Dark Lover (Black Dagger Brotherhood 1)

"What's going to happen to me?" she murmured.

The desperation in her voice suggested she was talking to God, not him. But he answered anyway.

"Your change is coming fast. It hits all of us sometime around our twenty-fifth birthday. I'll teach you how to take care of yourself. I'll show you what to do."

"Good God..."

"After you go through it, you're going to need to drink."

She choked and jerked upright. "I'm not killing anyone!"

"It's not like that. You need the blood of a male vampire. That's all."

"That's all," she repeated in a dead tone.

"We don't prey on humans. That's an old wives' tale."

"You've never taken a... human?"

"Not to drink from them," he hedged. "There are some vampires who do, but the strength doesn't last long. To thrive, we need to feed off our own race."

"You make it all sound so normal."

"It is."

She fell silent. And then, as if it just dawned on her, "You're going to let me - "

"You're going to drink from me. When it's time."

She let out a strangled sound, like she'd wanted to cry out, but her gag reflex had kicked in.

"Beth, I know this is hard - "

"You do not."

" - because I had to go through it, too."

She looked at him. "Did you learn you were one out of the blue also?"

It wasn't a challenge. More like she was hoping she had common ground with someone. Anyone.

"I knew who my parents were," he said, "but they were dead by the time my transition hit. I was alone. I didn't know what to expect. So I know what the confusion feels like."

Her body fell back against the pillows. "Was my mother one, too?"

"She was human, from what Darius told me. Vampires have been known to breed with them, although it's rare for the infants to survive."

"Can I stop the change? Can I stop this from happening?"

He shook his head.

"Does it hurt?"

"You're going to feel - "

"Not me. Will I hurt you?"

Wrath swallowed his surprise. No one worried about him. Vampires and humans alike feared him. His race worshiped him. But none were ever concerned for him. He didn't know how to handle the sentiment.

"No. It won't hurt me."

"Could I kill you?"

"I won't let you."

"Promise?" she said urgently, sitting up and gripping his forearm.

He couldn't believe he was taking a vow to protect himself. At her request.

"I promise you." He reached his hand out to cover hers, but stopped before he made contact.

"When will it happen?"

"I can't tell you that for sure. But soon."

She let go, settling against the pillows. Then she curled on her side away from him.

"Maybe I'll wake up," she murmured. "Maybe I'll still wake up."

Chapter Nineteen

Butch drank his first Scotch in one swallow. Big mistake. His throat was raw, and it felt like he'd French-kissed a blowtorch. As soon as he stopped coughing, he ordered another from Abby.

"We're going to find her," José said, putting his beer down.

The other detective was sticking to the light stuff, but then José had to go home to his family. Butch, on the other hand, was free to behave as badly as he wished.

José played with his mug, twisting it around in circles on the bar. "You shouldn't blame yourself, Detective."

Butch laughed and threw back Scotch number two. "Yeah, there's a huge list of people who were in my car with that suspect." He lifted his finger to get Abby's attention. "I'm dry again."

"Not for long." She jiggled right over with the single-malt, smiling at him while she tipped the bottle into his glass.

José shifted in his bar stool as if he didn't approve of Butch's Scotch velocity and the effort of keeping his lip zipped was making him squirm.

As Abby went over to another customer, Butch glanced at José.

"I'm going to get ugly wasted tonight. You shouldn't stick around."

José popped some peanuts into his mouth. "I'm not leaving you here."

"I'll cab it home."

"Naw. I'll hang until you're through. Then I'll drag you back to your apartment. Watch you throw up for an hour. Push you into bed. Before I leave I'll get the coffee machine set up. Aspirin will be right next to the sugar bowl."

"I don't have a sugar bowl."

"So it'll be next to the bag."

Butch smiled. "You'd have made a great wife, José."

"That's what mine tells me."

They were silent until Abby poured number four.

"The throwing stars I peeled off that suspect," Butch said. "Where do we stand with them?"

"Same as the ones we found at the car bomb and around Cherry's body. Typhoons. Three-point-one ounces of four-forty stainless steel. Four-inch diameter. Removable center weight. You can get 'em off the Internet for about twelve bucks a pop or buy them through martial-arts academies. And no, there were no prints."

"The other weapons?"

"Flashy set of knives. The boys in the lab got a real hard-on for them. Composite metal, diamond hard, beautifully made by hand. No identifying manufacturer. Gun was your standard nine-millimeter Beretta, model 92G-SD. Real well cared for, and naturally the serial number had been etched off. The freaky thing was the bullets. Never seen anything like 'em. Hollow, filled with some kind of liquid. The boys think it's just water. But why would someone do that?"

"You gotta be kidding me."

"Uh-huh."

"And no prints."

"Nope."

"On anything."

"Nope." José finished the bowl of peanuts and trolled his hand to get Abby's eye for more. "That suspect's slick. Neat as a pin. A real professional. Wanna bet he's moved up north from the Big Apple? He doesn't sound Caldwell homegrown."

"Tell me that while I was wasting time with those damn EMTs we checked with the NYPD."

Abby came over with more nuts and more Scotch.

"We're doing ballistics on the gun, just to see if there are any unusual characteristics," José said evenly. "Checking the money to see if it's hot. First thing in the morning we'll give the New York boys everything we got, but it's not going to be much."

Butch cursed as he watched the bowl get refilled.

"If anything happens to Beth..." He didn't finish the sentence.

"We'll find them." José paused. "And God help him if he hurts her."

Yeah, Butch would personally go after the guy.

"God help him," he vowed, making room in his glass for another shot.

Wrath was exhausted as he sat on the couch and waited for Beth to speak again. His body felt as though it were sinking in on itself, his bones weakening under their burden of flesh and muscle.

As he replayed the scene in the station house's alley, he realized he hadn't stripped the cop of his memory. Which meant the police were going to be looking for him with an accurate description.

Damn it. He'd been so caught up in the fricking drama, he'd forgotten to protect himself.

He was getting sloppy. And sloppy was dangerous.

"How did you know about the orgasms?" Beth asked abruptly.

He stiffened. And so did his cock, just at hearing the word leave her lips.

Moving his body around to make some room in his pants, he wondered if he could avoid answering her. He didn't want to talk right now about the sex they'd had. Not with her lying in that bed. Mere feet away from him.

He thought of her skin. Soft. Smooth. Warm.

"How did you know?" she prompted.

"It's the truth, isn't it?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Was it different with you because you're not... you're a... Hell, I can't even say the word."

"Maybe." He brought his palms together, linking his fingers tight. "I don't know."

Because it had been different for him, too, even though technically she was still a human.

"He's not my lover. Butch. The cop. He's not."

Wrath felt his breath ease out of him. "I'm glad."

"So if you see him again, don't kill him."

"Okay."

There was a long pause, and then he heard her shifting around on the bed. The satin sheets made a soft sound as she moved.