Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(168)


No reply . . . and the lack of running water suggested the pair of them weren't taking a pneumatic shower together. Stepping in, Qhuinn flicked on the lights. . . .

The bed was made up, neat as a pin, totally undisturbed. Fucking

thing looked like an ad in a magazine, with all its pillows arranged and the extra duvet folded up like a cloth taco at the foot of the mattress.

Bathroom had dry towels, no condensation on the glass shower, and a

Jacuzzi without a bubble bath ring.

His body went numb as he went back out into the hall and walked

farther on.

At the door to the crib Saxton had been given, he stopped and stared

at the panels. Excellent carpentry work, the pieces put together seamlessly.

Paint job was perfect as well, with no brushstrokes marring the smooth surface. Nice brass knob, too, that was as shiny as a newly minted gold coin--

His acute hearing picked up on a soft sound and he frowned--until he

realized what he was listening to. Only one thing made that kind of rhythmic

. . .

Staggering back, he got goosed in the ass by the Greek statue directly behind him.

With stumbling feet, he blindly walked somewhere, anywhere. When

he got to the king's study, he looked over his shoulder and checked the carpet over which he'd trodden.

No trail of his blood. Which, considering the way his chest was

hurting, was a surprise.

Sure as shit felt like he'd been shot in the heart.

428

J. R.Ward

SIXTY-THREE

Xhex woke up screaming.

Fortunately, John had left the bathroom light on, so she had at least half a chance at convincing her brain where her body was: in fact, she was not back in that human clinic, being worked on like a lab rat. She was here in the Brotherhood mansion with John.

Who had leaped out of bed, and pointed a gun at the door to the hall

like he was prepared to blow a hole right through the frickin' thing.

Slapping a hand over her mouth, she prayed she'd shut herself up in

time, before she woke the entire house. The last thing she needed was a bunch of Brothers showing up at the doorstep with a whole lot of what's-doing.

In a silent shift, John swung the forty's muzzle around to the shuttered windows, and then he swept it over to the walk-in closet. As he finally lowered his weapon, he whistled an inquiry.

"I'm . . . okay," she answered, finding her voice. "Just a bad--"

The knock that cut her off was about as subtle as a curse in a quiet

room. Or the scream she'd just let rip.

As she pulled the sheets up to her collarbones, John opened the door a crack and Z's voice drifted in. "Everything all right in here?"

Nope. Not even close.

Xhex rubbed her face and tried to replug into reality. Tough

assignment. Her body felt weightless and disconnected, and man, that floaty thing was so not helping her on the get-grounded front.

It didn't take a genius to figure out why her subconscious had burped up that shit about her first trip through the abduction park. Staying in the OR

while John had had his lead-ectomy had obviously been like a hot, spicy meal for her brain, with the nightmare being the cranial version of acid reflux.

Christ, she had a case of the fop sweats, her upper lip beading, her

palms wringing damp.

In desperation, she focused on what she could see through the

partially open door to the bathroom.

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J. R.Ward

Turned out the toothbrushes on the marble counter saved her. The pair were standing up in the silver cup between the two sinks, looking like a couple of kibitzers who'd tilted their heads together to swap gossip. Both were John's, she was guessing, because guests were on the whole not welcome in this house.

One was blue. The other red. Both had the green bristles in the center that turned white over time to let you know when to get new ones.

Nice. Normal. Boring. Maybe if she'd had a little more of all that she wouldn't be looking for life's exit door. Or having nightmares that turned her voice box into a bullhorn.

John bade Z goodbye and came back over to her, leaving his gun on

the bedside table and slipping under the covers. His warm body was solid and smooth against hers, and she went to him with an ease that she guessed was common among lovers.

But something she'd never had with anyone before.

As he pulled his head back so she could see his face, he mouthed,

What was it?

"Dream. Very bad dream. From back when . . ." She took a deep breath. "When I was in that clinic."

He didn't press her for details. Instead, she just felt her hair getting stroked.

In the silence that followed, she didn't intend to talk about the past--

especially when the last thing she needed was more echoes of the nightmare.

But somehow, words formed in her throat and she couldn't hold them back.

"I burned the facility down." Her heart thumped as she remembered, but at least the recall of what had happened wasn't as bad as being back there in a dream. "It's weird . . . I'm not sure the humans thought they were doing anything wrong--they treated me like a prized zoo animal, giving me everything I needed to survive while they poked and prodded at me and ran test after test. . . . Well, most of the humans were good to me. There was a sadistic f*ck in the group." She shook her head. "They kept me for about a month or two and tried to give me human blood to keep me going, but they could read the clinical indicators that I was getting weaker and weaker. I got free because one of them set me loose."

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