Even though he wasn't used to being dismissed, especially not from his own turf, he was so willing to cut her some slack. "Stay as long as you like, tahlly. Just close the slider when you leave. I'll remote the alarm after you go."
As he put his suit coat on, he left his tie loose and his shirt collar open because she'd chewed him raw and the bite marks were too tender to be covered. Not that he cared in the slightest.
"You are so kind to me," she said, staring at his loafers.
"Actually, I'm not."
"How can you say that? You never ask for anything in return"
"Marissa, look at me. Look at me." Dear Virgin in the Fade, she was beautiful. Especially with his blood in her. "Don't kid yourself. I still want you as my shellan. I want you naked in my bed. I want you swelling up with my young in your body. I want yeah, the whole thing with you. I don't do this to be nice, I do it to get under your skin. I do it because I hope I can someday, somehow get you where I want you to be."
As her eyes peeled wide, he kept the rest to himself. No reason to air the fact that the symphath in him wanted to crawl around in her head and own every emotion she ever felt. Or share the reality that sex with him would be complicated.
Ah, the joys of his nature. And his anomaly.
"But I want you to trust in something, Marissa. I won't ever cross the line if you don't want me to."
Besides, Xhex was probably right. Half-breeds like him did better going solo. Even if symphaths weren't discriminated against and could mate and live like Normals, they should never be with someone who was defenseless against their dark side.
He pulled on his floor-length sable coat. "This male of yours he better get with the program. Damn fucking waste of a female of worth like you." Rehv grabbed his cane and headed for the door. "If you need me, call me."
* * *
Butch walked into ZeroSum, went back to the Brotherhood's table, and took off his Aquascutum raincoat. He was going to be here for a while. Which wasn't a news flash, was it? Hell, he should just pitch a damn pup tent and move in.
As the waitress came up with a Scotch, he said, "Any chance you can just bring me a bottle?"
"Sorry, I can't."
"Okay, come here." He crooked his finger at her. When she leaned down, he put a hundred-dollar bill on her tray. "This is just for you. I want you to keep me nice and poured."
"Absolutely."
Alone at the table, Butch reached up to his neck, his fingertips running over the puncture wounds. As he felt where he'd been bitten, he tried not to imagine what Marissa was doing right now to someone else. To an aristocrat. To a well-bred bastard who was better than him, platinum to his nickel. Oh, God.
Like a mantra, he repeated what V had said. That it didn't have to be sexual. That it was a biological imperative. That there was no choice. That it didn't have to be sexual. He was hoping if he heard the litany often enough in his head, his emotions would calm the hell down so he could accept the necessity of what she had to do. After all, Marissa wasn't being cruel. She'd been as distraught as he was
In a vivid flash, he saw her naked body and couldn't help but picture another man's hands smoothing over her breasts. Another man's lips traveling across her skin. Another man taking her virginity as he nourished her, his hard body moving on top of her, inside of her.
And all the while she was drinking drinking until she had her fill, until she was satiated, replete.
Taken care of. By someone else.
Butch hammered his double Lag.
Holy fuck. He was going to crack in half. He was going to fall apart, right here, right now, his raw insides spilling onto the floor, his vitals getting ground down under the feet of strangers along with fallen cocktail napkins and credit card receipts.
The waitress, bless her heart, came over with more Scotch.
As he picked up the second glass, he lectured himself:
O 'Neal, get your sack together and grow some pride. Have some faith in her, too. She would never sleep with another man. She just wouldn't.
But the sex was just part of it.
As he downed the Scotch, he realized there was another dimension to the nightmare. She was going to have to feed regularly, wasn't she. They were going to have to do this over and over again.
Fuck. He'd like to think he was a big enough man, a confident enough man, to handle all this, but he was possessive and selfish. And the next time she fed, they would be back where they were now, her in another man's arms, him drinking in a club alone on the verge of hanging himself. Only it would be worse. And the time after that, even more so. He loved her so much, so deeply, that he would destroy them both and it wouldn't take long.
