Blaylock turned beet red and shook his head, tucking his arms around his chest.
"Okay, trainees, shoot your eyes up here." They all looked at Z. "You want to know what it's like, I'll tell you."
John got good and fixated. Z kept everything general, revealing nothing of himself, but it was all good information. And the more the Brother talked, the more John's body vibrated.
That's right, he told his blood and bones. Take notes and let's do this soon.
He was so ready to be a man.
Van got out of the Town & Country, shut the passenger-side door quietly, and stayed in the shadows. What he was looking at some hundred yards away reminded him of where he'd grown up: run-down house with a tar-paper roof and a rotting car in the side yard. The only difference was that this was in the middle of nowhere, and his neighborhood had been closer to town. But it was the same two steps up from poverty.
As he scanned the area, the first thing he noticed was an odd sound cutting through the night. It was a rhythmic hitting like someone was chopping logs? No it was closer to pounding. Someone was pounding on what was probably the back door of the house in front of him.
"This is your target for tonight," Mr. X said as two other lessers stepped out of the minivan. "The daylight details have been watching this place for the past week. No activity until after dark. Iron bars over the windows. Drapes are always drawn. Goal is capture, but kill if you think they're going to get away from you"
Mr. X stopped and frowned. Then looked around.
Van did the same and saw nothing out of whack.
Until a black Cadillac Escalade came down the drive. With its tinted windows and its spinning chrome, the thing looked like it was worth more than the house. What the hell was it doing out here in all the sticks?
"Get armed," Mr. X hissed. "Now."
Van drew his fancy new Smith & Wesson forty, feeling the weight fill his palm. As his body primed for the fight ahead, he was so ready to engage an opponent.
Except Mr. X pegged him with hard eyes. "You stay back. I do not want you to engage. Just watch."
You fucker, Van thought, dragging a hand through his dark hair. You miserable fucker.
"We clear?" Mr. X's face was deadly cold. "You do not go in."
The best Van could manage was a dip of the chin and he had to look away to keep from cursing out loud. Training his eyes on the SUV, he watched as the thing got to the end of the ratty little cul-de-sac and stopped.
Clearly, it was some kind of patrol. Not cops, though. At least, not human ones.
The Escalade's engine was cut and two men got out. One was relatively normal-sized, assuming you were talking about linebackers. The other guy was enormous.
Jesus Christ a Brother. Had to be. And Xavier was right. That vampire was bigger than anything Van had ever seenand he'd gone into the ring with some monster-sized mofo's in his day.
Just like that, the Brother was gone. Poof! into thin air. Before Van could ask what the holy hell that was about, the vampire's partner turned his head and stared right at Mr. X. Even though they were all in the shadows.
"Oh, my God" Xavier breathed. "He's alive. And the master is with"
The Fore-lesser lurched forward and kept walking. Right into the moonlight. Right into the middle of the road.
What the fuck was he thinking?
Butch's body trembled as he looked at the pale-haired lesser who emerged from the darkness. No question, this was the one who'd worked him over: Even though Butch had no conscious memories of the torture, his body seemed to know who had done the damage, its recollection embedded in the very flesh that had been torn and bruised by the bastard.
Butch was so ready to have at the Fore-lesser.
Except the shit hit the fan before he ever had the chance.
From somewhere behind the house, a chain saw started up with a roar, then settled into a high, whining scream. And at that exact moment, a second pale-haired lesser stepped out from the woods with his gun aimed at Butch.
As the semiautomatic went off and bullets whizzed by his head, Butch palmed his own Glock and jammed for cover behind the Escalade. Once he had some shield, he returned the hi-how-are-yas, squeezing out rounds, his Glock kicking in his palm as he kept his vital organs out of the line of fire. When there was a breather in the exchange, he peered through bulletproof glass. The shooter was behind a rusted-out car carcass, no doubt reloading. Like Butch was.
And yet the first slayer, Butch's torturer, still hadn't armed himself. The guy was just standing in the middle of the road, staring at Butch.
Almost like eating lead would make his day.
