by J. R. Ward
I should go now.
"Does your head hurt?"
John pushed his knuckles into the space between his eyebrows. I feel like I just ate ice cream really fast.
"When did you have dinner?"
He shrugged. I don't know.
Poor kid was probably hypoglycemic. "Listen, why don't you come inside and eat with me? Last thing I had was takeout for lunch, and that was about eight hours ago."
His pride was obvious in the firm shake of his head. I'm not hungry.
"Then will you sit with me while I have a late dinner?" Maybe she could entice him to eat that way.
John stood up and held out his hand as if to help her to her feet. She took his small palm and leaned on him just enough so he'd feel some of her weight. Together they headed for her back door, shoes in hand, bare feet leaving wet prints on the chilly flagstone around the pool.
Bella burst into her kitchen and stalled out. She'd had no particular plan when she'd taken off. She just knew she had to do something.
John was a problem. A serious problem.
She couldn't believe she hadn't recognized him for what he was right off the bat. Then again, he hadn't gone through the change yet. And why would a vampire be hanging out in Mary's backyard?
Bella nearly laughed. She hung out in Mary's backyard. So why couldn't others like her do the same?
Putting her hands on her hips, she stared at the floor. What the hell was she going to do? When she'd searched John's conscious mind, she'd found nothing about his race, his people, his traditions. The boy didn't know a thing, had no idea who he really was or what he was going to turn into. And he honestly didn't know what those symbols meant.
She did. They spelled out TEHRROR in the Old Language. A warrior's name.
How was it possible he'd been lost to the human world? And how long did he have before his transition hit? He looked as if he was in his early twenties, which meant he had a year or two. But if she was wrong, if he was closer to twenty-five, he could be in immediate danger. If he didn't have a female vampire to help him through the change, he was going to die.
Her first thought was to call her brother. Rehvenge always knew what to do about everything. The problem was, once that male got involved in a situation, he took over completely. And he tended to scare the hell of everyone.
Havers—she could ask Havers for help. As a physician, he could tell how long the boy had before the transition. And maybe John could stay at the clinic until his future was clearer.
Yeah, except he wasn't sick. He was a pretransition male, so he was physically weak, but she'd sensed no illness in him. And Havers ran a medical facility, not some kind of rooming house.
Besides, what about that name? It was a warrior's—
Bingo.
She went out of the kitchen and into the sitting room, heading for the address book she kept on her desk. In the back, on the last page, she'd written a number that had been circulating for the last ten years or so. Rumor had it, that if you called, you could reach the Black Dagger Brotherhood. The race's warriors.
They would want to know there was a boy with one of their names left to fend for himself. Maybe they would take John in.
Her palms were sweaty as she picked up the phone, and she half expected either for the number not to go through or to have it answered by someone telling her to go to hell. Instead, all she got was an electronic voice repeating what she had dialed and then a beep.
"I… ah, my name is Bella. I'm looking for the Brotherhood. I need… help." She left her number and hung up, thinking less was more. If she was misinformed, she didn't want to leave a detailed message on some human's voice mail.
She looked out a window, seeing the meadow and the glow of Mary's house in the distance. She had no idea how long it would take for someone to get back to her, if at all. She should probably go back and find out where the kid lived. And how he knew Mary.
God, Mary. That awful disease was back. Bella had sensed its return and had been debating how to handle what she knew when Mary had mentioned she was going in for her quarterly physical. That had been a couple of days ago, and tonight Bella had planned to ask how things had gone. Maybe she could help the female in some small way.
Moving quickly, she went back to the French doors that faced the meadow. She'd find out more about John and—
The phone rang.
So soon? Couldn't be.
She reached across the counter and picked up the kitchen's extension. "Hello?"
"Bella?" The male voice was low. Commanding.
"Yes."
"You called us."
Holy Moses, it worked.
