Jeez. The guy was almost easygoing, she thought.
No, that wasn't right. His sharp eyes kept scanning the windows and the glass door, as if he were monitoring the periphery. She knew without a doubt that if he didn't like something he saw, he was going to be out of that chair in a heartbeat. And it wouldn't be to check locks. It'd be to attack.
He put another cookie in his mouth.
But at least he was relaxing to be around. Relatively speaking.
"You're not like Wrath," she blurted.
"No one's like Wrath."
"Yeah." She bit into her own cookie and sat down on the futon.
"He's a force of nature," Tohr said, tilting back his beer. "And he's deadly, no mistaking that. But there's no one who will take better care of you, assuming he chooses to do so. Which he has with you."
"How do you know?" she whispered, wondering what Wrath had told him.
Tohr cleared his throat, a flush hitting his cheeks. "He's marked you."
She frowned, looking down at herself.
"I can smell it," Tohr said. "The warning's all over you."
"Warning?"
"As if you were his shellan."
"His what?"
"His mate. That scent on your skin sends a powerful message to other males."
So she'd been right. About the sex they'd had and what it meant.
That really shouldn't please me as much as it does, she thought.
"You don't mind it, do you?" Tohr said. "Being his."
She didn't want to answer that. On one level she wanted to be Wrath's. On another, she felt much safer being as she had always been. On her own.
"Do you have one?" she asked. "A mate?"
The vampire's face lit with devotion. "Her name's Wellsie. We were promised to each other before our transitions. It was dumb luck that we fell in love. Truth is, if I'd met her on the street, I would have chosen her. How's that for fate?"
"Occasionally it works for us," she murmured.
"Yeah. Some males take more than one shellan, but I can't imagine ever being with another female. Which is evidently why Wrath called me."
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Sorry?"
"The other brothers, they have females they drink from, but they don't have any emotional ties. There'd be nothing to prevent them-" He stopped and bit into another cookie. "Well, given that you're"
"I'm what?" She felt as though she hardly knew herself. And she was willing to even take hints from strangers at this point.
"Beautiful. Wrath wouldn't have wanted to put you in any of the others' care, because if they'd been tempted to make a move on you, there would be serious trouble." Tohr shrugged. "Well, and a couple of the brothers are just flat-out dangerous. You wouldn't want to leave any female alone with them, at least not one you cared about."
She wasn't sure she wanted to meet any of the brothers.
Wait a minute, she thought.
"Does Wrath have a shellan already?" she asked.
Tohr finished his beer. "I think you'd better talk to him about that."
Which was not a no.
A sick feeling of disappointment set up shop in the middle of her chest, and she went back into the kitchen.
Damn. She was getting emotional over Wrath. They'd had sex twice, and already her head was a mess.
This one is going to hurt, she thought as she cracked open another beer. When things went sour between them, it was going to hurt like hell.
Notwithstanding the whole turning-into-a-vampire thing.
Oh, God.
"More munchies?" she called out.
"That would be great."
"Beer?"
"Naw. I'm good."
She brought the bag in from the kitchen, and they were silent as they polished off the cookies. Even the broken ones at the bottom.
"You got anything else around here to eat?" he asked.
She stood, feeling peckish herself. "I'll see what I can dig up."
"You have cable?" He nodded toward her TV.
She tossed him the clicker. "Sure do. And if I remember, there's a Godzilla marathon on TBS tonight."
"Sweet," the vampire said, kicking his legs out. "I always root for the monster."
She smiled at him. "Me, too."
Chapter Twenty-two
Butch woke up because someone was driving a gutter spike into his head.
He cracked open one eye.
No, that was the phone ringing.
He picked up the receiver and put it in the vicinity of his ear. "Yeah?"
"Good morning, sunshine." Jose's voice brought back the spike.
"Time?" he croaked.
"Eleven o'clock. Thought you'd want to know that Beth just called here looking for you. She sounded okay."
Butch's body went limp with relief. "Guy?"
"Didn't mention him. But she did say she wanted to talk with you sometime today. I canceled the APB on her because she was calling from home."
Butch sat up.
And then lay right back down.
He wasn't going anywhere for a while.
