Saxton stopped short, Blay glanced over. “It’s all right, you know. I’m glad you had a good time. Honest.”

  Saxton regarded him steadily, and then murmured, “You’ve been busy yourself, haven’t you.”

  Damn redheaded coloring. Any blush had always shown—and right now, his face was on frickin’ fire.

  As they took a left in front of Wrath’s study and headed down the hall of statues, Saxton laughed a little. “I’m happy for you—and I’m not going to ask any questions.”

  He knew the “who,” Blay thought. “Yeah. So.”

  “How about you fill me in on the gossip,” Saxton said as they went into the male’s room. “I feel like I’ve been gone forever.”

  “Well…brace yourself.”

  Luchas. Trez and iAm. Qhuinn and the induction.

  By the time Blay was finished downloading, Saxton was sitting on his bed with his mouth hanging open.

  “But you knew about the Qhuinn thing, didn’t you,” Blay said as he finally stopped reporting.

  “Yes, I did.” Saxton straightened his bow tie, even though the tight knot was perfectly symmetrical. “And I have to say, even though I don’t know as much as you do about how he is in the field, everything that I’ve heard suggests it is an honor well placed. I understand he played a big role in getting Wrath safe when the assassination was attempted?”