Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8) - J.R. Ward Page 0,45

the guy's jugular.

Deep in Lash's belly, his hunger grew horns and went haywire, thrashing and gouging his gut.

It happened too fast to stop or question or think. One second he was rooted where he stood in front of the sink. The next he was all over Mr. D, shoving the lesser back against the door, and going hard into the guy's throat.

The black blood that hit his tongue was the tonic he needed and he 105

drew with desperation, even as the Texan struggled and then fell still. But the fucker didn't have to worry. There was nothing sexual in the sucking. It was nutrition, plain and simple.

And the more he swallowed, the more he needed.

Jacking the slayer tight against his chest, he fed like a motherfucker. 106

THIRTEEN

As the sound of the slayer's boot against that gas can faded, Qhuinn moved down and sat on the SOB's legs. The bastard might have gotten one kick in, but he was not getting a second chance.

Outside, the human cops gathered around the shed.

"It's locked," one of them said as the chain rattled.

"I have shell casings over here."

"Wait, there's something inside . . . phew, man, what a stench."

"Whatever it is, it's been dead at least a week. That smell--I'd take even my mother-in-law's tuna casserole over that." There was a ripple of agreement.

In the darkness, John and Qhuinn locked eyes and waited. The only solution if the door got popped was to dematerialize and leave the lesser behind; there was no way of moving the weight of the slayer through thin air. But none of these policemen could possibly have the key--so that left shooting their way in as their only option.

And chances were good they'd assume a quick pop just to get into the shed was not worth the paperwork.

"Only one shooter, according to the nine-one-one call. And he can't be in there."

There was a cough and a curse. "If he is, his nose is falling off from the stank."

"Call the groundskeeper," a deep voice said. "Someone's gotta get that dead animal out of there. Meantime, let's head into the neighborhood." There was chatter and footsteps. A little later one of the cars drove off.

"We gotta off him," Qhuinn whispered over John's shoulder. "Take that knife and let's do him and get the fuck out of here." John shook his head. There was no way he was losing this prize.

"John, we're not leaving with him. Kill him so we can bounce." Even though Qhuinn couldn't see his lips, John mouthed, Fuck that. He's mine.

Letting this source of information slide was not going to happen. If 107

anything, the human police could be dealt with mentally . . . or physically if it came down to it.

There was the smooth sound of a knife being unsheathed. "Sorry, John, we're outtie."

No! John yelled over his shoulder soundlessly. Qhuinn's hand locked on the collar of John's jacket and dragged him off balance, so it was a case of either letting go of the slayer's neck or snapping the fucker's head off his spine. Since an incapacitated lesser couldn't talk, John released his hold--and caught himself by planting his palm on the cold cement.

No fucking way was he going to let his buddy cheat him out of this. As he lunged at the male, all hell broke loose. He and Qhuinn wrestled for control over the dagger, knocking into a lot more than a gas can, and the lesser rolled free and sprang for the door. As the cops started hollering, the slayer pounded to get out--The next sound that made any impression over the din was a gunshot. The chaser of which was a metallic ringing.

The police had blasted off the Master Lock.

From down on the floor, John whipped his arm around to the small of his back, and as he pivoted on his knees, he and Qhuinn threw their knives in sync, their blades traveling end over end across the shallow space. The penetrations were of such force that even though they went into the slayer's torso between the shoulder blades, clearly one or both hit home: In a flash bright as lightning and with a sonic boom loud enough to make ears bleed, the lesser went back to his maker, leaving nothing but a smoky stink . . . and a hole the size of a refrigerator in the shed door. With adrenaline running so high, neither he nor Qhuinn could dematerialize, so they leaped up and back-flatted it on either side of the