Lover Reborn: A Novel of the Black Dagger Brotherhood

by J. R. Ward

As No’One walked up the steps, John traded places with her, going down to the bike. Tohr wanted to ask her where they’d gone, what she’d done, what had been said. But he reminded himself that sleeping arrangements notwithstanding, he didn’t have a right to any of that.

  Which told him exactly how far they hadn’t come, didn’t it.

  “You have fun?” he said as he backed up and held the door open for her.

  “Yes, I did.” She gathered the hem of her robe and limped into the vestibule. “Xhex took me for a motorcycle ride—or is it motorbike?”

  “Either one works.” Death trap. Donor cycle. Whatevs. “Next time, you wear a helmet, though.”

  “Helmet? As in an equestrian one?”

  “Not exactly. We’re talking about something a little sturdier than velvet with a chin strap. I’ll get you one.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She smoothed the wisps that were all over her cap of blond hair. “It was so… exhilarating. Like flying. I was scared at first, but she went slowly. Later, though, I learned to love it. We went very fast.”

  Well, didn’t that make him want to shit in a bag for the rest of his life.

  And for once, he found himself wishing she was afraid. That Ducati was nothing but an engine with a goddamn seat bolted to it. One bounce off the back, and that delicate skin of hers would be nothing but red paint for the road.

  “Yeah… that’s great.” In his head, he started to give her a safety lecture that revolved around the fundamentals of kinetic energy and medical terms like hematoma and amputation. “You ready to eat?”

  “I’m famished. All that fresh air.”

  In the distance, he heard the roar of that bike taking off, and then John came in looking like death.

  The kid went directly to the billiards room, and ten to one, he wasn’t after a handful of honey-roasted—but there would be no talking with him. He’d made that pretty damn clear at the beginning of the night.

  “Come on,” Tohr said. “Let’s go sit down.”

  The usual din of conversation around the table quieted as they came through the arches, but he was too focused on the female walking ahead of him to care. The idea that she’d been out in the world on her own, roaring along in the night with Xhex, made her seem… different.

  The No’One he knew would never have done something like that.

  And, shit… for some reason, his body juiced at the thought of her in clothes other than that robe of hers, straddling that bike, her hair free from that braid and trailing into the night.

  What would she look like in jeans? The good kind… the kind that hugged a female’s ass, and made a male want to do some riding of the non-cycle variety.

  Abruptly, he pictured her naked and up against the wall, her legs spread, her hair unbraided, her hands cupping her breasts. Like a good boy, he was on his knees, his mouth on her sex, his tongue licking at that place he had learned so much about with his fingers.

  He was sucking on her. Feeling her against his face as she arched up and got tight—

  The growl that came out of him was loud enough to echo in the silent room. Loud enough to bring No’One’s surprised face around over her shoulder. Loud enough to make him seem like a total ass.

  To cover his tracks, he made elaborate work out of pulling her chair from the table. Like the shit was brain surgery.

  As No’One sat down, her own arousal drifted up into his nose, and he nearly had to strangle himself to keep another growl from vibrating up out of his chest.

  Parking it in his own seat, his erection got pinched big-time behind his fly, and that was just fine. Maybe the blood supply would get cut off and the bitch would deflate—except… well, going on the cock-ring theory, the opposite would likely be true.

  Fantastic.

  He picked up his napkin, snapped it free of its elaborate fold, and—

  Everyone was looking at him and No’One. The Brotherhood. Their shellans. Even the doggen who had yet to start serving.

  “What,” he muttered, as he laid the damask across his lap.

  Annnnd that was when he realized that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. And No’One hadn’t put up her hood.

  Hard to know who was getting more attention. Probably her, as most folks hadn’t seen her without her face covered—

  Before he knew it, his upper lip curled off his elongated fangs, and he met each one of the males in the eye, hissing at them low and nasty. In spite of the fact that they were all happily mated. And his brothers. And he had no right to be territorial.

