by J. R. Ward
With a curse, Butch rubbed the center of his chest and hoped like hell he found a lesser. He needed to fight something to take the edge off this perma—ache. Like now.
From off Trade Street, a car turned into the alley and came forward at a fast clip. As it flew past and stopped short at the club's side door, the black Infiniti was spinning enough chrome to qualify as a frickin' disco ball. And what do you know, Little Blond Dickhead sauntered over like this was an arranged meet-and-greet.
As the kid and the driver gum-flapped and palm-slapped, Butch couldn't tell exactly what was doing, but he was damn sure they weren't comparing cookie recipes.
When the Infiniti reversed it out, Butch stepped from the shadows, figuring there was one way of knowing if his hunch was correct: Assume and see what came back at him. "Tell me you aren't going to deal that shit inside? The Reverend hates freelancers."
The little blond guy wheeled around, all righteous pissed. "Who the fuck are—" His words dried up. "Wait, I've seen you before… except…"
"Yeah, I got my chassis overhauled. I run better now. Lot better. So what are you—" Butch froze as he felt his instincts fire up.
Lessen. Close by. Shit.
"Boys," he said calmly. "You need to take off now. And you can't reenter through that door."
Dickhead's attitude came back online. "Who do you think you are?"
"Trust me on this and get your groove on. Now."
"Fuck you, we can stand out here all night if we—" The punk froze, then blanched as a sweet smell rode down to them on a breeze. "Oh, my God…"
Hmmm, so Little Blond Dickhead was a pre-trans, not human. "Yeah, like I said. Get gone, kid."
The pair took off, but they weren't fast enough: A trio of lessers appeared at the open end of the alley, blocking their way.
Great. Just terrific.
Butch activated his newest wristwatch, sending out a beacon and coordinates. Within moments, V and Rhage materialized by his side.
"Use the strategy we agreed on," Butch muttered. "I'll sweep up."
The two nodded their heads as the lessers closed in.
Rehvenge stood up from his desk and pulled on his sable coat. "Gotta bounce, Xhex. Princeps Council meeting. I'm dematerializing, so I don't need the car, and I hope to be back in an hour. But before I go, what's the status of that newest OD?"
"Off to the Saint Francis ER. He's probably going to live."
"And that rogue dealer?"
Xhex opened his door for him, like she was encouraging him to leave. "Still haven't found him."
Rehv cursed, reached for his cane, and headed over to her. "I am not happy about this sitch."
"No kidding," she muttered. "And here I thought you were down with it."
He pegged her with a hard stare. "Don't fuck around with me."
"I'm not, boss," she snapped back. "We're doing everything we can. Do you think I like calling nine-one-one for these fools?"
He took a deep breath and tried to chill his temper. Man, it had been a bad week at the club. Both of them were on short fuses, and the rest of the staff at ZeroSum were about to hang themselves in the bathroom from the tension.
"Sorry," he said. "I'm wound."
She ran a hand over her man's haircut. "Yeah… me, too."
"What's doing on your end?"
He didn't expect her to answer. But she did. "You hear about the human? O'Neal?"
"Yeah. One of us. Who'd've thought, huh." Rehv had yet to see the guy up close and personal, but Vishous had called with a heads-up on the miracle that had gone down.
Rehv honestly wished the cop well. He liked that big-mouthed man—er, male. But he was also very aware that his feeding days with Marissa had come to an end and so had any hope of mating her. The shit stung, it really did, even though linking up with her would have been a really bad idea.
"Is it true?" Xhex asked. "About him and Marissa?"
"Yeah, he's not a free agent."
The oddest expression filtered through Xhex's features… sadness? Yeah, looked like it.
He frowned. "I didn't know you were that into him."
Instantly, she was back to herself, eyes sharp, face showing nothing but hard-ass. "Just because I liked banging him doesn't mean I wanted him as a mate."
"Fine, sure. Whatever."
Her upper lip peeled off her fangs. "Do I look like the type who needs a male?"
"Nope, and thank God. The idea of you going soft violates the natural world order. Besides, you're the only one I can feed from, so I need you unattached." He passed by her. "I'll see you in two hours, tops."
