No, she told herself. There hadn't been anything to blow. Not if he was going to shut her out of the ugly parts of his life. Not if he was going to take off and leave her and maybe come back at some indefinable, probably-never point in time.
Marissa went to the door and had to look back at him once more. The image of him with that sheet wrapped around his hips, his chest bare, bruises still healing all over him was one she was going to wish she could forget.
She walked out, the air lock sealing him in with a hiss.
* * *
Holy shit, Butch thought as he sagged down onto the floor. So this was what getting skinned alive felt like.
Scrubbing his jaw, he sat there staring into space, lost though he knew exactly what room he was in, alone with the remnants of the evil in him.
"Butch, my man."
He jerked his head up. Vishous was standing just inside the room and the brother was dressed for fighting, a big-ass, leather-wearing, stabbing machine. The Valentino garment bag dangling from his gloved hand seemed totally out of place, just as whacked as a butler toting an AK-47.
"Fuuuuck, Havers has got to be nuts to release you. You look like crap."
"Bad day, 's'all." And there were going to be a lot more of those, so he should get used to it.
"Where's Marissa?"
"She left."
"Left?"
"Don't make me say it again."
"Oh. Hell." Vishous took a deep breath and swung the bag onto the bed. "Well, got you some threads and a new cell phone"
"It's still in me, V. I can feel it. I can taste it."
V's diamond eyes did a quick up and down. Then he came over and held out his hand. "Rest of you is healing up good. Healing up quick."
Butch took his roommate's palm and got pulled to his feet. "Maybe if I'm free of here we can figure this out together. Unless you've found"
"Nothing yet. But I haven't lost hope."
"That makes one of us."
Butch unzipped the bag, dropped the sheet, and dragged on some boxers. Then he punched his legs into a pair of black slacks and stuffed his arms into a silk shirt.
Putting on street clothes made him feel like a fraud because the truth was he was a patient, a freak, a nightmare. Jesus Christ what had come out of him as he'd orgasmed? And Marissa at least he'd washed her as soon as he could.
"Your levels look good," V said as he read the chart Havers had tossed. "Everything seems back to normal."
"I ejaculated about ten minutes ago and the stuff was black. So everything is not normal."
Silence greeted that happy little announcement. Man, if he had hauled off and sucker-punched V, he would have gotten less of a shocked-out reaction.
"Oh, Christ," Butch muttered, slipping his feet into his Gucci loafers and grabbing the black cashmere dress coat. "Let's just go."
As they went to the door, Butch glanced back at the bed. The sheets were still tangled from him and Marissa getting all over each other.
He cursed and walked out into a monitoring room, then V led the way through a little closet stocked with cleaning supplies. Outside, they went down a hall, past a lab, and came into the clinic proper, going by patient rooms. As he went, he looked inside each one until he stopped short.
Through the doorway he saw Marissa, sitting on the edge of a hospital bed, that peach gown all around her. She was holding the hand of a little girl and talking softly while an older female, probably the young's mother, looked on from the corner.
The mother was the one who glanced up. As she saw Butch and V, she retracted in on herself, bringing her pilled sweater closer to her body and dropping her eyes to the floor.
Butch swallowed hard and kept going.
They were at the bank of elevators, waiting for one, when he said, "V?"
"Yeah?"
"Even though it's nothing concrete, you have an idea of what was done to me, don't you?" He didn't look at his roommate. V didn't look at him.
"Maybe. But we're not alone here."
An electronic ding sounded and the doors opened. They rode up in silence.
When they'd walked out of the mansion and into the night, Butch said, "I bled black for a while, you know."
"They noted in your chart that the color came back."
Butch snagged V's arm and wheeled the male around. "Am I part lesser now?"
There. It was out on the table. His biggest fear, his reason for running from Marissa, the hell he was going to have to learn to live with.
V stared into his eyes. "No."
"How do we know?"
"Because I reject that conclusion."
Butch dropped his hold. "Dangerous to put your head in the sand, vampire. I could be your enemy now."
"Bull. Shit."
