Lover Awakened (Black Dagger Brotherhood #3)(45)

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 you 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 Seventeen


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 notebook 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.