Lover Revealed tbdb-4

by J. R. Ward

  "My flesh," he whispered.

  He seemed to hesitate before turning to Butch. Then he pivoted and their eyes met. As candlelight flickered over V's hard face and got caught in his diamond irises, Butch felt his breath get tight: At that moment, his roommate looked as powerful as a god… and maybe even as beautiful.

  Vishous stepped in close and slid his hand from Butch's shoulder to the back of his neck. "Your flesh," V breathed. Then he paused, as if asking for something.

  Without thinking, Butch tilted his chin up, aware that he was offering himself, aware that he… oh, fuck. He stopped his thoughts, completely weirded out by the vibe that had sprung up from God only knew where.

  In slow motion Vishous's dark head dropped down and there was a silken brush as his goatee moved against Butch's throat. With delicious precision, V's fangs pressed against the vein that ran up from Butch's heart, then slowly, inexorably, punched through skin. Their chests merged.

  Butch closed his eyes and absorbed the feel of it all, the warmth of their bodies so close, the way V's hair felt soft on his jaw, the slide of a powerful male arm as it slipped around his waist. On their own accord, Butch's hands left the pegs and came to rest on V's hips, squeezing that hard flesh, bringing them together from head to foot. A tremor went through one of them. Or maybe… shit, it was more like they both shuddered.

  And then it was done. Over with. Never to happen again.

  Neither of them looked at the other as V broke away… and the parting was complete and irrevocable. A path that would not be walked. Ever.

  V's hand snapped back and then connected with Butch's chest, the impact harder than all the others, even Rhage's. As Butch choked from the force of the punch, Vishous turned away and rejoined the Brotherhood's lineup.

  After a moment, Wrath walked forward to the altar and picked up the skull, lifting it high, presenting it to the brothers. "This is the first of us. Hail to him, the warrior who birthed the Brotherhood."

  As the brothers let out a war cry that filled the cave, Wrath turned to Butch.

  "Drink and join us."

  Butch went for it with gusto, grabbing the skull, tilting his head back, pouring the blood right down his throat. The brothers chanted as he drank, their voices getting louder and louder, ringing out. He tasted each one of them. The raw power and majesty of Wrath. The vast strength of Rhage. The burning, protective loyalty of Phury. The cold savagery of Zsadist. The sharp cunning of Vishous.

  The skull was taken from his hands and he was pushed back against the wall.

  Wrath's lips lifted darkly. "Better hold on to those pegs."

  Butch gripped them just as a wave of churning energy slammed into him. He bit down to keep from letting out a howl and was dimly aware of the brothers growling in approval. As the roar increased, his body began to buck against the pegs like he'd front-loaded his nose with a kilo of blow. Then everything whacked out on him, every neuron in his brain firing, every blood vessel and capillary filling. With heart pounding, head swimming, body straining, he—

  Butch woke up on the altar, naked and curled on his side. There was a burning sensation on his chest, and when he put his hand to it, he felt something grainy. Salt?

  As he blinked and looked around, he realized he was in front of a black marble wall etched with what must have been names in the Old Language. God, there were hundreds of them. Stunned by the sight, he sat up and pushed himself to his feet. When he stumbled forward, he somehow caught his balance before he would have touched what he knew was sacred.

  Staring at the names, he was certain they had all been carved by the same hand, each one of them, because every symbol was of identical and loving quality.

  Vishous had done this. Butch didn't know how he knew—no, he did. There were these echoes in his head now… echoes of the lives of his… brothers? Yes… and all these males whose names he read were his… brothers. He somehow knew each of them now.

  With wide eyes, he followed the columns of writing until… there… there it was, down on the right. The one at the bottom of the line. The last one. Was it his?

  He heard clapping and looked over his shoulder. The brothers were back in their robes, but the hoods were down. And they were beaming, positively beaming, even Z.

  "That's you," Wrath said. "You shall be called the Black Dagger warrior Dhestroyer, descended of Wrath son of Wrath."

  "But you'll always be Butch to us," Rhage cut in. "As well as hard-ass. Smart-ass. Royal pain in the ass. You know, whatever the situation calls for. I think as long as there's an ass in there, it'll be accurate."

