Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #9)(159)

Abruptly, his mind shifted back twelve months, the rewind button stopping when he got to the place in the narrative when he’d gone to the surgeon’s office to scrub the guy’s memories of V’s own time at St. Francis.

Brother.

He had heard the word brother in his head.

At the time, he hadn’t had a f*cking clue what it meant—because, come on, like that would ever happen?

And yet here it was, reality once again living up to one of his visions.

Although, for true accuracy, that word should probably have been brother-in-law.

Except then he glanced over at Butch. His best friend was likewise staring upward at the guy.

Shit, he guessed brother might just fit. Which was good. Manello was the kind of guy you wouldn’t mind being related to.

As if the king read his mind, Wrath announced, “The surgeon can stay. Long as he wants. And he can have contact with any human family he has—if he wants. As a relation of mine, he is welcome in my home without restriction.”

There was a grumble of agreement at that: As always, when it came to the Brotherhood, secrets never stayed secrets for very long, so everyone already knew about the Manello/Butch/Wrath connection. Hell, they’d all looked at that photograph. Especially V.

Although V had done a little more than that. The name “Robert Bluff” had turned out to be a shell—duh. And the male had to be a half-breed; otherwise there was no way he could have worked at any hospital in the daylight hours. The question was whether and how much he knew about his vampire side—and if he was still alive.

As Jane put her head on his heart, he wrapped his arms around her even further. And then he looked over at Wrath. “Xcor, true.”

“Yup,” the king said. “Verified sighting. And this is not the last time we’re going to hear from him. It’s only the beginning.”

Too right, V thought. The arrival of that band of bastards was not good news for anyone—but most especially Wrath.

“Gentlemen,” the king called out, “and ladies, First Meal is getting cold.”

Which was the cue for everyone to head back to the dining room and actually eat what had been only studiously ignored up until now.

With Payne safe and at home, appetites were free to roam once more . . . although as God was his witness he was not going to think about what the hell that surgeon and his sister were no doubt about to get into.

As he groaned, Jane tightened her arm around his waist. “Are you all right?”

He glanced down at his shellan. “I don’t think my sister is old enough to have sex.”

“V, she’s the same age you are.”

He frowned for a moment. Was she? Or had he been born first?

Yeah, only one place to go for the answer to that.

Shit, he hadn’t even thought of his mother in all this. And now that he was . . . he had absolutely no desire or interest to pop up there and announce that Payne was doing great, f*ck you very much.

Nope. If the Scribe Virgin wanted to keep tabs on what her “children” were up to? She could look into those fakakta seeing bowls she liked so much.

He kissed his shellan. “I don’t care what the calendar says or about the birth order. That’s my baby sister, and she’s never going to be old enough to . . . ‘um, yeah.’ ”

Jane laughed and retucked herself under his arm. “You are a very sweet male.”

“Nah.”

“Yeah.”

Leading her into the dining room and over to the table, he gallantly pulled her chair out for her, and then he sat to her left so that she was at his dagger hand.

As talk took root in the air, and people set to their plates, and his Jane laughed at something Rhage had said, Vishous looked across to see Butch and Marissa smiling at each other, and holding hands.

You know what, he thought . . . life was pretty f*cking good right now.

It truly was.





FIFTY-SIX


Upstairs, Manny kicked the door shut behind him and his woman, and then he walked her over to a bed the size of a football field.

No reason to lock them in. Only an idiot would disturb them.

The glow from the now unshuttered windows gave him enough light to see by, and damn if he didn’t like what was before his eyes: his woman, safe and sound, laid out on . . . Well, okay, this wasn’t their bed, but he was damn well going to turn it into that before morning came.

As he sat down beside her, he discreetly tried to hide the raging hard-on he’d had ever since he’d seen her walk through that door. And though there was a lot they had to talk about, all he could do was stare at her.

Except then the physician in him came out. “You were injured?”

Her lovely hands went down to her robe, and the higher her hem came up, the lower her lids drifted. “I think you’ll find I’m healed. It was but a grazing wound way . . . up here.”

He swallowed hard. Fuck . . . yeah, she was fine. The skin of her upper thigh was as smooth as porcelain.

“Mayhap you should examine me closely, however,” she drawled.

His lips parted as his lungs got tight. “Are you sure you’re okay—and they didn’t . . . hurt you.”

He would never get over that.

Payne sat up and met him straight in the eye. “What has always been meant for you remains yours for the taking.”