by J. R. Ward
Right before he passed out, he groaned, “It should have been me. She should have used me…”
Mr. X parked the minivan on an alley off Trade Street and got out. The city was gearing up for the night, the bars cranking their music and filling with the soon-to-be drunk and drugged.
Time to hunt for Brothers.
As Mr. X shut the door and adjusted his weapons, he looked over the Town & Country’s hood at Van.
Man, he was still disappointed as hell at the guy’s performance in the ring. Spooked, too. But then again, it was going to take a while for the power to coalesce. No lesser came out fresh from his initiation at full strength, and there was no reason to think that Van was any different just because he was the prophesied one.
Shit, though.
“How will I tell who’s a vampire?” Van asked.
Ah, yes. The job at hand. X cleared his throat. “The civilians will recognize you because they can smell you, and you’ll notice them when they get scared. As for the Brothers, there’s no mistaking them. They’re bigger and more aggressive than anything you’ve ever seen and they are first strikers. They will come after you if they see you.”
They walked out onto Trade. The night was sharp as a slap, that combination of cold and damp that had always energized X to fight before. Now, though, his focus was different. He had to be out in the field because he was the Fore-lesser, but all he cared about was keeping him and Van on this side of reality until the guy matured into what he was.
They were about to duck into an alley when Mr. X stopped. Swiveling his head, he looked behind them. Then across the street.
“What is it—”
“Shut up.” Mr. X closed his eyes and let his instincts go to work. Calming down, zoning out, he stretched his mental feelers through the night.
The Omega was nearby.
He flipped his lids open, thinking that had to be bullshit, though. The master couldn’t come over to this side without the Fore-lesser.
And yet the Evil was close.
Mr. X pivoted around on his combat boot. As a car drove down Trade, he stared over its roof at ZeroSum, that techno club. The master was in there. Definitely.
Oh, shit, had there been a change in Fore-lesser?
No, Mr. X would have been called home in that case. So maybe the Omega had used someone else to cross over? Could that even happen?
Mr. X jogged across the street to the club and Van was tight behind him, clueless but ready for anything.
ZeroSum’s wait line was full of humans in flashy clothes, shivering and smoking and talking on cell phones. He paused. In the back…the master was around back.
Vishous pushed open ZeroSum’s fire door with his hip and muscled Butch over to the Escalade. As he stuffed the cop into the backseat like a heavy rug roll, he prayed the bastard didn’t wake up punching.
V was getting behind the wheel when he sensed something coming, his instincts flaring up, the ring-a-ding-ding setting off his adrenal gland. Although the Brotherhood didn’t run from conflict by nature or training, his sixth sense told him to get Butch the fuck away from the club. Now.
He started the engine and peeled out. Just as he came to the mouth of the alley, he saw a pair of men coming toward the SUV, one of which was pale-haired. Lessers. Except how had those two known to head back here?
V stomped on the gas. Got him and Butch good and ghost.
As soon as he was satisfied they weren’t being followed, he glanced back at the cop. Out. Cold. Man, that female security chief packed one hell of a punch. Then again, so had all that Lagavulin.
Butch didn’t move for the whole trip to the compound. In fact, it wasn’t until V carried the guy into the Pit and laid him out on his bed that the cop opened his eyes.
“Room’s spinning.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Face hurts.”
“Wait ’til you see it and you’ll know why.”
Butch closed his lids. “Thanks for bringing me home.”
Vishous was about to help the guy out of his suit when the doorbell rang.
With a curse, he went to the front of the gatehouse and checked the security monitors at his desk. He wasn’t surprised at who it was, but holy hell, Butch was not ready for primetime viewing right now.
V stepped into the vestibule and shut the door behind him before opening the outer one. As Marissa looked up at him, he could smell the sadness and the worry coming off her, the scent like dried roses.
Her voice was low. “I saw the Escalade pull up, so I know he’s home now. I need to see him.”
“Not tonight you don’t. Come back tomorrow.”
Her face hardened until it was like a marble depiction of her beauty. “I’m not leaving until he tells me to go.”
“Marissa—”
Her eyes flashed. “Not until he tells me himself, warrior.”
V measured her resolve and found she was packing with nothing lacking—kind of like that muscled head of security back at the club, just without the knuckles.
Well, wasn’t this the night for female hard-asses.
V shook his head. “At least let me get him cleaned up, okay?”
Her eyes flared with panic. “Why would you have to?”
“Christ, Marissa. What did you think was going to happen when you fed from Rehvenge?”
Her mouth dropped open. “How did you know—”
“Butch went after him at the club.”
“What? He…oh, God.” Abruptly, her eyes narrowed. “You better let me inside. Right this minute.”
V threw his hands up and muttered, “Fuck,” as he opened the door.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Marissa marched past Vishous, and the Brother got out of her way. Which proved he was as smart as his reputation held.
When she got to the doorway of Butch’s room, she stopped. From the glow of the hall light, she saw him lying on the bed on his back. His suit was all out of joint and there was blood on his shirt. Blood on his face, too.
