Forever, page 1
PRAISE FOR J. R. WARD AND HER BLACK DAGGER BROTHERHOOD SERIES
“J. R. Ward’s urban fantasy romance series is so popular, I don’t think there’s a reader today who hasn’t at least heard of the Black Dagger Brotherhood.”
—USA Today
“Impressive.”
—The New York Times Book Review
“Frighteningly addictive.”
—Publishers Weekly
“J. R. Ward is the undisputed queen of her genre. Bar none. Long live the queen.”
—Steve Berry, New York Times bestselling author
“Sharp, sexy, and funny.”
—The New York Review of Books
“J. R. Ward’s unique band of brothers is to die for. I love this series!”
—Suzanne Brockmann, New York Times bestselling author
“J. R. Ward is one of the finest writers out there—in any genre. She’s in a league of her own.”
—Sarah J. Maas, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Ward is a master of her craft.”
—New York Journal of Books
“Tautly written, wickedly sexy, and just plain fun.”
—Lisa Gardner, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Delicious, erotic, and thrilling.”
—Nicole Jordan, New York Times bestselling author
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To true love, in all its forms.
GLOSSARY OF TERMS AND PROPER NOUNS
ahstrux nohtrum (n.)
Private guard with license to kill who is granted his or her position by the King.
ahvenge (v.)
Act of mortal retribution, carried out typically by a male loved one.
Black Dagger Brotherhood (pr. n.)
Highly trained vampire warriors who protect their species against the Lessening Society. As a result of selective breeding within the race, Brothers possess immense physical and mental strength, as well as rapid healing capabilities. They are not siblings for the most part, and are inducted into the Brotherhood upon nomination by the Brothers. Aggressive, self-reliant, and secretive by nature, they are the subjects of legend and objects of reverence within the vampire world. They may be killed only by the most serious of wounds, e.g., a gunshot or stab to the heart, etc.
blood slave (n.)
Male or female vampire who has been subjugated to serve the blood needs of another. The practice of keeping blood slaves has been outlawed.
the Chosen (pr. n.)
Female vampires who had been bred to serve the Scribe Virgin. In the past, they were spiritually rather than temporally focused, but that changed with the ascendance of the final Primale, who freed them from the Sanctuary. With the Scribe Virgin removing herself from her role, they are completely autonomous and learning to live on earth. They do continue to meet the blood needs of unmated members of the Brotherhood, as well as Brothers who cannot feed from their shellans or injured fighters.
chrih (n.)
Symbol of honorable death in the Old Language.
cohntehst (n.)
Conflict between two males competing for the right to be a female’s mate.
Dhunhd (pr. n.)
Hell.
doggen (n.)
Member of the servant class within the vampire world. Doggen have old, conservative traditions about service to their superiors, following a formal code of dress and behavior. They are able to go out during the day, but they age relatively quickly. Life expectancy is approximately five hundred years.
ehros (n.)
A Chosen trained in the matter of sexual arts.
exhile dhoble (n.)
The evil or cursed twin, the one born second.
the Fade (pr. n.)
Non-temporal realm where the dead reunite with their loved ones and pass eternity.
First Family (pr. n.)
The King and Queen of the vampires, and any children they may have.
ghardian (n.)
Custodian of an individual. There are varying degrees of ghardians, with the most powerful being that of a sehcluded female.
glymera (n.)
The social core of the aristocracy, roughly equivalent to Regency England’s ton.
hellren (n.)
Male vampire who has been mated to a female. Males may take more than one female as mate.
hyslop (n. or v.)
Term referring to a lapse in judgment, typically resulting in the compromise of the mechanical operations of a vehicle or otherwise motorized conveyance of some kind. For example, leaving one’s keys in one’s car as it is parked outside the family home overnight, whereupon said vehicle is stolen.
leahdyre (n.)
A person of power and influence.
leelan (adj. or n.)
A term of endearment loosely translated as “dearest one.”
Lessening Society (pr. n.)
Order of slayers convened by the Omega for the purpose of eradicating the vampire species.
lesser (n.)
De-souled human who targets vampires for extermination as a member of the Lessening Society. Lessers must be stabbed through the chest in order to be killed; otherwise they are ageless. They do not eat or drink and are impotent. Over time, their hair, skin, and irises lose pigmentation until they are blond, blushless, and pale eyed. They smell like baby powder. Inducted into the society by the Omega, they retain a ceramic jar thereafter into which their heart was placed after it was removed.
lewlhen (n.)
Gift.
lheage (n.)
A term of respect used by a sexual submissive to refer to their dominant.
Lhenihan (pr. n.)
A mythic beast renowned for its sexual prowess. In modern slang, refers to a male of preternatural size and sexual stamina.
lys (n.)
Torture tool used to remove the eyes.
mahmen (n.)
Mother. Used both as an identifier and a term of affection.
mhis (n.)
