Lover Unleashed bdb-9

by J. R. Ward

  His first instinct was to march right over there, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that the kindest thing he could do was leave her where she lay and let her rest. She and Manello had gone for hours straight, all morning long. Besides, he was staying in tonight: Wrath had taken everyone off rotation in light of all the injuries.

  Christ . . . that Lessening Society. He hadn’t seen so many slayers in years—and he wasn’t thinking about just the dozen that had shown up last night. Over the previous two weeks, he was willing to bet the Omega had turned a hundred of those fuckers—and he had a feeling they were like cockroaches. For every one you saw, there were another ten that you didn’t.

  Good thing the Brothers were lethal as fuck. And Butch healed relatively easily after doing his Dhestroyer business—hell, Vishous had even been able to take care of the cop after the operation. Not that he remembered much about doing it, but still.

  Stifled by so much, he patted his pockets for his rolling paper and tobacco . . . and realized he was wearing a johnny: no merch for a smoke.

  Out of the chair. Back in the hall. Heading down to where he’d crashed.

  The door to Payne’s room was closed, and he didn’t hesitate before he opened the way in. Chances were good that the human surgeon was in there with her, but there was no way the guy wasn’t out like a light. He’d worked his ass off.

  As Vishous stepped inside, the scent in the air probably should have registered more clearly. And he maybe should have paid a little more attention to the fact that the shower was running. But he was just so shocked to see the bed was empty . . . and that there were braces and crutches over in the corner.

  Patient was paralyzed? You needed a wheelchair, not equipment that aided mobility. So . . . was she walking?

  “Payne?”

  He raised his voice. “Payne?”

  The response he got back was a moan. A very deep, satisfied moan...

  Which was not the kind of thing evoked even by the best shower anyone ever had.

  V shot across and nearly broke the door down as he burst into the hot, humid bathroom. And holy shit, the scene before him was so much worse than he’d thought.

  The irony, however, was that what they were—oh, God, he couldn’t even put into words what was doing—saved the surgeon’s life: V was so horrified, he had to look away, and the ostrich routine kept him from tearing a hole the size of a sewer pipe in Manello’s neck.

  As Vishous stumbled back out, he heard all kinds of scrambling from the bath. And then it was a case of him going asswipe-AWOL: He slammed into the bed, rebounded, knocked over a chair, bounced into a wall.

  At this rate, he’d find his way out in a week. Or so.

  “Vishous . . .”

  As Payne came up to him, he kept his eyes on the floor, and ended up with a clear shot of his twin’s bare feet. So she’d regained feeling in her legs.

  Yay.

  “Please spare me an explanation,” he bit out before glaring over at Manello. The bastard was soaking wet, hair slicked to his head, scrubs sucked into his body. “And do not get used to her. You’re here only until I don’t need you anymore—and given how well she’s doing? It ain’t for much longer—”

  “How dare you—it is for me to choose with whom I mate.”

  He shook his head at his sister. “Then pick something other than a human half your size and a quarter your strength. Life down here is not what it’s like in the clouds, sweetheart—and the Lessening Society’s slapped a bull’s-eye on your chest just like the rest of us wear. He’s weak, he’s a security risk, and he needs to go back where he belongs—and stay there.”

  Well, didn’t that make his twin furious: Her icy eyes went nuclear, her black brows slamming down. “Get. Out.”

  “Ask him what he did all morning long,” V demanded. “Wait—I’ll tell you. He sewed me and the Brotherhood up because we were trying to defend our females and our race. That human? He’s a lesser waiting to happen, in my opinion—nothing less, nothing more.”

  “How dare you! You know naught of him.”

  V leaned in to her. “And neither do you. Which is my fucking point.”

  Before shit got really out of control, he spun around to leave, only to catch sight of them all in the mirror on the wall. What a fucking tableau they were: his sister, naked and unashamed; the human, wet and grim; himself, wild eyed and ready to kill something.

  Rage built up so fast and so high, it broke free before he even recognized the emotion.

  Vishous took two steps over, reared back his head, and slammed his face into the glass, shattering the reflection to fuck and gone.

  As his sister screamed and the surgeon shouted, he left them to their own devices and stalked off.

  Out in the hall, he knew precisely where he was going.

  Out in the tunnel, he was oh, so very aware of what he was about to do.

  As he went, the blood dripped down his cheeks and off his chin, the red tears falling onto his chest and his abs.

  He didn’t feel any pain at all.

  But with any luck, he would. Very soon.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  By the time Payne got herself dressed and went out into the hall, her twin was gone.

  The blood on the floor told her in which direction he had headed, however, and she followed the trail down the corridor and into the glass-enclosed space marked OFFICE. Inside, the little specks of red cut a path around the desk and disappeared through a door, so she went over and opened up—

  Just a closet. Nothing but supplies of papers and writing instruments.

  There was more to it, however. There had to be. The track of droplets terminated at a wall of shelving.

  Patting around, she searched for a lever or release to shift the casing over, all the while replaying the scene of the mirror smashing. She had such fear, not for herself, but for Vishous—and what she had driven him to. Again.