Besides, what kind of future could they have? With the way he'd been pounding the Scotch lately, he probably only had another ten years left in his liver and her kind lived for centuries. He'd just be a footnote in her long life, a pothole on the road to her eventually finding a mate who was right for her, who could give her what she needed.
When the waitress brought him a third double, Butch held up his forefinger to keep her by his side. He downed the glass while she waited, gave it to her, and she went back to the bartender.
As she returned with number four, that scrawny blond Euro-trasher with his trio of thick-necked bodyguard types started waving for her attention from two tables over.
Christ, seemed like every damn night the kid was in this place. Or maybe it was just a little of the idiot went a long way.
"Hey!" the kid called out. "We need service over here. Get the lead out."
"I'll be right over," the waitress said.
"Now," the ass snapped. "Not later."
"I won't be gone long," she murmured to Butch.
As she went over to the punk, Butch watched as she got majorly harassed. Goddamned bigmouthed show-offs, all of them. And they weren't going to improve as the night went on.
Then again, neither was Butch.
"You look a little aggressive there, Butch O'Neal."
He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, the female with the man's hair and the man's body was still in front of him.
"We going to have trouble with you tonight, Butch O'Neal?"
He wished she'd stop saying his name. "Nah, I'm good."
Her eyes flashed with an erotic light. "Oh, I know that. But let's get real. You going to be a problem tonight?"
"No."
She stared at him long and hard. Then smiled a little. "Well I'll be watching you. So keep that in mind."
Chapter Twenty-five
Joyce O'Neal Rafferty met her husband at the door with the baby on her hip and a glare on her face. As Mike stood on the cold side of the welcome mat, he was clearly tired after pulling double shifts on the T, but she couldn't have cared less. "I got a telephone call today from my brother. Butch. You told him about the baptism, didn't you."
Her husband kissed Sean, but didn't try it with her. "Come on, honey"
"This is not your business!"
Mike shut the door. "Why do you all hate him so much?"
"I am not going there with you."
As she wheeled away, he said, "He didn't kill your sister, Jo. He was twelve. What could he have done?"
She shifted her son in her arms and didn't turn around. "This is not about Janie. Butch turned his back on the family years ago. His choice, got nothing to do with what happened."
"Maybe all of you turned your back on him."
She glared over her shoulder. "Why are you defending him?"
"He was my friend. Before I met and married you, he was my friend."
"Some friend. When was the last time you heard from him?"
"Doesn't matter. He was good to me when I knew him."
"You are such a bleeding heart." She headed for the stairs. "I'm going to feed Sean. I left you some dinner in the fridge."
Joyce marched up to the second floor, and when she hit the top landing, she glared at the crucifix that hung on the wall. Turning away from the cross, she went into Sean's room and sat down in the rocker by his crib. Baring her breast, she brought her son up and he latched on, his hand squeezing the flesh that was next to his face. As he fed, his little body was warm and pudgy with health, his lashes down on his rosy cheeks.
Joyce took a number of deep breaths.
Crap. Now she felt bad for yelling. And for forsaking the Savior's cross. She said a Hail Mary and then tried to calm herself by counting Sean's perfect toes.
God if anything happened to him, she would die, her heart would literally never beat the same way again. How had her mother done it? How had she lived through the loss of a child?
And Odell had lost two, hadn't she. First Janie. Then Butch. Thank God the woman's mind was going soft. The relief from bad memories must be a blessing.
Joyce stroked Sean's fine dark hair and realized that her mother had never even gotten to say good-bye to Janie. The body had been too ruined to fix up for an open casket and Eddie O'Neal, as the father, had done the ID at the morgue.
God, on that horrible fall afternoon, if only Butch had followed through and run into the house and told a grown-up that Janie had just left maybe they could have saved her. Janie hadn't been allowed to get in cars with boys and everyone knew the rules. Butch knew the rules. If only
Ah, hell. Her husband was right. The whole family hated Butch. No wonder he'd taken off and all but disappeared.
With a whiffle, Sean's mouth went slack and his little hand eased up. But then he jerked awake again and got back with the program.
