Lover Revealed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #4)(26)

In the silence, he glanced over at the little vial that was plugged into his vein. As the nurse swapped it for an empty one, he couldn’t help noticing that his blood seemed darker than usual. Much darker.

“Good God…what the hell’s coming out of me?”

“It’s better than it was. Much so.” The nurse smiled through the mask.

“Then what color was it before,” he muttered, thinking the shit looked like brown sludge.

When the nurse was done, she shoved a thermometer under his tongue and checked the machines behind the bed. “I’ll bring you some food.”

“Has she eaten,” he mumbled.

“Keep your mouth closed.” There was a beeping noise and the nurse took the plastic-covered stick from his lips. “Much better. Now, is there anything you’d like?”

He thought of Marissa risking her life because of guilt. “Yeah, I want her to get out of here.”



Marissa heard the words and stopped walking around. Easing back against the wall, she glanced down at herself and was surprised to find that her gown still fit her the same. She felt half her usual size. Small. Insubstantial.

As the nurse left, Butch’s hazel eyes burned. “How long do you have to stay?”

“Until Havers tells me I can go.”

“Are you sick?”

She shook her head.

“What are they treating me for?”

“Your injuries from the car accident. Which were extensive.”

“Car accident?” He looked confused, then nodded at the IV as if he wanted to change the subject. “What’s in there?”

She linked her arms over her chest and recited the antibiotics, the nutrients, the pain meds, and the anticoagulants he was on. “And Vishous comes in to help as well.”

She thought of the Brother and his disarming diamond eyes and the tattoos at his temple…and his obvious dislike of her. He was the only one who came into the room without protective clothing on and he dropped by twice a day, at the beginning and the end of night.

“V’s been here to visit?”

“He lays his hand above your belly. It eases you.” The first time that warrior had stripped the sheets from Butch’s body and pulled up the hospital johnny, she’d been speechless both at the intimate sight and the Brother’s authority. But then she’d grown mute for another reason. Butch’s belly wound had been frightening—and then Vishous had scared her, too. He’d taken off the glove she’d always seen him wear, revealing a glowing hand that was tattooed front to back.

She’d been terrified about what would happen next, but Vishous just hovered that palm of his about three inches over Butch’s belly. Even in the coma, Butch had sighed raggedly in relief.

Afterward, Vishous had rearranged the hospital johnny and the bedsheets and turned to her. He’d told her to close her eyes, and though she was scared of him, she did. Almost immediately a profound peace had come over her, as if she were bathed in white, calming light. He did that to her each time before he left, and she knew he was protecting her. Although she couldn’t think of why, given that he clearly despised her.

She refocused on Butch and thought about his wounds. “You weren’t in a car accident, were you?”

He closed his eyes. “I’m very tired.”

As he shut her out, she sat on the bare floor and clasped her arms around her knees. Havers had wanted to bring things in like a cot or a comfortable chair, but she’d been concerned that if Butch’s vitals crashed again, the medical staff wouldn’t be able to get the necessary equipment to the bedside fast enough. Her brother hadn’t disagreed.

After God only knew how many days of this, her back was stiff and her eyelids were like sandpaper, but she hadn’t felt tired when she’d been fighting to keep Butch alive. Hell, she hadn’t even noticed the passage of time, had always been surprised when food was brought in or the nurses or Havers came. Or Vishous arrived.

So far, she wasn’t sick. Well, she had felt ill before Vishous stopped by for the first time. But ever since he’d started doing whatever he did with that hand of his, she’d been fine.

Marissa glanced up to the hospital bed. She was still curious why Vishous had called her to this room. Surely that warrior’s hand was doing more good than she was.

As the machines beeped softly and the air blower came on up in the ceiling, her eyes drifted down the length of Butch’s still body. A flush hit her face as she thought of what was underneath the covers.

She knew what every inch of him looked like now.

His skin was smooth over all his muscle and he was tattooed on the small of his back with black ink—a series of lines grouped in fours with each bundle carrying a slash that ran at an angle. Twenty-five of them, if she added correctly, some having faded, as if made years ago. She wondered what they commemorated.

As for the front of him, the dusting of dark hair across his pectorals had been a surprise, as she hadn’t known humans weren’t bare-skinned as her kind were. He didn’t have a lot of hair on his chest, though, and it narrowed quickly, becoming a thin line under his belly button.

And then…She was ashamed of herself, but she’d looked at his male sex. The hair at the juncture of his legs was dark and very dense, and from the midst, he had a thick stalk of flesh almost as wide as her wrist. What was below was a heavy, potent sack.