"Not feeling too good," he muttered.
"I figured that. Which is why I told her you'd be tied up until this afternoon. Just so you know, I left your place at seven this morning."
Ah, Christ.
Butch tried the whole vertical thing again, forcing himself to stay upright. The room swam. He was still drunk as shit. And he had a hangover.
Talk about multitasking.
"Coining in now."
"I wouldn't do that. The captain's gunning for your ass. Internal Affairs showed up here asking about you and Billy Riddle."
"Riddle? Why?"
"Come on, Detective."
Yeah, he knew why.
"Listen, you're in no condition to run into the captain." Josh's voice was even, pragmatic. "You need to sober up. Get your shit together. Come in later. I'll cover for you."
"Thanks."
"And I left the aspirin next to the phone with a tall glass of water. Figured you weren't going to be able to make it to the coffeepot. Take three, turn your ringer off, and sleep. If anything exciting happens, I'll come and get you."
"I love you, honey."
"So buy me a mink and a nice pair of earrings for our anniversary."
"You got it."
He hung up the phone after two tries and closed his eyes. Just a little more sleep. And then he might feel like a human again.
Beth scribbled her last edit on a piece about a rash of identity thefts. The article looked like it was bleeding, it had so many corrections and she saw a trend setting in. Dick's big boys were getting sloppier and sloppier as they relied on her. And it wasn't just background mistakes; now they were making grammatical and structural errors. As if they'd never heard of the Chicago Manual of Style.
She didn't mind line editing when she was collaborating. As long as the person who'd drafted the article had done even a modest amount of proofreading.
Beth put the article in her out box and focused on her computer screen. She called up a file she'd been in and out of all day long.
Okay, what else did she want to know?
She reviewed her list of questions.
Will I be able to go outside during the day? How often will I have to feed? How long will I live?
Her fingers flew over the keyboard.
Who are you fighting?
And then, Do you have a.
What was that word? Shellan?
She typed wife instead.
God, she cringed at what Wrath's answer might be. And even if he didn't have one, who did he feed from?
And what would that feel like? To have him unleash his hunger on her?
She knew instinctively it would be the same as the sex. Half-savage. All-consuming. Probably leaving her bruised and weak.
As well as in a state of total bliss.
"Hard at work, Randall?" Dick drawled.
She changed screens so her e-mail account showed. "Always."
"You know, I heard a rumor about you."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Heard you went out with that homicide detective, O'Neal. Twice."
"So?"
Dick leaned over her desk. She was wearing a loose crew-neck shirt, so there was little for him to see. He straightened.
"So good job. Work a little magic on him. See what you can get. We could do a cover story on police brutality with him as the poster child. Keep this up, Randall, and I might be persuaded to promote you."
Dick sauntered off, obviously enjoying his role as dispenser of patronage.
What an ass.
Her phone rang, and she barked her name into the receiver.
There was a pause. "Mistress? Are you all right?"
The butler.
"Sorry-and yes, I'm fine." She put her head down on her free hand. After dealing with the likes of Wrath and Tohr, Dick's pasty version of male arrogance seemed absurd.
"If there's anything I can do"
"No, no, I'm okay." She laughed. "It's nothing I haven't dealt with before."
"Well, I probably shouldn't be calling"-Fritz's voice dropped to a whisper-"but I didn't want you to be unprepared. Master has requested a special dinner tonight. For you and he, alone. I thought perhaps I would pick you up and we would find you a dress."
"A dress?"
For a date kind of thing with Wrath?
The idea struck her as a terrific one, but then she reminded herself to be careful about reading romance into things. She didn't really know the lay of the landscape.
Or who else he was laying, as it were.
"Mistress, I know this is presumptuous of me. He's going to call you himself-"
At that moment the second line on her phone started to ring.
"I just wanted you to be ready for tonight."
Caller ID flashed the number Wrath had made her memorize. She grinned like an idiot.
"I would love to get a dress. I would absolutely love to."
"Good. We shall go to the Galleria. They have a Brooks Brothers there as well. Master has put in a request for clothing. I believe he wants to look his best for you as well."
As she hung up, that stupid smile stuck to her face like glue.