  Lot of brows went up. A couple of folks asked for another shot of whatever they were drinking. Someone started whistling casually.

  As No’One quickly put her hood back into place, awkward conversations about the weather and sports sprouted.

  Tohr just rubbed his temples. Hard to know what was giving him his headache.

  There was so much to choose from.

  In the end, the meal passed by without further incident. Then again, short of a food fight or a fire in the kitchen, it was hard to imagine what could have been a worthy second act to his playing rattlesnake at the Brotherhood.

  When things broke up, he and No’One beat feet out of the dining room—but not for the same reason, evidently.

  “I have to go to work now,” she said as they came up to the staircase. “I was gone all evening.”

  “You can catch up at nightfall.”

  “That wouldn’t be right.”

  As he found himself on the verge of telling her she should go to bed instead, he realized that in the last few months, No’One had spent time only with him: Yeah, sure, she had worked, but she did that alone, and at meals she stayed quiet.

  Come to think of it, when they were upstairs, they were either hitting it or asleep. So she didn’t really interact with him, either.

  “Where did you and Xhex go?”

  “All over. Down to the river. Into town.”

  He closed his eyes briefly at the “into town” bit. And then had to wonder why he had never taken her anywhere. Whenever he was off rotation, he was down in the gym or reading in bed, waiting for her to be done. It had never dawned on him to do anything with her out in the world.

  That’s because you’ve been hiding her as best you can, his conscience pointed out.

  Whatever. She was always working—

  “Hey, wait a minute, why don’t you get any evenings off?” he demanded with a frown as he did the math. Shit, what the hell was that butler doing, working this female to the bone—

  “Oh, I do, but I never take them. I don’t like to simply sit around.”

  Tohr rubbed an eyebrow with his thumb.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she murmured, “I’ll go down to the training center and get started now.”

  “When will you be finished.”

  “Probably about four in the afternoon.”

  “Okay.” As she turned away, he put a hand on her forearm. “Ah, listen, if you go into the locker room during daylight hours, always knock and announce yourself, ’kay?”

  The last thing anyone needed was her getting a gander at one of his naked brothers.

  “Oh, of course. I always do.”

  As she disappeared around the corner, he watched her go, her limping form carrying an innate dignity that he abruptly felt he hadn’t been honoring.

  “We have a date, remember?”

  Glancing to the right, he shook his head at Lassiter. “Not in the mood.”

  “Tough shit. Come on—I’ve got it all set up.”

  “Look, no offense, but I’m not good company now—”

  “When are you ever?”

  “I really don’t—”

  “Blah, blah, blah. Shut the fuck up and get your ass in gear.”

  As the angel grabbed hold and pulled, Tohr gave up the fight and allowed himself to be dragged up the staircase and down the hall of statues—and out the other side. They went past his room, past the boys’ rooms, past Z and Bella and Nalla’s suite. Out into the s
taff quarters. Over to the entrance to the movie theater.

  Tohr stopped dead. “If this is another Beaches marathon, I’m going to Bette your ass until you can’t sit down.”

  “Aw, look at you! Trying to be finny.”

  “Seriously, if you have any compassion in you at all, you’ll let me go to bed—”

  “I have peanut M&M’s up there.”

  “Not my style.”

  “Raisinets.”

  “Feh.”

  “Sam Adams.”

  Tohr narrowed his eyes. “Cold?”

  “Downright icy.”

  Tohr crossed his arms over his chest and told himself he was not pouting like a five-year-old. “I want Milk Duds.”

  “Got ’em. And popcorn.”

  With a curse, Tohr yanked open the door and ascended into the dimly lit red cave. The angel made everything seamless once they got up there: Deep-dish ass palaces engaged. Sam Adams with backups on the floor in a bucket with ice. An embarrassing caloric display with, yup, a yellow box of Milk Duds. And the damn popcorn.

  They sat down side by side, and kicked up the footrests.

  “Tell me this isn’t a fifties-era sex-ed film,” Tohr muttered.