  She had wanted a relationship with her brother. Not like this, though.

  Never this toxic interplay.

  “You getting anywhere?”

  She looked over her shoulder at her healer. Standing in the doorway to the office, he was still wet, but no longer dripping, and had a white towel wrapped around his neck. His short, dark hair was askew, as if he had rubbed it dry and left it as it stood.

  “I cannot find the way through.” And wasn’t that apt on so many levels.

  Payne wasted some time just staring at the neatly lined-up stacks of yellow pads and boxes of pens and orderly rows of things the purposes of which she could only guess at. When she finally gave up and stepped out, her healer was still in the doorway to the office, still staring at her. His eyes were black with emotion, his lips thin . . . and for some reason, his expression made her realize how fully clothed he was.

  How fully clothed he had always been whenever he had lain with her.

  He hadn’t let her touch him, had he.

  “You agree with my brother,” she said darkly. “Do you not.”

  It was not a question. And she was not surprised when he nodded. “This isn’t a long-term thing,” he said with horrible gentleness. “Not for you.”

  “So that is why I have not had the pleasure of your sex.”

  His brows flared briefly, as if her candor discomforted him. “Payne . . . this can’t work between us.”

  “Says who. It is our choice whom we—”

  “I’ve got a life to go back to.”

  As her breath grew tight, she thought . . . how incredibly arrogant of her. It had never occurred to her that he had somewhere else to go. Then again, just as her brother had pointed out, how much did she know of him?

  “I’ve got family,” he continued. “A job. A horse I have to go see.”

  Payne walked over to him, approaching him with her head high. “Why do you assume it is an either/or? And before you try, do not waste words telling me you do not want me. I know it is true—your scent does not lie.”

  He cleared h
is throat. “Sex isn’t everything, Payne. And when it comes to you and me, even that’s just about getting you to where you are now.”

  At that, another chill ran through her, sure as if there were a draft in the room. But then she shook her head. “You wanted me, healer. When you came back here and saw me in that bed—your scent was nothing about the condition I was in, and you are a coward if you pretend otherwise. Hide if you will, healer—”

  “My name is Manny,” he snapped. “Manuel Manello. I was brought here to help you—and in case you haven’t noticed, you’re on your feet. So I have. Right now? I’m just waiting until you people rip into my brain again and leave me strapped to separate night from day and dreams from reality. This is your world, not mine, and there is only either/or.”

  Their eyes locked together, and in that moment, if the facility had been on fire, she would not have been able to look away . . . and neither, she realized, would he.

  “If it could work,” she said roughly, “if you were allowed to come and go as you pleased, would you stay with me.”

  “Payne—”

  “My question is clear. Answer it. Now.” As his brows rose, she could not tell whether he was excited or repulsed by her brashness, and she did not care in that moment. “The truth is what it is, spoken or not. So we might as well have it all out.”

  He slowly shook his head. “Your brother doesn’t think—”

  “Fuck my brother,” she countered. “Tell me what you think.”

  In the strained silence that followed, she realized what she had just said, and wanted to curse anew. Dropping her head, she stared at the floor, not in meekness, but out of frustration. Females of worth did not use words like that, and they did not pressure people for a tea towel, much less something like this.

  Indeed, a proper female would stand by as the eldest male of her family handled the big decisions in her life, shaping the course of everything from where she lived to unto whom she was betrothed.

  Outbursts. Sex. Swearing. Any more of this and she was going to make Vishous’s wishes come true, because her healer—Manuel, that was—would find her so unattractive he would beg to be taken away from her with no memories of their time together.

  Would she never fit the Layla standard of feminine perfection?

  Rubbing her temples, she muttered, “You are both right—just for the wrong reasons. You and I could never last, because I am not a good match for any male.”

  “What?”

  Tired of everything . . . of him and her brother, of herself, of females and males in general . . . she waved him off and turned away. “You say this is my world? You have that so very wrong. I do not belong here any more than you do.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Verily, he might as well get the true picture of things on his way out. What the hell.

  She stared over her shoulder. “I am the daughter of a god, Manuel. A deity. That glow you call forth from me? It is her very essence as an entity. That is what she is. As for my father? He was nothing but a sadistic bastard who imparted unto me the urge to kill—that was his ‘gift.’ And do you want to know what I did with it? Do you?” She was aware that her voice was rising but was singularly disinclined to quiet herself. “I killed him, Manuel. And for that crime against mine bloodline, for that offense against the standards of behavior for females, I was imprisoned and held for centuries. So you are too right. Go—and do it now. It is for the best. But do not think that I fit in here any better than you do.”

  With another curse, she pushed past him and strode out into the corridor, figuring Manuel would find himself freed very shortly—

  “It was your brother. Wasn’t it.”

  The calm, low words echoed down the barren hallway, stopping not just her feet, but her heart.

  “I saw the condition he’s in,” Manuel said in a deep voice. “Any chance your father did that to the guy?”

  Payne slowly turned back around. Standing in the middle of the corridor, her healer was showing neither shock nor horror, just an intelligence she was coming to expect from him.

  “Why would you think that,” she said in a dead tone.