Wrath left a message on Beth's voice mail and rolled over in bed, reaching out for the braille clock. Three in the afternoon. He'd slept for about six hours, which was more than usual, but what his body typically needed after a feeding.
God, he wished she were with him.
Tohr had called at dawn with a report. The two of them had stayed up all night watching Godzilla movies, and by the sound of the male's voice, he was half in love with her.
Which Wrath simultaneously understood and resented the hell out of.
But man, he'd made the right call sending Tohr over. Rhage definitely would have come on to her, and then Wrath would have had to break something of the brother's. An arm, maybe a leg. Maybe both. And Vishous, while he didn't have Hollywood's outrageous good looks, had plenty of pimp juice. Phury's vow of celibacy was strong, but why put him in the path of temptation?
Zsadist?
He hadn't even considered that option. The scar down that brother's face would have scared the shit out of her. Hell, even Wrath could see the damn thing. And mortal terror in a female was Z's favorite turn-on. He got off on it like most males favored crap from Victoria's Secret.
No, Tohr would be on sentry duty if the need ever arose again.
Wrath stretched. Feeling the satin sheets against his naked skin made him yearn for Beth. Now that he'd fed, his body felt stronger than ever, as though his bones were shafts of carbon and his muscles were steel cables. He was back to himself again, and the whole lot of him was itching to be used hard.
Except he bitterly regretted what had happened with Marissa.
He thought back to the night. As soon as he'd lifted his head from her neck, he knew he'd nearly killed her. And not from drinking too much.
She'd pushed herself away, her body shaking from misery as she'd floundered off the bed.
"Marissa-"
"My lord, I release you. From the covenant. You are free of me."
He'd cursed, feeling like hell for what he'd done to her.
"I don't understand your anger," she'd said weakly. "This is what you have always wanted, and I grant it to you now."
"I never wanted-"
"Me," she'd whispered. "I know."
"Marissa-"
"Please don't say the words. I couldn't bear to hear the truth from your lips, even though I know it well. You have always been ashamed to be tied to me."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I disgust you."
"What?"
"Do you think I haven't noticed? You can't wait to be free of me. I drink and then you bolt up, as if you've had to force yourself to endure my presence." She'd started to sob then. "I've always tried to be clean when I come to you. I spend hours soaking in the tub, washing myself. But I cannot find the dirt that you see."
"Marissa, stop. Just stop. It isn't about you."
"Yes, I know. I saw the female. In your mind." She'd let out a shudder.
"I'm sorry," he'd said. "And you have never disgusted me. You're beautiful-"
"Don't say that. Not now." Marissa's voice had hardened then. "If anything, just be sorry that it took this long for me to see what has always been true."
"I will still protect you," he'd vowed.
"No, you won't. I'm no longer your concern. Not that I've ever been."
And then she'd left, the fresh scent of the ocean lingering a moment before dissipating.
Wrath rubbed his eyes. He was determined to make it up to her somehow. He wasn't sure exactly how he'd pull that off, considering the hell she'd been put through. But he wasn't prepared to have her drift off into the ether thinking that she'd been utterly nothing to him. Or that he'd found her in some way unclean.
He'd never loved her, true. But he hadn't wanted to hurt her, which was why he'd told her to leave him so often. If she pulled out, if she made it clear she didn't want him, she would still be able to hold her head up in the catty aristocratic circle she was from. In her class, a shellan who was rejected by her mate was perceived as damaged goods.
Now that she had left him, she'd be spared any ignominy. And he had a feeling that when word got out, no one would be surprised.
Funny, he'd never really considered how he and Marissa would part, perhaps because after all these centuries, he'd assumed they never would. But he'd certainly never expected it to be because he was forming some kind of attachment to another female.
And that was what was happening. With Beth. After marking her last night as he had, he couldn't pretend he wasn't getting emotionally tied to her.
He cursed out loud, knowing enough about male vampire behavior and psychology to realize he was in trouble. Hell, they were both in trouble now.
A bonded male was a dangerous thing.
Especially when he was going to have to leave his female.
And give her into the keeping of another.
