Lover Awakened tbdb-3

by J. R. Ward

  "Zsadist?" She stretched down farther, her hair slipping off her shoulder and pouring over the edge of the bed, a gorgeous fall of deep mahogany.

  The it between his thighs strained. Pulsed with the beat of his heart.

  He jacked his knees up and clamped his thighs together, not wanting her to see.

  "Your robe," he said roughly. "Close it. Please."

  She glanced down and then dragged the lapels together, blushing. Oh, hell… Now her cheeks were as pink as her nipple, he thought.

  "Will you come back to bed?" she asked.

  The very well buried, decent part of him pointed out that wasn't a good idea.

  "Please?" she whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

  He measured the arch of her body and the black satin that barred her skin from his stare and her wide, sapphire blue eyes and the slender column of her throat.

  No… it really was not a good idea to get near her right now..

  "Move over," he said.

  As she shuffled back, he glanced down at the tent between his legs. Christ, that goddamn thing in there was huge; he looked like he had another arm in his pants. And hiding a log like that would require scaffolding.

  He eyed the bed. In a smooth movement he hopped between the sheets.

  Which was an achingly bad idea. The moment he was underneath, she molded herself to his hard edges until she was another blanket. A soft, warm, breathing…

  Z panicked. There was so much of her against him that he didn't know what to do. He wanted to shove her away. He wanted her even closer. He wanted… Oh, man. He wanted to mount her. He wanted to take her. He wanted to fuck her.

  The instinct was so strong he saw himself doing the deed: rolling her onto her stomach, pulling her hips off the bed, rearing up behind her. He imagined pushing the it inside of her and pumping with his hips—

  God, he was loathsome. To want to take that dirty thing and force it into her? He might as well shove a toilet brush in her mouth.

  "You tremble…" she said. "Are you cold?"

  She shifted even closer to him, and he felt her breast, soft and warm, on the back of his forearm. The it twitched wildly, popping against his pants.

  Shit. He had a feeling that punch action meant he was dangerously aroused.

  Yeah, ya think? Hell, the bastard was throbbing, and the balls under the thing ached, and he was having visions of rutting on her like a bull. Except a female's fear was the only thing that got it hard, and she wasn't scared. So what was he responding to?

  "Zsadist?" she said softly.

  "What?"

  The four words she spoke next turned his chest into a cinder block and made his blood freeze up solid. But at least all that other crap went away.

  When Phury's door opened without any warning, his hands froze on the T-shirt he was pulling over his head.

  Zsadist stood between the jambs, naked to the waist, black eyes burning.

  Phury cursed softly. "I'm glad you came. About last night… I owe you an apology."

  "I don't want to hear it. Come with me."

  "Z, I was wrong to—"

  "Come. With. Me."

  Phury yanked the shirt hem down and checked his watch. "I have to teach class in a half hour."

  "This won't take long."

  "Ah… well, okay."

  As he followed Z down the hall, he figured they could get through the apology on the road.

  "Look, Zsadist, I'm really sorry about last night." His twin's silence was not a surprise. "I jumped to the wrong conclusion. About you and Bella." Z walked even faster. "I should have known you wouldn't hurt her. I would offer you a rythe."

  Zsadist stopped and glared over his shoulder. "What the hell for?"

  "I offended you. Last night."

  "No, you didn't."

  Phury could only shake his head. "Zsadist—"

  "I am sick. I am disgusting. I can't be trusted. Just because you've got half a brain and have figured that out doesn't mean you need to stroke my ass with this apology bullshit."

  Phury's mouth dropped. "Jesus… Z. You're not—"

  "Oh, for fuck's sake, will you get the lead out?"

  Z marched down to his room and opened his door.

  Bella sat up on the bed, gathering the lapels of the silk robe close to her neck. She seemed totally confused. And too beautiful for words.

  Phury looked back and forth between her and Z. Then he focused on his twin. "What is this?"

  Z's black eyes stuck to the floor. "Go to her."