"Rehvenge." When he glanced back, she said, "I need you to stay single, too."
Their stares locked. God, they were quite a pair, weren't they. Two liars living among Normals… two snakes in the grass.
"Don't worry," he murmured. "I'm never taking a shellan. Marissa was… a flavor I wanted to taste. Never would have worked out long term."
After Xhex nodded, as if they'd resealed their deal, Rehv left.
As he walked through the VIP section, he stuck to the shadows. He didn't like to be seen with his cane, and if he had to use it, he wanted people to think it was a vanity thing, so he tried not to rely on it too much. Which was a little dangerous considering his lack of balance.
He got to the side door, worked some mind magic with the alarm system, then popped the bar release. He stepped out, thinking he—
Holy Christ! There was a frickin' melee in the alley. Lessers. Brothers. Two civilians crouched and quivering in the middle. And big bad Butch O'Neal.
As the door clicked shut behind Rehv, he widened his stance and wondered why the hell the security cameras hadn't—oh, mhis. They were surrounded by mhis. Nice touch.
Standing on the sideline, he watched the fight, listening to the dull thuds of bodies hitting bodies, hearing the grunts and the shifting of metal, smelling the sweat and the blood of his race mixing with the baby powder sweetness of the slayers.
Damn, he wanted to play, too. And he couldn't see why he shouldn't.
When a lesser stumbled his way, he caught the bastard, slammed it up against the bricks, and smiled while looking into a pair of pale eyes. It had been so long since Rehv had killed something and the flip side of him missed the experience. Craved it. Man, the snuffing out of life was something the bad in him yearned for.
And he was going to feed his beast. Right here. Right now.
In spite of the dopamine in his system, Rehv's symphath abilities came at his beckoning, riding the crest of his aggression, suffusing his vision with the color red. Baring his fangs in a smile, he gave in to his sinister half with the ecstatic pleasure of an addict long deprived.
With invisible hands, he tunneled into the lesser's brain, rooted around, and triggered all kinds of fun memories. It was like popping lids off soda bottles, and what bubbled out debilitated his prey, scrambling the lesser so badly it was rendered defenseless. God, such ugliness inside the bastard's head—this particular slayer had had a real sadistic streak, and as every single one of his nasty deeds and dirty abuses clouded his mind's eye, he started to scream, clapping his hands to his ears and falling to the ground.
Rehv brought up his cane and whipped off its outer casing, revealing a lethal length of steel, the blade red as his two-dimensional sight, But when he got ready to stab, Butch grabbed his arm.
"This is where I come in."
Rehv glared at the guy. "Fuck that, this is my kill—"
"No, it isn't." Butch went down to his knees beside the lesser and…
Rehv clamped his mouth shut and stared with fascination as Butch leaned over and started to suck something out of the slayer. Except there wasn't time to enjoy the Twilight Zone episode. Another lesser came gunning for Butch, and Rehv had to leap back as Rhage took the thing down in a tackle.
Rehv heard more footsteps and faced off at yet another lesser. Good. This one he would handle, he thought with a hard grin.
Man, symphaths loved to
fight, they really did. And he was no exception to his nature.
Mr. X pounded down the alley where the brawl was happening. Though he couldn't see or hear anything, he sensed the buffering around the scene, so he knew this was the right place.
Van cursed from behind him. "What the hell is this? I can feel the fight—"
"We're about to penetrate the mhis. Get ready."
The two kept running and hit what felt like a wall of cold water. As they burst through the barrier, the fight was revealed: Two Brothers. Six slayers. A couple of cowering civilians. A very large male in a full-length fur coat… and Butch O'Neal.
The former cop was just lifting himself up from the ground, looking sick as a dog and positively glowing with the master's footprint. As Mr. X met O'Neal's eyes, the Fore-lesser skidded to a halt, overcome by a sense of accord.
And irony of ironies, at that very instant when the connection was made, at that precise moment when there was an exchange of recognition, the Omega called from the other side.
Coincidence? Who cared. Mr. X pushed off the demand, ignoring the itching in his skin. "Van," he said softly, "it's time for you to show your stuff. Go get O'Neal."
