Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(176)

the boys going to the address the street racer was registered to, and the rest of the Brotherhood apportioned between the farmhouse and the Xtreme

skate park. In no time at all, the group was down the staircase, through the vestibule, and out the front door. One by one, they disappeared into the cold air. . . .

When Xhex took form again, it was in front of an apartment building

downtown in the old meatpacking district--although building was probably too kind a word for the place. The six-story brick structure had walleyed windows and a sagging roof that needed the construction equivalent of a chiropractor--or maybe a body cast. And she was pretty sure the line of pockmarks across the front had been created by the spray of a machine gun or maybe an autoloader whose shooter had had a case of the DTs.

Made you wonder how the humans at the DMV had accepted the

address as a residence when that car got its license plate. Then again, maybe no one had checked to see whether what was listed was inhabitable.

"Charming," Qhuinn bit out. "If you want to breed rats and cockroaches."

Let's go around back, John signed.

There were two alleys that ran down both sides of the shithole, and

they randomly picked the one on the left for absolutely no good reason. As they jogged along, they passed by your standard-issue city detritus--nothing new, nothing remarkable, just beer cans, candy wrappers and newspaper pages. The good news was that there were no windows on the flanks of the fugly building, but then it wasn't like there was anything to see other than the other slaughterhouses and packing facilities--plus maybe the stability of all that load-bearing brick was the reason the roof hadn't become the floor.

Xhex bounced on the balls of her feet as she ran with the males, the

bunch of them falling into a quick rhythm that carried them down the alley efficiently and in relative quiet. The back of the structure was nothing but more red brick streaked with metro-grime. Only difference was that the reinforced-steel door opened out into a small parking lot instead of a surface road.

No lessers. No human pedestrians. Nothing but stray cats, filthy asphalt, and the distant wailing of sirens.

A sense of powerlessness overcame her. Goddamn it, she could show

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up here or across town at that ridiculous park or out in the sticks. But there was no making the enemy come to her. And they had so little to go on.

"For f*ck's sake," Qhuinn muttered. "Where the hell's the party."

Yup, she wasn't the only one spoiling for a fight--

From out of nowhere, Xhex felt a tingling go through her, the resonant echo something that at first she didn't understand. She glanced at the rest of the team. Blay and Qhuinn were studiously not looking at each other. Tohr and John were pacing around. Zsadist had his phone out to report to the Brothers they were at the mark.

That pull . . .

And then she realized: She was sensing her blood in another.

Lash.

Lash was not far.

Blindly turning on her heel, she headed off . . . walking, then breaking into a run. She heard her name being shouted, but there was no stopping to explain.

Or stopping her.

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J. R.Ward

SIXTY-FIVE

On the Far Side, as Payne lay in an unnatural position on hard marble, her namesake overwhelmed her--but only above her waist. She felt no agony in her legs or feet, only a disassociated tingling that made her think of fire sparks over damp kindling wood. Directly above her broken body, the Blind King was leaning o'er, his face tight--and the Scribe Virgin had also made an appearance, that black robe and dim light floating around in circles.

It was not a shock that her mother had come to magically fix her. Like that door which had gone from shambles to saved, her darling mother

wanted to wipe away everything, neaten it all up, make everything perfect.

"I . . . refuse," Payne said again through gritted teeth. "I do not consent."

Wrath glanced over his shoulder at the Scribe Virgin, then looked

back down. "Ah . . . listen, Payne, that's not logical. You can't feel your legs . . . your back's probably broken. Why won't you let Her help you?"

"I am not some inanimate . . . object She can manipulate at will . . . to please her whims and fancy--"

"Payne, be reasonable--"

"I am--">

"You're going to die--"

"Then my mother can watch me expire!" she hissed--and then

promptly moaned. In the wake of her outburst, consciousness ebbed and flowed, her eyes blurring and then regaining focus, Wrath's shocked

expression becoming that by which she measured whether she had fainted or not.

"Wait, she's . . ." The king braced his hand against the marble floor to steady his crouching position. "Your . . . mother?"

Payne cared not that he knew. She had never felt any pride associated with being the birthed daughter of the race's founder--had in fact sought at every turn to distance herself--but what did it matter now. If she refused "divine" intervention, she would go unto the Fade from here. What pain she did feel told her this.

Wrath twisted around to the Scribe Virgin. "This is the truth?"

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No affirmative answer came back to him, but nor did a denial. And

there was no chastisement that he had dared offend by his inquiry, either.