Trying to push the implications out of his mind, Wrath reached for the phone and dialed upstairs, thinking he needed something to eat. When there was no answer, he assumed Fritz must have gone to the store to buy food.
Good thing. Wrath had asked the brothers to come later in the evening, and they liked to eat big. It was time to recon-noiter, catch up with their investigations.
The need to avenge Darius burned.
And the closer Wrath got to Beth, the hotter the fire.
Chapter Twenty-three
Butch walked out of the captain's office. His holster felt too light without his gun in it. Wallet was too flat without his badge. It was like being naked.
"What happened?" Jose asked.
"I'm taking a vacation."
"What the hell does that mean?"
Butch started down the hall. "Did the NYPD have anything on that suspect?"
Jose grabbed his arm and pulled him into an interrogation room. "What happened?"
"I'm suspended without pay, pending the conclusion of an internal investigation. Which we both know is going to find that I acted with inappropriate force."
Jose buried a hand in his hair. "I told you to back off those suspects, man."
"That Riddle guy deserved worse."
"Not the point."
"Funny, that's what the captain said."
Butch walked over to the two-way mirror and looked at himself. God, he was getting old. Or maybe he was just tired of the only job he'd ever wanted to do.
Police brutality. Screw that. He was a protector of the innocent, not some self-impressed skull-cracker who got off on being a tough guy. The trouble was, there were just too many rules favoring criminals. The victims whose lives were shattered by violence should be half so lucky.
"I don't belong here anyway," he said softly.
"What?"
There was just no place for men like him in the world anymore, he thought.
Butch turned around. "So. The NYPD. What did we find out?"
Jose stared at him for a long time. "Suspended from the force, huh?"
"At least until they officially can me."
Jose put his hands on his hips and looked down, shaking his head as if he were remonstrating with his shoes. But he answered.
"Nada. It's like he came out of nowhere."
Butch cursed. "Those stars. I know you can get them on the Web, but they can be bought locally, right?"
"Yeah, through martial-arts academies."
"We've got a couple of those in town."
Jose nodded slowly.
Butch took his keys out of his pocket. "I'll see ya."
"Hold up-we already sent someone out to ask around. Both academies said they don't remember anyone buying them who fit the suspect's description."
"Thanks for the tip." Butch started for the door.
"Detective. Yo, O'Neal." Jose grabbed Butch's forearm. "Damn it, will you stop for a minute?"
Butch glared over his shoulder. "Is this where you warn me to stay out of police business? 'Cause you might as well save the speech."
"Christ, Butch, I'm not your enemy." Jose's dark brown eyes were penetrating. "The boys and I are behind you. As far as we're concerned, you do what you need to do, and you've never been wrong. Anyone you've knocked around has deserved it. But maybe you've just been lucky, you know? What if you'd hurt someone who wasn't-"
"Cut the preacher routine. I'm not interested." He clamped his hand on the doorknob.
Jose squeezed hard. "You're off the force, O'Neal. And going half-cocked into an investigation you've been removed from won't bring Janie back."
Butch expelled his breath like he'd been punched. "You want to kick me in the nuts now, too?"
Jose removed his hand, looking as if he were throwing in the towel. "I'm sorry. But you gotta know that getting deeper in the weeds is only going to screw you. It's not going to help your sister. It's never helped her."
Butch slowly shook his head. "Shit. I know that."
"You sure?"
Yeah, he was. He'd really liked hurting Billy Riddle, and that was about vengeance for what had been done to Beth. It had nothing to do with bringing his sister back to life. Janie was gone. And she'd been gone for a long, long time.
Still, Josh's sad eyes made him feel like he had a terminal illness.
"It's gonna be fine," he found himself saying. Although he didn't really believe it.
"Just don't don't push your luck out there, Detective."
Butch threw open the door. "Pushing's all I know how to do, Jose."
Mr. X leaned back in his office chair, thinking about the night ahead. He was ready to try again, even though the downtown area was hot right now, what with the car bombing and the discovery of the whore's body. Trolling for vampires in the vicinity of Screamer's was going to be risky, but the risk of being caught added to the challenge.
Even more to the point, however, if you wanted to catch a shark, you didn't fish in freshwater. He had to go to where the vampires were.