  "Excuse me?"

  "She needs to feed."

  Bella made a choked noise, like she'd swallowed a gasp. "No, wait, Zsadist, I want… you."

  "You can't have me."

  "But I want—"

  "Tough. I'm out of here."

  Phury felt himself get shoved into the room and then the door slammed shut. In the silence that followed, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to scream with triumph or… just plain scream.

  He took a deep breath and glanced at the bed. Bella was curled up on herself, her knees to her chest.

  Good God, he'd never let a female drink from him before. As a celibate, he hadn't wanted to risk it. With his sexual urges and his warrior blood, he'd always been afraid that if he let a female take his vein, he'd become overwhelmed and try to get inside her. And if it was Bella, he'd find it even harder to stay in neutral.

  But she needed to drink. Besides, what good was a vow if it was easy to uphold? This could be his crucible, his chance to prove his discipline under the most extreme circumstances.

  He cleared his throat. "I would offer myself to you."

  As Bella's eyes lifted to his, his skin got too small for his skeleton. Which was what rejection did to a male. Just shriveled you right up.

  He looked away and thought of Zsadist, who he could sense was right outside the room. "He may not be able to do this. You are aware of his… background, aren't you?"

  "Is it too cruel of me to ask?" Her voice was full of strain, deepened by her conflict. "Is it?"

  Probably, he thought.

  "It would be better if you used someone else." God, why can't you take me? Why can't you need me instead? "I don't think it would be appropriate to ask Wrath or Rhage, as they are mated. Maybe I could get V—"

  "No… I need Zsadist." Her hand shook as she brought it to her mouth. "I'm so sorry."

  So was he. "Wait here."

  When he stepped out into the hall, he found Z just beyond the door. The male's head was in his hands, his shoulders caved in.

  "Is it over with so fast?" he asked, dropping his arms.

  "No. It didn't happen."

  Z frowned and looked over. "Why not? You gotta do it, man. You heard Havers—"

  "She wants you."

  "— so will you go in there and open a vein—"

  "She'll only have you."

  "She needs it, so just—"

  Phury raised his voice. "I won't feed her!"

  Z's mouth clamped shut and his black eyes narrowed. "Fuck you. You will do this for me."

  "No, I won't." Because she won't let me.

  Z surged forward, locking a vise grip on Phury's shoulder. "Then you will do this for her. Because it's the best thing for her and because you're feeling her and because you want to. Do this for her."

  Christ. He would kill to. He was dying to go back into Z's bedroom. Rip off his clothes. Fall onto the mattress. And have Bella crawl up his chest and sink her teeth into his neck and straddle him, taking him inside of herself both between her lips and between her thighs.

  Z's nostrils flared. "God… I can smell how badly you want to do this. So go. Be with her, feed her."

  Phury's voice cracked. "She won't have me, Z. She wants—"

  "She doesn't know what she wants. She's coming out of hell."

  "You are the one. For her, you are the one." As Zsadist's eyes slid to the closed door, Phury pushed, even though it killed him. "Listen to what I'm saying, my brother. She wants you. And y
ou can do this for her."

  "The hell I can."

  "Z, do it."

  That skull-trimmed head shook back and forth. "Come on, the shit in my veins is corroded. You know that."

  "No, it isn't."

  With a snarl, Z leaned back and held out his wrists, flashing the blood-slave bands tattooed at his pulse points. "You want her biting through these? Can you stand the thought of her mouth on them? Because I sure as hell can't."

  "Zsadist?" Bella's voice drifted over. Without their noticing, she'd gotten up and opened the door.

  As Z's eyes squeezed shut, Phury whispered, "You are the one she wants."

  Z's reply was barely audible. "I'm contaminated. My blood will kill her."

  "No. It won't."

  "Please… Zsadist," Bella said.

  The sound of the humble, yearning request turned Phury's ribs into a cage of ice, and he watched, frozen, numbed out, as Z slowly turned to her.

  Bella stepped back a little, keeping her eyes on him.

