by J. R. Ward
He led her over to her four wardrobe trunks and her luggage and her boxes. "Are you sure I may not bring dresses up for you?"
"Yes." She touched the brass lock on one of her Vuittons. "Would you… leave me?"
"Of course, mistress."
She waited until she heard the door shut and then she freed the latch on the wardrobe trunk in front of her. As she pulled the two halves apart, skirts burst free, multihued, lush, beautiful. She remembered wearing the gowns to balls and Princeps Council meetings and her brother's dinners and…
Her skin crawled.
She went to the next trunk. And the next. And the last. Then she started again with the first and went through each one again. And then again.
This was ridiculous. What did it matter what she wore? Just pick something.
She reached and grabbed… No, she'd had this on feeding from Rehvenge that first time. What about this one? No… that was the dress she'd worn at her brother's birthday party. Then what about…
Marissa felt the anger come upon her like a fire. Fury blew into her, overheated her, blazed through her blood. She grabbed gowns randomly and yanked them from their padded hangers, searching for one that didn't trigger a memory of being subjugated, caged, made fragile in fine cloth. She moved to another trunk and more dresses went flying, her hands wrenching, material ripping.
Tears began to flow and she wiped them away with impatience—until she couldn't see anything and had to stop. She scrubbed her face with her hands, then dropped her arms, just standing in the midst of a rainbow mess.
It was then that she spied a door in the far corner.
And beyond it, through its glass panes, she saw… the back lawn.
Marissa stared out at the patchy snow. Then she looked to the left, at the riding mower parked next to the door—and the red can sitting on the floor next to it. Her eyes kept going, moving over weed whackers and bins of what looked like fertilizer until they landed on a gas grill, which had a little box resting on its lid.
She glanced at the hundreds and hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of haute couture.
It took her a good twenty minutes to drag each one of her gowns out into the backyard. And she was careful to include the corsets and the shawls in the pile as well. When she was finished, her clothes were ghostly in the moonlight, muted shadows of a life she would never go back to, a life of privilege… restriction… and gilded degradations.
She pulled out a sash from the tangle, a pale pink strip of satin, and went back into the garage. Picking up the gas can, she grabbed the box of matches and didn't hesitate. She walked out to the priceless swirl of satins and silks, doused them with that clear, sweet accelerant and positioned herself upwind as she took out a match.
She lit the sash. Then threw it.
The explosion was more than she'd expected, knocking her back, scorching her face, flaring into a great fireball.
As orange flames and black smoke rose, she screamed at the inferno.
Butch was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, when the alarms started going off. Shooting himself out of bed, he pulled on some boxers and slammed into Vishous as the brother bolted out of his bedroom and into the hallway. Together they scrambled to the computers.
"Jesus Christ!" V barked. "There's a fire on the back lawn!"
Some sixth sense sent Butch out the door immediately. Running barefoot across the courtyard, not even feeling the cold air or the pebbles under his feet, he cut around the front of the main house and ran into the garage. Oh, shit! Through the windows on the far side, he could see a great orange fury in the backyard.
And then he heard the screams.
As he burst through the rear door, Butch was overcome by the treacle smells of gasoline and burning cloth. And he wasn't half as close as the figure right in front of the inferno.
"Marissa!"
Her body was angled forward toward the fire, her mouth wide open, her shrill hollering cutting through the night as surely as the flames did. She was crazed, roaming around the periphery… now running.
No! The robe! She was going to trip—
With horror, he saw it happen. His long, bloodred robe twisted around one of her legs and tangled up her feet. Lurching forward, she started to fall facefirst into the fire.
As panic hit Marissa's expression and her arms went out into thin air, everything went slo-mo: Butch ran hard, yet seemed not to move at all.
"No!" he screamed.
Just before she was lost to the flames, Wrath materialized behind her and scooped her up into his arms. Saving her.
Butch skidded to a halt, a paralytic weakness making his legs go jelly on him. With no air left in his lungs, he fell to the ground… just collapsed.