Anticipation shot through him.
He'd been brushing up on his torture techniques. And this morning, before leaving for the academy, he'd visited the workspace he'd set up in his barn. His tools were gathered and gleaming: a dentist's drill set; knives of various sizes; a ball-peen hammer and a chisel; a Sawzall.
A melon bailer. For the eyes.
The trick was, of course, walking that fine line between pain and death. Pain you could stretch out for hours, days. Death was the ultimate off switch.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter," he said.
It was the receptionist, the jacked woman who had arms big as a man's and no breasts to speak of. Her contradictions never ceased to amaze him. In spite of the fact that a raging case of penis envy caused her to take steroids and pump iron like a gorilla, she insisted on wearing makeup. And doing her hair. In her cropped T-shirt and leggings, she looked like a bad drag queen.
She disgusted him.
You should always know who you are, he thought. And who you aren't.
"A guy's here to speak with you." Her voice was about an octave and a half too low. "O'Neal, I think that's the name. Acts like a cop, but didn't pop a badge."
"Tell him I'll be right out." You freak of nature, he added to himself.
Still, Mr. X had to laugh as the door shut behind her. Him. Whatever.
Here he was, a man with no soul who killed vampires, and he was calling her a freak?
Yeah, well, at least he had a purpose. And a plan.
She was just going to Gold's Gym again tonight. Right after she got rid of her five-o'clock shadow.
It was a little before six when Butch pulled the unmarked up in front of Beth's building. He'd have to return the vehicle eventually, but suspended wasn't fired. The captain was going to have to ask for the damn car back.
He'd gone to both martial-arts academies and talked with the directors. One guy had been obnoxious. Your typical ass-kiss-craving, self-defense lunatic who'd convinced himself he was actually Asian. In spite of the fact that he was as white as Butch was.
The other man had been just plain weird. He'd looked like a 1950s milkman, with blond hair that had obviously been hit with some pomade and a bright, annoying smile that had missed its Pepsodent ad by nearly half a century. The guy had bent over to be helpful, but something was off. Butch's bullshit detector had spiked a serious woody the minute Mr. May-berry had opened his mouth.
And the guy had smelled like a sissy, besides.
Butch leaped up Beth's front steps and rang her buzzer.
He'd left her a voice mail at work and at home telling her he was coming over. He was about to hit the button again when he saw her through the glass door, coming into the lobby.
Goddamn.
She had on a wraparound black dress that just about brought his headache back, it was so perfect for her. The vee in front dipped down and showed a little of her breasts. The tight waist set off her slim hips beautifully. And the slit up one side showed a flash of thigh with every step she took. Her heels were tall, making her ankles look fragile and lovely.
She looked up from the purse she'd been rummaging around in and seemed surprised to see him.
Her hair was up. He thought about what it would be like to take it down.
She opened the door. "Butch."
"Hi." He felt tongue-tied as a kid.
"I got your messages," she said softly.
He stepped back so she could come outside. "You got time to talk?"
Even though he knew what her answer was going to be.
"Ah, not right now."
"Where are you going?"
"I have a date."
"With whom?"
She met his eyes with such deliberate calmness, he knew the next thing she said was going to be a lie.
"No one special."
Yeah, right.
"What happened to the man last night, Beth? Where is he?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
Her eyes never wavered from his. "If you'll excuse me-"
He gripped her arm. "Do not go to him."
The low sound of an engine filled the silence between them. A large black Mercedes with tinted windows pulled up. Real drug-lord time.
"Ah, fuck, Beth." He squeezed her arm, desperate to get her attention. "Don't do this. You're aiding and abetting a suspect."
"Let go of me, Butch."
"He's dangerous."
"And you aren't?"
He dropped his hold.
"Tomorrow," she said, stepping back. "We'll talk tomorrow. Meet me here after work."
Getting frantic, he put his body in her path. "Beth, I can't let you-"
"Are you going to arrest me?"
Not as a cop, he couldn't. Not unless he was reinstated to the force.
"No. I won't take you in."
"Thank you."
"I'm not doing it as a favor," he said bitterly as she walked around him. "Beth, please."
She paused. "Nothing is as it seems."