  "How about bastard?" Z suggested.

  "Nice. I feel that."

  They all started laughing and Butch's robe appeared in front of him, held by Vishous's gloved hand.

  V did not meet his eyes as he said, "Here."

  Butch took the robe, but he didn't want his roommate to run. He said with quiet, urgency, "V?" Vishous's brows arched, but his eyes stayed away. "Vishous? Come on, man. You're going to have to look at me sometime. V…?"

  Vishous's chest, expanded… and his diamond stare slowly swung to Butch. There was a heartbeat of intensity. Then V reached out and repositioned the cross so it once again hung over Butch's heart. "You did well, cop. Congratulations, true?"

  "Thanks for putting me up for it… trahyner." As V's eyes flared, Butch said, "Yeah, I looked up what the word meant. 'Beloved friend' fits you perfect as far as I'm concerned."

  V flushed. Cleared his throat. "Good deal, cop. Good… deal."

  As Vishous walked off, Butch drew the robe on and looked down at his chest. The circular scar over his left pec was burned into his skin, a permanent marking, just like the one each of the brothers's had. A symbol of the bond they shared.

  He ran his fingertip over the sealed up scar and salt granules fell free to the glossy floor. Then he looked to the wall and went over there. Crouching down, he touched the air above his name. His new name.

  Now I am truly born, he thought. Dhestroyer, descended of Wrath son of Wrath.

  His vision got blurry and he blinked fast, but his lids couldn't keep up. As the tears rolled down his cheeks, he quickly brushed them aside on his sleeve, And that was when he felt the hands on his shoulders. The brothers—his brothers—had surrounded him and he could feel them now, could actually… sense them.

  Flesh of his flesh. As he was flesh of theirs.

  Wrath cleared his throat, but still, the king's voice was slightly hoarse. "You are the first inductee in seventy-five years. And you… you are worthy of the blood you and I share, Butch of mine blooded line."

  Butch let his head fall loose on his shoulders and he wept openly… though not out of happiness, as they must have assumed.

  He wept at the hollowness he felt.

  Because however wonderful this all was, it seemed empty to him.

  Without his mate to share his life with, he was but a screen for events and circumstances to pass through. He was not even empty, for he was no vessel to hold even the thinnest of air.

  He lived, though was not truly alive.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  On the way back to the mansion, everyone was full of energy and talking it up in the Escalade: Rhage was popping shit as usual. Wrath was laughing at him. Then V got to throwing back, and before long everyone was taking potshots at each other. As brothers do.

  Butch settled himself deep in the bucket seat, aware that this homecoming, like the ceremony beforehand, was of such great joy for the Brotherhood. And even if he couldn't feel that, he was truly glad for them.

  They parked in front of the mansion, and when Butch got out, the big house's vestibule doors swung wide and the Brotherhood formed an open circle behind him. The chanting started again, and they processed into the rainbow-colored foyer to great applause: The doggen were there waiting, all twenty of them, and in front of the servants were the three females of the compound dressed in breathtaking gowns. Beth was wearing the bloodred one she'd been married in, Mary was d
ressed in royal blue, and Bella was in shimmering silver.

  Butch wanted Marissa there so badly, he couldn't stand to look at the shellans from the ache in his chest. He was about to make a desperate, pansy break for the Pit when the sea of bodies parted and…

  Marissa was revealed in a gown of vibrant peach, the color so lovely and vivid he wondered if sunshine hadn't condensed in her very form. And the chanting stopped as she came forward. Confused, unable to understand the why of her appearance, Butch nonetheless reached for her.

  Except she went down to her knees in front of him, the gown pooling all around her in great waves of satin.

  Her voice was husky with emotion as she ducked her head. "I would offer you, warrior, this pledge of luck when you fight." She lifted her hands up and in her palms was a thick braid of her hair tied on either end with pale blue ribbon. "It would be my pride to have you keep this on you in battle. It would be my pride to have my… hellren serve our race. If you still… would have me."

