by J. R. Ward
The Omega let it rip, pitching a fastball of concentrated nasty, and the impact was like getting hit with a bee’s nest, a million stinging nettles biting into every inch of Butch’s skin as he was blown off his feet into the wall behind him. The aftermath of the hit was worse. As the initial sensation faded, he felt as though he were bathed in the misery of humanity, all the suffering of all the ages boiling inside of him until he cried out in wretched pain.
Sliding down the bricks, he landed on his ass and looked up.
The Omega advanced further, floating over the asphalt. Impressed with my effort? Surprised? It’s not the result of a good day’s sleep, but you already know that, do you not. Remember when my sister had her little chat with you in the church?
Butch nodded because he wanted the evil to keep talking. “What about it?”
It was a violation of the rules of our game, and the rectification was getting my hearts back. The Creator awarded me the knowledge of that location—this after I have searched for them for centuries—and as you can see, I made the most of the reclamation of my property.
The evil took a little spin, as if it were showing off its pretty new robing.
Butch snuck one of his hands inside his jacket and locked a grip on the hilt of one of his daggers. If he could get close enough, if he could get a clear stab in the center of its chest? Maybe that would be enough—although he wasn’t under any misconceptions of what would happen if he did manage to deep-stick the motherfucker. If a normal slayer popped and fizzed when the penetration occurred? The Omega was going to relight the whole fucking city.
My sister’s miscalculation has cost her the entire war. I have won. And you will be my prize. The Omega’s sleeve lifted toward Butch. Our social acquaintance has lasted quite long enough. I believe I now wish for a more intimate association.
The evil’s energy entered Butch through the soles of his shitkickers, and the vibration traveled up his calves and his thighs, through his torso and into his head. Flexing against the onslaught, he strained and contorted, trying to fight the ownership that he could feel was coming. But like a revving engine, the disrupting power only ramped up, getting higher and higher, until he was nearly bent backward and his flesh could no longer contain the shock waves within its corporal confines.
It was as he strained and kicked his head back that he saw the figure approaching.
A female. In a parka. With red hair.
Surely he was imagining this. What the hell was Jo Early doing—
Butch shook his head. She had to go—she was going to die!
Just as he was sure he was going to explode and be consumed like the slayers had been, the internal pressure eased up and he was able to breathe again.
A visitor… we have a visitor, do we? the Omega said in Butch’s head. And you know her, do you not. Your half-sister. What a marvelous surprise. Let us bring her into this, shall we?
There was a high-pitched scream, and then Jo levitated off the ground and was swept forward, compelled to the Omega, the toes of her boots dragging over the asphalt. She fought the pull as best she could, flailing at the invisible spell that had taken her over, but there was nothing she could do. She was as helpless as the rest of them.
I’m afraid she is not my type, the Omega announced. Or I might enjoy a further kind of torture of you, my dear friend. Still, she will be a nice addition to the family when this is all done.
The Omega cast Jo aside like she was a rag doll, flipping her into the flank of a building, her body shattering the panes of a window, the glass raining down as she fell in a slump to the pavement.
“You fucking bastard!”
Butch leaped up and hit the ground running, catching the Omega by surprise. Raising his black dagger high, he plunged it into whatever he could, stabbing over and over again—
The Omega roared with fury. Grabbing Butch by the throat, it shoved its threat off, Butch’s body going spinning off to the side, the dagger flying out of his palm.
And then there was no more posturing, no conversation, no halfways.
The energy that came at Butch hit him and stayed put, penetrating into his very molecules, a cloud of agony that was going to blow him apart within seconds. As he screamed, he saw white and stopped breathing.
Just before he lost consciousness, he remembered what V had told him before he’d left the Pit. The cross. The cross would save him.
With his last quantum of strength, he pushed his hand under his muscle shirt and took out his gold cross. Holding the symptom of his faith forward, he focused his eyes on the Omega, as if he could will the evil back to Dhunhd.
Through slack lips, he began to pray. “Hail Mary, full of grace…”
The Omega’s laughter rang out in Butch’s brain. And you think that will help?
The suffering intensified even further.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
At the moment of his death, Butch thought of Marissa, of course. Vishous, too. And also the others who had stayed back home. They were going to be mourners for the rest of their lives and he hated it.
And then there was Wrath. He was never going to get over this. Almost all of the Brotherhood lost and most of the fighters in the house gone, too? Thank God he had Beth and L.W. to keep him from spiraling. He had spent so many centuries after his parents had been murdered by the Lessening Society angry and disconnected.
He had to continue to lead. He had to rebuild.
The vampire race had to go on after this carnage.
As the suffocation get worse, Butch could feel his heart slow down. Slower. Slower…
“Marissa,” he choked out.
His last thought was of the way they had kissed goodbye. That final moment would have to last until they met in the Fade. Assuming there even was a place to go after death now that the Omega had won. What kind of spoils would come with the evil’s victory?
Butch drew his last breath picturing the aristocratic female who had saved him from his gray, alcoholic existence, rescuing him with her love and her—
The screeching noise was something between a jet airplane skidding out on a tarmac, an industrialized balloon being popped with a pin, and seven thousand air horns going off at the same time.
And then Butch was able to breathe a little. And a little more.
And finally, fully.
With air in his lungs, his sight came back—not that that helped much. Because he had no clue what the hell he was seeing.
The Omega was still sending out all his claiming power, but there was a deflection. A block. A…
Something standing between the source of the evil and Butch was taking it in the—
It couldn’t be.
She couldn’t be.
Butch staggered up to his feet, using the building behind him as a crutch because his balance was for shit. Wheezing, but breathing, he gave his eyes every opportunity to come clean with what was really going down.