The masking of a given physical environment; the creation of a field of illusion.
nalla (n., f.) or nallum (n., m.)
Beloved.
needing period (n.)
Female vampire’s time of fertility, generally lasting for two days and accompanied by intense sexual cravings. Occurs approximately five years after a female’s transition and then once a decade thereafter. All males respond to some degree if they are around a female in her need. It can be a dangerous time, with conflicts and fights breaking out between competing males, particularly if the female is not mated.
newling (n.)
A virgin.
the Omega (pr. n.)
Malevolent, mystical figure who has targeted the vampires for extinction out of resentment directed toward the Scribe Virgin. Exists in a non-temporal realm and has extensive powers, though not the power of creation.
phearsom (adj.)
Term referring to the potency of a male’s sexual organs. Literal translation something close to “worthy of entering a female.”
Princeps (pr. n.)
Highest level of the vampire aristocracy, second only to members of the First Family or the Scribe Virgin’s Chosen. Must be born to the title; it may not be conferred.
pyrocant (n.)
Refers to a critical weakness in an individual. The weakness can be internal, such as an addiction, or external, such as a lover.
rahlman (n.)
Savior.
rythe (n.)
Ritual manner of asserting honor granted by one who has offended another. If accepted, the offended chooses a weapon and strikes the offender, who presents him- or herself without defenses.
the Scribe Virgin (pr. n.)
Mystical force who previously was counselor to the King as well as the keeper of vampire archives and the dispenser of privileges. Existed in a non-temporal realm and had extensive powers, but has recently stepped down and given her station to another. Capable of a single act of creation, which she expended to bring the vampires into existence.
sehclusion (n.)
Status conferred by the King upon a female of the aristocracy as a result of a petition by the female’s family. Places the female under the sole direction of her ghardian, typically the eldest male in her household. Her ghardian then has the legal right to determine all manner of her life, restricting at will any and all interactions she has with the world.
shellan (n.)
Female vampire who has been mated to a male. Females generally do not take more than one mate due to the highly territorial nature of bonded males.
symphath (n.)
Subspecies within the vampire race characterized by the ability and desire to manipulate emotions in others (for the purposes of an energy exchange), among other traits. Historically, they have been discriminated against and, during certain eras, hunted by vampires. They are near extinction.
talhman (n.)
The evil side of an individual. A dark stain on the soul that requires expression if it is not properly expunged.
the Tomb (pr. n.)
Sacred vault of the Black Dagger Brotherhood. Used as a ceremonial site as well as a stor
trahyner (n.)
Word used between males of mutual respect and affection. Translated loosely as “beloved friend.”
transition (n.)
Critical moment in a vampire’s life when he or she transforms into an adult. Thereafter, he or she must drink the blood of the opposite sex to survive and is unable to withstand sunlight. Occurs generally in the mid-twenties. Some vampires do not survive their transitions, males in particular. Prior to their transitions, vampires are physically weak, sexually unaware and unresponsive, and unable to dematerialize.
vampire (n.)
Member of a species separate from that of Homo sapiens. Vampires must drink the blood of the opposite sex to survive. Human blood will keep them alive, though the strength does not last long. Following their transitions, which occur in their mid-twenties, they are unable to go out into sunlight and must feed from the vein regularly. Vampires cannot “convert” humans through a bite or transfer of blood, though they are in rare cases able to breed with the other species. Vampires can dematerialize at will, though they must be able to calm themselves and concentrate to do so and may not carry anything heavy with them. They are able to strip the memories of humans, provided such memories are short-term. Some vampires are able to read minds. Life expectancy is upward of a thousand years, or in some cases, even longer.
wahlker (n.)
An individual who has died and returned to the living from the Fade. They are accorded great respect and are revered for their travails.
whard (n.)
Equivalent of a godfather or godmother to an individual.
ONE
Advance Genetics Lab
Walters, New York
A VOLCANO ERUPTING IN the open jaw of a shark.
As Lydia Susi leaned into the monitor, one half of her brain identified the image for what it was, a PET-CT scan of the chest of a twenty-nine-year-old male with extensive stage small-cell lung cancer. The cross section, which cut the patient’s rib cage in horizontal slices, showed the tumors in the right lung, which seemed bigger to her, and two new masses on the left side. Given that this was both positron emission tomography with F-fluorodeoxyglucose in conjunction with computed tomography, the growths were well visualized, but also appearing as hot spots given the highly metabolically active abnormal cells.
It was a very clear and helpful diagnostic picture of a dying man’s respiratory landscape, and yet, her Ph.D. in biology aside—as well as forgetting about the last six months of looking at similar images—she was nonetheless struggling to stay connected to what she was looking at and what it all meant: i.e., that the traditional immunotherapy, just like the chemotherapy, hadn’t worked.
