Lover Revealed tbdb-4

by J. R. Ward

  Leaving the keys, he headed out of his room, only to realize he had no wheels. He glanced down at his feet. Looked like he vas walking it down to Route 22, then hitching a ride from here.

  He had no coherent plan for what he was going to do or where he would go. He knew only that he was leaving the Brothers and Marissa and that was it. Well, he also knew that to make it stick, he was going to have to get out of Caldwell. Maybe he could head west or something.

  When he walked into the living room, he was relieved V wasn't around. Saying good-bye to his roommate was nearly as awful as leaving his woman. So no reason to have that bon voyage convo.

  Shit. What was the Brotherhood going to do about him pulling out? He knew a lot about them—Whatever. He couldn't stay, and if that meant action had to be taken, it would sure as hell put him out of his misery.

  And as for what the Omega did to him? Well, he didn't have much of an answer for the whole lesser thing. But at least he wouldn't have to worry about hurting the brothers or Marissa. Because he wasn't planning on ever seeing them again.

  His hand was on the vestibule's doorknob when V said, "Where you going, cop?"

  Butch swiveled his head around as V stepped out of the shadows of the kitchen.

  "V… I'm leaving." Before there was a response, Butch shook his head. "If that means you have to kill me, just do it quick and bury me fast. And don't let Marissa know."

  "Why you pulling out?"

  "It's better this way, even if it means I'm dead. Hell, you'll be doing me a favor if you have to off me. I'm in love with a woman I can't really have. You and the Brotherhood are the only friends I've got and I'm giving you up, too. And what the fuck do I have out in the real world waiting for me? Nothing. I got no job. My family thinks I'm whacked. The only good thing is that I'll be on my own with my own kind."

  V approached, a tall, menacing shadow.

  Shit, maybe this would all be over with tonight. Right here. Right now.

  "Butch, man, you can't get out. I told you from the beginning. No getting out."

  "So like I just said… snuff me. Grab a dagger and do me. But hear me clear. I will not stay in this world as an outsider one more minute."

  As their eyes met, Butch didn't even brace himself. He wasn't going to fight. He was going to go gently into the good night, carried there by his best friend's hand on a good, clean kill.

  There were worse ways to go, he thought. Many, many worse ways.

  Vishous's eyes narrowed. "There may be another way."

  "Another… V, buddy, a set of plastic fangs ain't going to make this better."

  "Do you trust me?" When there was only silence, V repeated, "Butch, do you trust me?"

  "Yeah."

  "Then give me an hour, cop. Let me see what I can do."

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Time dragged and Butch prowled around the Pit while waiting for V to get back. Finally, unable to shake the Scotch haze and still dizzy as shit, he went in and lay down on his bed. As he closed his eyes, it was more to dim the light than with any hope of sleep.

  Surrounded by a dense quiet, he thought about his sister Joyce and that new baby of hers. He knew where the baptism had been held today: Same place he'd been dipped. Same place all the O'Neals had been dipped.

  Original sin washed away.

  He put his hand on his stomach, on that black scar, and thought that evil had certainly come back for him, hadn't it. Ended up right inside of him.

  Palming his cross, he fisted the gold until it cut into his skin, and decided he needed to go back to church. Regularly.

  He was still gripping the crucifix when exhaustion took him by stealth, leaching his thoughts away, replacing them with a nothingness he would have been relieved by if he'd been conscious.

  Sometime later, he woke up and glanced at the clock. He'd slept for two hours straight, and now he was in the hangover phase of things, his head one big, dull ache, his eyes supersensitive to the light coming in under the door. He rolled over and stretched, his spine cracking.

  An eerie moan drifted down the hall.

  "V?" he said.

  Another moan.

  "You okay there, V?"

  From out of nowhere, there was a crashing noise, like something heavy had been dropped. Then choking sounds, the kind you made when you were too hurt to cry out and scared to death. Butch sprang off his bed and ran into the living room.

  "Jesus Christ!"