"Vishous, I could"
V grabbed him by the lapels and yanked him up against his body. The brother was trembling from head to foot, his eyes glowing like crystals in the night. "You are not my enemy,"
Instantly pissed off, Butch gripped V's powerful shoulders, bunching up the leather jacket in his fists. "How do we know for sure."
V bared his fangs and hissed, his black eyebrows cranking down hard. Butch gave the aggression right back, hoping, praying, ready for them to start clocking each other. He was jonesing to hit and get hit back; he wanted blood all over the both of them.
For long moments, they stayed locked together, muscles straining, sweat blooming, right on the edge.
Then Vishous's voice came out into the space between their faces, the cracked tone riding a panting, desperate breath and getting bucked off. "You are my only friend. Never my enemy."
No telling who embraced who first, but the urge to beat the living shit out of the other guy bled from their bodies, leaving only the bond between them. They wound up tight together and stood for a time in the cold wind. When they stepped back, it was awkwardly and with embarrassment.
After some throat clearing on both sides, V took out a hand-rolled and lit it. As he exhaled, he said, "You're not a lesser, cop. The heart is removed when that happens. Yours is still beating."
"Maybe it was a partial job? Something that was interrupted?"
"That I can't answer. I went through the race's records, looking for something, anything. Didn't find shit the first trip through, so I'm reading the Chronicles all over again. Hell, I'm even checking in the human world, looking for obscure shit on the Internet." V blew out another cloud of Turkish smoke. "I'll find out. Somehow, some way, I'll find out."
"Have you tried to see what's coming?"
"You mean the future?"
"Yeah."
"Of course I have." V dropped the hand-rolled, crushed it with his shitkicker, then bent down and picked up the butt. As he slipped the deadie into his back pocket, he said, "But I'm still getting nothing. Shit I need a drink."
"Me, too. ZeroSum?"
"You sure you're up for that?"
"Not in the slightest."
"All right then, ZeroSum it is."
They walked over to the Escalade and got in, Butch riding shotgun. After putting on his seat belt, his hand went to his stomach. His abdomen was hurting like a bitch now because he'd been mobile, but the pain didn't matter. Matter of fact, nothing really seemed to.
They were just pulling out of Hayers's drive when V said, "By the way, you got a telephone call on the general line. Late last night. Guy named Mikey Rafferty."
Butch frowned. Why would one of his brothers-in-law be calling, especially that one? Of all his sisters and brothers, Joyce disliked him the mostwhich was really saying something, considering how the others felt. Had his father finally had the heart attack that had been waiting in the wings all these years?
"What did he say?"
"Baptizing a kid. Wanted you to know so you could show if you were into it. It's this Sunday."
Butch looked out the window. Another baby. Well, Joyce's first, but it was grandchild number how many? Seven? No eight.
As they drove along in silence, heading toward the city's urban hub, the lights from oncoming cars flared and faded. Houses were passed. Then stores. Then turn-of-the-century office buildings. Butch thought of all the people living and breathing in Caldwell.
"You ever want kids, V?"
"Nope. Not interested."
"I used to."
"No more?"
"Not gonna happen for me, but it doesn't matter. Plenty of O'Neals in this world now. Plenty."
Fifteen minutes later, they were downtown and parked behind ZeroSum, but he found it hard to get out of the Escalade. The familiarity of it allthe car, his roommate, his watering holeunsettled him. Because even though it was just the same, he had changed.
Frustrated, cagey, he reached forward and got a Red Sox hat out of the glove compartment. As he put it on, he opened the door, telling himself he was being melodramatic and this was all business as usual.
The moment he stepped foot out of the SUV, he froze.
"Butch? What is it, my man?"
Well, wasn't that the million-dollar question. His body seemed to have turned into some kind of tuning fork. Energy was vibrating through him drawing him
He turned and started walking down Tenth Street, moving fast. He just had to find out what it was, this magnet, this homing signal.
"Butch? Where you going, cop?"
When V grabbed his arm, Butch snapped free and broke into a jog, feeling like he was on the end of a rope and something was pulling him.