"About fucking time." Van bolted for the newly born vampire, and the two of them squared off, circling each other in the manner of fighters. At least until Van stopped moving, becoming nothing more than a breathing statue.
Because Mr. X had willed it so.
Man, he had to smile as he caught the panicked expression on Van's face. Yeah, losing control of all your large-muscle groups certainly did freak a guy out, didn't it.
And O'Neal was surprised as well. He closed in with care, wary but obviously ready to take advantage of the freeze-frame Mr. X was imposing on his subordinate. The takedown happened fast. In a quick move, O'Neal put an armlock around Van's neck, flipped him over, and pinned him down to the ground.
Mr. X didn't give a shit about sacrificing an asset like Van. He needed to know what happened when—holy shit!
O'Neal… O'Neal had opened his mouth and was inhaling and… Van Dean was just sucked into nothingness, absorbed, swallowed, owned. Unto dust.
Relief flooded into Mr. X. Yes… yes, the prophecy was fulfilled. The prophecy had been realized in the skin of an Irishman who had been turned. Thank you, God.
Mr. X took a halting, desperate step forward. Now… now would be the peace he sought, his loophole realized, his freedom ensured. O'Neal was the one.
Except Mr. X was suddenly intercepted by a Brother who had a goatee and tattoos on his face. The big bastard came out of nowhere like a boulder, hitting X so hard his legs buckled. They started to fight, but X was terrified he'd be stabbed instead of consumed by O'Neal. So when another slayer jumped into the fray and grabbed the Brother, Mr. X disengaged and disappeared into the periphery.
The Omega's call was a screaming demand now, that god-awful tickling a roar across Mr. X's flesh, but he wasn't answering. He was going to get himself killed tonight. But only in the right way.
Butch lifted his head from his latest victim's ash pile and began to retch in horrid, full-torso heaves. His body felt as it had back when he'd just woken up in the clinic however long ago. Contaminated. Stained. Dirty beyond bleaching.
God… what if he'd taken in too much? What if he'd reached the point of no return?
As he vomited, he felt, though did not see, V come over. Forcing his head up, Butch groaned, "Help me…"
"I'm going to, trahyner. Give me your hand." As Butch held his palm up in despair, Vishous whipped off his glove and grabbed on good and hard. V's energy, that beautiful, white light, poured down Butch's arm and ripped through him in a blast, cleansing, renewing.
United by their clasped hands, they became again the two halves, the light and the dark. The Destroyer and the Savior. A whole.
Butch took all V had to give. And when it was over, he didn't want to let go, afraid if the connection was broken the evil would somehow come back.
"You okay?" V said softly.
"I am now." God, his voice was hoarse as hell from the inhaling. Maybe also from the gratitude.
V gave a yank and Butch shot upright to his feet. As he let himself fall back against the alley's brick wall, he discovered the fighting was over.
"Nice work for a civilian," Rhage said.
Butch glanced to the left, thinking the brother was talking to him, but then he saw Rehvenge. The male was slowly bending over and picking up a sheath from the ground. With an elegant move, he took the red-bladed sword in his hand and slid it home to the pummel. Ah… that cane was also a weapon.
"Thanks," Rehv replied. Then his amethyst eyes shifted over to Butch.
As the two of them stared at each other, Butch realized they hadn't really met up since the night Marissa had fed.
"Hey, man," Butch said, putting his palm out.
Rehvenge walked over, leaning heavily on his cane. As the two of them shook, everyone took a deep breath.
"So, cop," Rehv said, "mind if I ask what you were doing to those slayers?"
A whimpering sound cut off any reply, causing them all to look at the Dumpster across the way.
"You can come out, boys," Rhage said. "Place is clear."
The hotshot blond pre-trans and his rented meat shuffled into the light. Both of them looked like they'd been put through a dishwasher: they were damp with sweat in spite of the cold, their hair and clothes all messed up.
Rehvenge's hard face registered surprise. "Lash, why aren't you in training now? Your father's going to have a shit fit that you were down here instead of—"
"He's taking a hiatus from classes," Rhage muttered dryly.
"To deal drugs," Butch added. "Check his pockets."
