Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #9)(54)

The hand of her patient found her own. “Help me, Jane. Help me. . . .”




As Vishous left the nightly meeting with the Brotherhood and headed for the training center’s clinic, he was feeling more like himself—and not in a bad way. The sex with his shellan had been mission critical for them both, a kind of reboot that hadn’t just been physical.

God, it had felt good to be back with his female. Yeah, sure, there were problems still waiting for him . . . and, well, shit, the closer he got to the clinic, the more the mantle of stress returned, hitting his shoulders like a pair of cars: He had seen his sister at the beginning of every evening and then again at dawn. For the first few days, there had been a lot of hope, but now . . . that had mostly passed.

Whatever, though. She needed to get out of that room, and that was what he was going to do tonight. He was off rotation, and he was going to take her to the mansion and show her there was something other than that white cage of a recovery room to live for.

She wasn’t getting better physically.

So the mental was going to have to carry her through. It just had to.

Bottom line? He was not prepared to lose her now. Yeah, he’d been around her for a week, but that didn’t mean he knew her any better than he had when this had all started—and he was thinking they both needed each other. No one else was the offspring of that goddamn deity mother of theirs, and maybe together they could sort out the crap that came with their birthright. For shit’s sake, it wasn’t like there was a twelve-step for being the Scribe Virgin’s kid:

Hi, I’m Vishous. I’m her son and I’ve been her son for three hundred years.

HI, VISHOUS.

She’s done a head job on me again, and I’m trying not to go to the Other Side and scream bloody murder at her.

WE UNDERSTAND, VISHOUS.

And on the bloody note, I’d like to dig up my father and kill him all over again, but I can’t. So I’m just going to try to keep my sister alive even though she’s paralyzed, and attempt to fight the urge to find some pain so I can deal with this Payne.

YOU’RE A STRAIGHT-UP PUSSY, VISHOUS, BUT WE SUPPORT YOUR SORRY ASS.

Pushing his way out of the tunnel and into the office, he crossed over to the glass door and then strode down the corridor. As he went by the workout room, someone was running like their Nikes were on fire, but otherwise, there was a whole lot of no one around—and he had a feeling Jane might still be back in their bed, lounging after he’d done her right.

Which the bonded male in him took a f*ckload of satisfaction from. For real.

When he came to the recovery room, he didn’t knock, but—

As he stepped inside, the first thing he saw was the hypodermic needle. The next thing was that it was about to change hands, going from his shellan’s to his twin’s.

No therapeutic reason for that.

“What are you doing?” he breathed, abruptly terrified.

Jane’s head whipped around, but Payne didn’t look at him. Her stare was fixated on that needle like it was the key to the lock on her jail cell.

And sure as shit it was going to help her out of that bed . . . right into a coffin.

“What the f*ck are you doing.” Not a question. He already knew.

“My choice,” Payne said grimly.

His shellan met him in the eye. “I’m sorry, V.”

A whitewash cut his vision off, but did nothing to slow his body down as he lunged forward. Just as he reached the bedside, his eyes cleared and he saw his gloved hand latch onto his shellan’s wrist.

His death grip was the only thing keeping his twin from death. And he addressed her, not his mate. “Don’t you f*cking dare.”

Payne’s eyes were violent as they met his own. “And do not you dare!”

V recoiled for a moment. He had stared into the faces of bested enemies and discarded subs and forgotten lovers both male and female, but he had never seen such depths of hatred before.

Ever.

“You are not my god!” she screamed at him. “You are but my brother! And you will not chain me unto this body any more than our mahmen will!”

Their fury was so well matched that for the first time in his life, he was at a loss. After all, it made no sense to enter into conflict if your opponent was equal.

Trouble was, if he left now, he was coming back to a funeral.

V wanted to pace to dial down his pissed-off, but he’d be damned if he was looking away for even a split second. “I want two hours,” he said. “I can’t stop you, but I can ask you to give me one hundred and twenty minutes.”

Payne’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever for.”

Because he was going to do something that would have been inconceivable when this whole thing had started. But this was a type of war, and accordingly, he didn’t have the luxury of picking his weapons—he had to use what he had, even if he hated it.

“I’ll tell you exactly why.” V took the needle from Jane’s hold. “You’re going to do it so this doesn’t haunt me for the rest of my f*cking life. How ’bout that for a reason. Good enough?”

Payne’s lids sank down and there was a whole lot of silence. Except then she said, “I will give you what you ask, but my mind will not be changed if I remain in this bed. Assure yourself of your expectations afore you depart—and be forewarned if you attempt to reason with our mahmen. I will not trade this prison for one on her side, in her world.”