Fragments from J.R. Ward´s Lover Reborn
Source J.R. Ward facebook.
Wrath’s eyes whipped around. “V. Shut your motherf**king face. Or you’re out in the hall.”
Vishous, son of the Bloodletter, was not the kind of male anyone addressed like that. Except, apparently, for Wrath. In this case, the Brother with the tattoos on his face and the perverted reputation and the hand of death did exactly what he was told. He shut the f**k up.
Which said volumes about Wrath. Did it not.
She approached him slowly and unevenly and sat at the desk beside him. “I am so sorry.” When he seemed a bit surprised, she shrugged once again. “How can I not offer condolences in the face of your loss? In truth, after seeing you both together, I don’t think I shall ever forget how much you loved her.”
After a moment, he murmured hoarsely, “That makes two of us.”
Just as they were leaving, each one of the women looked back at Xcor, and their expressions suggested he was like a disease they were soon to be exposed to. He wondered who was going to get the short end of the stick when they all reconvened—because sure as the day was long and the nights always too short, he was going to have one of them.
It simply cost extra in these kinds of situations.
As he smiled at her, his expression was that of a holy man. “My name’s Lassiter, and I’ll tell you all you need to know about me. I’m an angel first and a sinner second, and I’m not here for long. I’ll never hurt you, but I’m prepared to make you pretty goddamn uncomfortable if I have to, to get my job done. I like sunsets and long walks on the beach, but my perfect female no longer exists. Oh, and my favorite hobby is annoying the sh*t out of people. Guess I’m just bred to want to get a rise out of folks—probably the whole resurrection thing.”
John and Qhuinn pulled up on either side of him, and the latter glanced over. “Tell me that isn’t our new neighbor.”
“Was he born with that puss or did someone make it for him?”
“Well, if that was supposed to be a nose job, he needs a new plastic surgeon.”
The lesser was a new recruit, his hair and eyes and skin having yet to pale out. Lanky and twitchy, he was likely a drug user who’d suffered brain-fry—which was no doubt why he’d fallen for the pitch to join the Society.
“I’ll jump! I’ll f**king jump!”
Tohr palmed the handle of one of his two daggers and withdrew the black blade from his chest holster. “So quit yakking and start flying.”
The slayer looked over the edge. “I’ll do it! I swear I’ll do it!”
A gust gave them a blast from a different direction, sweeping Tohr’s long leather coat out over the free fall. “Don’t matter to me. I’ll kill you up here or down there.”