So ready to fucking oblige, Butch leaned out around the SUV, pulled his trigger, and popped the guy right in the chest. With a grunt, the Fore-lesser staggered back, but he didn't go down. He seemed merely annoyed, throwing off the bullet's impact like it was nothing more than a bee sting.
Butch had no idea what to make of that, but now wasn't the time for wondering why his fancy bullets didn't slow that particular slayer down. Sticking his arm into the breeze, he started firing at the guy again, the shots kicking out of his muzzle in quick succession. Finally, the lesser yard-saled, falling backward in a sprawling heap
Just as a slapping noise came from behind Butch, so loud he thought another gun was going off.
He swung around, two-fisting the Glock to keep it up in front and steady. Oh, shit!
A female with a child in her arms shot out of the house in a blind panic. And she had good reason to haul ass. Right on her heels was a hulking male with punishment on his face and a chain saw up over his shoulder. The lunatic was about to fall on the pair of them with that spinning blade, ready, willing, and able to kill.
Butch kicked up his gun muzzle two inches, aimed at the man's head, and pulled the trigger
Right as Vishous appeared behind the guy, reaching for the saw.
"Fuck!" Butch tried to stop his forefinger from squeezing, but the gun bucked and the bullet flew
And someone grabbed Butch around the throat: The second lesser with the gun had moved in fast.
Butch got flipped off his feet and slammed onto the hood of the Escalade like he was a baseball bat. On impact, he lost his Glock, the weapon bouncing away, metal on metal.
Fuck that, though. He shoved his hand into the pocket of his coat and felt for the switchblade he carried. Bless the damn thing's heart, it found his palm like it had come to a heel and he dragged his arm free. As the blade shot out, he jogged his torso to the left and stabbed the side of the slayer who held him down.
Howl of pain. Grip loosened. And Butch shoved hard against the chest above his, popping the lesser up off him. As the bastard hung in midair for a split second, Butch swung the knife in an arc. The switchblade streaked across the lesser's throat, opening up a fountainhead of black blood.
Butch kicked the slayer to the ground and turned to the house.
Vishous was holding his own against the guy with the chain saw, avoiding the roaring blade while throwing body shots. Meanwhile, the female with the child was running like hell across the side yard while another, pale-haired lesser closed in from the right.
"Called for Rhage," V had the presence of mind to holler.
"Going for vie," Butch yelled as he took off. He ran flat out, his feet gouging into the ground, knees kicking up to his chest. He prayed he would get there in time, prayed he'd be fast enough Please, just this once
He intercepted the lesser with a spectacular flying tackle.
And as they went down, he screamed for the female to keep going.
Gunshots went, off somewhere, but he was too busy with a blurring struggle to care. He and the lesser rolled around in the patchy snow, punching and choking each other. He knew he was going to lose if they kept going like this, so out of desperation and some kind of driving instinct, he stopped fighting, let the slayer dominate him and then locked stares with the lesser.
That link, that horrible communion, that ironclad tie between them took root in an instant, rendering them both motionless. And with the bonding came an urge for Butch to consume.
He opened his mouth and began to inhale.
Chapter Thirty-one
Lying in the middle of the road, bleeding like a sieve, Mr. X kept his eye on the contaminated human who was supposed to be dead. The guy handled himself, especially as he took down a lesser in the side yard, but he was going to get overpowered. And sure enough, he did. As the slayer flipped him on his back, he was going to get slaughtered in
Except then the pair of them froze, and the dynamic shifted, the rules of strength and weakness getting scrambled. The slayer might have been on top, but the human was in charge.
Mr. X became breathless. Something was happening over there something
But then a blond-haired Brother materialized out of thin air right beside the two. The warrior swooped down and tore the lesser off the human, breaking whatever link had been forged.
From out of the shadows, Van came over to Mr. X and blocked the view. "How'd you like to get out of here?"
Probably the safest course. He was about to pass out. "Yeah and move fast."
As Mr. X got picked up and rushed to the minivan, his head bobbed like a half-stuffed doll's, and he watched through the wobbles as the blond Brother disintegrated the other lesser then knelt to check on the human.