She cleared her throat. Like any civilian, she knew all about the Brotherhood: their names, their reputations, their triumphs and legends. But she'd never actually met one. And it was a little hard to believe she was talking to a warrior in her kitchen.
So get to the point, she told herself.
"I, ah, I have an issue." She explained to the male what she knew about John.
There was silence for a moment. "Tomorrow night you will bring him to us."
Oh, man. Just how would she pull that off?
"Ah, he doesn't speak. He can hear, but he needs a translator to be understood."
"Then bring one with him."
She wondered how Mary would feel about getting tangled up in their world. "The female he's using tonight is a human."
"We'll take care of her memory."
"How do I get to you?"
"We will send a car for you. At nine o'clock."
"My address is—"
"We know where you live."
As the phone went dead, she shivered a little.
Okay. Now she just had to get John and Mary to agree to see the Brotherhood.
When she got back to Mary's barn, John was sitting at the kitchen table while the female ate some soup. They both looked up as she approached, and she tried to be casual as she sat down. She waited a little bit before throwing the ball out.
"So, John, I know some folks who are into the martial arts." Which wasn't exactly a lie. She'd heard the brothers were good at all kinds of fighting. "And I was wondering, would you have any interest in meeting them?"
John cocked his head and moved his hands around while looking at Mary.
"He wants to know why. For training?"
"Maybe."
John signed some more.
Mary wiped her mouth. "He says that he can't afford the cost of training. And that he's too small."
"If it were free would he go?" God, what was she doing, promising things she couldn't deliver? Heaven knew what the Brotherhood would do with him. "Listen, Mary, I can take him to a place where he can meet… tell him it's a place where master fighters hang out. He could talk to them. Get to know them. He might like to—"
John tugged on Mary's sleeve, signed some, and men stared at Bella.
"He wants to remind you that he can hear perfectly well."
Bella looked at John. "I'm sorry."
He nodded, accepting the apology.
"Just come meet them tomorrow," she said. "What do you have to lose?"
John shrugged and made a graceful movement with his hand.
Mary smiled. "He says okay."
"And you'll have to come, too. To translate."
Mary seemed taken aback, but then stared at the boy. "What time?"
"Nine o'clock," Bella replied.
"I'm sorry, I'll be working then."
"At night. Nine o'clock at night."
CHAPTER 5
Butch walked into One Eye feeling like someone had pulled the stoppers out of a number of his internal organs. Marissa had refused to see him, and though he wasn't surprised, it still hurt like a bitch.
So it was time for some Scotch therapy.
After sidestepping a drunken bouncer, a knot of floozies, and a pair of arm wrestlers, Butch found the troika's regular table. Rhage was in the far corner behind it, up against the wall with a brunette
. V was nowhere in sight, but a glass filled with Grey Goose and a knotted drink stirrer were in front of a chair.
Butch was two shots in and not feeling much better when Vishous came out from the back. His shirt was untucked and wrinkled at the bottom, and right on his heels was a black-haired woman. V waved her off when he saw Butch.
"Hey, cop," the brother said as he sat down.
Butch tipped his shot glass. "What's doing?"
"How—"
"No go."
"Aw, hell, man. I'm sorry."
"Me, too."
V's phone went off and he cocked it open. The vampire said two words, put the thing back in his pocket, and reached for his coat.
"That was Wrath. We've got to be back at the house in a half hour."
Butch thought about sitting and drinking alone. That plan had bad idea written all over it. "You want to poof it or ride back with me?"
"We got time to drive."
Butch tossed the Escalade's keys across the table. "Bring the car around. I'll grab Hollywood."
He got up and headed for the dark corner. Rhage's trench coat was flared out around the brunette's body. God only knew how far things had gone underneath.
"Rhage, buddy. We gotta bounce."
The vampire lifted his head, all tight lips and narrowed eyes.
Butch held his hands up. "I'm not cock-blocking for kicks and giggles. The mother ship called."
