The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 1)

Jack latched on and drank deep, swallowing what she gave him, nursing at the source of strength. As he swallowed the heavenly wine of her blood, electricity flowed through his body, animating him within moments. And her taste was so good, so overpowering, that he closed his eyes so he could concentrate on it. Savor it. Relish it.

When he opened his lids later—it could have been two minutes or twenty—there were people with them inside the crypt, big males with black daggers on their—

Jack’s eyes locked on one he recognized.

Rhage. The Black Dagger Brother, who he had not seen for . . . a century? Since he had been falsely accused.

Would there be trouble, Jack wondered. Would he be treated as an escaped prisoner?

The idea of being sent back underground was enough to get him to release the vein that was saving him.

“Jack,” Nyx said. “You’re not finished.”

He looked up at her. He wanted to tell her no, it was fine. It was enough.

Instead, Rhage came over and knelt down. The Brother’s blue eyes were so intense, they seemed to glow blue.

After a long moment of staring, the warrior rubbed his face.

“Welcome back, brother mine,” he said hoarsely.

Nyx wanted to give the two males time to connect. Or was it reconnect? She had a feeling they didn’t know each other well—or perhaps at all.

And given the way they were staring at each other, it was clear they were both shell-shocked.

But this was still a life or death situation.

“Jack, you have to keep drinking before we can move you and get you medical attention.”

His eyes swung up to her. And then a slight smile played at his lips.

“I love you,” he said on a croak.

Nyx promptly forgot about everything: The males standing around inside the crypt—including her grandfather. The fact that Jack had some kind of a raw wound on the inside of his leg that had leaked out an alarming amount of blood. The reality that they were just outside one of the prison’s entrances, and if there was anyone left in there who was dangerous, they were sitting ducks.

She glanced at the Brothers. They all had weapons in their hands, and it was clear they were ready to fight.

Okay, fine. Maybe she didn’t have to worry about any kind of attack with them around. But still.

Refocusing on Jack, she stroked back the hair that had loosened from his braid.

“I love you,” he repeated. His voice was so weak, the words barely carried. Yet given how everyone went still, it was clear they had been heard.

“I love you, too,” Nyx said as she blinked back tears. “Now please, keep drinking—”

“You had the courage to go in,” he interrupted. “You . . . had the courage to go in. I needed to find the courage to get out. For you, I wanted to get out.”

“You did.” She caressed his hair, his face, his shoulder. And as much as she wanted to hear everything he had to say, it was more important for him to feed. “We’ll talk later. Just take this—”

“No.” He pushed her arm away when she tried to put her wrist back to his mouth. “I am revived enough.”

As if to prove the point, he went to sit up—and to his credit, his torso did make it to the vertical. But then he looked down at the wound on his leg and wobbled.

“We need to wrap that up,” the goateed Brother said. “Before you even think of moving.”

There was a ripping sound, and someone passed their shirt over.

“I‘ll go get the station wagon,” her grandfather said as he went to leave. “It’ll take me ten minutes.”

Damn it, Jack wasn’t going to drink any more from her. Licking the wounds at her wrist closed, Nyx settled for holding his hand as he hissed and groaned while his thigh was wrapped up.

And then she was his primary support as they got him up on his feet to see if he could stand.

Which was when she noticed he had something in his hand.

It was her windbreaker. He had her windbreaker somehow.

“Pass card,” he said.

Nyx glanced up his drawn face. “What?”

Lifting the windbreaker, he unhooked his arm from hers and unzipped one of the pockets. The card that came out was smudged with blood. His.

“This was in the pocket.” His voice got stronger with every syllable. “When the barricades retracted, I went back to where I’d first seen you, back to where you had come in through. I’d been bitten by that animal from the basket before I killed it, and I was sure that I was going to bleed out—except as I collapsed against the wall, the exit opened. I had your windbreaker around my neck and . . . this saved me. I used it twice.”

“Lean on your female,” the goateed Brother ordered. “You’re losing color in your face again. You’re about to pass out—”