  Minutes became days… decades… centuries. And then Zsadist walked over and went inside. The door closed.

  Phury was blind as he pivoted away and went down the corridor.

  Wasn't there someplace he needed to be?

  Class. Yes, he was going to… to teach class now.

  CHAPTER 17

  At ten after four, John climbed up into a shuttle bus lugging his duffel bag along with him.

  "Hello, sire," the doggen behind the wheel said cheerfully. "Welcome."

  John nodded and looked at the twelve guys who were seated in pairs and staring at him.

  Whoa. Really not feeling the love here, fellas, he thought.

  He took the empty seat behind the driver.

  As the bus started to move, a partition came down so that the trainees were locked in the back together and none of them could see out the front. John shuffled around so he sat sideways. Keeping an eye on what was happening behind him seemed like a good idea.

  The windows were all darkened, but the running lights on the floor and ceiling were bright enough so he could get a bead on his classmates. They were all like him, thin and small, though they had different hair colors, some blond, some dark. One was a redhead. Like John, they were all dressed in white martial-arts jis. And they all had the same duffel at their feet, a black nylon Nike bag big enough to fit a change of clothes and a lot of food. Each of them had a backpack, too, and he guessed they had the same stuff in it that he had in his: a note-book and some pens, a cell phone, a calculator. Tohr had sent out a list of required supplies.

  John tucked his pack in close to his stomach and felt himself getting stared at. It helped to think about all the numbers he could text-message, so he repeated them in his head over and over again. Home. Wellsie's cell. Tohr's cell. The Brotherhood's number. Sarelle's…

  Thinking of her made him smile. They'd spent hours online last night. Man, IM'ing, once he got the hang of it, was the perfect way to communicate with her. With them both typing words, he felt like they were equals. And if he'd liked her over dinner, he was really into her now.

  "What's your name?"

  John looked over a couple of seats. A guy with long blond hair and a diamond earring had spoken up.

  At least they're using English, John thought.

  As he unzipped the pack and took out a notebook, the guy said, "Hello? You deaf or something?"

  John wrote his name and turned the pad around.

  "John? What the hell kind of name is that? And why are you writing?"

  Oh, man… This school thing was going to suck.

  "What's your problem? Can't talk?"

  John met the guy right in the eye. The laws of probability mandated that within every group, there was one alpha-male pain in the ass, and this towhead with the sparkler in his earlobe was clearly it.

  John shook his head to answer the question.

  "You can't speak? At all?" The guy raised his voice as if to make sure everyone heard. "What the hell are you doing training to be a soldier if you can't talk?"

  You don't fight with words, do you? John wrote.

  "Yeah, and all those muscles you're popping are really scary."

  So are yours, he wanted to scribble.

  "Why do you have a human name?" This question came from the redhead in the seat behind him.

  John wrote, Raised by them, and then turned the pad around.

  "Huh. Well, I'm Blaylock. John… wow, weird."

  On impulse, John pulled up his sleeve and flashed the bracelet he'd made, the one with the characters he'd dreamed about on it.

  Blaylock leaned over. Then his pale blue eyes shot up. "His real name's Tehrror."

  Whispers. Lots of whispers.

  John retracted his arm and eased back against the window again. He wished he'd kept his sleeve down. What the hell were they thinking now?

  After a moment Blaylock pulled a polite one and introduced the others. They all had odd names. The blond's was Lash. And how flicking appropriate was that?

  "Tehrror…" Blaylock murmured. "That's a very old name. That's a real warrior's name."

  John frowned. And even though it would be better to get himself off these boys' high-def wide-screen, he wrote, Isn't yours? And the rest of theirs?

  Blaylock shook his head. "We have some warrior blood in us, which is why we were chosen to come train, but none of us has a name like that. What line are you descended from? God… are you bred from the Brotherhood?"

  John frowned. It had never dawned on him that he could be related to the Brothers.

  "Guess he's too good to answer you," Lash said.

