Lover Unbound (Black Dagger Brotherhood #5) - J.R. Ward Page 0,10

the bass roar itself.

The thunder came from elsewhere in the gym.

In the middle of the round, there was a tremendous WHOOMP! as a solid body hit the blue mats

like a bag of sand. Both John and his opponent glanced over… then abandoned their meager

mixed-martial-arts attempts.

Zsadist was working with Blaylock, one of John's two best friends. The redhead was the only

trainee who'd been through the change so far, so he was twice the size of everyone else in the

class. And Z had just rugged the guy.

Blaylock sprang to his feet and once more faced off again like a trooper, but he was just going to

get his ass handed to him again. As big as he was, Z was a giant as well as a member of the

Black Dagger Brotherhood. So Blay was facing a Sherman tank with a fuckload of fighting

experience.

Man, Qhuinn should be here to see this. Where was the guy?

All eleven trainees let out a «Whoa!» as Z calmly clipped Blay off balance, tossed him sunny-

side down on the mats, and cranked him into a bone-bending submission hold. The instant Blay

tapped out, Z got off him.

As Zsadist stood over the kid, his voice was as warm as it ever got. «Five days out of your

transition and you're doing good.»

Blay smiled, even though his cheek was mashed into the mat like it had been glued down there.

«Thank you…» He panted. «Thank you, sire.»

Z extended his hand and hooked Blay off the floor just as the sound of a door opening echoed

through the gym.

John's eyes bulged at what came in. Well, shit… that explained where Qhuinn had been all

afternoon.

The male coming slowly across the mats was a six-foot-five-inch, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound

likeness of someone who'd weighed about as much as a bag of dog food the day before. Qhuinn

had been through the transition. God, no wonder the guy hadn't Y-messy'd or texted during the

day. He'd been busy growing a new body.

As John lifted his hand, Qhuinn nodded back like his neck was stiff or maybe his head was

pounding. The guy looked like shit and moved as if every bone in his body hurt. He also fiddled

with the collar of his new XXXL fleece like the feel of it was bugging him, and he kept jacking

his jeans up with a wince. His black eye was a surprise, but maybe he'd bumped into something

in the middle of the transition? Word had it you flailed around a lot when you were changing.

«Glad you showed,» Zsadist said.

Qhuinn's voice was deep as he replied, a totally different cadence from before. «I wanted to come

even though I can't work out.»

«Good call. You can chill over there.»

As Qhuinn went to the sidelines he met Blay's eyes and they both smiled real slow. Then they

looked at John.

Using American Sign Language, Qhuinn's hands spelled out, After class we go to Blay's. Have a

shitload to tell both of you.

As John nodded, Z's voice cracked through the gym. «Kibitzing break's over, ladies. Don't make

me lap your asses, because I will.»

John faced his little partner and settled into his ready position.

Even though one of the trainees had died from the change, John couldn't wait for his to hit. Sure,

he was pants-down terrified, but better to be dead than stuck in the world as a sexless scrap of

flesh at the mercy of others.

He was beyond ready to be male.

He had family business to take care of with the lessers.

Two hours later, V was as satisfied as he ever got. Not surprisingly, the female was in no shape

to dematerialize home, so he put her in a robe, hypnotized her into a stupor, and took her down

in the building's freight elevator. Fritz was waiting at the curb with the car, and the elderly

doggen didn't ask any questions after her address was given.

As always, that butler was a godsend.

Alone again in the penthouse, V poured himself some Goose and sat down on the bed. The rack

was covered with hardened wax, blood, her arousal, and the results of his orgasms. It had been a

messy session. But the acceptable ones always were.

He took a long pull from his glass. In the dense silence, in the aftermath of his perversions, in the

cold slap of his zero reality, a cascade of sensual images came to him. What he'd seen weeks ago

and now remembered had been caught by mistake, but he'd macked the scene like a pickpocket

anyway, stashing it in his frontal lobe even though it didn't belong to him.

Weeks ago he'd seen Butch and Marissa… laying together. It had been when the cop was