She walked over and had to cover her mouth with her hand. “Dear Virgin in the Fade…”
One of his eyes was swollen and going black and blue again, and there was a cut on the bridge of his nose, which explained the blood. And he smelled like fresh Scotch.
From the doorway, Vishous’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “You should really come back tomorrow. He’s going to be pissed as hell that you saw him like this.”
“Exactly who did this to him? And so help me God, if you say it was just a quick fight, I’m going to scream.”
“Like I said, he went after Rehvenge. And Rehv happens to have a lot of bodyguards.”
“Those must be big males,” she said numbly.
“Actually, the one who nailed him was a female.”
“A female?” Oh, why the hell did the particulars matter. “Can you bring me a couple of towels and some hot soapy water?” She went to Butch’s feet and pulled off his shoes. “I want to wash him.”
After V walked down the hall, she stripped Butch down to his boxers then sat beside him. The heavy gold cross that lay on his chest was a surprise. In the earlier frenzy up in the sitting room, she hadn’t paid much attention to the thing, but now she wondered where he’d gotten it.
She looked farther down, to the black scar on his belly. Which seemed no better, no worse.
When V showed up with a bowl of suds and a short stack of terry cloth, she said, “Put it all on this table where I can reach it, then leave us, please. And shut the door behind you.”
There was a pause. Which made sense. You didn’t order around a member of the Black Dagger Brotherhood anywhere, much less in his own house. But her nerves were shot and her heart was breaking and she really didn’t care what anyone thought of her.
It was her rule number one in action.
After a silent stretch, the things were placed where she wanted them and then the door clicked shut. Taking a deep breath, she wet one of the washcloths. As she touched Butch
’s face with it, he winced and muttered something.
“I’m so sorry, Butch…but it’s over now.” She returned the washcloth to the bowl, submerging it, then squeezing the excess water out. The dripping seemed very loud. “And nothing happened other than the feeding, I swear.”
She got the blood off his face then stroked his hair, the thick waves damp from the washing. In response, he stirred and turned his face into her hand, but it was obvious he was dead drunk and not coming around.
“Are you going to believe me?” she whispered.
At any rate, she had proof. When she came to him a newling, he would know no other male had—
“I can smell him on you.”
She jerked back at the harsh sound of his voice.
Butch’s eyes opened slowly and they seemed black, not hazel. “I can smell him all over you. Because it wasn’t from the wrist.”
She didn’t know how to respond. Especially as he focused on her mouth and said, “I saw the marks on his throat. And your scent was all over him, too.”
When Butch reached out, she flinched. But all he did was stroke her cheek with his forefinger, light as a sigh.
“How long did it take?” he asked.
She stayed silent, instinct telling her the less he knew the better.
As he took his hand back, his face was hard and weary. Emotionless. “I believe you. About the sex.”
“You don’t look as if you do.”
“Sorry, I’m a little distracted. I’m trying to convince myself I’m okay with tonight.”
She looked down at her hands. “It felt all wrong to me, too. I cried the whole time.”
Butch inhaled sharply, then all the tension went out of the air between them. He sat up and put his hands on her shoulders. “Oh, God…baby, I’m sorry I’m such a pain in the ass—”
“No, I’m sorry that I have to—”
“Shh, it’s not your fault. Marissa, this is not your fault—”
“It feels that way—”
“My deficiency, not yours.” His arms, those wonderful, heavy arms, slid around her and gathered her close to his bare chest. In return, she hung on to him for dear life.
As he kissed her temple, he murmured, “Not your fault. Ever. And I wish I could handle it better, I truly do. I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time with this.”
She pulled back abruptly, seized by an urgency she didn’t question. “Butch, lay with me. Mate with me. Now.”
“Oh…Marissa…I would love to, I really would.” He smoothed her hair gently. “But not like this. I’m drunk and your first time should be—”
She cut him off with her mouth, tasting the Scotch and the male in him while she pushed him down on the mattress. When she slid her hand between his legs, he groaned and hardened right in her palm.
“I need you in me,” she said roughly. “If not your blood, then your sex. In me. Now.”
She kissed him again and as his tongue shot into her mouth she knew she had him. And oh, he was so good. He rolled her over and swept his hand from her neck to her breasts, then followed the path with his lips. When he got to the bodice of her gown, he stopped and his face grew hard again. With a savage movement, he gripped the silk and ripped the front of the dress clean apart. And he didn’t stop at the waist. He kept going, his big hands and veined forearms working as he tore the satin right down the middle, all the way to the hem of the skirt.
“Take it off,” he demanded.
She stripped the remnants from her shoulders, and when she lifted her hips, he yanked the dress out from under her, wadded it up, and pitched it across the room.
Eyes fierce, he came back at her, shoved her slip up, and spread her thighs. Looking at her over her body, his voice raw, he said, “Never wear that thing again.”
As she nodded, he pushed her panties to the side and put his mouth right on her core. The orgasm he gave her was a claim staked, a mate’s marking, and he made her ride it out until she was limp and shaking.
