Lover Arisen (Black Dagger Brotherhood 20)

As he took out another hand-rolled and lit up, the smoke left his mouth in a rush. Just as he was about to do something really aggressive—like curse and stomp his fucking shitkicker—a set of double doors opened like Miss America was going to stiletto out in her pageant wear.

What was on the other side was about as far from evening gown elegant as you could get. Unlike the rest of the Sanctuary, there was nothing ocularly peaceful about Lassiter’s crib. And P.S., Spencer’s at the Aviation Mall ca. 1982 was missing their supply of black-light’able zebra print. Probably half of their poster selection, too.

“Where have you been?” V said as he regarded the Technicolor bedding platform.

Lassiter, the fallen angel, successor to the Scribe Virgin’s authority, possessor of powers that could barely be comprehended, was lying back against a stack of hot-pink satin pillows, his Fabio-worthy blond-and-black hair flowing everywhere, his bare chest rising and falling evenly. His long legs were k’d out, the leggings done half and half with black and turquoise this time. No shoes, no socks.

Because why not flash your ugly flappers for all the world to see.

Oh, and he’d painted his toenails coral. How cute.

“Hello?” V prompted. “Do I have to toss a hand grenade at you?”

Please let me toss one at you? he dubbed in.

Annnnnnnd that was when he noticed the book that was propped up on the angel’s ripped abs.

“Who the fuck is René Brown?” V demanded.

Lassiter lowered the spine, his odd-colored eyes lifting from whatever paragraph he’d been Gorilla-glued to. “Oh, hey. Wassup—and it’s Brené.”

“What the hell are you doing with that baloney.” V nodded at Atlas of the Heart. “Sorry, I mean, bre-loney.”

“I’m transforming my life.”

V indicated the zebra print on the walls, the throw rug that should have been thrown out, the sheets that were a spicy cheetah print. “FYI, I’d start with a dumpster, not the library, if you’re looking to fix anything.”

“I have to learn how to be the best me I can.” Lassiter flipped through the pages. “You know, go from a zero to a hero. Get my potential to become my reality. Be a looker not a hooker—wait, that came out wrong.”

“Did it, really?”

Abruptly, the angel’s eyes narrowed, like he’d picked up on a spill on V’s muscle shirt or something. Glancing down, V brushed at his pecs.

“What the hell are you looking at.”

Lassiter shook his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Can’t do what?” There was a pause. And then V caught the drift of the fallen angel catching his drift. “Bullshit, you can’t.”

“No, I really can’t interfere in all this stuff with the Book. Your mahmen overstepped in the game back in March, and you know where that got us with all those lesser hearts down the throat of the Omega, the Brotherhood nearly getting slaughtered in that alley thanks to the evil’s recharge—”

“I don’t want to think about that.”

“Well, you better if you’re going to get fluffy at me for not playing Dungeon Master to the Black Dagger Brotherhood’s benefit. I would if I could, but I can’t. The repercussions are going to hurt you all more than the situation as it stands now—”

“You’ve helped before. And FYI, I’m not getting ‘fluffy.’?”

“Do you need a time-out in the ball again?”

V bared his fangs and hissed as he relived being stuck in that invisible prison—and Lassiter dribbling him, for fuck’s sake. “No, I don’t need a time-out in the—oh, fuck off.”

Lassiter put both his hands up, all whoa-Nelly. “You just look a little worked up, s’all.”

On the verge of losing his shit, V paced around so he didn’t prove the point. Then he decided to be the bigger vampire.

“Look, I’m not asking for you to destroy either one of them for us. I just want some information.”

“Knowledge is power. It’s more than the Schoolhouse Rock! intro.” Lassiter re-propped the book on his pelvic playing field. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m on a journey to self-discovery.”

V walked across to the eyesore of a bed and stood over those naked-ass, nail-polished feet. For a brief moment, he remembered when he’d been the most cool-headed in the Brotherhood, the icy intellectual, the laser-sighted truth layer. Lately, the stressors had been coming at him so hard and fast, he’d turned into a Flamin’ Hot Cheeto.

Maybe he should be Brenéing his Brown.

But more than that… he needed Lassiter’s help. The whole Brotherhood needed the angel’s help.

“Francis Bacon said knowledge is power first.” He kept his voice low, level. “And all we want to know is whether the demon is gone. That’s it. We just want to confirm our target.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, there was a long period of silence—and V did not move. V wasn’t going to fucking move. Even if this took an eternity, he wasn’t budging one goddamn inch until he got what he came for. The Brotherhood, the Bastards, and the other fighters in the mansion were a powerful pack. But their numbers were not infinite. At any given time, there were threats from humans who might expose the species, the ever-present challenge of what remained of the glymera, and then a civilian population who wanted, and needed to be able, to see their King in person.