Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8) - J.R. Ward Page 0,53

he knew that was a mind trick born out of his quest. She wasn't in the room. She'd been in the room. Two totally different things . . . and his only chance at finding out what had happened to her was downstairs in the kitchen. As he headed for the first floor, he rubbed his eyes and his face and found that one hand wanted to linger over his cheek. The skin there was tingling . . . kind of like it did when Xhex had touched him the few times she had.

God . . . the blood in that room. All that blood. She'd been fighting Lash off, and though it was a source of pride to think she'd shanked the fucker a good number of times, he couldn't stand the reality that had rolled out in that bedroom.

John hung a left and stalked through the dining room, trying to get his game head back while feeling as if he'd had his skin stripped off and been thrown raw into the ocean. Pushing through the butler's door into the kitchen-The instant his eyes locked on the lesser, an earthquake ripped through him, his firmament breaking open all the way down to his hot core. His mouth stretched wide and he let loose a mute bellow. As he lunged forward, rage punched his fangs out into his mouth and his body went on autopilot, dematerializing through the space, taking form in front of the bastard. Shoving Blay off the slayer, John's bonded vampire attacked with a kind of ferocity he'd heard about . . . but never seen. Certainly never experienced.

With his vision on whiteout and his muscles energized by mania, he was all action, no thought as he attacked, his hands cranking into claws, his fangs slicing like daggers, his inner wrath so great he was an animal. He had no idea how long it took him . . . or even what he did. The only thing that registered was the dim awareness that a sweet stench was all 123

he could smell.

Sometime later . . . much later . . . a lifetime later . . . he paused to catch his breath and found that he was down on all fours, his head dangling off the top of his spine, his lungs burning from exertion. His palms were planted on tile that was slick with black blood and something was dripping off his hair and out of his mouth.

He spit a couple of times to try to get rid of a foul taste, but whatever it was, the shit wasn't just around his tongue and teeth; it was down the back of his throat and into his gut. His eyes were also stinging and blurry. Was he crying again? He didn't feel sad anymore . . . he felt empty.

"Jesus . . . Christ . . ." someone said softly. Abruptly overcome with exhaustion, John allowed his elbow to go lax and let his weight shift to the side. Laying his head down in a cooling puddle, he closed his eyes. He had no strength. It was all he could do to breathe.

A while later, he heard Qhuinn talking to him. Innate politeness, rather than any clue what was going on, made him nod when there was a pause.

He was momentarily surprised when he felt hands on his shoulders and his legs and his lids managed to flicker open as he was lifted up. Weird. The countertops and cabinets had been white when they'd first come in. Now . . . they'd been painted in a high-gloss black. With delirium, he wondered why someone had done that. Black was hardly a welcoming color.

Closing his eyes, he felt the bumps and shifts as he was carried out and then there was a final hefting followed by his body landing in a heap. Car engine turned over. Doors shut.

They were en route. No doubt back to the Brotherhood compound. Before he passed out completely, he took his hand and raised it to his cheek. Which made him realize he'd forgotten the pillow. Coming awake with a flash, he jacked himself up, all Lazarus back from the dead.

Blay was right there with what he'd taken, however. "Here. I made sure we didn't leave without it."

John took what still smelled like Xhex and curled his huge body around it. And that was the last thing he remembered of the trip back home. When Lash woke up, he was in precisely