Lover Forbidden

The Black Dagger Brotherhood world and characters are owned by JR Ward.  I expect no remuneration from this story.

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This story is meant to fit into the plot lines of Lover Enshrined and Lover Avenged.  I doubt I'll be able to go through and tell you exactly where each piece fits, but that's the timeline I'm using. 

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Scene 1

Don’t care about the clientele.

Most important rule in the mythical drug dealer’s handbook.  Break that rule and the entire fabric of one’s business starts to unravel.  It’s a guideline that covers everything.  From late payments to teary confessions to exchanging someone’s money for poison week after week while you watch them succumb. 

A cold heart is a business necessity, not just a plus.  And the Reverend had it.  Or used to, damn it. 

“Seems like I see a lot of you these days.  People might think we’re dating.”  He smirked.

“If we were dating I’d expect a discount.”  The warrior replied disdainfully.

“Discounts are bad for business.”

“So’s chit chat.  You waiting for my money to scramble across the desk and make the call for you?” 

Rehv eyed the other male.  Normally he’d destroy anyone who spoke to him with such disrespect but he couldn’t indulge such inclinations with this one.  The warrior was a Brother, a guardian of the vampire race.  And, apparently, the Primale, the supposed father of the race who answered directly to the Scribe Virgin.  On top of that he was very nearly family, his twin being mated to Rehvenge’s sister. 

Never sell to friends or family

A close companion to the don’t care rule.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the warrior to slow down.  That he could cut back a little at a time and get back to recreational use.  Why not mix it with tobacco or a clove mixture to wean himself off the drug?  How sappy was that?

Rehv made the call for the bag.

“You have a headache?”  He asked when he saw the warrior rubbing his forehead.

“Like an ice pick.”  He replied, nodding.

“Aspirin?” 

“No thanks.”

Rehv almost laughed out loud.  Phury was just the type of addict to be all self-righteous about over-the-counter painkillers while he was toking up toxic smoke and sucking down martinis nightly.  It was so perfect he decided he would indeed laugh out loud.

Yellow eyes glared at him from a perfect face.  How the male had remained celibate all those years was a mystery.

And since when had Rehvenge ever noticed a male’s face more than in passing?  Much less the pleasing aesthetic of said face.  See, that was the problem with him these days.  Ever since that assault of a kiss, the one where his own deepest secret had been discovered, he’d definitely been noticing.  Everything. 

The warrior’s suit, a two point five thousand dollar model, easy, fit the male perfectly.  Like it’d been inspired by him, which it probably had been.  Rehv had something similar hanging in his own closet.  But did he look as good in it?  Doubtful.  Damn that warrior knew how to hang some threads on his body.

The hair, the eyes, the physique, there was nobody who didn’t notice him when he walked into a room.  As far as Rehvenge knew Phury had only partaken of the “staff offerings” once in all the time he’d been coming to Zero Sum and had never picked anyone up at the bar.  The ladies on the Reverend’s payroll had noticed as well.  They’d pretty much given up on Phury until his bathroom encounter not long ago, but since then he was a no show for the sex trade. 

“So…” Rehv began.

“We don’t have to make small talk.”

“You’re in my office, my space.  If small talk is what I want, it’s what I’ll make.”  

“Whatever.”  Eyeroll.  No this warrior didn’t want to talk.  Which, of course, made Rehv downright chatty.

“Aren’t you the clever one?” He smirked, “Schoolboy petulance a prerequisite for the Brotherhood these days?”

“I’ll wait outside.” Phury rose from his seat.

“You’ll wait a long time.” Rehv murmered.

The tension, the implicit threat of a cancelled sale, hung in the air.  Rehvenge could practically see the warrior’s pulse increase along with the panic of the potentially bereft.  He tried to set it aside. 

Never care about the clientele.

“What do you want from me?” Phury asked tightly, sitting back down. 

Rehvenge smiled.  This conversation was going remarkably similarly to the one that had ended in that fateful liplock.  If he was lucky …

What the fuck was he thinking? 

“I don’t want anything from you,” he snapped, disgusted with himself for being attracted to an addict.  A male addict.  He’d never felt anything similar on either count. 

“Did Z tell you to talk to me?” 

“Why would he do that?”

Phury sized him up.  Rehvenge felt that gaze, felt its contempt and wanted to revel in it.  To turn attraction to something much more understandable. Like hate.

“Why would your twin ask me to speak to you?” He repeated.  “If he has something to say, can’t he simply speak with you himself?”

“It’s complicated.”  Phury ran his palms on his pants, flattening the perfect crease.

“Do tell.”

“No.”

A door in the darkened recesses of the office opened and Rehvenge turned toward Rally who approached him carrying a small bundle. 

“Thank you, Rally.” He said, accepting it and setting it very precisely on his desk.

Phury leaned forward slightly, his knee bouncing anxiously.  Rehvenge took his sweet time pulling a small scale from his desk drawer.

“What’s your game, sin-eater,” Phury snarled.  “You never weigh during a buy.”

“That’s only in your experience to date.  Times are hard.  I don’t want to risk giving something for nothing.” 

Phury snorted elegantly.  Who snorts elegantly?  No male Rehv had ever seen had as much physical grace as this one. 

Rehvenge carefully weighed the package.  Three times.

“Just give it to me,” Phury grumbled.

“Here,” Rehv slid the perfect-to-the-gram package across his desk.

“Good of you to expedite things.” Snatching the package and pocketing it with one smooth move.

“Anything for a Brother.”

Phury stilled.  The look he threw Rehvenge was one of intense anger seasoned with anguish.  For the first time since he’d known him, the warrior’s name suited him as perfectly as his clothes.

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Scene 2