"I don't know. I've got a pretty fucking clear picture. You're protecting a killer, and there's a serious chance you're going to get stuffed into a pine box. Do you understand what this guy is? I've seen his face up close. When his hand was around my neck and he was squeezing the life right out of me. A man like that has murder in his blood. It's his nature. How can you go to him? Hell, how can you let him walk the streets?"
"He's not like that."
But the words were phrased as a question.
The car door opened, and a little old man in a tuxedo got out.
"Mistress, is there a difficulty?" the man asked her solicitously, while at the same time shooting Butch the evil eye.
"No, Fritz. No problem." She smiled, but it was a shaky one. "Tomorrow, Butch."
"If you live that long."
She paled, but rushed down the stairs, sliding into the car.
After a moment Butch got into his. And trailed them.
When Havers heard footsteps coming toward the dining room, he looked up from his plate with a frown. He'd been hoping to make it through his meal without an interruption.
But it wasn't one or the doggen coming in with news that a patient had arrived to be treated.
"Marissa!" He rose from his chair.
She marshaled a smile for him. "I thought I would come down. I'm tired of spending so much time in my room."
"I'm very pleased to have your company."
As she came up to the table, he pulled out her chair. He was happy that he'd insisted her place was always set, even after he'd lost hope she would join him. And tonight it seemed as though she was making an effort with more than just coming to eat. She was wearing a beautiful dress made of black silk that had a jacket with a stiff, stand-up collar. Her hair was down around her shoulders, flashing spun gold in the candlelight. She looked lovely, and he felt a flush of animosity. It was a total insult that Wrath couldn't appreciate all she had to offer, that this exquisite female of noble blood was not good enough for him.
Other than for use as a feeding trough.
"How is your work?" she asked as she was served wine by one doggen. A plate of food was set in front of her by another. "Thank you, Phillip. Karolyn, this looks wonderful."
She picked up a fork and gently prodded the roast beef.
Good heavens, Havers thought. This was almost normal.
"My work? Fine. Actually better than fine. As I mentioned, I've had a bit of a breakthrough. Feeding may soon be a thing of the past." He lifted his glass and drank. The burgundy should have been a perfect accompaniment to the beef, but it tasted off to him. Everything on his plate was sour on his tongue as well. "I transfused myself with stored blood this afternoon, and I feel fine."
Actually, that was a bit of an overstatement. He didn't feel sick, but something wasn't right. That normal rush of strength had yet to hit him.
"Oh, Havers," she said softly. "You still miss Evangaline, don't you?"
"Painfully. And the drinking is simply not agreeable to me."
No, he would no longer stay alive the old-fashioned way. From now on it would be clinical. A sterilized needle in his arm, hooking him up to a bag.
I'm so very sorry, Marissa said.
Havers reached out, laying his palm faceup on the table. "Thank you."
She put her hand in his. "And I'm sorry that I've been so preoccupied. But it will be better now."
"Yes," he said urgently. Wrath was just the kind of barbarian who would want to continue to drink from the vein, but at least Marissa could be spared the indignity. "You could try the transfusion as well. It will free you, too."
She took her hand back and reached for her wineglass. As she lifted the burgundy to her mouth, she spilled some on her jacket.
"Oh, bother," she muttered, brushing the wine off the silk. "I'm terribly uncoordinated, aren't I?"
She removed the jacket and laid it on the empty chair next to her.
"You know, Havers, I would like to try it. Drinking is no longer palatable to me, either."
A delicious relief, a feeling of possibility, overtook him. The sensation seemed wholly unfamiliar because he hadn't felt it in so very long. The idea that something might change for the better had become a foreign concept to him.
"Truly?" he whispered.
She nodded, pushing her hair over her shoulder and picking up her fork. "Yes, truly."
And then he saw the marks on her neck.
Two inflamed puncture wounds. A red blaze where she had been sucked. Purple contusions on the skin of her collarbone where she'd been gripped by a heavy hand.
Horror curdled his appetite, blurred his vision.
"How could he have treated you so roughly?" Havers breathed.
Marissa's hand went to her neck before she quickly pulled some hair forward. "It's nothing. Truly, it's not anything."