Lassiter (21) (The Black Dagger Brotherhood series)

Lassiter (21) (The Black Dagger Brotherhood series)

Destiny, duty, and desire clash in this epic new novel in J.R. Ward’s #1 New York Times bestselling Black Dagger Brotherhood series. Lassiter, the fallen angel, is too good at the savior business. In his new role overseeing the fates of all vampires, he’s influenced outcomes he shouldn’t have—so the Creator is calling him home. But the angel has a reason to stay in Caldwell. He’s bonded with a mysterious female who seemed to appear from out of nowhere...and has powers that defy all reason. Rahvyn is well aware that she doesn’t belong in the present. And she never intended to stay, for her true place is in the past. Lassiter proves to be undeniable, however, and she lets herself fall for the angel—until a secret he’s been keeping comes out and she fears that for him, it’s not about love, but duty. As the Omega’s son reestablishes the Lessening Society, and the Brotherhood must resume the deadly war, an unfathomable tragedy occurs. In the aftermath, Rahvyn has to decide whether to stay and help—or save herself from an immortal heartbreak she knows will crush her very soul... “Ward's latest in the Black Dagger Brotherhood series (after Lover Arisen, 2022) has it all—danger, sex, violent action, swoon-worthy romance, and an ending that will leave readers reeling. Seriously.” --Booklist “A shocking twist at the end displays Ward’s willingness to boldly reinvent the long-running series, leaving open fascinating new pathways for future books.” --Kirkus J.R. Ward is the author of more than sixty novels, including those in her #1 New York Times bestselling Black Dagger Brotherhood series. There are more than twenty million copies of her novels in print worldwide, and they have been published in twenty-seven different countries. She lives in the south with her family. Chapter One CHAPTER ONE 11287 Gordon Memorial Parkway Caldwell, New York Does this make my ass look big?” As the question was tossed out all casual, like it made any damned sense, Eddie Blackhawk opened his mouth to answer. Then he shook his head. “I’m not sure how to respond to that.” “Come on.” His best friend, Adrian Vogel, motioned through the window of the gray-and-black Mini Cooper. “Be honest.” For a split second, an image of the guy looking up with expectation caught and held in Eddie’s mind, a fishhook memory that was unnecessary after the centuries they’d spent together: Ad was a hard-core handsome type, all the Hugh Jackman anyone could want in the tall and dark department, just paired up with a Claire’s boutique’s worth of silver piercings on the trailheads of his nose, his lower lip, his outer ears. He’d shaved his head recently—because he’d bought a Manscaped trimmer on account of the Pete Davidson ad and he didn’t have anything else to shave—and his hair was already growing back in, a shadow over his skull. His clothes were black and so was his jacket. So were his weapons, although like his naughty bits, they were covered. “Hello?” the other fallen angel prompted. “What do you think of me and the car?” “I’m amazed you can fit your posterior region in it.” Eddie glanced around the wilted dealership. “Why are we here again?” “Ass.” Adrian got out, his heavily muscled body expanding to its customary height and width like it was reinflating after a vacuum-packing. “You can curse, you know. It’s not going to kill you.” Considering they were both immortals, the subject of what could unalive them was moot—as was any practical opinion about this shoebox-sized toy that was being marketed as roadworthy. And while Eddie glanced around for what felt like the hundredth time, he would have appreciated an answer to his own question: What the hell were they doing in this place? Between the fake wood paneling, the faded pictures of eighties-era cars going all airborne around tight turns, and the for-sale stock that looked like candidates for parts harvesting, he felt like they’d been sucked back four decades and Kate Bush should be piped in as a new release, not as a throwback soundtrack on Netflix. Then again, they’d made their deal with God, hadn’t they. And with all the progress they hadn’t been making over the last three years on their mission, why not end up here? It was no more directed or random than any other place in Caldwell. “Hi,” a quiet voice said, “can I answer some questions about the Mini for you?” Eddie’s eyes shifted over and then had to move down, way down. The brunette woman who had approached was barely over five feet tall, and given her air of exhaustion, he guessed her age was anywhere between twenty-five and forty. Like the other salespeople, she was wearing a gold plaid suit jacket over her slacks, but the thing was a tent on her, to the point where she’d rolled up the sleeves. “I think we’re good,” Eddie murmured. “Thanks, though.” She reached up and tapped the safety pin that was holding the right side of her glasses together—as if she were worried that like the screw it rep