Such fucking heroes.
Mr. X let his eyes go lax. And thanked a God he didn't believe in that Van Dean was too much of a new recruit to know that lessers didn't take their injured back home with them.
Usually, a damaged slayer was left where he fell either for the Brothers to stab him back to the Omega or for him to gradually rot.
Mr. X felt himself get shoved into the minivan, and then the engine started and they were off. Easing over onto his back, he felt around his chest, assessing the damage. He was going to recover. It would take time, but his body wasn't so hurt that it couldn't regenerate.
As Van hung a sharp right, X's body was thrown against the door.
At his grunt of pain, Van looked back. "Sorry."
"Fuck it. Get us gone."
As the engine grew louder again, Mr. X closed his eyes. Man, that human showing up alive and breathing? Serious trouble. Serious trouble. What had happened? And why didn't the Omega know that the human still lived? Especially because the guy reeked of the master's presence?
Shit, who knew the whys. The more important thing was, now that X was aware that the man lived, did he tell the Omega? Or would that little news flash be what triggered another change in leadership and got X condemned forever? He'd sworn to the master that the Brothers had taken that guy out. He'd look like an idiot when it turned out not to be true.
The thing was, he was alive and on this side now, and he had to keep himself here until Van Dean came into his power. So, no there would be no report on the Trojan human.
But the man was a dangerous liability. One that had to be eliminated ASAP.
Butch lay over on the snowy ground and tried to catch his breath, still caught in whatever the hell happened when he and one of those lessers got tight.
As his stomach rolled, he wondered where Rhage was. After Hollywood had cut off the link to the lesser and killed the bastard, he'd headed into the woods to make sure there were no others around.
So it was probably a good idea to get vertical and re-armed in case more came.
As Butch pushed himself up on his arms, he saw the mother and child across the lawn. They were cowering by a shed, wrapped up together as tight as vines. Shit he recognized them; he'd seen them at Havers's. These were the two Marissa had been sitting with the day he'd finally left the quarantine room.
Yeah, this was definitely the pair. The young had a cast on her lower leg.
Poor things, he thought. Huddled as they were, they were like every human victim he'd ever seen on the job, the characteristics of trauma transcending species lines: The mother's wide eyes and pale skin and shattered illusions that life was okay were exactly what he'd dealt with before.
He got to his feet and went over to them slowly.
"I'm a" He almost said police detective. "I'm a friend. I know what you are and I'm going to take care of you."
The mother's dilated eyes lifted from her daughter's messy hair.
Keeping his voice level and not taking one step closer, he pointed to the Escalade. "I'd like you both to go sit in that car. I'll give you the keys so you're in control and can lock yourself in. Then I'm going to do a quick check-in with my partner, okay? After that, you're going to Havers's."
He waited as the female surveyed him with a calculation he was very familiar with: Would he hurt her or her child? she was wondering. Did she dare trust someone of the opposite sex? What were her other options?
Keeping her daughter tight in her arms, she struggled to her feet, then held her hand way out. He came over and put his keys in her palm, knowing that V had another set so they could still get in the Escalade if they had to.
In a flash, the female turned and ran, her child a heavy, jangling load.
As Butch watched them go, he knew that little girl's face was going to keep him up at night. Unlike her mother, she was totally calm. Like this kind of violence was business as usual.
With a curse, he jogged over to the house and shouted, "V, I'm coming in."
Vishous's voice drifted down from the second floor. "There's no one else in here. And I didn't get a plate on that minivan that took off."
Butch checked out the body in the doorway. Male vampire, looked thirty-four years old or so. Then again, they all did until they started to age.
With his foot, Butch nudged the guy's head. It was loose as a bow on a present.
V's shitkickers came down the stairs. "He still dead?"
"Yup. You got him goodshit, your neck's bleeding. Did I shoot you?"
V put his hand up to his throat, then looked at the blood on his palm. "Don't know. He and I went at it in the back of the house and he nailed me with the saw, so this could be from anything. Where's Rhage?"