  Vishous had thrown himself off the couch and landed face-first on the coffee table, scattering bottles and glasses. As he flailed around, his eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth gaped with screams unvoiced.

  "Vishous! Wake up!" Butch grabbed on to those heavy arms, only to realize V had taken his glove off: That god-awful hand of his was glowing like the sun, burning holes in the wood of the table and the leather of the couch.

  "Fuck!" Butch leaped out of the strike zone as he nearly got swiped.

  All he could do was call out Vishous's name as the brother struggled in the grip of whatever monster held him. Finally, something got through. Maybe the sound of Butch's voice. Maybe V knocked himself around hard enough to wake himself up.

  As Vishous opened his eyes, he was panting and shivering, covered with fear sweat.

  "My man?" When Butch knelt down and touched his friend on the shoulder, V shrank back, cowering. Which was the scariest part. "Hey… easy, you're home. You're safe."

  V's stare, usually so cool and calm, was glassy. "Butch… oh, my God. Butch… the death. The death… The blood down the front of my shirt. A shirt of mine…"

  "Okay, just go easy. We're going to cool out here, big guy." Butch clamped a hand under V's right armpit and hoisted the brother back on the couch. Poor bastard flopped against the leather cushions like a rag doll. "Let's get you a drink."

  Butch headed for the galley kitchen, picked up a fairly clean glass off the counter, and rinsed it out. He filled the thing with cold water, even though V would no doubt rather it be Goose.

  When he came back, Vishous was lighting up a cigarette with hands that were like flags in the wind.

  As V took the glass, Butch said, "You want something stronger?"

  "Nah. This is good. Thanks, man."

  Butch sat down on the other end of the sofa. "V, I think it's time we did something about this nightmare thing."

  "Not going there." V inhaled deeply and let out a steady stream of smoke from his lips. "Besides, I've got good news. Kind of."

  Butch would rather have stayed on the V dreamland shit, but that was clearly not happening. "So talk. And you should have woken me up as soon as you—"

  "Tried. You were out cold. Anyway…" Another exhale. This one more normal. "You know I've looked into your past, right?"

  "I figured."

  "Had to know what was doing, if you were going to live with me—with us. I traced your blood back to Ireland. Lot of pasty-white bog people in your veins, cop."

  Butch got real still. "Did you find… anything else?"

  "Not when I searched nine months ago. And not when I retraced you an hour ago."

  Oh. Buzz kill. Although, Christ, what was he thinking? He wasn't a vampire. "So why are we talking about this?"

  "You sure you don't have any weird-ass stories in your family? Especially back in Europe? You know, some female in your line getting pinched at night? Maybe a pregnancy that came out of the blue? Like someone's daughter who disappeared and maybe came back with a child?"

  Actually, there hadn't been a lot of O'Neal lore passed along. For his first twelve years, his mother had been busy raising six kids and working as a nurse. Then after Janie's murder, Odell had been too shattered to carry stories. And his father? Yeah, right. Pulling nine to five for the telephone company and then hitting the night shift as a security guard didn't make for a lot of quality chat time with the kidlets: When Eddie O'Neal had been home, he'd been drinking or asleep.

  "I don't know of anything."

  "Well, here's the deal, Butch.
" V inhaled, then talked through the smoke as he breathed out. "I want to see if you've got any of us in you."

  Whoa. "But you know my family tree, right? And wouldn't my blood tests at the clinic, or even throughout my life, have shown something?"

  "Not necessarily and I have a very precise way of finding out. It's called ancestor regression." V brought up his glowing hand and clenched it into a fist. "Goddamn, I hate this thing. But this is how we do it."

  Butch eyed the scorched coffee table. "You're going to torch me like kindling."

  "I'll be able to channel it to the purpose. Not saying it will be fun for you, but it shouldn't kill you. Bottom line? That shit with Marissa and the feeding and the way you reacted to it? The fact that you're telling me you throw off scent around her? Plus, god knows, you're aggressive enough. Who knows what we'll find."

  Something warm tingled in Butch's chest. Something like hope. "And what if I have a vampire relative?"

