Lover Avenged: A Novel of the Black Dagger Brotherhood by J. R. Ward

Author:J. R. Ward [Ward, J. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Horror, Vampires, Romance, Fiction - Romance, American Light Romantic Fiction, Romance - Paranormal, Paranormal, Occult fiction, Occult & Supernatural
ISBN: 9780451225856
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2009-05-04T04:00:00+00:00

Christ, how could he have thought it was more?

Fully clothed. No kissing. And he was pretty sure he was the only one who came: Her breathing hadn’t changed, she hadn’t cried out, there had been no sagging relief for her after it was done. Not that he knew anything about females and orgasms, but that was what happened to him when he had the release.

Not a pity fuck. A gratitude one.

John rubbed his face. He was so stupid. Thinking that it meant anything.

So very, very stupid.

Tohr woke up with a stomach that had been spray-painted in the color pain. The agony was so bad that in his dead-to-the-world, postfeeding sleep, he’d wrapped his arms around his belly and hunched into himself.

Unfurling from the tuck and shiver, he wondered if there had been something wrong with the blood—

The grumble that rose up was loud enough to rival a garbage disposal.

The pain…was hunger? He looked down at the concave pit between his hips. Rubbed at the hard, flat surface. Listened to another roar.

His body was demanding food, massive quantities of sustenance.

He glanced at the clock. Ten a.m. John hadn’t come by with Last Meal.

Tohr sat up without using his arms and made it into the bathroom on legs that felt curiously steady. He used the toilet, but not to throw up, then washed his face, and realized he had no clothes to wear.

Slipping a terry-cloth robe on, he left his bedroom for the first time since he’d walked into it.

The lights along the hall of statues made him blink like he’d been spotlit on a stage, and he needed a minute to adjust to…everything.

Stretching up and down the corridor, the marble males in their various poses were just as he remembered them, so strong and graceful and static, and for no good reason, he remembered Darius buying them one by one, building up the collection. Back when D had been in acquisition mode, he’d sent Fritz to auctions at Sotheby’s and Christie’s in New York, and when each of the masterpieces had been delivered in its crate with all the shredded stuffing and those cloth wraps, the brother had had an unveiling party.

D had loved art.

Tohr frowned. Wellsie and his unborn child would always be his first and foremost loss. But he had more dead to avenge, didn’t he. The lessers had taken not only his family, but his best friend.

Anger stirred deep in his gut…triggering another hunger. For war.

With a focus and determination that was both foreign and familiar, Tohr headed down toward the grand staircase and paused as he got to the mostly closed doors of the study. He sensed Wrath behind them, but he didn’t really want to interact with anyone.

At least, he didn’t think so.

Why then hadn’t he just called down to the kitchen for an order of food?

Tohr peered in through the slit that was between the doors.

Wrath was asleep at his desk, his long, glossy black hair fanning out over paperwork, one forearm curled under his head as a pillow.

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