by J. R. Ward
Marissa shifted away from him warily. “And this is…what?”
Thank God V spoke up. “What you’re looking at is two different translations of the Lessening Society’s Scrolls. One we had from before. One is from a laptop that I confiscated from the slayers about ten days ago. The Scrolls are the handbook of the Society and the section you’re looking at is what we call the Destroyer Prophecy. We’ve known about it for generations, ever since the first copy of the Scrolls fell into our possession.”
As Marissa’s hand went to her throat, she was obviously getting the gist of where they were headed. She started shaking her head. “But it’s all riddles. Surely—”
“Butch has all the markers.” V lit up a hand-rolled and exhaled. “He can sense lessers, so that’s one more than north, south, east, or west he apperceives. His pinkie is misshapen from the transition, so he has only four fingers he can point with. He’s had three lives, childhood, adulthood, and now as a vampire, and you could argue he was birthed here in Caldwell when we turned him. But the real telltale is that scar on his belly. It’s the black eye and one of two scores on his forefront. Assuming you count his belly button as the first.”
She looked at Wrath. “So what does this mean?”
The king took a deep breath. “It means Butch is our very best weapon in the war.”
“How…” Marissa’s voice drifted.
“He can shortcut a lesser’s return to the Omega. See, during the induction, the Omega shares a part of himself with each slayer and that piece comes back to the master when the lesser is killed. As the Omega is a finite being, this return is critical. He needs to get back what he puts in them if he’s to continue to populate his fighters.” Wrath nodded toward Butch. “The cop breaks that part of the cycle. So the more lessers Butch consumes, the weaker the Omega will become until there is, literally, nothing left of him. It’s like chipping away at a boulder.”
Marissa’s eyes slid back to Butch. “Consume exactly how?”
Oh, man, she wasn’t going to like this part. “I just…inhale them. Take them into me.”
The terror in her eyes killed him, it really did. “Won’t you become one, then? What stops you from being taken over?”
“I don’t know.” Butch settled back on his heels, terrified that she would bolt. Not that he’d blame her. “But Vishous helps me. In the way he healed me with his hand before.”
“How many times have you done…whatever to them?”
“Three. Including the one tonight.”
Her eyes squeezed shut. “And when did you first do it?”
“About two weeks ago.”
“So none of you know the long-term effects, do you?”
“But I’m okay—”
Marissa burst up from the chair and walked out from behind the desk, her eyes on the floor, her arms wrapped around herself. When she stopped in front of Wrath, it was to glare at him. “And you want to use him?”
“This is about the race’s very survival.”
“What about his?”
Butch got to his feet. “I want to be used, Marissa.”
She looked over at him with hard eyes. “May I remind you, you almost died from the Omega’s contamination?”
“That was different.”
“Was it? If you’re talking about putting more and more of that evil in your system again, exactly how is it different?”
“I told you, V helps me process it. It doesn’t stay with me.” He got no reply to that. She just stood stock-still in the middle of the room, so self-contained he didn’t know how to reach her. “Marissa…we’re talking about purpose. My purpose.”
“Funny, you told me in bed this morning that I was your life.”
“You are. But this is different.”
“Ah, yes, everything is different when you want it to be.” She shook her head. “You couldn’t save your sister, but now…now you have a shot at saving thousands of vampires. Your hero complex must be thrilled.”
Butch bit down hard, jaw flexing. “That is a cheap shot.”
“But true.” Abruptly, she grew weary. “You know, I am really sick and tired of violence. And fighting. And people getting hurt. And you told me you weren’t going to get involved with this war.”
“I was human then—”
“Oh, please—”
“Marissa, you’ve seen what those lessers can do. You’ve been at your brother’s clinic when the bodies have been brought in. How can I not fight?”
“But you’re not just talking about hand-to-hand combat. You’re taking it to a whole different level. Consuming slayers. How can you be sure you won’t turn into one?”
From out of nowhere, fear sliced through him, and as her eyes narrowed on his face, he knew he didn’t hide the anxiety fast enough.
She shook her head. “You’re worried about that, too, aren’t you? You’re not certain you won’t turn into one of them.”
“Not true. I won’t lose myself. I know it.”
“Oh, really. Then why are you holding on to your cross like that, Butch?”
He glanced down. Shit, his hand was locked on the crucifix so tight his knuckles were white and his shirt was all bunched up. He forced himself to drop his arm.
Wrath’s voice cut in. “We need him, Marissa. The race needs him.”
“What about his safety?” She let out a sob, but then quickly smothered it. “I’m sorry, but I—I can’t smile and say Go get ’em. I spent days under quarantine watching him—” She wheeled toward Butch. “Watching you nearly die. It almost killed me. And the thing is, back then it wasn’t your choice, but this…this is a choice, Butch.”
She had a point. But he couldn’t back down. He was what he was, and he had to believe he was strong enough not to fall into the darkness. “I don’t want to be a kept pet, Marissa. I want a purpose—”
“You have a pur—”
“—and that purpose is not going to be sitting at home waiting for you to get back from your life. I’m a man, not a piece of furniture.” When she just stared at him, he said, “I can’t sit on my hands when I know there’s something I can do to help the race—my race.” He went over to her. “Marissa—”
“I can’t…I can’t do this.” She put her hands out of his reach and backed up. “I’ve seen you almost die too many times. I won’t…I can’t do this, Butch. I can’t live like that. I’m sorry, but you’re on your own. I will not sit back and watch you destroy yourself.”
She turned and walked out of the Pit.
Up at the main house, John waited in the library, feeling like he was about to jump out of his skin. As the clock chimed, he looked down at his little chest and the tie that was hanging off of his neck. He’d wanted to look nice, but the getup probably came across like he was posing for a school picture.
