The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 1)

It didn’t take long to find a release. For either of them.

And they kept going. One more time. One more quick, intense time on both sides.

Then they had to stop.

Jack looked down into her eyes as he stroked her hair back. “I want to do this properly sometime.”

“Yes, please,” she murmured. “And as soon as possible.”

They were laughing as they pulled apart, and she quickly disappeared into the bathroom and hit the shower. She wished Jack was with her. But there would be time for that.

And she was willing to be patient. Up to a point.

When she emerged with fresh clothes and clean hair, he was sitting at the kitchen table, looking around at the appliances. The counters. The TV that was mounted on the wall.

“I do recognize some of this,” he said.

“Is it really strange?”

“Yes, it feels . . . truly bizarre.”

Nyx went over and sat across from him. When his eyes eventually settled on her, she could tell he was in a bad place.

“Talk to me,” she prompted.

It was a while before he spoke, and she prayed—prayed—that whatever it was had time to get expressed before anyone came up from the basement.

“It’s about the Command,” he said. “Your sister.”

Nyx dropped her head. Shook it from side to side. “I am so sorry. I feel like I have to apologize for everything she did. She was a monster.”

“I want you to understand . . .” He cleared his throat. “How it started between us. When she, ah, when she came into the prison, she was looking for a mentor. She had a manipulative way about her, and I’ll admit that, for a time, there was an attraction for me. But that faded fast as I learned who she really was. As I pulled back, she got more attached until I became an obsession for her. Peter—by the way, I love that name—came about when I was forced to service her needing. It was right after that that she began to take control. I’d often wondered . . . well, I don’t know what the hell was going through her brain a lot of the time, but it was almost like she had to make it safe for him. She mostly took control for her own reasons, of course, but young in that environment? Almost none survive. Again, though, with her, ascribing any altruistic motivation may well be a mistake.”

Nyx nodded. Then she reached across the table and held Jack’s hand. “Any time you want to talk about anything, I’m always here.”

“Thank you.” He rubbed his face. “I also need you to know how she died.”

“I found her body.”

“You did?”

“I disposed of it properly and with respect. Even though . . . I don’t know, it’s complicated.”

“You did the right thing. For Peter’s mahmen.” Jack went quiet again for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. “She told me she’d killed him. Peter, that is. I don’t know why. Probably to make me suffer.”

When he couldn’t seem to go on, Nyx had a feeling what had happened.

“It’s okay if you killed her,” she said softly.

“How can you say that?” He cursed. “You should hate me for killing a member of your bloodline. And Peter . . . Peter can never know.”

“She hurt you. On purpose. She hurt a lot of people—killed them, tortured them. I have to be honest. I don’t feel anything about her being dead except for relief. Well, and confusion. But as you said, who knows what was going on inside of her.”

Jack stared off into space. “She was covered with blood. She had a heart she had ripped out of someone’s chest in her hand. She was screaming at me about killing him. I just . . . I snapped. I grabbed her around the throat and just banged her into the wall over and over again. And then that animal—the one who bit me—ended up attacking her. I got free because she was . . .”

“It’s okay. It’s all okay, I promise. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Jack stared into her eyes. “I love you.”

Nyx squeezed his hand again. “Right back at you, my love.”

As he leaned in to kiss her, she leaned in as well. And just as their lips met, footsteps began to ascend from the cellar.

Nyx stroked the side of her male’s face and then let herself fall back into her seat. As Posie and Peter and her grandfather emerged from down below, she reflected that among all the phrases in all the languages in all the world, there was one that never lost its luster, no matter how many times it was spoken.

“I love you” never got worn out.

Whether it was between parents and children, sisters and brothers, or people who had a romantic connection, those three little words were as strong, as vital, as steadfast and enduring . . . as the powerful emotion they described.