J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [459]
What the hell? Oh… He was hanging off the foot of the mattress.
When he heard a groan, he shoved himself up, turned his head around—and came face-to-face with one of Vishous’s feet. Beyond the size-fourteen was Butch’s thigh.
Phury had to laugh, and that brought the cop’s groggy gaze up out of a pillow. The human looked over himself and then Phury. He blinked a couple of times, like he was hoping to wake up for real.
“Oh, man,” he said with more gravel than voice. Then he glanced at Vishous, who was passed out next to him. “Oh…man, this is too weird.”
“Get over yourself, cop. You’re not that attractive.”
“Fair enough.” He scrubbed his face. “But that doesn’t mean I’m all into waking up with two men.”
“V told you not to come back.”
“True. That was my bad call.”
Talk about a long night. Eventually, when even the feel of clothing against their skin had gotten to be too much, they’d lost any pretense of modesty. It had just been a matter of enduring the need: lighting up red smoke after red smoke, hitting the Scotch or the vodka, slipping into the bathroom alone to relieve themselves privately.
“So is it over?” Butch asked. “Tell me it’s over.”
Phury shuffled off the bed. “Yeah. I think so.”
He picked up a sheet and pitched it at Butch, who covered himself and Vishous. V didn’t even twitch. He was sleeping like the dead on his stomach, his eyes squeezed shut, a soft snore coming out of his mouth.
The cop cursed and rearranged his body, propping a pillow up against the headboard and leaning back. He rubbed his hair until it stood straight off his head and yawned so wide Phury heard the guy’s jaw crack.
“Damn, vampire, I never thought I’d say this, but I have absolutely no interest in sex. Thank God.”
Phury pulled on a pair of nylon warm-ups. “You want food? I’m going to make a kitchen trip.”
Butch’s eyes blissed out. “You’re actually going to bring it up here? As in, I don’t have to move?”
“You’re going to owe me, but yeah, I’m willing to deliver.”
“You are a god.”
Phury put on a T-shirt. “What do you want?”
“Whatever’s in the kitchen. Hell, make yourself really useful and drag that refrigerator on up here. I’m starved.”
Phury went downstairs to the kitchen and was about to start foraging when he heard sounds coming from the laundry room. He went over and pushed the door open.
Zsadist was cramming sheets into the washer.
And dear Virgin in the Fade, he looked like hell. His stomach was a shrunken hole; his hips stood out from his skin like tent posts; his rib cage looked like a plow field. He must have lost ten, fifteen pounds overnight. And—holy hell—his neck and wrists were chewed raw. But…he smelled of beautiful dark spices, and there was a peace about him, so deep and unlikely Phury wondered if his senses were playing tricks on him.
“My brother?” he said.
Z didn’t look up. “Do you know how to work this thing?”
“Ah, yeah. You put some of that stuff in the box in and you move that dial around—Here, let me help.”
Z finished stuffing the belly of the washer and then stepped back, his eyes still locked on the floor. When the machine was filling up with water, Z muttered a thank-you and headed into the kitchen.
Phury followed, his heart in his throat. He wanted to ask if everything was okay, and not just with Bella.
He was trying to choose his words carefully when Z took a roasted turkey out of the refrigerator, tore the leg off, and bit into it. He chewed desperately, cleaning the meat from the bone as fast as he could, and the moment he was done he ripped the other drumstick free and did the same thing.
Jesus… The brother never took meat. Then again, he’d never been through a night like last night before. None of them had.
Z could feel Phury’s eyes on him, and would have stopped eating if he could have. He hated people looking at him, especially when he was chewing on something, but he just couldn