"Right here." Hollywood walked in. "I went through the woods. All clear. What happened to the mother and the kid?"
Butch nodded to the front door. "In the Escalade. They should go to the clinic. Mom has fresh bruises."
"Let's you and I take them," V said. "Rhage, why don't you get back to the twins?"
"Good deal. They're heading downtown now to hunt. Be safe, you two."
As Rhage dematerialized, Butch said, "What do you want to do with the body?"
"Let's put it around back. Sun'll be up in a couple of hours and that'll take care of it."
The two of them picked up the male, walked him through the grungy house, and laid him out next to the rotting shell of a Barcalounger.
Butch paused and looked at the hacked-out rear door. "So this guy shows up and goes all Jack Nicholson on his wife and kid. Meanwhile, the lessen have been scoping out the place and lucky, lucky they pick tonight to attack."
"Bingo."
"You get many domestic problems like this?"
"In the Old Country, sure, but here I haven't heard of many."
"Maybe they're just not being reported."
V rubbed his right eye, which was twitching. "Maybe. Yeah maybe."
They went through what was left of the back door and locked it as best they could. On the way to the front exit, Butch saw a ratty stuffed animal in the corner of the living room, like it had been dropped there. He picked the tiger up, only to frown. The damn thing weighed a ton.
He tucked it under his arm, took out his cell phone, and made two quick calls as V worked on the front door to get it to shut. Then they walked over to the Escalade.
Butch cautiously approached the driver's side with his hands out, the tiger dangling from one palm. And Vishous went around the hood with the same nice-'n-easy routine, coming to a halt about three feet away from the passenger door. Neither of them moved.
The wind blew in from the north, a cold, wet rush that made Butch feel the aches from the fight.
After a moment, the locks in the car were released with a punching sound.
John couldn't stop staring at Blaylock. Especially in the shower. The guy's body was huge now, muscles sprouting from all different places, fanning out from his spine, filling his legs and shoulders, jacking up his arms. Plus he was easily six inches taller. Christ, he had to be six-foot-four now.
But the thing was, he didn't look happy. He moved awkwardly, facing the tiled wall for most of the time he washed. And going by his flinching, the soap he used seemed to irritate him, or maybe his skin itself was the problem. Plus he kept trying to get under the spray, only to step back and adjust the temperature.
"You going to fall in love with him now, too? Brothers might get jealous."
John glared over at Lash. The guy was smiling as he washed his little chest, a thick diamond chain catching the suds.
"Yo, Blay, you better not drop that soap. John-boy over here's eyeing your meat like you read about."
Blaylock ignored the comment.
"Yo, Blay. You heard me? Or you daydreaming about John-boy on his knees?"
John stepped in front of Lash, blocking his view of the other guy.
"Oh, please, like you're going to protect him?" Lash eyed Blaylock. "Blay doesn't need protecting by anyone, does he. He's a biiiiiiiiig man now, aren't you, Blay? Tell me, if John here wants to get you off, you going to let him? Bet you will. Bet you can't wait for it. The two of you are going to make such a"
John lunged forward, took Lash down to the wet tile, and beat him senseless.
It was like he was on autopilot. He just hit the guy in the face over and over again, his fists riding a wave of anger until the shower floor ran bright red all the way to the drain. And no matter how many hands grabbed at John's shoulders, he ignored them and kept pounding.
Until suddenly he was airlifted off of Lash.
He fought whoever it was that held him, fought and scratched even as he was dimly aware that the rest of the class had shrunk back in fear.
And John kept fighting and screaming without making a sound as he was hauled out of the shower. Out of the locker room. Down the hall. He clawed and punched until he was thrown onto the blue mats of the gym floor and the breath got knocked from him.
For a moment, all he could do was stare up at the caged ceiling lights, but when he realized he was being held down, the fight rushed back. Baring his teeth, he bit the thick wrist that was closest to his mouth.
Abruptly, he was flipped over onto his stomach and a huge weight gouged into his back. "Wrath! No!"