He was dimly aware of V jogging next to him and talking as if he'd gotten on his cell phone. "Rhage? I got me a situation here. Tenth Street. No, it's Butch."
Butch began to run flat out, the cashmere coat flapping behind him. When Rhage's towering body materialized in his path from out of nowhere, he made a shift to get around the male.
Rhage jumped right in his way. "Butch, where you going?"
When the brother grabbed at him, Butch shoved Rhage back so hard the guy slammed against a brick building. "Don't touch me!"
Two hundred yards of hauling it later, he found what was calling him: Three lessers coming out of an alley.
Butch stopped. The slayers stopped. And there was a hideous moment of communion, one that brought tears to Butch's eyes as he recognized in them what was inside of him.
"Are you a new recruit?" one of them asked.
"'Course he is," another said. "And you missed check-in tonight, idiot."
No no oh, God, no
In a synchronized movement, the three slayers looked over his shoulder at what had to be V and Rhage coming around the corner. The lessers prepared to strike, falling into combat stance, bringing up their hands.
Butch took a step toward the trio. Then another.
"Butch" The aching voice behind him was Vishous. "God no."
Chapter Thirteen
John shuffled his little body around and closed his eyes again. Wedged into the seat of a beat-up, ugly-ass, avocado green armchair, he smelled Tohr with every inhale he took: The decorator's nightmare had been the Brother's favorite possession and Wellsie's "seatus non grata." Exiled here to his office at the training center, Tohr had spent hours doing admin work in it while John studied.
John had used the thing as a bed since the killings.
Aggravated, he twisted himself around so his legs were draped over one arm and his head and shoulders were shoved back into the top half of the chair. He squeezed his eyes closed even harder and prayed for some rest. Trouble was, his blood was buzzing through his veins and his head was spinning with a whole lot of nothing specific, everything urgent bullshit.
God, class had ended two hours ago and he'd worked out even after the other trainees had left. Plus he hadn't slept well for a week. You'd think he'd be out like a light.
Then again, maybe he was still worked up over Lash. That SOB had been all over him about passing out in front of the whole class yesterday. Man, John hated that kid. He really did. That arrogant, rich, snarky
"Open your eyes, boy, I know you're awake."
John went into a full-body jerk and nearly landed on the floor. As he hauled himself back up, he saw Zsadist in the doorway to the office, dressed in that uniform of skintight turtle-neck and loose sweats.
The expression on the warrior's face was as hard as his body. "Listen up, because I'm not going to say this again."
John gripped the arms of the chair. He had a feeling what this was about.
"You don't want to go to Havers's, fine. But cut the shit. You're skipping meals, you look like you haven't slept for days, and your attitude is beginning to irritate the fuck out of me."
Yeah, this wasn't like any parent/teacher conference John had ever had. And he wasn't taking the criticism well: Frustration swirled in his chest.
Z jabbed his forefinger across the room. "You stop marking Lash, we clear? Leave the fucker alone. And from now on, you come up to the house for meals."
John frowned, then reached for his pad so he'd be sure Z would understand what he wanted to say.
"Forget about a response, boy. I'm not interested." As John started to get downright pissed, Z smiled, revealing monstrous fangs. "And you know better than to get up in my grill, don't you."
John looked away, certain the Brother could break him in half without any effort at all. And resentful as hell about that fact.
"You will quit it with Lash, you feel me? Do not make me get involved with the two of you. Neither of you will like it. Nod so I know you understand."
John nodded, feeling ashamed. Angry. Exhausted.
Choking on all the aggression inside of him, he blew out a breath and rubbed his eyes. God, he'd been so calm all his life, maybe even timid. Why was everything setting him off lately?
"You're getting close to the change. That's the why of it."
John slowly lifted his head. He'd heard that right, hadn't he?
Am I? he signed.
"Yeah. That's why it is imperative that you learn how to control yourself. If you make it through the transition, you're going to come out the other side with a body capable of things that will floor you. I'm talking about raw physical strength. The brute kind. The kind that can kill. You think you got problems now? Wait'll you have to deal with handling that load. You need to learn your control now."
