Lover Revealed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #4)(137)

“Oh, please—”

“Marissa, you’ve seen what those lessers can do. You’ve been at your brother’s clinic when the bodies have been brought in. How can I not fight?”

“But you’re not just talking about hand-to-hand combat. You’re taking it to a whole different level. Consuming slayers. How can you be sure you won’t turn into one?”

From out of nowhere, fear sliced through him, and as her eyes narrowed on his face, he knew he didn’t hide the anxiety fast enough.

She shook her head. “You’re worried about that, too, aren’t you? You’re not certain you won’t turn into one of them.”

“Not true. I won’t lose myself. I know it.”

“Oh, really. Then why are you holding on to your cross like that, Butch?”

He glanced down. Shit, his hand was locked on the crucifix so tight his knuckles were white and his shirt was all bunched up. He forced himself to drop his arm.

Wrath’s voice cut in. “We need him, Marissa. The race needs him.”

“What about his safety?” She let out a sob, but then quickly smothered it. “I’m sorry, but I—I can’t smile and say Go get ’em. I spent days under quarantine watching him—” She wheeled toward Butch. “Watching you nearly die. It almost killed me. And the thing is, back then it wasn’t your choice, but this…this is a choice, Butch.”

She had a point. But he couldn’t back down. He was what he was, and he had to believe he was strong enough not to fall into the darkness. “I don’t want to be a kept pet, Marissa. I want a purpose—”

“You have a pur—”

“—and that purpose is not going to be sitting at home waiting for you to get back from your life. I’m a man, not a piece of furniture.” When she just stared at him, he said, “I can’t sit on my hands when I know there’s something I can do to help the race—my race.” He went over to her. “Marissa—”

“I can’t…I can’t do this.” She put her hands out of his reach and backed up. “I’ve seen you almost die too many times. I won’t…I can’t do this, Butch. I can’t live like that. I’m sorry, but you’re on your own. I will not sit back and watch you destroy yourself.”

She turned and walked out of the Pit.



Up at the main house, John waited in the library, feeling like he was about to jump out of his skin. As the clock chimed, he looked down at his little chest and the tie that was hanging off of his neck. He’d wanted to look nice, but the getup probably came across like he was posing for a school picture.

When he heard fast footsteps, he glanced up at the open double doors. Marissa walked by, heading for the staircase and looking desolate. Butch was tight on her heels, looking worse.

Oh, no…He hoped they would be okay. He liked them both so much.

When a door shut with a bang upstairs, he walked over to the diamond-pane windows and stared outside. As he put his hand up to the glass, he thought about what Wrath had said—that Tohr was alive, somewhere.

He so wanted to believe that.

“Sire?” When he turned at the sound of Fritz’s voice, the old man smiled. “Your guest has arrived. Shall I show her in?”

John swallowed. Twice. Then nodded. Fritz disappeared and a moment later a woman appeared in the doorway. Without looking at John, she bowed to him and stayed parallel to the floor in supplication. She seemed to be about six feet tall and was wearing something like a white toga. Her blond hair was coiled on top of her head, and though he couldn’t see her face now, the split-second eyeball he’d gotten of it stuck with him.

She was beyond beautiful. Straight into angel territory.

There was a long silence, during which all he could do was stare.

“Your grace,” she said softly. “May I meet thine eyes?”

He opened his mouth. Then started to nod frantically.

Except she just stayed as she was. Well, duh, she couldn’t see him. Shit.

“Your grace?” Now her voice wavered a little. “Perhaps…you would care for another of us?”

John went over to her and lifted his hand to touch her lightly. Um, where, though? That toga thing was low-cut and slit up the sleeves as well as down the front of the skirt…God, she smelled good.

He tapped her awkwardly on the shoulder, and she inhaled as if he’d surprised her.

“Your grace?”

With a little pressure on her arm, he brought her upright. Whoa…her eyes were really green. Like summer grapes. Or the inside of a lime.

He gestured to his throat and then made a cutting motion with his hand.

Her perfect face tilted to the side. “You do not speak, your grace?”

He shook his head, a little surprised Wrath hadn’t mentioned it. Then again, the king had a lot of other things on his mind.

In response, Layla’s eyes positively glowed, and as she smiled, she knocked him out. Her teeth were perfect and her fangs were…incredibly lovely. “Your grace, the vow of silence is to be commended. Such self-discipline. You shall be a warrior of great power, you who have been bred from Darius son of Marklon’s line.”

Good Lord. She was seriously impressed by him. And hell, if she wanted to think he’d taken a vow, that was fine. No reason to tell her he had a defect.