The name registered only nominally. The queen's voice even less so. John was beyond angry, burning uncontrollably, flailing around.
"You're hurting him!"
"Stay out of this, Beth!" The king's hard voice shot into John's ear. "You finished yet, son? Or you want to go another round with those teeth of yours?"
John struggled even though he couldn't move and his strength was flagging.
"Wrath, please let him up"
"This is between him and me, leelan. I want you to go to the locker room and deal with the other half of this mess. That kid on the tile is going to have to be taken to Havers."
There was a curse and then the sound of a door shutting.
Wrath's voice came back right next to the side of John's head. "You think popping one of those guys is going to make you a man?"
John heaved against the load on his back, not caring that it was the king. All that mattered, all that he felt, was the fury that ran through his veins.
"You think making that idiot with the fly mouth bleed is going to get you into the Brotherhood? Do you?"
John struggled harder. At least until a heavy hand landed on the back of his neck and his face had a communion with the floor mats.
"I don't need thugs. I need soldiers. You want to know the difference? Soldiers think." More pressure on his neck until John couldn't even blink for the bug eyes he was sporting. "Soldiers think."
All at once the weight was gone, and John took a heaving, sucking breath, the air dragging over his front teeth and hammering down his throat.
More breathing. More breathing.
"Get up."
Fuck you, John thought. But he pushed at the mat. Unfortunately, his stupid, weak-ass body felt like it was chained to the floor. He literally couldn't lift himself.
"Get up."
Fuck you.
"What did you say to me?" John got yanked off the ground by the armpits and came face-to-face with the king. Who was savagely pissed off.
Fear struck John hard, the reality of how badly he'd lost it dawning on him.
Wrath bared fangs that seemed as long as John's legs. "You think I can't hear you just because you can't talk?"
John's feet dangled for a moment and then he was dropped. When his knees failed him, he crumpled to the mats.
Wrath stared down with contempt. "It's a good goddamned thing Tohr isn't around right now."
Not fair, John wanted to yell. Not fair.
"You think Tohr would have been impressed by this?"
John thrust himself off the floor and wobbled to a stand, glaring up at Wrath.
Don't say that name, he mouthed. Don't say his name.
From out of nowhere, pain lanced through his temples. Then, in his mind, he heard Wrath's voice saying the word Tohrment again and again. Clamping his hands over his ears, he tripped over his feet, backing away.
Wrath followed, coming forward, the name getting louder until it was a screaming, relentless, pounding chant. Then John saw the face, Tohr's face, clear as if it were before him. The navy blue eyes. The short dark military hair. The hard features.
John opened his mouth and started to scream. No sound came out, but he kept at it until the crying took over. Swamped by heartache, missing the only father he'd known, he covered his eyes and hunched his shoulders, falling in on himself as he wept.
The instant he caved it all went away: His mind silenced. The vision disappeared.
Strong arms gathered him up.
John started screaming again, but now in agony, not anger. With nowhere to turn, he clutched at Wrath's huge shoulders. All he wanted was the hurting to stop He wanted the pain in him, the stuff he tried to bury deep, to go away. He was raw with emotion from the losses in his life and the tragedies of circumstance, nothing but bruises on the inside.
"Shit" Wrath rocked him gently. "It's all right, son. God damn."
Chapter Thirty-two
Marissa got out of the Mercedes then ducked back in. "Will you please wait, Fritz? I want to go to the rental house after this."
"Of course, mistress."
She turned and looked at the back entrance of Havers's clinic, wondering whether he would even let her in.
"Marissa."
She turned around. "Oh, God Butch." She ran over to the Escalade. "I'm so glad you called me. Are you okay? Are they?"
"Yeah. They're getting checked out."
"And you?"
"Fine. Just fine. I figured I'd wait outside, though, because you know."
Yes, Havers wouldn't be too happy to see him. Probably wasn't going to like running into her, either.
Marissa glanced toward the clinic's back entrance. "The mother and child they can't go home after this, can they?"