  John let that one pass. He knew he was tripping all kinds of social wires, setting off land mines right and left, what with his names and the raised-by-humans thing and his inability to talk. He had a feeling this school day was going to be one hell of an endurance test, so he might as well save his energy.

  The trip lasted about fifteen minutes, with the last five or so involving a lot of stopping and going, which meant they were going through the gate system into the training compound.

  When the bus halted and the partition retracted, John shouldered his duffel and his backpack and got out first. The underground parking facility was just as it had been last night: still no cars, just another shuttle bus like the one they'd come in. He stood off to the side and watched the others mill about, a flock of white jis. Their nattering voices reminded him of the sound of pigeon wings clapping.

  The center's doors swung open, and the group got good and transfixed.

  But Phury could do that to a crowd. With his spectacular hair and his big body in black, he was enough to make anyone freeze.

  "Hey, John," he said, lifting his hand. "What's doing?"

  The guys turned and stared at him.

  He smiled up at Phury. Then got busy trying to fade into the background.

  Bella watched Zsadist pace around the bedroom. He reminded her of how she'd felt the night before when she'd sought him out: Caged. Miserable. Pushed too hard.

  Why the hell was she forcing this?

  As she opened her mouth to call the whole thing off, Zsadist stopped in front of the bathroom door.

  "I need a minute," he said. Then shut himself away.

  At a loss, she went over and sat on the bed, expecting him to be right back out. When the shower came on and stayed on, she fell into a churning introspection.

  She tried to picture herself going back to her family's house and walking through those familiar rooms and sitting in chairs and opening doors and sleeping in her childhood bed. It felt all wrong, like she'd be a ghost in that place she knew so well.

  And how would she deal with her mother and her brother? And the glymera?

  In the aristocratic world she'd been disgraced before she'd been abducted. Now she would be shunned outright. Being handled by a lesser… trapped in the ground… The aristocracy didn't handle that kind of ugliness well, and they would blame her. Hell, that was probably why her
mother had been so reserved.

  God, Bella thought. What was the rest of her life going to be like now?

  As dread choked her, the only thing that held her together was the thought of staying in this room and sleeping for days with Zsadist right next to her. He was the cold that made her condense into herself again. And the heat that stopped her from shivering.

  He was the killer who made her safe.

  More time… more time with him first. Then maybe she could face the outside world.

  She frowned, realizing he'd been in the shower for quite a while.

  Her eyes shifted to the pallet in the far corner. How did he sleep there night after night? The floor would be so hard on his back, and there was no pillow for his head. No covers to pull up against the chill, either.

  She focused on the skull beside the folded blankets. The black leather strap between the teeth proclaimed it as one he had loved. Obviously he had been mated, though she hadn't heard that in the rumors about him. Had his shellan gone unto the Fade of natural causes or had she been taken from him? Was that why he was so angry?

  Bella looked toward the bathroom. What was he doing in there?

  She went over and knocked. When there was no answer, she opened the door slowly. A cold rush shot out and she jerked back.

  Bracing herself, she leaned into the freezing air. "Zsadist?"

  Through the glass door of the shower, she saw him sitting under an ice-cold spray of water. He was rocking back and forth, moaning, scrubbing his wrists with a washcloth.

  "Zsadist!" She ran over and pushed the glass aside. Fumbling with the fixtures, she turned off the water. "What are you doing?"

  He looked up at her with wild, crazy eyes as he kept rocking and scrubbing, rocking and scrubbing. The skin around the black-tattooed bands was brilliant red, completely raw.

  "Zsadist?" She straggled to keep her tone gentle and steady. "What are you doing?"

  "I… I can't get clean. I don't want you to get dirty, too." He lifted his wrist and blood oozed down his forearm. "See? Look at the dirt. It's all over me. Inside of me."

  His voice alarmed her even more than what he'd done to himself, his words carrying the eerie, groundless logic of insanity.

  Bella picked up a towel, stepped inside the stall, and fell into a crouch. Capturing his hands, she took the washcloth from him.