Zsadist turned away, but then paused and looked over his shoulder. Light fell on the scar that ran down his face and distorted his upper lip. "One last thing. Do you need someone to talk to? About shit?"
Yeah, right, John thought. Over his dead body he was going back to Havers to see that therapist.
Which was why he refused to go get checked out. Last time he'd tangled with the race's physician, the guy had blackmailed him into a therapy session he hadn't wanted, and he had no intention of repeating the Dr. Phil hour. With everything going on recently, he wasn't getting into his past again, so the only way he was going back to that clinic now was if he was bleeding out.
"John? You want to talk to someone?" When he shook his head, Z's eyes narrowed. "Fine. But you get the message about you and Lash, right?"
John looked down and nodded.
"Good. Now drag your ass up to the house. Fritz has made you dinner and I'm going to watch you eat it. And you will eat all of it. You need to be strong for the change."
Butch walked closer to the slayers and they weren't threatened by him at all. If anything, they were annoyed, like he wasn't doing his job.
"Behind you, dumb ass," the one in the middle said. "Your target's behind you. Two Brothers."
Butch circled around the lessers, reading their imprints instinctively. He sensed that the tallest one had been inducted within the last year or so: There was some trace of human still in him, although Butch wasn't sure how he knew this. The other two were far older in the Society and he was certain of this not just because their hair and skin had paled out.
He stopped when he was behind the three and stared through their big bodies at V and Rhage who were looking like they'd watched a good friend die in their arms.
Butch knew exactly when the lessers were going to attack and he moved forward with them. Just as Rhage and V sank down into fighting stances, Butch grabbed the middle slayer around the neck and flipped him onto the ground.
The lesser hollered and Butch jumped on top of him, even though he knew he wasn't up to fighting. Sure enough, he was kicked off and the lesser took the driver's seat, sitting on him, choking him. The bastard was brutally strong and pissed off, nothing less than a sumo wrestler with rabies.
As Butch struggled to keep from getting his head ripped off his shoulders, he was dimly aware of a flash of light and a pop. And then another. Clearly, Rhage and V had cleaned house and Butch heard them pound it over. Thank God.
Except it was just as they arrived that the freak show started.
Butch looked deeply into the undead's eyes for the first time and something clicked into place, just locked the two of them up tight as if there were iron bars encircling their bodies. As the slayer went utterly still, Butch felt this overwhelming urge to well, he didn't know what. But the instinct was strong enough to have him opening his lips to breathe.
And that was when the inhaling started. Before he knew what he was doing, his lungs began to fill in one long, steady draw.
"No" the slayer whispered, trembling.
Something passed between their mouths, some cloud of blackness leaving the lesser and getting drawn into Butch
The connection was broken with a brutal attack from above. Vishous grabbed the slayer and yanked the undead free, throwing the thing against a building headfirst. Before the bastard could recover, V fell upon it, black blade slicing down.
As the spark and sizzle faded, Butch's arms fell limp against the asphalt. Then he rolled over onto his side and curled in on himself, arms linking tight against his stomach. His gut was killing him, but more to the point, he felt nauseous as shit, a nasty echo of what he'd struggled with when he'd been at his sickest.
A pair of shitkickers came into his line of sight, but he couldn't bear to look up and see either one of the brothers. He didn't know what the hell he had done or what had happened.
All he knew was that he and the lessers were kin.
V's voice was as thin as Butch's skin. "Are you okay?" Butch squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "Think it's best that you get me out of here. And don't you dare take me home."
Vishous unlocked his penthouse and muscled Butch inside while Rhage held the door open. The three of them had taken the cargo elevator up the back of the building, which made sense. The cop was a dead load, weighing more than he looked like he did, as if the pull of gravity had singled him out for special attention.
They laid the cop flat on the bed and he eased over onto his side, bringing his knees up until they hit his chest.
There was a long stretch of silence, during which Butch seemed to pass out.
Like he was walking off anxiety, Rhage started pacing around, and shit, after that showdown, V was all up in his head, too. He lit up and inhaled hard.