  “Nah. Popcorn?” the angel said as he hit play and offered a bowl. “Extra butter—the good plastic kind, too. Not that bullshit real cow crap.”

  “I’m okay right now.”

  Up on the screen, some movie studio’s intro played along with a bunch of credits. And then there were two old people sitting on a couch. Talking.

  Tohr took a pull of his beer. “What the hell is this?”

  “When Harry Met Sally.”

  Tohr lowered the longneck from his mouth. “What?”

  “Shut it. After this, we’re going to watch an episode of Moonlighting. Then An Affair to Remember—the old-school one, not that stupidity with Warren Beatty. Then The Princess Bride—”

  Tohr hit the switch by his hip and straightened the chair up. “Okay. Right. Have fun with this—”

  Lassiter hit pause and clamped a hard hand on his shoulder. “Sit the fuck back. Watch and learn.”

  “What? How much I hate rom-coms? How ’bout we just stipulate that and let me go.”

  “You’re going to need this.”

  “For my second career as a pussy?”

  “Because you have to remember how to be romantic.”

  Tohr shook his head. “No. Nope. Not going to happen…”

  As he hopped on the over-my-dead-body train, Lassiter just kept shaking his head. “You gotta remember it’s possible, buddy.”

  “The hell I do—”

  “You’re stalled, Tohr. And whereas you might have time to fart around, Wellsie doesn’t have that luxury.”

  Tohr shut up. Sat back. Started to pick off the label on his beer. “I can’t do that, man. I can’t pretend to feel… that way.”

  “Kind of like you can’t have sex with No’One? Just how long do you plan on going on like you are?”

  “Until you disappear. Until Wellsie’s free and you’re gone.”

  “And how’s that working for you. You like that dream you woke up with today?”

  “Movies aren’t going to help,” he said after a moment.

  “What else are you going to do? Jack off in your room until No’One comes back from work—then jack off next to her? Oh, wait, let me guess—pace around aimlessly. Because it’s not like you’ve ever done that before.” Lassiter shoved the bowl he’d offered into Tohr’s face. “What the fuck is it going to cost you to hang here with me. Shut up and eat your half of the popcorn, asshole.”

  Tohr accepted what was in his grill only because it was either that or he ended up with Orville all over his lap.

  One hour and thirty-six minutes later, he had to clear his throat as Meg Ryan told Billy Crystal that she hated him in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party.

  “Sauce on the side,” Lassiter said as he got up. “The answer to everything.”

  A minute later, young Bruce Willis came onscreen, and Tohr sent up a prayer of thanks. “This is much better. We need more beer, though.”

  “Got it.”

  A case of lager later and they had blown through two epis of Moonlighting, including a Christmas one where the cast and crew sang along with the actors in the last scene.

  Which did not make him clear his throat again.

  Really. It didn’t.

  Then they tried to get through An Affair to Remember. At least until Lassiter took pity on them both and started to rock the fast-forward button.

  “Chicks say this is the greatest,” the angel muttered, as he hit the button again and whoever it was started speed-emoting. “Maybe this one was a mistake.”

  “Amen on that.”

  Okay, the princess movie did not suck—that shit was funny in places. And, yeah, it was… cool when the pair got together at the end. Plus he liked Columbo as the granddad. But he couldn’t really say any of it was turning him into a Casanova.

  Lassiter glanced over. “We’re not done yet.”

  “Just keep beering me.”

  “Ask and ye shall receive.”

  The angel handed him a freshie and disappeared into the control room to switch DVDs. As he came back down to where they were sitting, the screen lit up with—

  Tohr jacked forward in his seat. “What the hell!”

  As Lassiter’s big body cut through the projection onto the screen, a gigantic pair of flapping breasts covered his face and chest. “Adventures in the MILFy Way. A true classic.”

  “It’s porn!”

  “Duh—”

  “Okay, I am not sitting through this with you.”

  The angel, still standing up, shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure you know what you’re missing.”