“Daniel…” she whispered as the doctor beside her cued up the next cut and continued to drone on.
Instead of properly processing any of the information, her brain continued to treat the slideshow as a Rorschach test of avoidance, her thoughts skipping away from the grim news to pull random pictures out of the oblong frame of red-tinted shadows and yellow-and-orange clouds. It wasn’t stage four cancer run amok, no, absolutely not. It was a first-generation video game, where you could drop a crudely pixelated soldier onto an alien planet and use the boulders of tumor growth to take cover behind while blocky monsters chunked around and tried to eat you. No, wait, it was a plate in a psychedelic buffet line, with only the baby new potatoes part of the Grateful Dead entrée having been spooned on. How about Jackson Pollock, in his little-known oncology period? Sofa slipcover pattern? Bowl of fruit.
The visual extrapolation that finally stuck was that of a volcano, her mental cracked-up-Krakatoa seated where the spine formed a little triangular notch on the bottom of the chest cavity’s slice, the ghostly point of the vertebra seeming to launch an eruption that was tinted with that angry Kool-Aid red and the comic strip yellow and the autumn hearth orange, the whole of it contained within an outline that reminded her of that scene in Jaws, when Chief Brody goes to Quint’s to hire the contractor to kill the shark.
All those boiled, open jawbones hanging around, their graceful contours like the shape of the rib cage.
Here’s to swimmin’ with bowlegged women.
“I beg your pardon?”
Lydia looked over at the white-coated doctor who’d been talking at her. Given that the man was staring over in surprise, she’d clearly shared that little ditty about genu varum out loud—and what do you know. She hadn’t properly processed him, either. Trying to remember his name, she failed, and if she had to describe him ten minutes from now, she knew she’d suck at that, too. Then again, he had anonymous looks, his thinning brown hair side parted, his unremarkable eyes myopic behind rimless glasses, his facial features functional rather than attractive. With his surgical scrubs hanging loose on a thin, nonathletic body, it was like his IQ was so high, his brain co-opted all of the available nutrients and calories out of his digestive tract before they ever got a chance to fill him out.
The one thing she did know about him, and that she would never forget, was that he was a brilliant oncologist.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Please continue.”
He pointed to the screen with the tip of his Montblanc pen, the little white star on the top making the rounds of the tumor growth like a fly trying to decide where to land. “As you can see here, the primary site has increased by—”
“Yeah, yeah, she knows that already.”
As the booming voice cut through the narrative, Lydia thought, Thank God.
Turning away from the monitor, she clung to the eyes of the man who marched up to them. Augustus St. Claire was unlike every other researcher and clinician. Standing well over six feet tall, with an Afro and a wardrobe that consisted solely of t-shirts from the sixties, he looked like someone who belonged in Jimi Hendrix’s band. Instead, he was the leader of this privately financed facility that was exploring medical advances well under the radar of the Food and Drug Administration.
Today Gus was wearing a well-washed H. R. Pufnstuf number, the pattern seafoam green, the background mustard yellow, the name done in those trippy, melt-y sixties letters.
“I’ll take care of this,” he said. “Thanks.”
The other doctor opened his mouth to argue the dismissal. No doubt he was the type who had succeeded at everything academic and professional in his life and was more used to people welcoming him into discussions, especially if they were about life-and-death medical issues. But when Gus stared him down, he clipped that black pen with its icy bathing cap back into the pocket protector on his white coat and ambulated himself out of the boardroom.
The glass-and-chrome door eased shut, and for a moment, Lydia looked through the bank of floor-to-ceiling panes that ran down the front of the space. The underground laboratory on the far side was so vast, she couldn’t see the end of the facility, all the workstations and equipment in shades of gray and white, all the people who bent over microscopes, and put liquid into tubes, and frowned into the screens of laptops, in bright blue and white blocks of scrubs and doctor coats.
“How long’s he got, Gus.”
Even though she knew. Still, some stupid desperation on her part tossed the question out into the air, the fishing expedition for some kind of hope, any kind, guaranteed to come up with an empty hook.
Guess she had internalized these new scans, after all.
Gus went around the long black table with its stable of leather chairs. There were projector screens at both ends of the room, and she imagined the scans being reviewed here by the senior staff. They were not going to be surprised. Small-cell lung cancer, especially in its late stages, was an absolute bitch.
“You want something to drink?” Gus said.
Down the long wall of the room, a layout of sodas, sparkling waters, and fruit juices had been arranged on a credenza, everything from the labels on the branded bottles and cans, to the crystal glassware, to the ice cubes in their refrigerated dispenser, lined up with OCD precision, a platoon of libations reporting for duty in the war against dehydration.
“So do you want anything?”
“No, thanks,” she replied.
Gus helped himself to a room-temperature Coke, popping the top of a can and pouring the Real Thing down his throat like he was dousing a fire in his abdomen.