Hollywood cleared his throat. "So, V this is where you go with the females, huh." The brother went over and fingered a pair of chains bolted into the black wall. "We heard stories, of course. Guess they're all true."
"Whatever." V headed to his bar and poured a long/tall of Grey Goose. "We've got to hit those lessers' houses tonight."
Rhage nodded toward the bed. "What about him?"
Miracle of miracles, the cop lifted his head. "I'm not going anywhere right now. Trust me."
V narrowed his eyes on his roommate. Butch's face, which normally got all Irish ruddy if he exerted himself, was utterly blushless. And he smelled faintly sweet. Like baby powder.
Jesus Christ. It was like being around those slayers had brought out something else in himsomething Omega in him.
"V?" Rhage's voice was soft. Real close. "You want to stay here? Or maybe take him back to Havers?"
"I'm fine," Butch croaked.
A lie on so many levels, V thought.
He polished off his vodka and looked at Rhage. "I'm coming with you. Cop, we'll be back and I'll bring food, true?"
"No. No food. And don't come back tonight. Just lock me in so I can't get out and leave me."
Fuck. "Cop, if you hang yourself in the bathroom, I swear I will kill you all over again, ya herd me?"
Dull hazels opened up. "I want to know what was done to me more than I want to off my ass. So don't worry."
Butch squeezed his lids shut again and after a moment, Vishous and Rhage walked out to the balcony. As V locked the doors, he realized he was more worried about keeping Butch inside than protecting the guy.
"Where we going?" he asked Rhage. Even though he was usually the one with the plans.
"First wallet has an address of Four five nine Wichita Street, Apartment C-four."
"Let's hit it."
Chapter Fourteen
When Marissa opened the door to her bedroom, she felt like an intruder in her own space: A wiped-out, heartbroken, lost stranger.
Looking around aimlessly, she thought, God, it was such a pretty white room, wasn't it? With its big canopied bed and its chaise lounge and antique dressers and side tables. Everything was so feminine, except for the art on the walls. Her collection of Albrecht Diirer woodcuts didn't match the rest of the decor, those stark lines and hard edges more fitting to a male's eyes and a male's things.
Except that the images spoke to her.
As she went over to look at one, she had a passing thought that Havers had always disapproved of them. He'd thought that Maxfield Parrish paintings of romantic, dreamy scenes were more appropriate for a female Princeps.
They never had agreed on art, had they? But he'd bought the woodcuts for her anyway because she'd loved them.
Forcing herself into action, she closed her door and went for the shower. She had little time before the regularly scheduled Princeps Council meeting tonight, and Havers always liked to arrive early.
As she stepped under the water, she thought how strange life was. When she'd been with Butch in that quarantine room, she'd forgotten all about the council and the glymera and everything. But now, he was gone and it was all back to normal.
The return struck her as tragic.
After blowing her hair dry, she dressed in a teal Yves St. Laurent gown from the 1960s, then went to her jewelry cabinet and chose an important suite of diamonds. The stones were heavy and cold around her neck, the earrings weighty on her lobes, the bracelet a lock on her wrist. As she stared at the flashing gems, she thought that females in the aristocracy were really just display mannequins for their family's wealth, weren't they.
Especially at Princeps Council meetings.
Going downstairs, she dreaded seeing Havers, but figured it would be good to get it over with. He wasn't in his study, so she headed for the kitchen, thinking he might be having a bite to eat before they left. Just as she was pushing her way into the butler's pantry she saw Karolyn coming out of the door to the basement. The doggen was carrying a heavy load of collapsed cardboard boxes.
"Here, let me help you," Marissa said, rushing forward.
"No, thank you mistress." The servant flushed and looked away, but that was the way of the doggen. They hated accepting aid from those they served.
Marissa smiled gently. "You must be packing up the library for its new paint job. Oh! Which reminds me. I'm late right now, but we do need to talk about tomorrow evening's dinner menu."
Karolyn bowed very low. "Forgive me, but master indicated the party with the princeps leahdyre was canceled."
