Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8) - J.R. Ward Page 0,41

being thrown out by an admittedly powerful, evil fucker who happened to be your pops, it got old fast.

Besides, his father's love life was disturbing as shit. Lash didn't even know what those fucking things in that bed were. Black beasts, yeah, but the sex of them was as indiscernible as their species, and the way they oiled around was creepy. Plus they were always looking for a fuck even if there was company present.

And his father never said no.

As a beep sounded out, Lash reached into his suit jacket for his phone. 97

It was a text from Mr. D: On the way. Gots the guy. Lash looked at the clock and shot upright, thinking that the time couldn't be right. He'd come back two hours ago--how had he lost track so badly?

Going vertical threw his stomach in a roll and putting his hands up to rub his face took more effort than it should have. The deadweight of his body, coupled with the aches, made him remember back to a time when he'd gotten colds or flus. Same feeling. Was it possible he was getting sick?

Made him wonder if anyone had come up with a product like Deadquil or some shit. Probably not.

Letting his arms fall into his lap, he glanced over to the bathroom. The shower seemed miles away and not really worth the effort. It took him another ten minutes before he could throw off the lethargy, and when he got to his feet, he stretched hard to get his black blood flowing. The bathroom turned out to be not miles away but a matter of yards, and with each step he felt stronger. Heading over to start the hot water, he admired himself in the mirror and checked out his collection of bruises. Most of them from the night before were gone, but he knew he was going to get more-Lash frowned and lifted up his arm. The sore on the inside of his forearm was larger, not smaller.

When he prodded it with his finger, it didn't hurt, but the thing looked nasty as shit, a flat, open wound that was gray in the middle and bordered by a black line.

His first thought was that he needed to go see Havers . . . except that was ridiculous and nothing but a remnant from his old life. Like he was going to show up at the clinic and be all, Hey, could you fit my ass in?

Besides, he didn't know where they'd moved the damn thing to. Which was the problem with a successful raid. Your target took your threat seriously and went deep underground.

Getting under the warm spray, he was careful to scrub the spot with some soap, figuring if it was some kind of infection that had to help; and then he thought about other things.

He had a big-ass night. The induction at eight. Meeting with Benloise at ten.

Back here for some more lovin'.

When he got out, he dried himself and inspected the sore. The damn thing appeared to be pissed off at the attention he'd given it, a thin black ooze welling up over its surface.

98

Oh, that stuff was going to be great to get out of his fucking silk shirts.

He slapped a Band-Aid the size of an index card on the thing and thought that maybe tonight he and his GF would play nice. He'd tie her up for a change.

It took him no time at all to put on a sweet Zegna suit and head out. As he passed by the master bedroom's door, he paused and made a fist. Banging on the wood loud enough to wake the dead, he smiled.

"Be back soon and I'm bringing chains."

He waited for a response. When there was none, he reached for the knob and put his ear to the door. The sound of her even breathing was soft as a gentle current of air, but it was there. She lived. And she would be alive still when he returned.

With deliberate self-control, he released the knob. If he opened the door, he'd lose another couple of hours and his father was not into waiting. Down in the kitchen, he took a stab at some eats and came up with nothing. The coffee machine had been timed to start up two hours ago, so a quick lift of the pot showed something close to crankcase oil. And cracking the fridge, he didn't see anything that appealed even though he felt starved. Lash ended up dematerializing