Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood, Book 8)
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Darius, a fallen Brother, has returned to the fold with a new identity and a very different destiny. Now, John Matthew, plunged into the heart of war, must face off against evil incarnate-and rescue his one true love.
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interest.” “And I think you’re politely telling me to mind my own business, aren’t you.” “There’s no business to mind there.” Blay smiled up at the waiter as the guy put two port glasses down on the round table and backed away. “Trust me.” “You know, Qhuinn’s an interesting character.” Saxton reached out with an elegant hand and picked up his port. “He’s one of my favorite cousins, actually. His nonconformity is admirable and he’s survived things that would crush a lesser male. Don’t know that
the coffers and—” Darius stepped forth and took Sampsone’s shoulder in a tight grip. “Whatever are you saying? She lives. Your daughter is alive and she should well render herself under this roof and within these walls. You are her father.” “Go and take her with you. I beg of you. Her mother . . . could not live through this. Permit me to provide—” “You are a scourge,” Darius spat. “A scourge and a disgrace to your bloodline.” “No,” the male said. “She is. Now and evermore.” Darius was
the Bloodletter. He frequently stepped up to fill the void as he enjoyed the dispensation of pain and humiliation as much as he did his mead. But mayhap it would be no longer thus. At least for Darius. This night would be his test in the field. After having been trained for a year, he was going out not just with warriors, but Brothers. It was a rare honor—and a sign that the war with the Lessening Society was, as always, dire. Darius’s innate expertise had gained notice, and Wrath, the Fair
comparable size and distinction, with fine metalwork on its turrets, and gracious grounds . . . but as far as Darius was aware, it was not inhabited by vampires. He turned away and walked the length of the terrace, inspecting all the windows and all the doors and all of the handles, hinges, and locks. There had been no kind of break-in, and given how cold it was, she wouldn’t have tallied with anything wide open to the elements. Which meant she had either left of her own volition . . . or let
worse. Much worse. Generally speaking, when there were injuries sustained in combat or on the field, the information was traded back and forth without a thought—femur broken, ribs crushed, stab wound. But a female came in, was examined without males present, and no one would speak a word of what had been operated on? Just because lessers were impotent didn’t mean they couldn’t do other things with . . . The cold breeze that shot through the OR brought V’s head up again. “Word of advice, John.