"When did he say this?"
"Just now, before he left for the Council."
"He's gone already?" Maybe he assumed she would want to rest. "I'd better hurry off thenKarolyn, are you all right? You don't look well."
The doggen bowed so deeply the boxes brushed the floor. "I am well, indeed, mistress. Thank you."
Marissa raced out of the house and dematerialized to the Tudor home of the current council leahdyre. As she knocked, she hoped Havers had cooled down. She could understand his anger considering what he'd walked in on, but he didn't have a thing to worry about. It wasn't like Butch was in her life or anything.
God, she felt like throwing up every time she thought about that.
She was let in by a doggen and shown to the library. As she walked into the meeting, none of the nineteen at the polished table acknowledged her presence. This was not unusual. What was different was that her brother did not lift his eyes. Nor was there even a seat saved for her on his right. Nor did he even come around and settle her in her chair.
Havers had not cooled down. Not in the slightest.
Well, no matter, she would talk to him after the meeting. Calm him. Reassure him, though it killed her, because she could have used some support from him right now.
She sat at the far end of the table, in the middle of three empty chairs. As the last male walked into the meeting, he froze as he saw that all the seats were taken save for those on either side of her. After an awkward pause, a doggen rushed in with another and the princeps squeezed in elsewhere.
The leahdyre, a distinguished pale-haired male of great bloodline, shuffled some papers around, rapped on the table with the tip of a gold pen, and cleared his throat. "I hereby call this meeting to order and I am tabling the agenda you have all received. One of the members of the council has drafted an eloquent appeal to the king, which I believe we should consider with alacrity." He lifted a creamy piece of stationery and read from the thing. " 'In light of the brutal killing of the Princeps Wellesandra, mated of the Black Dagger warrior Tohrment son of Hharm and blooded daughter of the Princeps Relix, and in light of the abduction of the Princeps Bella, mated of the Black Dagger warrior Zsadist son of Ahgony and blooded daughter of the Princeps Rempoon and blooded sister of the Princeps Rehvenge, and in light of the numerous deaths of males from the glymera who have been taken in their youth by the Lessening Society, it is evident that the clear and present danger facing the species has grown more dire of late. Therefore, this council member respectfully seeks to resurrect the practice of mandatory sehclusion for all unmated females of the aristocracy such that the bloodlines of the race may be preserved. Further, as it is this council's duty to safeguard all members of the species, this council member respectfully seeks to have this sehclusion practice extended to all class levels. " The leahdyre looked up. "As per Princeps Council practice, we shall now entertain the motion with discussion."
Warning bells went off in Marissa's head as she looked around the room. Of the twenty-one council members present, six were females, but she was the only one to whom the writ would apply. Though she'd been Wrath's shellan, he'd never taken her, so she qualified as unmated.
As a consensus of approval and support swelled in the library, Marissa stared at her brother. Havers would now have complete control of her. Well played of him, wasn't it.
If he was her ghardian, she couldn't leave the house without his permission. Couldn't remain on the Council unless he agreed. Couldn't go anywhere or do anything because he would own her as his property, for all intents and purposes.
And there was no hope of Wrath turning down the recommendation if the Princeps Council voted yes on the motion. Given the way things were with the lessers, there was no rational standing for a veto, and although no one could unseat Wrath by law, a lack of confidence in his leadership could lead to civil unrest. Which was the last thing the race needed.
At least Rehvenge wasn't in the room, so they couldn't do anything tonight. The venerable laws of procedure for the Princeps Council provided that only representatives from the six original families could vote, but all of the Council had to be present for a motion to be passed. So even though the bloodlines were at the table, with Rehv not in attendance, there would be no resolution now.
While the Council enthusiastically discussed the proposal, Marissa shook her head. How could Havers have opened up this can of worms? And it was all for nothing because she and Butch O'Neal were nothing. Damn it, she had to talk to her brother and get him to derail this ridiculous proposal. Yes, Wellesandra had been killed and that was beyond tragic, but forcing all females underground was a step backward.