  Completely wiped out by the gesture, Butch eased down to the floor and lifted up her trembling chin. As he thumbed away her tears, he took the braid from her and cradled it to his heart. "Of course I would have you," he whispered. "But what's changed?"

  She glanced back at the three females of the house in their majestic dress. Then in an equally quiet voice, she said, "I talked to some friends. Or rather, they talked to me."

  "Marissa…" It was all he could say. And as his voice seemed to have dried up, he kissed her.

  When they embraced, a great cheer rose up into the vast foyer.

  "I'm so sorry I was weak," she whispered in his ear. "Beth and Mary and Bella came to see me. I'm never going to be at peace with the danger you face as a member of the Brotherhood. I'm going to worry every night. But they trust their males to be careful, and I… I believe you love me. I believe you wouldn't leave me if you could help it. I… I believe you will be careful with yourself and that you will stop if the evil threatens to overwhelm you. If they can handle the fear of loss, so can I."

  He squeezed her even tighter. "I'll be careful, I swear. I swear."

  They stayed on the floor, locked together, for a while. Then Butch lifted his head and looked at Wrath, who had taken Beth into his arms.

  "So, brother," Butch said. "You got a knife and some salt? Time to finish a certain mating, you feel me?"

  "We've got you covered, my man."

  Fritz came forward with the same pitcher and bowl of Morton's best that had been used at Wrath and Beth's ceremony. And Rhage and Mary's. And Zsadist and Bella's.

  As Butch looked into his shellan's, pale blue eyes, he murmured, "Darkness will never take me… because I have you. Light of my life, Marissa. That's what you are."

  Chapter Fifty

  The following evening, Marissa smiled as she looked up from her desk. Butch filled her office's doorway, his body so very big.

  God, even though his neck was still healing from his induction, good Lord, he looked good. Strong. Powerful. Her mate.

  "Hi," he said, flashing that chipped front tooth of his. As well as his fangs.

  She smiled. "You're early."

  "Couldn't stay away a moment longer." He came in and shut the door… and as he subtly turned the lock into place, her body heated up.

  He walked around her desk and swiveled her chair to face him, then knelt down onto the floor. As he spread her thighs, he nestled in close, his bonding scent filling the air as he nuzzled her collarbone. With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around his heavy shoulders and kissed the soft skin behind his ear.

  "How fare you, hellren?"

  "Better now, wife."

  While she held on to him, she shifted her eyes to her desk. There, amidst the papers and folders and pens, was a little white figurine. The exquisitely carved piece was a marble sculpture of a female sitting cross-legged with a double-bladed dagger in the palm of one hand, an owl on her opposite wrist.

  Beth had had them made. One for Mary. One for Bella. One for Marissa. And the queen had kept one for herself. The dagger's significance was obvious. The white owl was a link to the Scribe Virgin, a symbol of prayers spoken for the safekeeping of their warrior mates.

  The Brotherhood was strong, a unit, a powerful force in their world for good. And so too were the females. Strong. A unit. A powerful force for good in their world.

  Banded together, as tightly together as their warriors.

  Butch lifted his head and looked up at her in total adoration. With the mating ceremony completed, and her name in his back, she had dominion over his body by both law and instinct, a control he willingly surrendered to her, lovingly surrendered to her. He was hers to command and it was, as the glymera had always said, beautiful to be truly mated.

  Only thing those fools ever got right.

  "Marissa, I want to take you to meet someone, okay?"

  "Of course. Now?"

  "No, tomorrow at nightfall."

  "All right. Who—"

  He kissed her. "You'll see."

  Looking deeply into his hazel eyes, she stroked back his thick, dark hair. Then traced his eyebrows with her thumbs. Ran a fingertip down his bumpy, broken-too-many-times nose. Tapped lightly on his chipped tooth.

  "Kind of battle-worn, aren't I?" he said. "But you know, with some plastic surgery and a couple caps, I could be a highflier just like Rhage."

  Marissa glanced back at the figurine and thought about her life. And Butch's.

  She shook her head slowly and leaned in to kiss him. "I wouldn't change a thing about you. Not one single thing."