So he was on his knees, staring up as Wrath held Marissa in his arms and she sagged all over him.
"Thank God my brother got there in time," V muttered from somewhere close by.
Butch pushed himself to his feet, wobbling like he was on rocky ground.
"You okay?" V asked, reaching out.
"Yeah. Fine." Butch stumbled back to the garage and kept going, tripping through random doors, banging into walls. Where was he? Oh, inside the kitchen. Blindly, he looked around… and saw the butler's pantry. Pushing his way into the little room, he leaned back against the shelves and shut himself in with all the canned goods and the flour and the sugar.
His whole body started to shake until his teeth rattled, and his arms flapped like bird wings. God, all he could think about was Marissa burning. On fire. Helpless. In agony.
If it had been just him going for her, if Wrath hadn't somehow seen what was happening and dematerialized right to her, she would be dead now.
Butch wouldn't have been able to save her.
The thought naturally shot him right back to the past. With horrible precision, flashes of his sister getting in that car two and a half decades ago pinged around his skull. Shit, he hadn't been able to save Janie, either. Hadn't been able to pull her out of that Chevy Chevette in time.
Hell, maybe if Wrath had been around back then, the king could have rescued his sister, too.
Butch rubbed at his eyes, telling himself that the blurriness was just the aftereffects of all the smoke.
A half hour later, Marissa sat on the bed in the blue toile room, enveloped by a fog of mortification. Damn it, she'd taken her rule number one way too far.
"I'm so embarrassed."
Wrath, who was standing in the doorway, shook his head. "You shouldn't be."
"Well, I am." She tried to smile at him and missed the mark by a million miles. God, her face felt stiff, the skin tight from having been so close to all that heat. And her hair—her hair smelled like gas and smoke. So did the robe.
She shifted her eyes over to Butch. He was out in the hall, leaning back against the wall. He hadn't said a thing since appearing there a few minutes ago and he didn't look like he was coming into the room, either. He probably thought she was crazy. Hell, she thought she was crazy.
"I don't know why I did that."
"You're under a lot of stress," Wrath said, even though he wasn't the one she was looking at.
"That's no excuse."
"Marissa, don't take this the wrong way, but no one cares. We want you safe and well. We could give a shit about the lawn."
When she just stared past Wrath at Butch, the king glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah, I think I'll leave you two alone. Try and get some z's, okay?"
As Wrath turned around, Butch said something that didn't carry. In response, the king clapped a hand to the back of the man's neck. More quiet words were shared.
After Wrath left, Butch came forward, but only as far as the doorway. "You going to be all right?"
"Ah, yes. After I have a shower." And a lobotomy.
"Okay. I'm going back to the Pit."
"Butch… I'm sorry I did what I did. It was just… I couldn't find one gown that wasn't contaminated with memories."
"I can understand that." Except clearly
he didn't. He looked completely numb, as if he'd unplugged himself from everything. Especially her. "So… take care of yourself, Marissa."
She leaped to her feet as he backed away. "Butch?"
"You don't worry about anything."
What the hell did that mean?
She started to go after him, but Beth appeared in the doorway with a bundle in her hands. "Um, hi, you guys… Marissa, you have a minute?"
"Butch, don't go."
He nodded a greeting to Beth, then looked down the hall. "I need to sober up."
"Butch," Marissa said sharply, "are you saying good-bye here?"
He flashed her a haunting smile. "You're always going to be with me, baby."
He walked away slowly, like the floor was slippery under his feet.
Oh… Jesus…
Beth cleared her throat. "So, yeah, Wrath suggested you might like some clothes? I brought a few things if you'd like to try them on."
Marissa was desperate to go after Butch, but she'd already made a spectacle of herself tonight and he looked like he was in serious need of a break from the drama. Boy… she knew exactly how he felt, except for her there was no escape. Everywhere she went, there she was.
She looked at Beth, feeling like this was quite possibly the single worst twenty-four hours of her life. "Did Wrath mention that I burned my entire wardrobe?"