  Moans rumbled through the surround sound as those boobs… those frickin’ boobs looked like they were slapping Lassiter in the piehole—

  Tohr covered his eyes at the horror. “No! Not doing this!”

  Lassiter cut off the movie, the sounds disappearing. And a quick intrafinger check indicated that it was a stop, not a pause, mercifully.

  “I’m just trying to get through to you.” Lassiter sat down, cracked open a beer, and looked tired. “Man, this angel crap… it’s so fucking hard to influence anything. I’ve never had a problem with free will before, but for shit’s sake, I wish I could just I Dream of Jeannie you to where you need to be.” As Tohr winced, the angel muttered, “It’s okay, though. We’ll get you there somehow—”

  “Actually, I’m cringing at the vision of you in a pink harem costume.”

  “Hey, I have a great ass, I’ll have you know.”

  They drank beer for a while until a Sony logo started to appear at random points on the screen. “You ever been in love?” Tohr asked.

  “Once. Never again.”

  “What happened.” When the angel didn’t answer, Tohr shot a look over. “Oh, so it’s fine for you to be all up in my dark-and-dirty, but you can’t return the favor?”

  Lassiter shrugged. Opened yet another beer. “You know what I think?”

  “Not unless you tell me.”

  “I think we should try another epi of Moonlighting.”

  Tohr exhaled long and slow and had to agree. It didn’t suck watching movies with the guy, talking over the dialogue while drinking Sam Adams and eating crap food. In fact, he could not remember the last time he’d ever just… hung out.

  Of course, it must have been with Wellsie. If he’d had downtime, he’d always spent it with her.

  God, how many days had they frittered away, mindlessly checking out in front of the television, watching reruns and crappy cable movies and droning newscasts. They’d held hands, or she’d lain on his chest, or he’d played with her hair.

  Such wasted time, he thought. But when they’d been in that suck zone of minutes and hours, it had been… a simple, easy kind of bliss.

  One more thing to mourn.

  “How about someth
ing later in Willis’s career?” he said roughly.

  “Die Hard?”

  “You set it up and I’ll put another fire in the hole at the popcorn machine.”

  “Deal.”

  As they both rose and headed for the back, him to the candy and soda counter, Lassiter to the control booth, Tohr stopped the guy.

  “Thanks, man.”

  The angel gave him a knock in the shoulder, and then went about getting some yippee-ki-yay-motherfucker on deck. “Just doing my job.”

  Tohr watched the angel’s blond-and-black head duck through the narrow doorway.

  Fuck free will was right. And as for him and No’One?

  It was tough to think about what was coming next. Hell, when he’d first hooked up with her, it had taken the hide right off of him to ride through all the emotions just so he could accept her vein, give her his, and be with her to the extent he had.

  If he took this any farther?

  The next level was going to make that shit look like a walk in the park.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  It was twelve noon when Xcor’s cellular device went off, and the soft chiming roused him from his light sleep. With awkward jabs, he hunted and pecked around for the green send button, and after he hit it, he put the thing to his ear.

  In practice, he hated the damn things. In practical terms, they were an incredible benefit, one that made him question why he had ever been so resistant.

  “Aye,” he demanded. When a haughty voice answered him, he smiled into the dim candlelight of the basement. “Greetings, gentlemale. How fare thee this day, Elan?”

  “What… what…” The aristocrat had to marshal more breath. “Whatever have you sent me?”

  His source on the Council had a rather high voice to begin with; the care package that had obviously just been opened lifted the male’s tone into the stratosphere.

  “Proof of our work.” As he spoke, heads began to lift off of bunks, his Band of Bastards waking, listening. “I did not want you to think that we had overestimated our effectiveness—or, the Scribe Virgin preserve us, been untruthful with respect to our activities.”

  “I… I… Whatever shall I do with… this?”

  Xcor rolled his eyes. “Mayhap some of your servants could parcel it up and share it among your fellow Council members. And then I imagine your carpet will need to be cleaned.”