Talk about disappearing Good Lord, her mother wasn't going to get a good-bye with Butch, either, was she? Her lucid moments were so few and far between. Even if Butch showed up at the church this Sunday, she might well not even recognize him.
Joyce heard her husband coming up the stairs, his footfalls slow.
"Mike?" she called out.
The man she loved and had married appeared in the doorway. He was developing a middle-aged belly, and he was losing the hair at the crown of his head even though he was only thirty-seven. But as she stared at him now, she saw his younger self: The high school jock. The friend of her older brother Butch. The hotshot football player that she'd had a crush on for years.
"Yeah?" he said.
"I'm sorry. For getting so pissed off."
He smiled a little. "It's some tough stuff. I understand."
"And you're right. Butch probably should have been invited. I justI want the day of the baptism to be pure, you know? Justpure. It's Sean's beginning and I don't want any shadows. Butch he carries that shadow around and everyone would get tense, and with Mother being so sick, I don't want to deal."
"Did he say he was coming?"
"No. He" She thought about the conversation. Funny, he'd sounded the same. Her brother had always had the strangest voice, so husky and hoarse. Like either his throat was deformed or there was too much that he wasn't saying. "He said he was happy for us. Thanked you for the call. Said he hoped Mom and Dad were okay."
Her husband glanced down at Sean, who had melted into sleep again. "Butch doesn't know your mother's ill, does he?"
"No." In the beginning, when Odell had just been forgetful, Joyce and her sister had decided to wait until they knew what was wrong to tell Butch. But that had been two years ago, hadn't it. And they knew what was wrong, didn't they. Alzheimer's.
God only knew how much longer Mother was going to be around. The disease was progressing relentlessly.
"I am a thief not to tell Butch," she said softly. "Aren't I."
"I love you," Mike murmured.
Her eyes watered as she looked from her son's face up to his father's. Michael Rafferty was a good man. A solid man. He was never going to be Hugh Jackman handsome or Bill Gates rich or King of England powerful. But he was hers and he was Sean's and that was more than enough. Especially on nights like tonight, during conversations like this. "I love you, too," she said.
Vishous materialized behind ZeroSum and walked down the alley to the front of the club. When he saw the Escalade curbed on Tenth Street, he was relieved. Phury had said Butch had split from the mansion like Jeff Gordon and not because he was a happy guy.
V went into the club and headed straight for the VIP section. But he didn't make it.
That female head of security stepped in front of him, her jacked body blocking his way. As he gave her a quick onceover, he wondered what it would be like to tie her up. She'd probably leave scars in the process, and wouldn't that be a fun way to kill an hour or two.
"Your boy needs to leave," she said.
"He at our table?"
"Yeah, and you better get him out of here. Now."
"What's the damage?"
"None yet." They both took off for the VIP area. "But I don't want things to get that far, and we're right on the edge."
As they weeded in and out of the crowd, V glanced at those muscled arms of hers and thought about the job she had in the club. Hard-core for anyone, but especially a female. He had to wonder why she did it.
"Do you get off cracking males?" he said.
"Sometimes, but with O'Neal I prefer the sex."
V stopped dead.
The female glanced over her shoulder. "There a problem?"
"When did you do him?" Though he somehow knew it had been recently.
"The question is when I'll be with him again." She nodded toward the VIP checkpoint. "But it won't be tonight. Now go get him and haul him out of here."
V narrowed his eyes. " 'Scuse the old-school, but Butch is OPP."
"Oh, really? Is that why he's in here almost every night getting faced? His mate must be a real darling."
"Don't go near him again."
The female's expression hardened. "Brother or not, you do not tell me to do anything."
V leaned in close and bared his fangs. "Like I said, you stay away from him."
For a split second, he thought they were going to go at it, he really did. He'd never thrown hand to hand with a female before, but this one well, she didn't really seem female. Especially as she eyed his jaw like she was measuring her uppercut reach.
"You two want a room or a boxing ring?"
