Dark Lover

combination of rods, joints, and bolts was screwed into the base of his right shit-kicker.

With his fantastic mane of multicolored hair, Phury should have been in Hollywood's league with the ladies, but he'd stuck solid to his vow of celibacy. There was room for one and only one love in his life, and it had been slowly killing him for years.

'Where's your twin, man?' Wrath asked.

'Z's on his way.'

That Zsadist was late was no big surprise. Z was one giant, violent fuck-you to the world. A walking, sometimes talking, usually cursing SOB who took hatred, especially toward females, to new levels. Fortunately, between his scarred face and his skull-trimmed hair, he looked as scary as he was, so folks tended to get out of his way.

Stolen from his family as an infant, he'd ended up a blood slave, and his abuse at the hands of his mistress had been brutal on every level. It had taken Phury almost a century to find his twin, and Z had been tortured to within an inch of death before the rescue.

A fall into the salty ocean had sealed Zsadist's wounds into his skin, and in addition to the maze of scars, he still bore the tattoos of a slave. As well as various piercings he'd added himself.

Just because he liked the feel of pain.

Hands down, Z was the most dangerous of the brothers. After what he'd been put through, he didn't give a shit about anything or anyone. Including his twin.

Even Wrath watched his back around that warrior.

Yeah, the Black Dagger Brotherhood was a hell of a group. All that stood between the civilian vampire population and the lessers.

Crossing his arms, Wrath looked around the room, taking each one of them in, seeing their strengths but mostly their curses.

With Darius's death, he was reminded that though his warriors were hitting the society's legions of slayers hard, there were so few of the brothers going against an inexhaustible, self-generating pool of lessers.

Because God knew there were plenty of humans with an interest and aptitude for murder.

The numbers were simply not in the race's favor. He couldn't escape the fact that vampires didn't live forever and that brothers could be killed and that the balance could be thrown off in an instant. In favor of the race's enemies.

Hell, the shift had happened already. Ever since the Omega had created the Lessening Society aeons ago, vampire numbers had shrunk until now there were only a few enclaves of population left. Their kind was flirting with extinction. Even though the brothers were deadly fine at what they did.

If Wrath had been a different kind of king, one like his father, who wanted to be the adored, revered paterfamilias to the species, maybe the future would have seemed more promising. But the son wasn't as the father had been. Wrath was a fighter, not a leader, better on his feet with a dagger in his hand than sitting around being adored.

He refocused on the brothers. As the warriors stared back at him, they were looking to him for direction. And their deference made him edgy.

'I'm taking Darius's death as a personal attack,' he said.

There was a low grunt of approval from the brothers.

Wrath took out the wallet and cell phone he'd liberated from the Lessening Society member he'd killed. 'I took these off a lesser earlier tonight behind Screamer's. Some of you mind doing the honors?'

He tossed them into the air. Phury caught both and passed the phone to Vishous.

Wrath started pacing. 'We need to go raiding again.'

'Damn straight,' Rhage growled. There was a metallic shifting and then the sound of a knife being driven into a table. 'We need to get them where they train. Where they live.'

Which meant the brothers were going to have to do some recon. Members of the Lessening Society weren't stupid. They changed their centers of operation regularly, constantly moving their recruiting and training facilities from place to place. Because of this, the vampire warriors typically found it more efficient to make themselves targets and fight what came after them.

Occasionally the brotherhood had gone on raids before, killing dozens of lessers in one evening as a pack. That kind of offensive tactic was rare, however. Full-scale attacks were efficient, but they were also a tricky proposition. Big battles tended to attract the attention of human police, and keeping a low profile was in everyone's interest.

'There's a driver's license,' Phury muttered. 'I'll scope the address. It's local.'

'What's the name?' Wrath demanded.

'Robert Strauss.'

Vishous cursed as he examined the phone. 'There's not much here. Some shit in the call log, some speed dials. I'll hit the computer and find out who's been calling and what's been dialed.'

Wrath gritted his teeth. Impatience and rage were a hell of a cocktail to swallow. 'I don't need to tell you to work fast. There's no way to know whether the lesser I picked off tonight was the one who did it, so I'm thinking we need to do a clean sweep of this whole area. Kill them all no matter how messy it gets.'

The front door swung open, and Zsadist strode into the house.

Wrath glared. 'Nice of you to show up, Z. Busy tonight with the females?'

'How about you get off my dick?' Zsadist went over to the corner, staying away from the rest.

'Where you going to be, my lord?' Tohrment asked smoothly.

Good old Tohr. Always trying to keep the peace, whether by distraction, intervention, or flat-out bullying.

'Here. I'm going to stay here. If the lesser who nailed Darius is alive and interested in playing some more, I want to be available and easy to find.'

After the warriors left, Wrath pulled on his jacket. In the process Darius's envelope poked him in the side, and he took it from his waistband. There was a strip of ink on the front, which he assumed was his name. He cracked open the flap. As he drew out a creamy piece of paper, a photograph fluttered to the ground. He picked it up and had the vague impression of long dark hair. A female.

Wrath stared at the paper. The writing ran together, a meaningless, blurry scrawl he had no hope of deciphering no matter how hard he squinted.

'Fritz!' he called out.

The butler came rushing in.

'Read this.'

Fritz took the sheet and bent his head, falling into silence.

'Aloud,' Wrath bit out.

'Oh. My apologies, master.' Fritz cleared his throat. ' 'If I haven't spoken to you already, ask Tohrment for details. Eleven eighty-eight Redd Avenue, apartment one-B. Her name is Elizabeth Randall. P.S. The house and Fritz are yours if she doesn't survive to adulthood. Sorry it had to end so soon. D.''

'Son of a bitch,' Wrath muttered.

Chapter Five

Beth had changed into her nocturnal wardrobe of boxers and a T-shirt, and was pulling the futon out flat when Boo began to meow at the sliding glass door. The cat paced in a tight circle, eyes trained on something outside.

'Are you trying to get at Mrs. Di Gio's tabby again? We did that once and it didn't go well, remember?'

A pounding on her front door brought her head around and kick-started her heart.

She walked over and put her eye to the peephole. When she saw who it was, she rolled over and pressed her back against the cheap wood panels.