Rhage went in for some frisk action, and Lash was too shocked out to protest. The result was a wad of cash as big as the kid's head and a handful of little cellophane packets.
Rehv's eyes glowed with angry purple light. "Give that shit to me, Hollywood—the powder, not the green." When Rhage handed the stuff over, Rehv cracked one of the packets, licked his pinkie, and stuck it inside. After he put his finger on his tongue, he grimaced and spat. Then he jabbed his cane at the kid. "You're not welcome here anymore."
That little news flash seemed to shake Lash out of his stupor. "Why not? It's a free country."
"First of all, this is my house, that's why. Second, not that I need any other reason, the shit in those bags is contaminated and I'm willing to bet you're responsible for the rash of ODs we've had lately. So like I said, you're not welcome here anymore. I won't have punks like you spoiling my stream of commerce." Rehv stuffed the baggies in his coat pocket and glanced at Rhage. "What are you going to do with him?"
"Drive him home."
Rehv smiled coldly. "How convenient for us all."
Abruptly, Lash fell into whimper mode. "But we're not going to tell my father—"
"Everything," Rehvenge snapped. "Trust me, your daddy's going to know fucking everything."
Lash's knees wobbled. And then the BMOC passed out cold.
Marissa walked into the Princeps Council meeting, not caring that for once everyone looked at her.
Then again, they'd never seen her in pants or with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. So surprise, surprise.
She took a seat, opened up her brand-new briefcase, and started going through applications for residence monitors. Although… she wasn't really seeing anything. She was exhausted, not just from the work or the stress but because she really had to feed. Soon.
Oh, God. The idea of it made her sick with sadness, and she sank into thoughts of Butch. As she pictured him, that persistent, foggy echo in the back of her head returned. The thing was like a little bell chiming, reminding her of… what?
A hand landed on her shoulder. As she jumped, Rehv sat down next to her.
"Just me." His amethyst eyes passed over her face and her hair. "It's good to see you."
"You, too." She smiled a little, then glanced away, wonde
ring whether she would have to go back to using his vein. Ah… hell. Of course she would.
"What's doing, tahlly? You okay?" he asked smoothly. The question was so casual, she got the eerie sense he knew exactly how upset she was and somehow knew the cause. He'd always read her so well for some reason.
As she opened her mouth, the council leahdyre's gavel pounded down at the other end of the glossy table. "I'd like to bring the meeting to order."
The voices in the library dried up fast, and Rehv leaned back in his chair, a bored expression suffusing his hard face. With elegant, powerful hands, he folded his sable coat around his legs, overlapping the thing as if the room were thirty below, not a balmy seventy.
Marissa shut her briefcase and settled in, realizing that she'd assumed a similar pose to his, just without all the fur. Good heavens, she thought. How times have changed. Once she'd been terrified of these vampires. Utterly intimidated. Now, as she looked around at the exquisitely gowned females and the formally dressed males, she was just… bored by it all. Tonight, the glymera and the Princeps Council seemed like nothing more than an antiquated social nightmare no longer relevant to her life. Thank God.
The leahdyre smiled and nodded to a doggen who stepped forward. In the servant's hands was a sheet of parchment stretched over an ebony board. Long streamers of silk ribbon hung from the document, the various colors reflecting each of the six originating families. Marissa's line was pale blue.
The leahdyre looked around the table, his eyes studiously skipping over Marissa. "Now that we have the full council here, I would like to entertain the first order of business, said business to concern the passage of the recommendation to the king on the matter of mandatory sehclusion for all unmated females. First, as per the rules of procedure, we will give leave for commentary from the nonvoting members herein this room."
There was quick assent from everyone… except for Rehvenge. Who was very clear about how he felt.
In the pause following his terse rejection of the motion, Marissa could feel Havers's stare on her. She kept her mouth shut.
"Well done, council," the leahdyre said. "I shall now call the roll of the six voting princeps." As each name was read, the corresponding princeps rose, gave the consent of his or her bloodline and affixed the seal of the family's ring upon the parchment. This happened without a glitch five times. And then the last name was spoken. "Havers, blooded son of Wallen, blooded grandson of…"