Then he tenderly eased her legs back together. Though she was the one who’d had the release, he was so much more relaxed as he prowled up her body. In a daze from what he’d done to her, she was weak and unresisting as he stripped her naked and then got up and took off his boxers.
As she looked at the size of him and realized what was coming next, fear tickled the edges of her consciousness. But she was too blissed out to care much.
He was all male animal as he got back on the bed, his sex hard and thick, ready to penetrate. She opened her legs for him, except he lay beside her, not on top of her.
Now he went slowly. He kissed her long and sweet, his broad palm traveling to her breasts, touching her with care. Breathless, she curled her hands on to his shoulders and felt the muscles under his warm and supple skin bunch up as he stroked her hips, her thighs.
When he touched her between her legs, he was tender and unhurried, and it was a while before one of his fingers went inside of her. He stopped just as a strange internal tugging made her frown and move her hips back.
“Do you know what to expect?” he asked against her breast, his voice soft, low.
“Um…yes. I suppose.” But then she thought of the size of his erection. How in God’s name was it going to fit?
“I’ll be as gentle as I can, but this…is going to hurt you. I had hoped maybe—”
“I know that’s a part of it.” She’d heard that there was a slight twinge involved, but then a wondrous ecstasy. “I’m ready.”
He took back his hand and rolled on top of her, his body easing in between her legs.
Abruptly, everything came into sharp focus: the feel of his hot skin and the compression of his weight and the power in his muscles…and the pillow under her head and the mattress she was on and exactly how far her thighs were spread. She looked up at the ceiling. A swing of lights moved around above them as if a car had just pulled up in the courtyard.
She went tense; she couldn’t help it. Even though it was Butch and she loved him, the threat of the experience, the overwhelming nature of it, swamped her. Three hundred years and it had suddenly come down to here and now.
For some stupid reason, tears welled.
“Baby, we really don’t have to do this.” His thumbs wiped her cheeks and his hips pulled back as if he was going to get off.
“I don’t want to stop.” She grabbed on to the small of his back. “No—Butch, wait. I want this. I truly do.”
He closed his eyes. Then dropped his head into her neck and worked his arms so they were all the way around her. Twisting to the side, he hugged her into his hard body and they stayed like that for a long time, his weight positioned so she could breathe, his arousal a hot, branding length on her thigh. She began to wonder if he was going to do anything at all.
Just as she was about to ask, he shifted and his hips fell solidly between her legs again.
He kissed her, a deep, drugging full-mouth seduction that got her burning until she was undulating under him, rubbing against his hips, trying to get closer to him.
And then it happened. He moved over a little to the left, and she felt his erection at her core, all hard and smooth. There was a broad, satin stroke and then some pressure. She went still, thinking about exactly what was pushing at her and where it wanted to go.
Butch swallowed hard enough for her to hear it and sweat broke out across his shoulders until it ran down his spine. As the pressure between her legs intensified, his breathing deepened until he was groaning on every exhale. When she winced in earnest, he abruptly backed off.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“You’re very tight.”
“Well, you’re very big.”
He laughed in a burst. “Nicest things…you say the nicest things.”
“Are you stopping?”
“Not unless you want me to.”
When there wasn’t any “no” coming from her, his body tensed up and the head of him found her entrance once again. His hand came up ne
xt to her face and he tucked her hair behind her ear.
“If you can, try and relax, Marissa. It’ll go easier for you.” He started a rocking motion, his hips easing into hers and retreating, a gentle to and fro. Except each time he tried to nudge in a fraction, her body resisted.
“You okay?” he said through gritted teeth.
She nodded even though she trembled. It all felt so strange, especially as they weren’t making any real progress—
With a sudden slide he was in, slipping past some outer muscle until he came up against the barrier his finger had found. As she stiffened, Butch groaned and dropped his face into the pillow next to her head.
She smiled uneasily, the fullness in her unexpected. “I—ah, I feel like I should be asking whether you’re all right.”
“Are you kidding? I think I’m about to explode.” He swallowed again, a desperate gulping. “But I hate the idea of hurting you.”
“So let’s get that part behind us.”
She felt rather than saw his nod. “I love you.”
With a quick jerk, he drew back his hips and sliced forward.
The pain was raw and fresh and she gasped, shoving against his shoulders to keep him from moving any farther in. Instinct had her body struggling under his, trying to find a way out or at the very least to get some distance.
Butch lifted his torso off her, and their bellies brushed while they both breathed hard. With his heavy cross swinging between them, she let out a raw curse. The pressure before had been mere discomfort. This wasn’t. This hurt.
And she felt so invaded by him, taken over. God, that female chatter she’d overheard about how it was all lock-and-key wonderful, how the first time was magic, how everything was so easy—none of that was true for her.
Panic swelled. What if she really was broken on the inside? Was this the defect the males of the glymera had sensed? What if—
“Marissa?”
—she couldn’t get through it at all? What if every time it hurt like this? Oh, Jesus…Butch was very male and he was very sexual. What if he went looking for other—