J.R. Ward: Lover Mine

Thing was, those brutal ties were the only tie he had to the one he loved. Which, considering the way things had been left between them, made cosmic sense.

They didn’t go far enough for him, however. What Xhex had worn around her legs to tame her symphath side didn’t offer the kind of permanence he was looking for, and that was what had led him to his own metal-on-skin convention. When he was through here, she would always be with him. In his skin as well as under it. On his shoulders as well as his mind.

Hopefully this human was doing a good job with the design.

When the Brothers needed tattoos for whatever reason, Vishous worked the needle and the guy was a pro at it—hell, the red tear on Qhuinn’s face and the black scrolling date around the back of his neck were spank. Trouble was, you went to V with a job like this one and suddenly there were going to be questions—not just from him, but from everyone else.

Not many secrets in the Brotherhood, and John would just as soon keep his feelings for Xhex to himself.

The truth was. . he was in love with her. Totally over-the-line, no-going-back, not-even-dead-would-he-part kind of shit. And although his hearts and flowers hadn’t been unrequited, that didn’t matter. He’d come to peace with the fact that the one he wanted didn’t want him.

What he could not live with was her being tortured or dying a slow, excruciating death.

Or him not being able to give her a proper burial.

He was obsessed with her disappearance. Single-minded to the point of self-destruction. Brutal and unforgiving toward the one who’d taken her. But that was nobody else’s biz.

The only good thing in the sitch was that the Brotherhood was likewise committed to figuring out what the hell had happened to her. The Brothers didn’t leave anyone behind on a mission, and when they’d gone up to get Rehvenge out of that symphath colony, Xhex had been very much a member of the team. When the dust had cleared, and she’d disappeared entirely, the assumption was that she’d been abducted, and there were two possible ways to go: symphaths or lessers .

Which was kind of like saying, Do you want her to come down with polio or Ebola?

Everyone, including John, Qhuinn, and Blay, was on the case. As a result? It just looked as though finding her was part of John’s job as a soldier in war.

The humming of the needle stopped and the artist wiped at his back.

“It’s looking good,” the guy said, resuming his work. “You want to do it in two sessions or just this one.”

John glanced at Blay and signed.

“He says he wants it done tonight if you have the time,” Blay translated.

“Yeah, I can do that. Mar? Call Rick and tell him I’m going to be late.”

“Dialing as we speak,” the receptionist said.

Nope, John wasn’t going to let the Brothers see this ink—no matter how great it looked.

The way he saw it, he’d been born in a bus station and left for dead. Thrown into the human child welfare system. Picked up by Tohr and his mate, only to have her killed and the guy disappear. And now Z, who’d been the one assigned to reach out to him, was understandably busy with his shellan and their new young.

Even Xhex had shut him out before the tragedy.

So, whatever, he could take a hint. Besides, it was curiously liberating not to give a shit about anyone else’s opinion. Freed him up to nurture his violent obsession with tracking down her abductor and ripping the fucker limb from limb.

“You mind telling me what this is?” the tattoo guy asked.

John lifted his eyes and figured there was no reason to lie to the human. Besides, Blay and Qhuinn knew the truth.

Blay looked a little surprised, but then translated. “He says it’s his girl’s name.”

“Ah. Yeah, I figured. You two getting married?”

After John signed, Blay said, “It’s a memorial.”

There was a pause and then the tattoo guy put his gun down on the rolling table where the ink was. After yanking up the sleeve of his black shirt, he put his forearm in front of John. On it was the picture of a gorgeous woman, her hair breezing out over her shoulder, her eyes focused so that she looked out of his skin.

“That was my girl. She’s not here anymore either.” With a sharp tug, the guy covered up the picture. “So I get it.”

As the needle got back to work, John found it difficult to breathe. The idea that Xhex was probably dead by now ate him alive. . and what was worse was imagining the way she might have died.

John knew who’d taken her. There was only one logical explanation: While she had gone into the labyrinth and helped to free Rehvenge, Lash had shown up, and when he’d disappeared so had she. Not a coincidence. And though no one had seen anything, there had been about a hundred symphaths in the cave where Rehv had been and a lot going on. . and Lash was not your garden-variety lesser .

Oh, no. . he was apparently the son of the Omega. The very spawn of evil. And that meant the cocksucker had tricks.

John had seen a few of his fancy dancies up close and personal during the fight at the colony: If the guy could palm up energy bombs and go nose-to-nose with Rhage’s beast, then why couldn’t he snatch someone right from under everyone’s noses. The thing was, if Xhex had been killed that night, they would have found a body. If she was breathing, but had an injury, she would have telepathically reached out symphath -to -symphath to Rehvenge. And if she was alive, but needed a little vacation, she would have left only after she was sure everyone else was home safe.

The Brothers were working off the same logical assumptions, so they were all out looking for lessers. And although most of the vampires had left Caldwell for out of state safe houses after the raids, the Lessening Society, under Lash’s rule, had turned to drug dealing to make ends meet, and that went down mainly around the clubs here in town on Trade Street. Trolling seedy alleys was the name of the game, with everyone looking for things that were undead and smelled like a cross between a bled-out skunk and a Glade PlugIn.

Four weeks and they’d found nothing other than signs that lessers were moving product on the street to humans.

John was going insane, mostly from all the not-knowing and the fear, but partially from having to hold his violence inside. Although it was amazing what you could do when you had no choice—he had to appear normal and levelheaded if he wanted to be a part of this, so that was what he presented himself to be.

And this tattoo? It was a stake shoved into the territory he was in. His declaration that even if Xhex hadn’t wanted him, she was his mate and he would honor her, alive or dead. Here was the thing: People felt the way they did and it wasn’t their fault or yours if the connection was one-sided. It just. . was.

God, he wished he hadn’t been so cold when they’d had sex the second time.

That final time.

Abruptly, he cut off his emotions, putting that genie of sadness and regret and rejection back into its bottle. He couldn’t allow himself to break down. He had to keep going, keep searching, keep putting one foot in front of the other. Time was moving forward even though he wanted to slow it down so that they had a better chance of finding her alive.

The clock was not interested in his opinions, however.

Dear God, he thought. Please let me not fail in this.

“Induction? What, like it’s a fucking club?”

As the words bounced around the inside of the Mercedes, Lash tightened his hands on the steering wheel and stared out the windshield. He had a switchblade in the inside pocket of his Canali suit and the urge to out the blade and slice this human’s throat open was goddamned tempting.