"Um… that did come up."
"I also left a crater in the lawn. It looks like a UFO landed. I can't believe he isn't upset with me."
The queen's smile was gentle. "The only thing he's not thrilled about is your giving Fritz that bracelet to sell."
"I can't have you two renting me somewhere to live."
"As a matter of fact, we wish you would just stay here."
"Oh… no, you've already been too kind. Actually, tonight, I'd planned… Well, before I got sidetracked by that gasoline and matches thing, I was going to go to my new place and look around. See what kind of furniture I'll need to buy."
Which would be everything.
Beth frowned. "About that rental house. Wrath wants Vishous to check out the security system before you move in. And chances are good that V will want to upgrade whatever is there."
"I don't think that's necessary—"
"Nonnegotiable. Don't even try it. Wrath wants you to stay here at least until that's done, okay? Marissa?"
She thought about Bella getting abducted. As much as independence was a good thing, there was no reason to be stupid. "Yes… I… all right. Thank you."
"So would you like to try on some clothes?" Beth nodded at what was in her arms. "I don't have many dresses, but Fritz can get you some."
"You know what?" Marissa eyed the blue jeans the queen had on. "I've never worn a pair of pants before."
"I've got two pairs here if you want to try them out."
Well, wasn't this a night for firsts. Sex. Arson. Pants. "I think I would like to…"
Except Marissa burst into tears. Just totally lost it. And the meltdown was so bad, all she could do was sit on the bed and weep.
When Beth shut the door and knelt in front of her, Marissa wiped up quickly. What a nightmare. "You are queen. You shouldn't be before me like this."
"I'm the queen, so I can do anything I want." Beth put the clothes aside. "What's wrong?"
Yeah, now there was a list.
"Marissa?"
"I think… I think I might need someone to talk to."
"Well, you have someone right here. You want to give me a shot?"
God, there was so much, but one thing mattered more than all the rest. "Fair warning, my queen, this is about an improper subject. Sex, actually. It's about… sex."
Beth eased back and arranged her long legs yoga style. "Hit me."
Marissa opened her mouth. Shut it. Opened it. "I was taught not to speak of this kind of thing."
Beth smiled. "Just you and me in this room. No one has to know."
Okay… deep breath time. "Ah… I was a virgin. Up until tonight."
"Oh." After a long pause, the queen said, "And?"
"I didn't…"
"Like it?" When she couldn't respond, Beth said, "I wasn't into it my first time, either."
Marissa looked up. "Really?"
"It was painful."
"You hurt, too?" When the female nodded, Marissa was stunned. Then a little relieved. "It wasn't all painful. I mean, what led up to it was… is amazing. Butch makes me… he's just so… the way he touches me, I get… Oh, God, I can't believe I'm talking like this. And I can't explain what it's like with him."
Beth chuckled. "That's all right. I know what you mean."
"Really?"
"Oh, yeah." The queen's dark blue eyes glowed. "I know exactly what you mean."
Marissa smiled, then went back to the talking. "When it was time to… you know, when it happened, Butch was really gentle and all. And I wanted to like it, I honestly did. I was just overwhelmed and it was very painful. I think there's something wrong with me. Inside."
"There's nothing wrong with you, Marissa."
"But I… it really hurt." She wrapped her arms around her stomach. "Butch said most females have a difficult time with it in the beginning, but I just didn't… That's certainly not what the glymera says."
"No offense, because you're a part of the aristocracy, but I wouldn't take the glymera's word on anything."
The queen probably had a point. "How did you get through it with Wrath when you… ah…"
"My first time wasn't with him."
"Oh." Marissa flushed red, "Pardon me, I didn't mean—"
"No problem. Actually I didn't like sex until Wrath. I'd been with two guys before him and just… whatever. I mean, I didn't understand what all the fuss was about. Frankly, though, even if Wrath had been my first, it probably wouldn't have been any easier given the size of his—" Now the queen was flushing. "Anyway… you know, sex is an invasion for the woman. Erotic and wonderful, but an invasion just the same, and it takes a little getting used to. And for some, the first time is quite painful. Butch will be patient with you. He'll—"
"He didn't finish. I got the impression he… couldn't."