When he heard fast footsteps, he glanced up at the open double doors. Marissa walked by, heading for the staircase and looking desolate. Butch was tight on her heels, looking worse.
Oh, no…He hoped they would be okay. He liked them both so much.
When a door shut with a bang upstairs, he walked over to the diamond-pane windows and stared outside. As he put his hand up to the glass, he thought about what Wrath had said—that Tohr was alive, somewhere.
He so wanted to believe that.
“Sire?” When he turned at the sound of Fritz’s voice, the old man smiled. “Your guest has arrived. Shall I show her in?”
John swallowed. Twice. Then nodded. Fritz disappeared and a moment later a woman appeared in the doorway. Without looking at John, she bowed to him and stayed parallel to the floor in supplication. She seemed to be about six feet tall and was wearing something like a white toga. Her blond hair was coiled on top of her head, and though he couldn’t see her face now, the split-second eyeball he’d gotten of it stuck with him.
She was beyond beautiful. Straight into angel territory.
There was a long silence, during which all he could do was stare.
“You
r grace,” she said softly. “May I meet thine eyes?”
He opened his mouth. Then started to nod frantically.
Except she just stayed as she was. Well, duh, she couldn’t see him. Shit.
“Your grace?” Now her voice wavered a little. “Perhaps…you would care for another of us?”
John went over to her and lifted his hand to touch her lightly. Um, where, though? That toga thing was low-cut and slit up the sleeves as well as down the front of the skirt…God, she smelled good.
He tapped her awkwardly on the shoulder, and she inhaled as if he’d surprised her.
“Your grace?”
With a little pressure on her arm, he brought her upright. Whoa…her eyes were really green. Like summer grapes. Or the inside of a lime.
He gestured to his throat and then made a cutting motion with his hand.
Her perfect face tilted to the side. “You do not speak, your grace?”
He shook his head, a little surprised Wrath hadn’t mentioned it. Then again, the king had a lot of other things on his mind.
In response, Layla’s eyes positively glowed, and as she smiled, she knocked him out. Her teeth were perfect and her fangs were…incredibly lovely. “Your grace, the vow of silence is to be commended. Such self-discipline. You shall be a warrior of great power, you who have been bred from Darius son of Marklon’s line.”
Good Lord. She was seriously impressed by him. And hell, if she wanted to think he’d taken a vow, that was fine. No reason to tell her he had a defect.
“Perhaps you would like to have knowledge of me?” she said. “So that you are assured you shall have what you want when you are in need?”
He nodded and glanced over at the couch, thinking he was glad he’d brought a pad with him. Maybe they could sit there for a while and get to know one another—
When he looked back she was gloriously naked, the toga thing in a pool at her feet.
John felt his eyes bug out. Holy…shit.
“Do you approve, your grace?”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…Even if he’d had a voice box, he still would have been speechless.
“Your grace?”
As John started to nod, he thought, man, wait until he told Blaylock and Qhuinn about this.
Chapter Forty-five
The following evening, Marissa emerged from the basement rooms of Safe Place and tried to pretend that her world hadn’t crashed and burned.
“Mastimon wants to talk to you,” a little voice said.
Marissa turned around and saw the young with the leg cast. Forcing a smile, she crouched down and got eye to eye with the stuffed tiger. “Does he?”
“Yes. He says that you are not to be sad, because he is here to protect us. And he wants to hug you.”
Marissa took the ratty toy and cradled it tight to her neck. “He is both fierce and kind.”
“True. And you should keep him with you for now.” The young’s expression was all business. “I have to help mahmen prepare First Meal.”
“I’ll be careful of him.”
With a solemn nod the young was off, pegging her half-pint crutches into the floor.
As Marissa held on to the tiger, she thought about what it had been like to pack up her few things and leave the Pit the night before. Butch had tried to talk her out of going, but the decision he’d made was in his eyes, so the words he’d spoken had made no difference.
The reality was, her love had not cured his death wish or his risk-taking personality. And as painful as the separation was, if she stayed with him, it would be untenable: nothing but night after night of waiting for the call to come that he was dead. Or even more tragic, that he had turned into something evil.
Plus, the more she thought about it, the more she didn’t trust him to keep safe. Not after his suicide attempt in the clinic. And the regression he’d volunteered for. And the transition he’d put himself through. And now the battling—the consuming of lessers. Yes, the outcomes had been positive so far, but the trend wasn’t good: All she had to go on was a consistent pattern of self-abuse that she knew damn well sooner or later he was going to get seriously damaged by.
She loved him too much to watch him kill himself.
As tears came to her eyes, she wiped them away and stared into space. After a while, some kind of flickering thought, like an echo, flashed through the back of her mind. But whatever it was faded quickly.
Forcing herself to stand up, she was momentarily lost. She literally couldn’t remember what she was doing or why she was in the hall. In the end, she headed for her office because there was always something waiting for her to do there.
One thing about being a former cop was you never lost your idiot radar.
Butch paused in the alley next to ZeroSum. Down the way, loitering at the club’s emergency exit, was that half-pint, Euro-trash, flash-in-the-pan blond kid who’d made such a stink at the waitress last week. Next to him was one of his steakheads and the pair were lighting cigarettes.
Although why they were smoking it up out here in the cold didn’t make a lot of sense.
Butch hung back and watched. Which of course gave him time to think. Which sucked, as usual. Man, anytime things got quiet, all he could see was Marissa getting into Fritz’s Mercedes and that S600 disappearing through the gates.
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.
Lessers. 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 bigmouthed 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.”