Lover Revealed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #4)(149)

Next it was Phury. Followed by Zsadist.

By the time they were done, Butch’s neck felt so loose he was convinced his head was going to roll off his shoulders and bounce down the steps. And he was dizzy from the poundings on his chest, blood running down his stomach onto his thighs from the wound.

Then it was V’s turn.

Vishous came up onto the dais, his eyes down. He accepted the silver glove from Z and slipped it over the black leather he already wore on his hand. Then he scored himself with a quick flash of the black blade and stared at the skull as his blood dripped down into the basin, joining the others’.

“My flesh,” he whispered.

He seemed to hesitate before turning to Butch. Then he pivoted and their eyes met. As candlelight flickered over V’s hard face and got caught in his diamond irises, Butch felt his breath get tight: At that moment, his roommate looked as powerful as a god…and maybe even as beautiful.

Vishous stepped in close and slid his hand from Butch’s shoulder to the back of his neck. “Your flesh,” V breathed. Then he paused, as if asking for something.

Without thinking, Butch tilted his chin up, aware that he was offering himself, aware that he…oh, f*ck. He stopped his thoughts, completely weirded out by the vibe that had sprung up from God only knew where.

In slow motion Vishous’s dark head dropped down and there was a silken brush as his goatee moved against Butch’s throat. With delicious precision, V’s fangs pressed against the vein that ran up from Butch’s heart, then slowly, inexorably, punched through skin. Their chests merged.

Butch closed his eyes and absorbed the feel of it all, the warmth of their bodies so close, the way V’s hair felt soft on his jaw, the slide of a powerful male arm as it slipped around his waist. On their own accord, Butch’s hands left the pegs and came to rest on V’s hips, squeezing that hard flesh, bringing them together from head to foot. A tremor went through one of them. Or maybe…shit, it was more like they both shuddered.

And then it was done. Over with. Never to happen again.

Neither of them looked at the other as V broke away…and the parting was complete and irrevocable. A path that would not be walked. Ever.

V’s hand snapped back and then connected with Butch’s chest, the impact harder than all the others, even Rhage’s. As Butch choked from the force of the punch, Vishous turned away and rejoined the Brotherhood’s lineup.

After a moment, Wrath walked forward to the altar and picked up the skull, lifting it high, presenting it to the brothers. “This is the first of us. Hail to him, the warrior who birthed the Brotherhood.”

As the brothers let out a war cry that filled the cave, Wrath turned to Butch.

“Drink and join us.”

Butch went for it with gusto, grabbing the skull, tilting his head back, pouring the blood right down his throat. The brothers chanted as he drank, their voices getting louder and louder, ringing out. He tasted each one of them. The raw power and majesty of Wrath. The vast strength of Rhage. The burning, protective loyalty of Phury. The cold savagery of Zsadist. The sharp cunning of Vishous.

The skull was taken from his hands and he was pushed back against the wall.

Wrath’s lips lifted darkly. “Better hold on to those pegs.”

Butch gripped them just as a wave of churning energy slammed into him. He bit down to keep from letting out a howl and was dimly aware of the brothers growling in approval. As the roar increased, his body began to buck against the pegs like he’d front-loaded his nose with a kilo of blow. Then everything whacked out on him, every neuron in his brain firing, every blood vessel and capillary filling. With heart pounding, head swimming, body straining, he—



Butch woke up on the altar, naked and curled on his side. There was a burning sensation on his chest, and when he put his hand to it, he felt something grainy. Salt?

As he blinked and looked around, he realized he was in front of a black marble wall etched with what must have been names in the Old Language. God, there were hundreds of them. Stunned by the sight, he sat up and pushed himself to his feet. When he stumbled forward, he somehow caught his balance before he would have touched what he knew was sacred.

Staring at the names, he was certain they had all been carved by the same hand, each one of them, because every symbol was of identical and loving quality.

Vishous had done this. Butch didn’t know how he knew—no, he did. There were these echoes in his head now…echoes of the lives of his…brothers? Yes…and all these males whose names he read were his…brothers. He somehow knew each of them now.

With wide eyes, he followed the columns of writing until…there…there it was, down on the right. The one at the bottom of the line. The last one. Was it his?

He heard clapping and looked over his shoulder. The brothers were back in their robes, but the hoods were down. And they were beaming, positively beaming, even Z.

“That’s you,” Wrath said. “You shall be called the Black Dagger warrior Dhestroyer, descended of Wrath son of Wrath.”

“But you’ll always be Butch to us,” Rhage cut in. “As well as hard-ass. Smart-ass. Royal pain in the ass. You know, whatever the situation calls for. I think as long as there’s an ass in there, it’ll be accurate.”

“How about bass tard?” Z suggested.

“Nice. I feel that.”