"No way. The lessers know about the house, so it isn't safe. And frankly, there wasn't much there anyway."
"What about the mother's hellren?"
"He's been taken care of."
God, she shouldn't feel relieved that there had been a death, but she was. At least until she thought of Butch in the field.
"I love you," she blurted. "That's why I don't want to have you fighting. If I lost you for any reason, my life would be over."
His eyes widened, and she realized they hadn't spoken of love for what seemed like forever. But she was rule number one-ing this. She'd hated spending the daylight hours away from him, hated the distance between them, and she wasn't letting it go on anymore on her side.
Butch stepped in close, his hands going to her face. "Christ, Marissa you don't know what it means to hear you say that. I need to know that. Need to feel that."
He kissed her softly, whispering loving things against her mouth, and as she trembled, he held her with care. There were things still left awkwardly between them, but none of that mattered at the moment. She just needed to reconnect with him.
When he pulled back a little, she said, "I'm going to go inside, but will you wait? I'd like to show you my new house."
He ran his fingertip lightly down her cheek. Though his eyes grew sad, he said, "Yeah, I'll wait. And I would love to see where you're going to live."
"I won't be long."
She kissed him again and then headed off to the clinic entrance. As she felt like an intruder, it was a surprise to be admitted inside without a fuss, but she knew that didn't mean things were going to go smoothly. While she rode down in the elevator, she fiddled with her hair. She was nervous about seeing Havers. Would there be a scene?
When she walked into the waiting area, the nursing staff knew exactly what she'd come for and she was taken down to a patient room. She knocked on the door and stiffened.
Havers looked up from talking with the young in the cast and his face froze. As he seemed to lose track of the words he was speaking, he pushed up his glasses, then cleared his throat with a cough.
"You came!" the young called out to Marissa.
"Hi, there," she said, lifting her hand.
"If you'll excuse me," Havers murmured to the mother, "I'll get your discharge papers in order. But as I said, there's no hurry for you to leave."
Marissa stared at her brother as he came up to her, wondering whether he would even acknowledge her presence. And he did in a manner of speaking. His glance flicked over the pants she had on and he winced.
"Marissa."
"Havers."
"You look well."
Nice enough words. But what he meant was she looked different. And he didn't approve. "I am well."
"If you'll excuse me."
As he left without waiting for a response, anger boiled up into her throat, but she didn't let the nasty words on her tongue fly. Instead, she went to the bedside and sat down. While she took the little female's hand, she tried to figure out what to say, but the young's singsong voice got there first.
"My father is dead," the child said factually. "My mahmen is scared. And we have nowhere to sleep if we leave here."
Marissa closed her eyes briefly, thanking the dear Scribe Virgin that at least she had an answer for one of those problems.
She looked over at the mother. "I know exactly where you should go. And I'm going to take you there soon."
The mother started to shake her head. "We have no money"
"But I can pay rent," the young said, holding her tattered tiger. She loosened the stitching on the back, dug her hand in and took out the wishing plate. "This is gold, right? So it's money right?"
Marissa breathed in deeply and told herself not to cry. "No, that's a gift to you from me. And there is no rent to be paid. I have an empty home and it needs people to fill it." She glanced once again at the mother. "I would love it if you two would stay there with me as soon as my new house is ready."
When John finally went back to the locker room after his meltdown, he was all alone. Wrath had returned to the main house, Lash had been taken away to the clinic, and the other guys had gone home.
Which was good. In the resounding quiet, he took the longest shower of his life, just stood under the hot spray, letting the water run down him. His body felt achy. Sick.
Jesus Christ. Had he really bitten the king? Beaten a classmate?
John eased back against the tile. In spite of all the spray washing over him and the soap he'd used, nothing cleaned him off. He still seemed curiously dirty. But then, disgrace and shame did make you feel like you were covered in pig shit.
Cursing, he looked down at the sparse muscles of his chest and the sunken pit of his stomach and the pointy knobs of his hips, looked past his utterly unimpressive sex to his little feet. Then followed the tile to the drain where Lash's blood had funneled out.