J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [170]
As Phury lit up his second blunt, Wrath cleared his throat. “Now…about the Primale ceremony.”
Phury drew in hard as V’s diamond eyes lifted. Damn…the male looked like he’d aged a hundred and fifty years in the last week, his skin sallow, his brows down, his lips tight. He’d never been a party to begin with, but now he looked death-knell drawn.
“What about it,” V said.
“I will be there.” Wrath glanced over. “Phury, you too. We’ll go at midnight tonight, okay?”
Phury nodded, then braced himself, because it looked as if Vishous was going to say something. The brother’s body tensed up, his eyes darting around, his jaw working…but then nothing came out of his mouth.
Phury exhaled a stream of smoke and stamped the blunt out in a crystal ashtray. It was brutal to watch your brother bleed, to know he suffered while you couldn’t do anything about it—
He froze, an eerie calm coming over him, one that had nothing to do with the red smoke.
“Christ on a crutch,” Wrath said, rubbing his eyes. “Get out of here, all of you. Go relax. We’re all losing it—”
Phury spoke up. “Vishous, if it weren’t for the Primale shit, you would be with Jane, right?”
V’s diamond eyes shifted over and narrowed into slits. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
“You would be with her.” Phury looked over at Wrath. “And you would let him, right? I mean, I know she’s a human, but you let Mary come into—”
V cut him off, voice hard as his eyes, like he couldn’t believe Phury was being so thoughtless. “There’s no making it work. So just fucking drop it.”
“But…there is.”
Vishous’s eyes flashed violent white. “No offense, but I’m on my last nerve. Backing off would be a really good plan for you right about now.”
Rhage surreptitiously moved over next to V, while Zsadist came to stand beside Phury.
Wrath rose to his feet. “How about we drop this.”
“No, hear me out.” Phury got up from the chair. “The Scribe Virgin wants a male from the Brotherhood, right? For the purposes of breeding, right? Why does it have to be you?”
“Who the fuck else would it be?” V growled as he leaned into a charging stance.
“Why not…me?”
In the silence that followed, a grenade could have gone off under Wrath’s desk and no one would have noticed: The Brotherhood just stared at him like he’d sprouted horns.
“Well, why couldn’t I? She just needs DNA, right? So anyone who’s a Brother should be able to do it. My line is strong. My blood is good. Why couldn’t it be me?”
Zsadist breathed, “Jesus…Christ.”
“There’s no reason I couldn’t be the Primale.”
V’s aggression bled out of him, leaving him with an expression like someone had nailed him in the back of the head with a frying pan. “Why would you do that?”
“You’re my brother. If I can fix what’s wrong, why wouldn’t I? There is no female I want.” As his throat got tight, he massaged it. “You’re the Scribe Virgin’s son, right? So you could suggest the change to her. Anyone else she’d probably kill, but not you. Shit, you could maybe even just tell her.” He dropped his hand. “And you could reassure her I’ll be better at it, because I’m not in love with someone.”
V’s diamond eyes did not waver from Phury’s face. “It’s wrong.”
“The whole thing is wrong. But that’s not relevant, is it?” Phury glanced over to the delicate French desk, meeting the eyes of his king. “Wrath, what say you?”
“Fuck,” came the reply.
“Appropriate word choice, my lord, but not really an answer.”
Wrath’s voice got low, real low. “You can’t be serious—”
“I’ve got a couple centuries of celibacy to make up for. What better way to take the edge off?” It was meant as a joke, except no one laughed. “Come on, who else could do it? All of you are taken. The only other possible candidate would be John Matthew, because of Darius’s line, but John’s not a member of the Brotherhood, and who knows if he’ll ever be.