  “When I operated on him, I saw the scars, and it’s pretty clear someone tried to castrate him. Extrapolating? From my limited interaction with him, I’d say he’s way too touchy and aggressive for anyone to get the better of him. So it was either a gang of people or somebody who got him when he was really, profoundly vulnerable. I’m thinking the latter is more likely because . . . well, let’s just say I’d be surprised if abusive parents didn’t happen for your kind, too.”

  Payne swallowed hard, and it was a long, long while before she could find her voice. “Our father . . . had him held down. A blacksmith was ordered to tattoo him . . . and then get a pair of pliers.”

  Manuel squeezed his eyes shut briefly. “I’m sorry. I’m really . . . damned sorry.”

  “Our father was chosen as a sire for his aggression and ruthlessness, and my brother was given over to him when he was very young—whereas I stayed up at the Sanctuary with our mahmen. With naught to pass my time, I watched what transpired down here on Earth in the seeing bowls and . . . over the course of years in the war camp, my brother was abused. I brought this to my mother time and time again, but she insisted upon adhering to the deal she had made with the Bloodletter.” She curled her hands into tight fists. “That male, that forsaken, sadistic male . . . he was not capable of siring sons, but she guaranteed him one so he would agree to mate with her. Three years after we were born, she relinquished Vishous unto our father’s cruelty whilst she did her best to force me into a mold I would ne’er fit into. And then that last episode where Vishous was . . .” Tears speared into her eyes. “No more—not any longer could I do nothing. I came down here and . . . and I hunted the Bloodletter down. I held him to the ground whilst I burned him into ash. And I do not regret it.”

  “Who put you in jail?”

  “My mother. But the imprisonment was only partially because he was dead. Sometimes I believe it was more her colossal disappointment in me.” She wiped her face quickly and rubbed the wetness away. “But enough of this. Enough of . . . all of it. Go now . . . I shall speak to the king and send you off. Good-bye, Manuel.”

  Rather than waiting for him to respond, she headed off once more—

  “Yes, I want you.”

  Payne stopped, and then looked over her shoulder again. After a moment, she said, “You are a fine healer and you have done your job, as you so aptly pointed out. We have no further cause to speak.”

  When she resumed walking, his footsteps approached fast and he caught her, wheeling her around. “If I didn’t keep my pants on, I couldn’t have kept myself out of you.”

  “Really.”

  “Give me your hand.”

  Without looking, she held one unto him. “Why ever for—”

  He moved fast, putting her palm between his legs, and pressing her into the hot, hard length at his hips. “You’re right.” He moved against her, his pelvis undulating, the arousal pushing against her palm as he started to breathe deeply. “Even as I tried to tell myself otherwise, I knew that if I got naked, you were going to stay a virgin only long enough for me to get you on your back. Not romantic, but really, totally fucking true.”

  As her lips parted, his eyes dropped to her mouth and he growled, “You can feel the truth, can’t you. It’s in your goddamn hand.”

  “Do you not care about what I did . . .”

  “You mean with your father?” He stopped the rubbing and frowned. “No. To be clear, I’m a lex talionis kind of guy. Your brother could easily have died from those wounds—I don’t care how fast you people heal. But more to the point, I’m willing to bet that father/son bonding moment fucked his head up for the rest of his life—so yeah, I don’t have a problem with what you did.”

  Retaliatory justice, she thought as his words sank in.

  Tightening her hold on him, she resumed what he ha
d stopped, tracing up and down his sex, stroking. “I am glad you feel this way.”

  And wasn’t that true on a lot of levels: His erection was delicious, so hard and blunt at the tip. She wanted to explore him as he had her . . . with her fingers . . . her mouth . . . her tongue. . . .

  Manuel’s eyes briefly rolled back into his head as he gritted his teeth. “But . . . your brother’s still right.”

  “Is he . . .” She leaned in and licked at his lips. “Are you sure?”

  When she drew back, there was a sizzling moment as their eyes met . . . and then, with a growl, he spun her around and pushed her into the wall.

  “Be careful,” he growled.

  “Why.” She dipped her lips to his neck and slowly, inexorably dragged one fang up over his jugular.

  “Oh . . . fuck . . .” With a desperate curse, he locked his hand on hers, holding her palm in place at his hips, obviously trying to refocus. “Listen to me. As good as this is between us . . .” He swallowed hard. “As good . . . Shit, look, your brother knows what’s doing—I can’t take care of you properly and—”

  “I can take care of myself.” She pressed her mouth to his, and she knew she had him when his pelvis began to push forward and ease back again: He may have halted her hand, but his body was more than making up the slack on the friction front.

  “Fucking hell,” he groaned, “do you want me to come right here?”

  “Yes, I do. I want to know what it is like.”

  More kissing. And even though he was the one gripping her and pinning her against the wall, she was the aggressor.

  Manuel pulled back, but only, it seemed, upon a great struggle within himself. After taking a number of deep breaths, he said, “You asked me whether I would stay if I could? In a heartbeat. You are beautiful and sexy and I don’t know what the hell your mother or anyone else is doing comparing you to anything or anybody. Nothing comes close to you . . . on any level.”