  "Then we might…"V took a very deep drag on the hand-rolled. "We might be able to turn you."

  Holy. Shit. "I thought you couldn't do that."

  V nodded over at a thigh-high stack of leather volumes by the computers. "There is something in the Chronicles. If you've got some of our blood in you, we can give it a shot. It's very risky, but we could try."

  Man, Butch was so on board with that plan. "Let's do the regression. Now."

  "Can't. Even if you have the DNA, we need to get clearance from the Scribe Virgin before we even think about jump-starting any kind of change. That kind of shit is not to be done lightly, and there's the added complication of what the lessers did to you. If she won't allow us to proceed, it won't matter whether you've got relatives with fangs, and I don't want to put you through an ancestor regression if there's nothing we can do about it."

  "How long until we know?"

  "Wrath said he'd talk to her tonight."

  "Jesus, V. I hope—"

  "I want you to take some time and think about this. The regression is a bitch to go through. Your brain's going to stroke out on us and I understand the pain's no party. And you might want to talk to Marissa about it, also."

  Butch thought of her. "Oh, I'll get through it. You don't worry about that."

  "Don't get cocky—"

  "I'm not. This has to work."

  "Might well not, though." V stared at the lit tip of his hand-rolled. "Assuming you come out the other-side of the regression okay, and we can find a living relative of yours to use to jump-start the change, you could die in the middle of the transition. There's only a small chance you'll survive."

  "I'll do it."

  V laughed in a short burst. "I can't decide whether you have serious balls or a death wish."

  "Never underestimate the power of self-hatred, V. It's a hell of a motivator. Besides, we both know what the only other option is."

  As their stares met, Butch knew V was thinking the same thing he was: No matter what the risks were, anything was better than Vishous having to kill him outright because he had to leave.

  "I'm going to Marissa now."

  Butch paused on his way out the door to the tunnel. "You sure there isn't something we can do about these dreams of yours?"

  "You got enough on your plate."

  "I'm an excellent multitasker, buddy."

  "Go to your female, cop. Don't worry about me."

  "You're such a pain in the ass."

  "Said the SIG to the Glock."

  Butch cursed and hit the tunnel, trying not to be totally pumped. When he got to the big house, he went up to the second floor and passed by Wrath's study. On impulse, he knocked on the jamb. After the king called out, Butch was in there maybe ten minutes tops before he went on to Marissa's room.

  He was about to knock when someone said, "She's not there."

  He pivoted around and saw Beth coming out of the sitting room at the end of the hall, a vase of flowers in her hands.

  "Where is Marissa?" he asked.

  "She went with Rhage to check out her new place."

  "What new place?"

  "She's rented a house for herself. About seven miles from here."

  Shit. She was moving out. And she hadn't even told him. "Exactly where is it?"

  After Beth gave him the address and assured him the rental was safe, his first instinct was to race over there, but he canned that idea. Wrath was going to the Scribe Virgin right now. Maybe they could get the regression over with and there'd be good news to share on the other side.

  "She's coming back tonight, right?" Man, he wished she'd told him about the move out.

  "Definitely. And Wrath is going to ask Vishous to work on the security system, so she'll stay here until that's done." Beth frowned. "Hey… you don't look so good. Why don't you come down and get some food with me?"

  He nodded, even though he had no idea what she'd said to him. "You know I love her, right?" he blurted, not sure why he was going there.

  "Yes, I do. And she loves you."

  Then why didn't she talk to him?

  Yeah, and just how easy had he made that for her lately? He'd freaked out about the feeding. Taken her virginity while he was drunk. Hurt her in the process. Christ.

  "I'm not hungry," he said. "But I'll watch while you eat."

  Back at the Pit, Vishous stepped out of the shower and yelped like a nancy, slamming back against the marble wall.

  Wrath was standing in the bathroom, a big leather-clad male the size of the goddamned Escalade.

  "Christ, my lord. Scare a brother, why don't you."