With a curse, Rhage stepped back. The brunette's clothes were disarranged and she was panting, but they hadn't gotten to showtime yet. Hollywood's leathers were all where they should be.
As Rhage retreated, the woman grabbed at him as if realizing the orgasm of her life was about to walk out the door. With a smooth movement, he passed his hand in front of her face and she froze. Then she looked down at herself as if trying to figure out how she'd come to be so aroused.
Rhage turned away with a glower, but by the time he and Butch were outside, he was shaking his head ruefully.
"Cop, listen, I'm sorry if I gave you the evil eye back there. I get a little… focused."
Butch clapped him on the shoulder. "No problem."
"Hey, how did your female—"
"Not a chance."
"Damn, Butch. That rots."
They piled into the Escalade and headed north, following
Route 22 deeper into the countryside. They were going at quite a clip, Trick Daddy's Thug Matrimony thumping like a jackhammer, when V hit the brakes. In a clearing, back about a hundred yards from the road, there was something hanging from a tree.
No, someone was in the process of hanging something from a tree. With an audience of pale-haired, black-clothed tough guys watching.
"Lessers," V muttered, easing off onto the shoulder.
Before they came to a full stop, Rhage exploded out of the car, running flat-out toward the group.
Vishous looked across the front seat. "Cop, you might want to stay—"
"Fuck you, V."
"You armed with one of mine?"
"No, I'm going out there naked." Butch grabbed a Glock out from under the seat, flipping off the semi's safety as he and Vishous jumped to the ground.
Butch had seen only two lessers before, and they freaked him out. They looked like men, they moved and talked like men, but they weren't alive. One look in their eyes and you knew the slayers were empty vessels, the soul gone somewhere else. And they stank to high heaven.
But then again, he never could stand the smell of baby powder.
Out in the clearing, the lessers assumed attack positions and reached into their jackets as Rhage covered the yards of meadow grass like a freight train. He fell upon the group in some kind of suicidal surge, no weapon drawn.
Jesus, the guy was nuts. At least one of those slayers had taken out a handgun.
Butch leveled the Glock and tracked the action, but couldn't get a clean shot. And then he realized he didn't need to play back-up.
Rhage handled the lessers by himself, all animal strength and reflexes. He was ripping some kind of martial-arts hybrid, his trench coat flaring out behind him as he kicked heads and punched torsos. He was deadly beautiful in the moonlight, his face twisted into a snarl, his big body pummeling the tar out of those lessers.
A holler lit off to the right and Butch wheeled around. V had taken down a lesser who'd tried to run, and the brother was all over the damn thing like white on rice.
Leaving the Fight Club stuff to the vampires, Butch headed over to the tree. Strung up from a thick branch was the body of another lesser. The thing had been worked over but good.
Butch loosened the rope and lowered the body, checking over his shoulder because the smacks and grunts of fighting were suddenly louder. Three more lessers had joined the fray, but he wasn't worried about his boys.
He knelt down to the slayer in front of him and started going through its pockets. He was pulling out a wallet when a gun went off with an awful popping sound. Rhage hit the ground. Flat on his back.
Butch didn't think twice. He shifted into firing position and aimed at the lesser who was about to plow another slug into Rhage. The dock's trigger never got pulled. From out of nowhere, there was a brilliant flash of white, like a nuke had gone off. Night turned to day as everything in the clearing was illuminated: the autumnal trees, the fighting, the flat space.
As the brilliance receded, someone came running at Butch. When he recognized V, he lowered the gun.
"Cop! Get in the fucking car!" The vampire was hauling ass, legs pumping like he was about to get served.
"What about Rhage—"
Butch didn't get the rest of the sentence out. V hit him like a piledriver, doing a grab and drag that ended only when they were both in the Escalade and the doors were shut.
Butch turned on the brother. "We're not leaving Rhage out there!"
A mighty roar split the night, and Butch slowly turned his head.