Vishous turned to see Rehvenge standing not three feet away, the male's amethyst eyes glowing in the dimness. Under the floodlights, that mohawk was as dark as the floor-length sable coat he wore.
"Do we have a problem?" Rehvenge glanced back and forth as he took off his fur and handed it to a bouncer.
"Not at all," V said. He glanced at the female. "Nothing doing, right?"
"Yeah," she drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Nothing."
V pushed past the bouncers in front of the velvet rope and went straight for the Brotherhood's tableoh man.
Butch looked totally wasted and not just because he was drunk. His face was drawn in grim lines, his eyes half-closed. His tie was out of whack, his shirt partially unbuttoned and there was a bite mark on his neck that had bled a little onto his collar.
And yup, he was spoiling for a fight, glaring at the rowdy table of highfliers two banquettes down. Shit, the cop was a hairbreadth away from jumping them, all coiled and ready to spring.
"Hey, my man." V sat down real slowly, thinking no sudden movements was a good plan. "What up?"
Butch threw back his Scotch without looking away from the class-A asses next door. "How're ya, V?"
"Good, good. So how many of those Lags you have?"
"Not enough. I'm still vertical."
"You want to tell me what's going on?"
"Not particularly."
"You got bit, buddy."
As the waitress came over and picked up the cop's empty, Butch touched the bite wounds on his throat. "Only because I forced her. And she stopped. She won't take me, not really. So she's with someone else. Right now."
"Shit."
"That's about the gist of it. As we're sitting here, my woman is with another man. He's an aristocrat, by the way. Did I mention that? A fancy-ass male is touching yeah, anyway Whoever he is, he's stronger than I am. He's giving her what she needs. He's feeding her. He's" Butch cut off the tailspin. "So how's your night going?"
"I told you, the drinking doesn't have be sexual."
"Oh, I know that." The cop leaned back as his next drink arrived. "You want some Goose? No? Okay I'll hold it down for the both of us." He hammered half the Scotch before the waitress even turned around. "It's not just the sex. I can't stand the idea of someone else's blood in her. I want to feed her. I want to keep her alive."
"That's not logical, my man."
"Fuck logic." He looked down at the Scotch. "Jesus didn't we just do this?"
"I'm sorry?"
"I mean We were just here last night. Same drink. Same table. Same everything. It's like I'm locked into this pattern and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of me."
"How about I take you home?"
"Don't want to go back to th" Butch's voice cut off and he stiffened in his seat, his shot glass lowering slowly to the table.
V went on red alert. Last time the cop had sported that fixated expression there had been lessers in the fucking bushes.
Except as Vishous looked around, he saw no one special, just the Reverend walking into the VIP area and heading for his office.
"Butch? My man?"
Butch stood up from the table.
Then moved so fast, V had no time to catch him.
Chapter Twenty-six
Butch's body was out of his control and acting independently as he shot across the VIP section at Rehvenge. All he knew was that he'd caught Marissa's scent and tracked it over to the mohawk-sporting male. Next move was gunning for the guy like he was a felon.
He took the Reverend down hard, surprise working in his favor. As they hit the floor, the male's "What the fuck!" carried, and bouncers started homing in from all directions. Just before Butch got pulled off, he yanked Rehvenge's shirt collar open.
There they were. Puncture marks right on the guy's throat.
"Noshit, no" Butch fought against the hard hands that grabbed at him, fought and kicked until somebody got in front of him, raised a fist and popped him one right in the face. As a bomb burst of pain went off in his left eye, he realized it was the female security guard who'd hit him.
Rehvenge plugged his cane into the floor and got up, his eyes a violent purple. "In my office. Now."
There was some conversation at that point, not that Butch was following much. The only thing he could focus on was the male in front of him and the evidence of the feeding. He pictured the guy's massive body underneath Marissa's, her face dropping down into his neck, her fangs piercing skin.
No doubt Rehvenge had satisfied her. No. Doubt.
"Why did it have to be you?" Butch yelled into the fray. "I fucking like you. Why did it have to be you?"
"Time to go." V cranked Butch into a headlock. "I'm taking you home."
