The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 1)

The knock was soft and respectful. And Rhage gritted his teeth. In the beginning, he’d assumed the staff were just ascertaining whether he breathed or not. Now, he believed they were providing him greater attention over any reasonable standard because they’d been instructed of his affiliation. Members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood were of higher social standing than even Founding Families. Jabon, well versed in the exigencies of hosting, clearly saw the accommodation of such a warrior as an enhancement unto his social standing, and therefore, someone to whom he intended on providing every possible courtesy.

With the aid of every single doggen on Earth.

“Aye,” Rhage said sharply. Because if he did not reply, they would return again and again.

The door cracked. And a face peered in that he did not expect.

“Darius, whate’er you do?” he said.

The brother stepped forth and closed himself in. ’Lo, what a sight for sore eyes. The brother’s familiar face was like moonlight after a long period of clouds, a beacon. Unsurprisingly, he was not dressed for war, but had taken care to be in fine civilian garb. However, there would be weapons all over him, hidden beneath the fine blue wool of his perfectly cut evening suit.

Rhage could not wait to hold a dagger once again.

“How fare thee?” Darius asked.

“Would you be so kind as to remove me of these premises?”

“Are the accommodations not to your liking?” Darius glanced around the luxurious room. “I have heard you are quite well tended to. Jabon sends me a missive each night detailing your care. He provides me with details I could well do without.”

“I would seek to free up this bed so that it may be promptly filled by another. Others should share this bounty.”

“How considerate of you,” Darius said with a chuckle. “But I have spoken with Havers.”

“Oh.” Rhage pulled the sheets higher on his bare chest. “However is he? Well, I hope.”

“You believe I wasted inquiry upon his life? Truly.”

“Fine. What did he say over my condition.”

“You are as yet unhealed of a sufficiency to be released of your burdens herein. I am afraid you must continue to stay abed and be waited on hand and foot.”

Rhage groaned as he sat up, but he did manage to take his torso higher upon the pillows. “I am finished with this, regardless of what the healer says—”

“Do you know what I most admire about you?”

“My absence in any given place?”

Darius frowned. “I do not have such a low view of your company.”

As the fighter seemed honestly hurt, Rhage relented. “I jest, my brother.”

“Well, allow me to say that what I admire most is your ability to follow cogent, sound advice. It’s one of your most distinguishing characteristics. Truly impressive.”

“I have never possessed that virtue and well you know it.”

“Indeed? Because I have found it to be among your most chief and laudable qualities.”

As Darius cocked a brow and regarded with steady expectation the naked, wounded, piece of meat before him who, even the now, was feeling dizzy at having his head off a stack of pillows, it was rather hard to argue a contrary position.

“You bore me with your character analysis,” Rhage muttered.

“Yet you cannot disagree, brother.” Darius smiled. “And see? Regard you being so utterly reasonable—”

“If you start to applaud me, I will get out of this bed to give you a very bad result.”

Darius inclined his head. “Duly noted.”

Allowing himself to recline once more, Rhage eyed his brother. “Did you just come here to mock the loss of my sense of peace and well-being?”

“I am doing no such thing. And staying here truly drains you so much?”

“Being attended to constantly does,” Rhage said dryly. “I am not one for extended courtesy, evidently.”

“Then you are working with the right sort of males in the Brotherhood.” Darius removed from his waistcoat a gold pocket watch and consulted the time. “And in addition to assessing your health, I am meeting with that master of works of whom I spoke.”

“About your house?”

“He is a guest here as well, as it turns out—wait, what are you doing?”

“I believe it is obvious.” Rhage pushed himself off the pillows and swung his legs out from under the sheeting. “Bring me that robe, will you?”

Darius looked across at the silk fall that had been laid upon the chair by the writing desk. His stone-faced expression was as if he were unfamiliar with what sort of garment it was—and he was worried that perhaps it was poisonous in some manner.

“My brother,” Rhage prompted. “Do bring me it, or would you prefer I join you naked?”

“If you are no well enough to procure your own dressing, you should not be upon your feet downstairs.”

“Oh, I am plenty strong to retrieve the robe. I am just trying to spare you the inevitable comparisons between our malehoods. Your disappointment would be legion. I am quite phearsom.”