In the clearing he saw a creature. Some eight feet tall, it was built along the lines of a dragon, with teeth like a T- rex and a slashing pair of front claws. The thing flickered in the moonlight, its powerful body and tail covered with iridescent purple and lime-green scales.
"What the hell is that?" Butch whispered, fumbling to make sure the door was locked.
"Rhage in a really bad mood."
The monster let loose another howl and went after the lessers as though they were toys. And it… Good Lord. There wasn't going to be anything left of the slayers. Not even bones.
Butch felt himself beginning to hyperventilate.
Dimly, he heard the sound of a lighter being teed off, and he glanced across the seat. V's face caught and held the flare of yellow as he lit a hand-rolled with shaky hands. When the brother exhaled, the tang of Turkish tobacco filled the air.
"Since when has he…" Butch turned back to the creature feature playing in the clearing. And totally lost his train of thought.
"Rhage pissed off the Scribe Virgin, so she cursed him. Gave him two hundred years of hell. Anytime he gets too worked up, presto-change-o. Pain can set it off. Anger. Physical frustration, if you feel me."
Butch cocked an eyebrow. And to think he'd gotten between that guy and a woman he wanted. Never pulling that kind of stupidity again.
As the carnage continued, Butch began to feel as if he were watching the Sci-Fi Channel with the sound on mute. Man, this kind of violence was out of even his league. In all his years as a homicide detective, he'd seen plenty of dead bodies, some of which had been hard-core gruesome. But he'd never witnessed a slaughter in live action before, and oddly, the shock of it removed the experience from reality.
Thank God.
Although he had to admit the beast was a smooth mover. The way it spun that lesser up into the air and caught the slayer with its…
"Does it happen often?" he asked.
"Often enough. That's why he goes for the sex. Keeps him calm. I'll tell you this, you don't screw around with the beast. It doesn't know who's a friend and wh
o's lunch. All we can do is wait around until Rhage comes back and then take care of him."
Something bounced on the hood of the Escalade with a bang. Oh, God, was that a head? No, a boot. Maybe the creature didn't like the taste of rubber.
"Take care of him?" Butch murmured.
"How'd you like it if every bone in your body was broken? He goes through a change when that thing comes out, and as it leaves, he gets nailed again."
In short order, the clearing was empty of lessers. With another deafening roar, the beast wheeled around as if looking for more to consume. Finding no other slayers, its eyes focused on the Escalade.
"Can it get into the car?" Butch asked.
"If it really wants to. Fortunately, it can't be very hungry."
"Yeah, well… what if it's got room for Jell-o," Butch muttered.
The beast shook its head, black mane tossing in the moonlight. Then it howled and charged at them, running on two legs. The pounding of its stride called thunder and tremors out of the earth.
Butch checked the door lock one more time. Then thought about being a pansy and maybe hitting the floor.
The creature stopped right next to the SUV and fell into a crouch. It was close enough so its breath fogged Butch's window on the exhale, and up close, the thing was hideous. White narrowed eyes. Snarling jowls. And the full set of fangs in its gaping mouth was right out of a fever nightmare. Black blood ran down its chest like crude oil.
The beast lifted its muscled forelegs.
Jesus, those claws were like daggers. Made Freddie Krueger's set of fun and games look like pipe cleaners.
But Rhage was in there. Somewhere.
Butch put his hand to the window, as if he could reach the brother.
The creature cocked its head, white eyes blinking. Abruptly it heaved a great breath, and then the massive body started to shake. A high, piercing cry came out of its throat, cracking through the night. There was another flash of brilliance. And then Rhage was lying naked on the ground.
Butch threw open the car door and knelt by his friend.
Rhage shook uncontrollably on the dirt and grass, his skin clammy, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth moving slowly. There was black blood all over his face, in his hair, down his chest. His stomach was horribly distended. And there was a small hole in his shoulder where the bullet had hit him.