"Not right now you aren't," Rehvenge snarled. "He took me down in my house. I want to know what the fuck was going through his head. And then you're gonna want to give me a good goddamn reason why I shouldn't cap both his knees."
Butch spoke up nice and loud. "You fed her."
Rehvenge blinked. Lifted his hand to his neck. "Excuse me?"
Butch growled at the bite marks, his body trying to break free again. God, it was like there were two halves of him. One that made a little sense. And one that was completely off the curve. Guess which side was winning.
"Marissa," he spat. "You fed her."
Rehv's eyes peeled wide. "You're the one? You're the one she's in love with?"
"Yeah."
Rehv sucked in a shocked breath. Then he rubbed his face and dragged his collar together, hiding the wounds. "Oh hell. Oh for fucking hell." He turned away. "Vishous, get him gone and sober him up. Jesus Christ, the world is too goddamned small tonight, it really is."
By this time, Butch's knees were going rubber and the club was starting to spin like a top. Man, he was much more drunk than he'd thought, and that blow to the puss hadn't helped.
Right before he passed out, he groaned, "It should have been me. She should have used me"
Mr. X parked the minivan on an alley off Trade Street and got out. The city was gearing up for the night, the bars cranking their music and filling with the soon-to-be drunk and drugged.
Time to hunt for Brothers.
As Mr. X shut the door and adjusted his weapons, he looked over the Town & Country's hood at Van.
Man, he was still disappointed as hell at the guy's performance in the ring. Spooked, too. But then again, it was going to take a while for the power to coalesce. No lesser came out fresh from his initiation at full strength, and there was no reason to think that Van was any different just because he was the prophesied one.
Shit, though.
"How will I tell who's a vampire?" Van asked.
Ah, yes. The job at hand. X cleared his throat. "The civilians will recognize you because they can smell you, and you'll notice them when they get scared. As for the Brothers, there's no mistaking them. They're bigger and more aggressive than anything you've ever seen and they are first strikers. They will come after you if they see you."
They walked out onto Trade. The night was sharp as a slap, that combination of cold and damp that had always energized X to fight before. Now, though, his focus was different. He had to be out in the field because he was the Fore-lesser, but all he cared about was keeping him and Van on this side of reality until the guy matured into what he was.
They were about to duck into an alley when Mr. X stopped. Swiveling his head, he looked behind them. Then across the street.
"What is it"
"Shut up." Mr. X closed his eyes and let his instincts go to work. Calming down, zoning out, he stretched his mental feelers through the night.
The Omega was nearby.
He flipped his lids open, thinking that had to be bullshit, though. The master couldn't come over to this side without the Fore-lesser.
And yet the Evil was close.
Mr. X pivoted around on his combat boot. As a car drove down Trade, he stared over its roof at ZeroSum, that techno club. The master was in there. Definitely.
Oh, shit, had there been a change in Fore-lesser?
No, Mr. X would have been called home in that case. So maybe the Omega had used someone else to cross over? Could that even happen?
Mr. X jogged across the street to the club and Van was tight behind him, clueless but ready for anything.
ZeroSum's wait line was full of humans in flashy clothes, shivering and smoking and talking on cell phones. He paused. In the back the master was around back.
Vishous pushed open ZeroSum's fire door with his hip and muscled Butch over to the Escalade. As he stuffed the cop into the backseat like a heavy rug roll, he prayed the bastard didn't wake up punching.
V was getting behind the wheel when he sensed something coming, his instincts flaring up, the ring-a-ding-ding setting off his adrenal gland. Although the Brotherhood didn't run from conflict by nature or training, his sixth sense told him to get Butch the fuck away from the club. Now.
He started the engine and peeled out. Just as he came to the mouth of the alley, he saw a pair of men coming toward the SUV, one of which was pale-haired. Lessers. Except how had those two known to head back here?
V stomped on the gas. Got him and Butch good and ghost. As soon as he was satisfied they weren't being followed, he glanced back at the cop. Out. Cold. Man, that female security chief packed one hell of a punch. Then again, so had all that Lagavulin.
