Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(110)

The party just kept raging as he went into the house, no doubt because the shwasted bastards were too far gone to realize that under that white drape, evil had just come into their mix.

They weren't clueless for long, though.

A massive light bomb went off, the blast of illumination sweeping

through the house and streaming out of the windows to the tree line. As the roaring illumination dimmed to a soft glow, there were no upright survivors: All those lushes had dropped to the floor on a oner, the good times over and then some.

Holy shit. If this was headed where it seemed to be going . . .

Lash sidled up to the house, being careful to leave no footprint

literally or figuratively, and as he got closer, he heard an odd scraping sound.

Coming to one of the living room's windows, he looked inside.

The Shit was dragging bodies around, lining them up side by side on

the floor so that their heads were all facing north and there was a foot or so between them. Jesus . . . there were so many of the stiffs that the good-little-dead-soldier routine stretched all the way out into the hall and into the dining room.

The Omega hung back as if he liked the view of his boy toy muscling

the men around.

How. Precious.

It took almost a half hour to get everyone in the row, the guys from

the second floor getting dragged down the stairs so that their heads bounced on each step and left a bright red trail of blood.

Made sense. Easier to pull a deadweight by the feet.

When everybody was together, the Shit got to work with a knife and it became an assembly line of inductions. Starting in the dining room, he sliced throats and wrists and ankles and chests and the Omega followed behind, bleeding black into the open ribs then hitting them with electricity before performing cardio-ectomies.

No jars for this batch. When the hearts were extracted, they were

pitched into a corner.

Slaughterhouse much?

By the time it was done, there was a pond of blood in the center of the living room where the floorboards had sagged, and another at the base of the 284



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stairs in the hall. Lash couldn't get a look-see all the way to the dining room, but he was damn sure there was one there as well.

The moans of the inducted started up soon after, and the crop of

misery that had been reaped was going to get louder and messier as the transition was bridged and the last of their humanity was vomited out of them.

In the midst of the chorus of agony and confusion, The Omega twirled

around, stepping over the writhing masses, dancing to and fro, his white robes trailing through the congealing crap on the floor and remaining unstained.

In the corner, the Shit lit up a joint and toked away like he was taking a breather after a good job done well.

Lash stepped back from the window and then retreated toward the

trees, all the while keeping his eyes on that house.

Damn it, he should have done something like this. But he hadn't had

the contacts in the human world to pull it off. Unlike the Shit.

Man, this was going to change everything for the vampires. Those

f*ckers were going to actually face a legion of the enemy again.

Back at the Mercedes, Lash started the engine and eased out of farm—

landia the long way so he didn't go anywhere near that house. Behind the wheel, with the cold air hitting his face thanks to the shot-out window glass, he was grim. Fuck females and all that bullshit, for real. His sole goal in life was to knock out the Shit. Take the Omega's little prize. Destroy the Lessening Society.

Well . . . females were mostly out of it. He felt absolutely drained

because he needed to feed--whatever was happening to his outer layer, his inside was still craving blood and he had to solve this problem before he could face his daddy-o.

Or he was going to get popped.

As he drove toward downtown, he took out his phone and marveled at

what he was about to do. But then, a common enemy had a way of making strange alliances.

Back at the Brotherhood compound, Blay got undressed in his

bathroom and stepped under the shower. As he took the soap and frothed up some suds, he thought about the kiss in that alley.

About that male.

About . . . that kiss.

Moving his palms over his pecs, he tilted his head back and let the

warm water run down his hair and his back to his ass. His body felt like it 285

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wanted to arch harder and he let it do its thing, stretching, luxuriating in the warm rush. He took his time shampooing his hair and running that slippery, soapy hand of his around.

While he thought of that kiss some more.

God, it was as if the memory of their lips together was a magnet that dragged him back to home again and again; the pull too strong to fight, the connection too enticing for him to want to avoid it.

Sweeping his palms down his torso, he wondered when he was going

to see Saxton again.

When they were going to be alone again.

Moving lower with his hand, he--

"Sire?"

Blay spun around, his heel squeaking on the marble. Covering his

hard, heavy cock with both hands, he ducked around the glass door.

"Layla?"

The Chosen smiled at him shyly and ran her eyes down his body. "I was called forth? To serve?"

"I didn't call." Maybe she was confused? Unless--