Lover Eternal: A Novel of the Black Dagger Brotherhood (49 page)

"So he's in some kind of religious order?"

 

"No."

 

"Then why?"

 

"With Phury, all roads lead back to his twin, Zsadist. And yes, I know they don't look alike." Rhage gave her a little nudge and she started down the stairs again.

 

"Why does Phury limp?"

 

"He has a prosthesis. He lost half his left leg."

 

"Good lord, how?"

 

"He shot it off."

 

Mary stopped. "
What
? Did it happen by mistake?"

 

"Nope, on purpose. Mary, come on, we can finish this later." He took her hand and pulled her forward.

Bella stepped through the mansion's vestibule with the
doggen
who'd driven her to the compound. As she looked around, she was stunned. Her family owned a grand house, but it was nothing like this. This was… royal living. Which she supposed made sense, because the Blind King and his queen made their residence here.

"Welcome, Bella," a deep male voice said.

 

She turned and saw the brother with the multicolored hair, the one who had interrupted her and Zsadist that night at the training center.

 

"I'm Phury. We met before. At the gym."

 

"Warrior," she said, bowing fully. It was hard not to be in awe of the brothers, especially one like this. So big. So… Was that hair for real?

 

"We're glad you could come." He smiled at her, his yellow eyes warm. "Here, let me help you with your coat."

 

When it was off, she looped the thing over her arm. "I can't believe I'm here, to tell you the truth. Mary! Hi!"

The two of them embraced and then they talked with Phury. Before long Bella was completely comfortable around the warrior. There was just something so calm and trustworthy about him, and those eyes were a knockout. They were honest-to-God yellow.

Attractive as he was, though, she was looking for the scarred brother. While keeping up with the conversation, she discreetly scanned the vast, colorful foyer. Zsadist was nowhere around. Maybe he was skipping the party. He didn't seem like the social type; that was for sure.

As Mary left to be with Rhage, Bella was determined not to feel let down. For God's sake, she had no business chasing after the likes of Zsadist, anyway.

"So, Phury," she said. "May I… I know this is rude, but I just have to touch your hair." She reached up before he could say no and captured some of the blond and red waves, rubbing the thick lengths in her hand. "How gorgeous. The colors are amazing. And… oh, it smells so good. What kind of shampoo do you use?"

She looked into his eyes, expecting him to make some kind of light comment. Instead he was frozen stiff. Wasn't even blinking as he stared down at her.

 

And she suddenly realized that Rhage was staring at her from a doorway with an expression of shock on his face. And so was another warrior with a goatee. And a large human male. And…

 

Well, the party had kind of ground to a halt, hadn't it?

 

She dropped her hand and whispered, "I'm so sorry. I just did something horribly improper, didn't I?"

 

Phury snapped out of whatever trance he'd been in. "No. It's all right."

 

"Then why is everyone looking at me?"

"They're not used to seeing me with… that is, no females… ah…" Phury took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Bella, you didn't do anything wrong. Seriously. And don't worry about my brothers, okay? They're just jealous because they want you touching their hair."

But something was still seriously off with him, and she wasn't surprised when he excused himself a moment later.

 

A
doggen
stepped in front of her. "Forgive me, madam, I should have taken your coat earlier." "Oh, thank you."

After she dropped it into the male's hands, she realized the party had migrated into what looked like a billiard room. She was about to head over when she felt a cold draft coming from somewhere behind her. Had the front doors blown open?

She turned around.

Zsadist was in a dim comer by the vestibule, staring at her from the shadows. He was dressed in the same kind of black turtleneck and loose black pants he'd worn the last time she'd seen him, and just as before, his night eyes were feral. Sexual.

Oh, yes, she thought as she flushed. This was why she had come. She'd had to see this male again.

 

Taking a deep breath, she went up to him.

 

"Hello." When he said nothing, she forced a little smile. "Lovely evening, isn't it?"

 

"Did you like the feel of my twin?'

 

That was his
twin
? How could the two of them… Well, there was a resemblance. If she imagined Zsadist's scar gone and his hair grown out

"I asked you a question, female. Did his hair feel good to you?" Black eyes traveled down her body, tracing the lines of the silk blouse and the tight skirt she wore. When they returned to her face, they lingered on her mouth. "You gonna answer me, female?"

"Bella," she murmured automatically. "Please call me Bella."

 

Zsadist's stare grew hooded. "Do you think my brother's beautiful?"

 

"Ah… he's handsome, yes."

 

"Handsome. Yeah, that's the word. Tell me something, do you want him badly enough to lie with me?"

 

Heat bloomed in her, a fire lit by the words he spoke and the way he stared at her with sex in his eyes. But then she realized what he'd said.

 

"I'm sorry, I don't understand—"

 

"My twin's celibate from his tongue to his toes. So I'm afraid I'm the closest you'll ever get to Phury." He made a clucking sound. "But I'm a poor substitute, aren't I?"