  Epilogue

  Joyce O'Neal Rafferty was in a rush and thoroughly bitched out as she headed into the nursing home. Baby Sean had spent all night throwing up and it had taken three hours of waiting at the pediatrician's before the doctor could squeeze them in. Then Mike had left a message that he was working late, so he didn't have time to go to the supermarket on the way home.

  Goddamn it, they had nothing in the refrigerator or the cupboards for dinner.

  Joyce hitched Sean up on her hip and raced down the corridor, dodging meal carts and a gang of wheelchairs. At least Sean was asleep now and hadn't thrown up for hours. Dealing with a fussy, sick baby as well as her mother was more than Joyce could handle at once. Especially after a day like today.

  She knocked on the door to her mother's room, then went right in. Odell was sitting up in bed, leafing through a Reader's Digest.

  "Hey, Mom, how're you feeling?" Joyce went over to the Naugahyde-covered wing chair by the window. As she sat down, the cushion squeaked. And so did Sean as he woke up.

  "I'm good." Odell's smile was pleasant. Her eyes vacant as dark marbles.

  Joyce checked her watch. She'd stay ten minutes, then hit Star Market on the way home.

  "I had a visitor last night."

  "Did you, Mom?" And without a doubt, she was going to buy enough for a week straight. "Who was it?"

  "Your brother."

  "Thomas was here?"

  "Butch."

  Joyce froze. Then decided her mother was hallucinating. "That's nice, Mom."

  "He came when no one was around. After dark. He brought his wife. She's so pretty. He said they're getting married in a church. I mean, they're already husband and wife, but it was in her religion. Funny… I never figured out what she was. Maybe a Lutheran?"

  Definitely hallucinating. "That's good."

  "He looks like his father now."

  "Oh, yeah? I thought he was the only one who didn't take after Daddy."

  "His father. Not yours."

  Joyce frowned. "I'm sorry?"

  Her mother assumed a dreamy expression and looked out the window. "Did I ever tell you about the blizzard of 69?"

  "Mom, go back to Butch—"

  "We all got stuck at the hospital, us nurses along with the doctors. No one could come or go. I was there for two days. God, your father was so upset about having to care for the kids without me." Abruptly, Odell seemed years younger a
nd sharp as a tack, her eyes clearing. "There was a surgeon there. Oh, he was just so… different from everyone else. He was the chief of surgery. He was very important. He was… beautiful and different and very important. Frightening, too. His eyes, I see them still in my dreams." Just as suddenly, all that enthusiasm evaporated and her mother deflated. "I was bad. I was a bad, bad wife."

  "Mom…" Joyce shook her head. "What are you saying?"

  Tears started to fall down Odell's lined face. "I went to confession when I got home. I prayed. I prayed so hard. But God punished me for my sins. Even the labor… the labor was terrible with Butch. I nearly died, I bled so badly. All my other births were fine. Not Butch's…"

  Joyce squeezed Sean so hard, he started to wriggle in protest. As she loosened her hold and tried to soothe him, she whispered, "Go on. Mom… keep talking."

  "Janie's death was my punishment for being unfaithful and carrying another man's child."

  As Sean let out a wail, Joyce's head spun with a horrible, terrible suspicion that this was…

  Oh, come on, what the hell was she thinking? Her mother was crazy. Not right in the head.

  Too bad she looked really frickin' lucid right now.

  Odell started nodding as if responding to a question someone had asked. "Oh, yes, I love Butch. Actually, I love him more than any of the rest of my children because he's special. Could never let that show, though. Their father bore too much of what I'd done. To favor Butch in any way would be an insult to Eddie and I couldn't… I won't embarrass my husband like that. Not after he stayed with me."

  "Dad knows…?" In the silence that followed, things started falling into place, an ugly puzzle coming together. Shit… this was for real. Of course Dad knew. That was why he hated Butch.

  Her mother grew wistful. "Butch looked so happy with his wife. And oh sweet Mary, she's beautiful. They are perfect for each other. She's special like his father was. Like Butch is. They're all so special. It was a shame they couldn't stay. He said… he said he'd come to say good-bye."