"If he hurt you, I can understand why he'd want to stop."
Marissa threw up her arms. "God, I feel so damned ashamed. When it happened, my head got all tangled… I had all this stuff shooting through my brain. And before I left, I wanted to talk to him, but I couldn't find the words. I mean, I love him."
"Good. That's good." Beth took Marissa's hand. "And it's going to be all right, I promise you. You two just need to try it again. Now that the pain is over for you, you shouldn't have a problem."
Marissa stared into the queen's midnight blue eyes. And realized that in her whole life, no one had ever talked to her candidly about a problem she had. In fact… she'd never had a friend before. And that's what the queen felt like. A… friend.
"You know something?" Marissa murmured.
"What?"
"You're very kind. I can see why Wrath has bonded with you so."
"Like I said before, I'd do anything to help you."
"You really have. Tonight… you totally have." Marissa cleared her throat. "May I—ah, may I try the pants on?"
"Absolutely."
Marissa picked up the clothes, got a change of underwear from the bureau, and went into the bathroom.
When she came out, she had on a pair of slim black pants and a turtleneck. And she couldn't stop staring down at herself. Her body seemed so much smaller without all the skirting. "How do they feel?" Beth asked.
"Odd. Light. Easy." Marissa walked around in her bare feet. "A little like I'm naked."
"You're thinner than I am, so they're a little baggy. But they look great."
Marissa went back into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. "I think I like them."
When Butch returned to the Pit, he lurched down to his suite. As he started the shower, he kept the lights off because he had no interest in seeing how
drunk and freaked out he still was. And he got under the spray, even though it was cold, in the hopes that the Antarctic wash would help sober him up.
With rough hands, he worked himself over with a bar of soap, and when he got to his privates, he didn't look down. Couldn't bear it. He knew, what he was washing off his body, and his chest burned at the thought of the blood that had been on the inside of Marissa's thighs.
Man… seeing that had been a killer. Then he'd shocked the shit out of himself by doing what he did. He had no idea why he'd put his mouth to her or where the idea had come from. It had just seemed like the thing to do.
Oh… hell. He couldn't think about all that.
Quick shampoo. Quick rinse. And then he was out. He didn't bother toweling off, just went dripping to his bed and sat down. The air was freezing cold on his wet skin, and the chill felt like a proper punishment as he rested his chin on his fist and stared across the room. In the dim glow coming under the door, he saw the pile of clothes Marissa had taken off him earlier. Then that dress of hers on the floor.
He went back to looking at what he'd been wearing. That suit wasn't really his, was it. Neither was the shirt—or the socks or the loafers. Nothing he wore was his.
He glanced at the watch on his wrist. Took the thing off. Let it fall onto the carpet.
He didn't live in his own place. He didn't spend his own money. He had no job, no future, He was a well-kept pet, not a man. And as much as he loved Marissa, after what just happened on that back lawn, it was clear things couldn't work out between them. The relationship was flat-out destructive, especially for her: she was distraught, blaming herself for shit that wasn't her fault, suffering, and it was because of him. Goddamn it, she deserved so much better. She deserved… oh, shit, she deserved Rehvenge, that thick-blooded aristocrat. Rehv would be able to take care of her, give her what she needed, take her out socially, be her mate for centuries.
Butch got up, walked to the closet, and took out a Gucci duffel… then realized he didn't want to take anything of this life with him when he bailed.
Tossing the bag aside, he pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, shoved his feet into some running shoes, and found the old wallet and set of keys he'd brought with him when he moved in with Vishous. As he looked at the metal tangle on its simple silver ring, he remembered that back in September he hadn't bothered to do anything with his apartment. So after all his time, his landlord must have long ago busted in and cleared out his stuff. Which was fine. It wasn't like he wanted to go back there anyway.