Butch didn't move for the whole trip to the compound. In fact, it wasn't until V carried the guy into the Pit and laid him out on his bed that the cop opened his eyes.
"Room's spinning."
"I'll bet."
"Face hurts."
"Wait 'til you see it and you'll know why."
Butch closed his lids. "Thanks for bringing me home."
Vishous was about to help the guy out of his suit when the doorbell rang.
With a curse, he went to the front of the gatehouse and checked the security monitors at his desk. He wasn't surprised at who it was, but holy hell, Butch was not ready for prime-time viewing right now.
V stepped into the vestibule and shut the door behind him before opening the outer one. As Marissa looked up at him, he could smell the sadness and the worry coming off her, the scent like dried roses.
Her voice was low. "I saw the Escalade pull up, so I know he's home now. I need to see him."
"Not tonight you don't. Come back tomorrow."
Her face hardened until it was like a marble depiction of her beauty. "I'm not leaving until he tells me to go."
"Marissa"
Her eyes flashed. "Not until he tells me himself, warrior."
V measured her resolve and found she was packing with nothing lackingkind of like that muscled head of security back at the club, just without the knuckles.
Well, wasn't this the night for female hard-asses.
V shook his head. "At least let me get him cleaned up, okay?"
Her eyes flared with panic. "Why would you have to?"
"Christ, Marissa. What did you think was going to happen when you fed from Rehvenge?"
Her mouth dropped open. "How did you know"
"Butch went after him at the club."
"What? He oh, God." Abruptly, her eyes narrowed. "You better let me inside. Right this minute."
V threw his hands up and muttered, "Fuck," as he opened the door.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Marissa marched past Vishous, and the Brother got out of her way. Which proved he was as smart as his reputation held.
When she got to the doorway of Butch's room, she stopped. From the glow of the hall light, she saw him lying on the bed on his back. His suit was all out of joint and there was blood on his shirt. Blood on his face, too.
She walked over and had to cover her mouth with her hand. "Dear Virgin in the Fade"
One of his eyes was swollen and going black and blue again, and there was a cut on the bridge of his nose, which explained the blood. And he smelled like fresh Scotch.
From the doorway, Vishous's voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "You should really come back tomorrow. He's going to be pissed as hell that you saw him like this."
"Exactly who did this to him? And so help me God, if you say it was just a quick fight, I'm going to scream."
"Like I said, he went after Rehvenge. And Rehv happens to have a lot of bodyguards."
"Those must be big males," she said numbly.
"Actually, the one who nailed him was a female."
"A female?" Oh, why the hell did the particulars matter. "Can you bring me a couple of towels and some hot soapy water?" She went to Butch's feet and pulled off his shoes. "I want to wash him."
After V walked down the hall, she stripped Butch down to his boxers then sat beside him. The heavy gold cross that lay on his chest was a surprise. In the earlier frenzy up in the sitting room, she hadn't paid much attention to the thing, but now she wondered where he'd gotten it.
She looked farther down, to the black scar on his belly. Which seemed no better, no worse.
When V showed up with a bowl of suds and a short stack of terry cloth, she said, "Put it all on this table where I can reach it, then leave us, please. And shut the door behind you."
There was a pause. Which made sense. You didn't order around a member of the Black Dagger Brotherhood anywhere, much less in his own house. But her nerves were shot and her heart was breaking and she really didn't care what anyone thought of her.
It was her rule number one in action.
After a silent stretch, the things were placed where she wanted them and then the door clicked shut. Taking a deep breath, she wet one of the washcloths. As she touched Butch's face with it, he winced and muttered something.
"I'm so sorry, Butch but it's over now." She returned the washcloth to the bowl, submerging it, then squeezing the excess water out. The dripping seemed very loud. "And nothing happened other than the feeding, I swear."
She got the blood off his face then stroked his hair, the thick waves damp from the washing. In response, he stirred and turned his face into her hand, but it was obvious he was dead drunk and not coming around.
"Are you going to believe me?" she whispered.