  "Little jumpy there, V, huh?" Wrath handed over a towel. "So I just came back from the Scribe Virgin."

  V paused with the terry cloth under an arm. "What did she say?"

  "She wouldn't see me."

  "Goddamn it, why?" He wrapped up his hips.

  "Some shit like 'wheels turning. Who knows. One of the Chosen met me." Wrath's jaw went so tight it was a wonder he could talk at all. "Anyway, I go back tomorrow night. Straight up, it doesn't look good."

  As frustration spiked, V felt his eyelid start to flicker. "Shit."

  "Yeah." There was a pause. "And while we're on the subject of crap, let's talk about you."

  "Me?"

  "You're strung tighter than cable and your eye's—twitching."

  "Yeah, because you just Friday-the-thirteenthed me." V pushed past the king and went into his bedroom.

  As he put his glove on his hand, Wrath leaned against the jamb. "Look, Vishous…"

  Oh, they were so not doing this. "I'm fine."

  "Sure you are. So here's the deal. I'm giving you till the end of the week. If you haven't straightened up by then, I'm taking you out of rotation."

  "What?"

  "Vacation time. Can you say R&R, my brother?"

  "Are you out of your mind? You realize we're down to four of us now with Tohr being gone, true? You can't afford to—"

  "Lose you. Yeah, I know. And so you're not going to get killed because of whatever's going on in that head of yours. Or not going on, as is the case."

  "Look, we're all on edge, what with—"

  "Butch came by a little while ago. Told me about your repeating nightmare."

  "That cocksucker." Man, he was going to pound his roommate into the ground like a stake for blabbing.

  "He was right to tell me. You should have told me."

  V went over to his bureau, where his rolling papers and his tobacco were. He spun one up fast, needing something in his mouth. It was either plug himself up or keep swearing.

  "You need to get checked out, V."

  "By who? Havers? No CAT scan or lab workup is going to tell me what's wrong, because it's not physical. Look, I'll get it together." He glanced over his shoulder and exhaled. "I'm the smart one, remember? I'll figure this out."

  Wrath lowered his wraparounds, his pale green eyes burning like neon penlights. "You've got a week to fix this, or I'm going to the Scribe Virgin about you. Now get your ass dressed. I need to talk to you
about something else involving the cop."

  As the king took off for the living room, V drew hard on his cigarette and then looked around for his ashtray. Goddamn it, he'd left the thing out front.

  He was about to head to the living room when he looked at his hand. Bringing the gloved nightmare up to his mouth, he peeled the leather off with his teeth and stared at his radiant curse.

  Shit. The illumination was getting brighter and brighter every day.

  Holding his breath, he pressed the lit cigarette into his palm. As the flaming end met his skin, the white glow beneath flared even stronger, backlighting the tattooed warnings until they appeared to be in 3-D.

  The hand-rolled was consumed in a burst of light, the sting tingling his nerve endings. When only dust remained, he blew it off into the air, watching the little cloud rush forward and disintegrate into nothing.

  Marissa took a tour through the vacant house and ended up back in the living room, where she'd started. The place was much bigger than she'd thought, especially given the six underground bedroom suites. God, she'd taken the lease because it had seemed so much smaller than her brother's—than Havers's—but size was so relative. This Colonial felt huge. And very empty.

  As she pictured herself moving in, she realized that she'd never actually been in a house alone before. Back home, there had always been servants and Havers and patients and medical staff. And the Brotherhood's mansion was likewise full of people.

  "Marissa?" Rhage's heavy boots came up behind her. "Time to go."

  "I haven't measured the rooms yet."

  "Have Fritz come back and do it."

  She shook her head. "This is my house. I want to."

  "Then there's always tomorrow night. But we have to get going now."

  She took a last look around, then headed for the door. "Okay. Tomorrow."

  They dematerialized back to the mansion, and as they came in through the vestibule, she could smell roast beef and hear talk drifting out of the dining room. Rhage smiled at her and started to disarm, stripping his dagger holster off his shoulders as he called out for Mary.