 

Bella put her hand up to her neck, drowning in images of being under Zsadist's body while he moved inside of her.

 

What would that be like? To be taken by him? The reckless part of her was desperate to know.

 

Oh, God
. Just thinking about it made her shake.

Zsadist laughed coolly. "Have I shocked you? Sorry. Just trying to help you out of your rock and hard place. Wanting something you can't have must be a bitch." His eyes latched on to her throat. "Myself, I've never had that problem."

As she swallowed, he tracked the movement. "Problem?" she whispered.

 

"What I want, I take."

 

Yes
, she thought.
You certainly do, don't you
.

In a burning rush, she imagined him looking down at her while their bodies were merged, his face inches from her own. The fantasy had her lifting her arm. She wanted to run her fingertip down that scar until it got to his mouth. Just to know the feel of him.

With a quick jerk to the side, Zsadist dodged the contact, eyes flaring as if she'd shocked him. The expression was buried fast.

 

In a flat, cold voice he said, "Careful there, female. I bite."

 

"Will you ever say my name?"

 

"How about a drink, Bella?" Phury interjected. He took her elbow. "The bar's over here in the billiard room."

 

"Yeah, take her away," Zsadist drawled. "You're such a good hero, brother. Always saving somebody. And you should know, she thinks you're handsome."

 

Phury's face tightened, but he said nothing as he led her across the foyer.

 

When she looked back, Zsadist was gone.

Phury gave her arm a tug to get her attention. "You need to stay away from him." When she didn't respond, the warrior pulled her into a corner and gripped her shoulders. "My twin's not broken. He's ruined. Do you understand the difference? With broken, maybe you can fix things. Ruined? All you can do is wait to bury him."

Her mouth opened slightly. "That's so… callous."

 

"That's reality. If he dies before I do, it will kill me. But that doesn't change what he is."

 

She pointedly separated herself from the male. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

 

"Bella—" "You were going to get me a drink?"
Chapter Thirty-nine

O parallel-parked in front of the towering apartment building. The monolithic eyesore was one of Caldwell's high-rise, luxe setups, an attempt by some developers to turn the riverbank around. C's apartment was on the twenty-sixth floor facing the water.

Pretentious. Seriously pretentious.

Most
lessers
lived in shitholes because the Society believed in putting its money where its war was. C got away with the flashy style because he could afford it. He'd been a trustafarian before he'd joined in the seventies, and he'd somehow kept his money. The guy was an unusual combination: a dilettante with serial-killer tendencies.

As it was after ten there was no doorman, and picking the electronic lock on the lobby door was the work of a moment. O took the steel-and-glass elevator to the twenty-seventh floor and walked down one flight of stairs, more out of habit than necessity. There was no reason to think anyone would give a crap who he was or where he was going. Besides, the building was a ghost town this time of night, the Euro-trash residents out doing Ecstasy and coke at Zero Sum downtown.

He knocked on C's door.

This was the fifth address he'd visited on Mr. X's list of unaccounted-for members and the first of tonight's forays. The evening before, he'd had good success. One of the slayers had been out of state, having decided on his own to help out a buddy in D.C. Two of the AWOLs, who were roommates, had been injured from getting into a fight with each other; they were healing up and would be back online within a couple of days. The final
lesser
had been a perfectly healthy SOB who'd just been watching the tube and lying around. Well, perfectly healthy, that was, until he'd sustained an unfortunate accident as O was leaving. It would be a good week before he was up and running again, but the visit had certainly clarified his priorities.

Funny how a couple of cracked kneecaps could do that to a guy.

 

O knocked again on C's door and then picked the lock. When he opened the door, he recoiled.
Oh, shit
. The place smelled bad. Like rotting garbage.

 

He headed for the kitchen.

 

No, that wasn't trash. That was C.

The
lesser
was facedown on the floor, a dried pool of black blood around him. Within reach of his hand, there were some bandages and a needle and thread, as if he'd tried to fix himself up. Next to the first-aid stuff was his BlackBerry and the keypad was covered with his blood. A woman's purse, also stained, sat on the other side of him.

O rolled C over. The slayer's neck had been slashed, a good deep cut. And given the way the skin had been cauterized, the slice had been made by one of the Brotherhood's nasty black daggers. Man, whatever they had in that metal was like battery acid on a
lesser
wound.
C's throat was working, kicking out guttural sounds, proving that you could in fact be a little bit dead. When he brought up his hand, there was a knife in it. A few shallow cuts marked his shirt, as if he'd tried to stab himself in the chest but had lacked the strength to get the job done.

"You're in bad shape, my man," O said, taking the blade away. He sat back on his heels, watching the guy flail around in slow motion. Lying on his back like that, arms and legs moving uselessly, he was like a June bug about to give up the ghost