Lover Unbound (Black Dagger Brotherhood 5)

He was washing his body off, being as gentle as he could, when he got to his privates. Without thinking much of it he did what he had done all of his life, a quick sweep under his sac then down himself -

This time the effect was different. He got hard. His... c**k got hard.

God, that word seemed weird to use, but... well, that thing was definitely a c**k now, something a man had, something a man used -

The erection came to a halt. Just stopped swelling and lengthening. The curling ache in his lower belly went away, too.

He rinsed the soap off himself, determined not to open the can of worms about him and sex. He had enough problems. His body was a remote-controlled car whose antenna was broken; he was going to class, where everyone was going to stare at him; and it dawned on him that Wrath must know about the gun he'd had on him downtown. After all, he'd been brought back here somehow, and Blay and Qhuinn would have had to explain what was doing with the scene. Knowing Blay, the guy would try to protect John about the nine and cop to its being his, but what if that got the guy kicked out of the program? No one was supposed to have weapons when they were out and about. No one.

When John got out of the shower, toweling off wasn't an option. Even though it was cold as hell he let himself air-dry as he brushed his teeth and clipped his nails. His eyes were superacute in the dark, so finding what he wanted in the drawers wasn't a problem. Avoiding the mirror was, though, so he went into his bedroom.

Opening up his closet, he took out a bag from Abercrombie & Fitch. Fritz had turned up at his door with the thing weeks ago, and when John had taken a gander at the clothes he'd figured the butler had lost his mind. Inside were a pair of brand-new distressed jeans, a fleece the size of a sleeping bag, an XXXL T-shirt, and a pair of size-fourteen Nike Air Shox in a shiny new box.

Turned out Fritz, as usual, had been right. All of it fit. Even the boat-sized shoes.

As John stared down at his feet, he thought, man, those Nikes needed to come with PFDs and a frickin' anchor, they were so big.

He left his room, his legs working in a gawky gait, his arms swinging loose, his balance off.

As he got to the head of the grand staircase he lifted his eyes to the ceiling, with its depictions of great warriors.

He prayed he would be one. But he just couldn't see how in the hell he'd pull that off.

Phury woke up to the sight of the female of his dreams. Or maybe he was dreaming?

"Hi," Bella said.

He cleared his throat, and still his voice was reedy as he replied, "Are you really here?"

"Yes." She took his hand and sat on the edge of his bed. "Right here. How are you feeling?"

Shit, he'd worried her, and that was not good for the young.

With what little energy he had he did a fast mental mop-up, an OxyClean of his brain, sweeping out the dredges of the red smokes he'd fired up, as well as the lethargy of injury and sleep.

"I'm fine," he said, bringing his hand up so he could rub his good eye. Not a great idea. In his fist was his drawing of her, crumpled up like he'd been hugging it in his sleep. He shoved the piece of paper under the covers before she could ask what it was. "You should be in bed."

"I get to be up a little each day."

"Still, you should - "

"When do the bandages come off?"

"Ah, now, I suppose."

"Would you like me to help?"

"No." The last thing they needed was for her to find out he'd been blinded at the same moment he did. "But thank you."

"Can I bring you something to eat?"

Kindness from her hit harder than a tire iron to the ribs. "Thank you, but I'll call Fritz in a little bit. You should go back and lie down."

"I have forty-four minutes left." She checked her watch. "Forty-three."

He pushed himself up on his arms, tugging the sheets higher so less of his chest showed. "How do you feel?"

"Good. Scared but good - "

The door swung open without a knock. As Zsadist walked in, his eyes locked on Bella as if he were trying to gauge her vital signs in her face.

"I thought I'd find you here." He bent down and kissed her on the mouth, then on both sides of the neck over her veins.

Phury looked away during the greeting - and realized that his hand had burrowed under the covers and found his drawing. He forced himself to let it go.

Z's whole attitude was much more relaxed. "So how are you, my brother?"

"Good." Although if he heard that question one more time from either of them, he was going to pull a Scanners, because his head would explode. "Good enough to come out tonight."

His twin frowned. "You get cleared by V's doc?"

"Not up to anyone but me."

"Wrath might have a different opinion."

"Fine, but if he disagrees, he's going to have to chain me down to keep me here." Phury throttled back, not wanting to get tense with Bella around. "You teaching the first half of tonight?"

"Yeah, figured I'd make some more progress on firearms." Z ran his hand down Bella's mahogany hair, stroking it and her back at the same time. He did this without seeming to notice, and she accepted the touch with the same loving disregard.

Phury's chest ached until he had to open his mouth to breathe. "Why don't I meet you guys down at First Meal, okay? I'm going to shower, get the bandages off, dress."

Bella stood up and Z's hand moved to her waist and tucked her into him.

God, they were a family, weren't they? The two of them together with their young in her belly. And in just over a year, if the Scribe Virgin saw fit, they would stand like this with their infant in their arms. Later, years later, their child would be by their side. And then their son or daughter would be mated, and another generation of their blood would carry the race forward: a family, not a fantasy.

To hurry them along, Phury shifted around like he was about to get up.

"I'll see you down in the dining room," Z said, his palm sliding around to his shellan's lower belly. "Bella's going back to bed, aren't you, nalla?"

She checked her watch. "Twenty-two minutes. I'd better get my bath in."

Various goodbye-like words were exchanged, but Phury didn't pay much attention because he was dying for them to leave. When the door finally shut, he reached for his cane, got out of his bed, and went straight to the mirror over his dresser. He eased off the bandage's tape, then peeled free the layers of gauze. Underneath his lashes were so tangled and matted that he went into the bathroom, ran some water, and rinsed his face a number of times before he could get them apart.

He opened his eye.

And saw perfectly.

His total lack of relief at his fine and dandy sight was eerie. He should have cared. He needed to care. About both his body and himself. He just didn't.

Disturbed, he took a shower and shaved, then put his prosthesis on and dressed in his leathers. He was on his way out with his blade and gun holsters in his hand when he paused by the bed. That drawing he'd done was still wadded up in his sheets; he could see the white, crinkled edges in the folds of blue satin.

He pictured his twin's hand on Bella's hair. Then on her lower belly.

Phury went over, picked up the drawing, and flattened it out on the bedside table. He took one last look at it, then ripped it into small pieces, put the pile in an ashtray, and struck a match head with his thumb. With the flame flaring, he leaned into the paper.

When there was nothing but ash, he got up and left his room.

It was time to let go, and he knew how to do it.

Chapter Twenty-seven

V was blissfully happy. Wholly complete. A Rubik's Cube solved. His arms were around his female, his body pressed up close to hers, her scent in his nose. Though it was nighttime, it was as if the sun were shining upon him.

Then he heard the gunshot.

He was in the dream. He was asleep and in the dream.

The horror of the nightmare unfolded as it always did, and yet it was fresh as the first time it had come to him: Blood on his shirt. Pain ripping through his chest. A descent to the ground until he was on his knees, his life over -

V shot upright in bed, screaming.

Jane launched herself at him to calm him down just as the door flew open and Butch rushed in with gun drawn. Both of their voices mixed together, a fruit salad of words spoken fast.

"What the f**k!"

"Are you okay?"

V fumbled with the sheets, tearing them off his torso so he could see his chest. The skin was unmarked, but he ran his hand down it anyway. "Jesus Christ..."