Nothing changed.
The woman who had introduced herself as his sister’s former friend, who had showed up with a busted face and a bad story, who had taken him back to a crib which twenty-four hours later didn’t exist, had staked herself in front of him and was taking everything the Omega could throw at her.
With her stiletto heels planted, and her beautiful body straining, and her brunette locks flowing in an unholy wind, she had extended her own palm and was channeling the evil into herself.
And suddenly the balance of power seemed to change.
The Omega was no longer throwing the shit out. The woman—female—whatever the fuck she was—was sucking him in. Butch knew this because the Omega took a step back, and another—and then it seemed unable to go any further.
The woman moved forward. And got even closer.
A wind began to swirl around them, currents made of air that were strong as steel, and the woman yelled out a curse—
The Omega’s white robe rotted away, the folds staining brown and gray and then going threadbare, revealing the den
se, black hole of malevolence that they covered. A face emerged from within the stain, a tortured face, a face that was screaming—
Right before it blew apart.
The evil exploded, waves of energy released, breaking windows and blowing holes in the brick walls of buildings. But then came the sucking in, the ownership, the claiming of the power.
In the aftermath, there was only the woman left in the alley. The woman… and the bodies of Butch’s brothers and his fellow fighters. And his sister, Jo Early.
The woman looked at him over her shoulder. Then she turned around.
“Who are you?” Butch said hoarsely. “Really.”
“I did a good job with your sister’s friend, didn’t I?” She smiled in an almost shy way. “I got into your mind and looked around. I figured it was my best shot.”
“Tell me.”
“I have been known by many names, but I have always been female so it would be rude of you to ask my age. I am the Omega’s little sister. I am Devina.”
Butch weaved on his feet as he tried to understand what she was saying. But then things came back. “That night of Throe’s party. When the shadows attacked the guests… something left the house from the upstairs window…”
“And walked through the snow, leaving glowing tracks.” Devina smiled. “That was me. Poor Throe. He was no match for me. I needed a soul to switch places with and he made himself available.”
“Why did you save me?” Butch asked.
Devina smoothed her perfectly beautiful brunette hair. “I was lost until I saw you sucking back one of those lessers. I was just walking around this city, miserable and dejected, night after night. And then you talked to me about the nature of love and the female you fell for. You made me feel like that could happen to anyone. Including a demon like me. So I owe you.”
She glanced around. “So these are your people, huh? Don’t worry, they’re not dead. Just stunned. They’ll come to, and you should probably clear out. There’s a hush over this city, but it won’t last. It never does.”
The relief was so tremendous, Butch nearly fell over. “Thank you.”
Devina shook her head in a regretful way. “We’re even now. So after tonight? We’re on different sides. You need to know this.”
“So the war is going to restart with you?”
“In a manner of speaking. But I don’t discriminate like my brother did. I’m an equal opportunity killer, humans, vampires, wolven. I don’t give a shit as long as it’s fun.”
“Fair enough.”
The demon stared at him for a long time. “That shellan of yours is a lucky female for sure.”
With that, she turned away. And that was when Butch was able to properly focus on the cropped jacket she had paired with her micro-mini and her sheer black hose and her Louboutins with the red soles.
On the back of the black fabric, chunky crystals had been mounted and sewed in a pattern… that formed a perfect Georgian cross.
“Holy shit… Lacroix,” Butch stammered.
She paused and twisted around. “My jacket?”
“That’s Christian Lacroix, isn’t it. Vintage. From the nineties.”
The demon smiled so widely she became resplendent. “You know your fashion. And yes, I bought it new thirty years ago. Isn’t it just stunning?”
“Absolutely beautiful. A real showstopper.”
“You say the sweetest things.”
“And Vishous is never wrong.”
Devina seemed confused at that. But then she shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll be seeing you around—oh, and there’s one left. You better go take care of it. And somebody is coming, one of yours. Goodbye, Brian O’Neal.”
“Goodbye… Devina.”
The demon nodded once and then lingered a moment longer.
After that, she was gone.
But certainly not forgotten.
* * *
Mr. F watched the entity dematerialize from the shadows he’d been hiding in since he’d sent those three lessers down to their immortal deaths. And for a split second, he toyed with the idea of trying to run. He had a bunch of fully loaded guns on him, and except for the Dhestroyer, all the other vampires were still in a stupor. So it wouldn’t be hard to make a getaway.
But no. This was what he had engineered.
Taking all his weapons in hand, he stepped out from the doorway. The Dhestroyer noticed him instantly and went for his gun, but Mr. F called out to his enemy.
“I’m putting everything I have on me down.”
Mr. F dropped the guns on the asphalt and kicked them away. Then he took his jacket off and let it fall to the ground. As he put his hands up and did a slow turn so that the Dhestroyer would know he presented no harm, the cold of the spring night bit into his unholy flesh and he shivered.
When he finished his full circle, he faced the Brother. “Please…” he said in a voice that cracked. “Take me now. You’re the only way out. Please, I’m begging. End this for me. End this… for all of us.”
Mr. F was the last lesser.
After centuries of warfare, he was the last of his breed, and he didn’t want to go out in a blaze of glory. He just wanted to go out.
The Brother frowned and seemed to breathe in the air, his nostrils flaring. And then he limped forward.
“I only want this to end.” Mr. F knew he’d already said that, but what did it matter. “I’ve wanted my life to be over for quite some time now. Please… let it be here. Let it be now.”
The addiction. The Omega. The war he had been drafted into without his consent.
The Brother stopped and leaned down to the pavement, his narrowed eyes never leaving Mr. F. When he straightened, he’d picked up something, there was something in his hand.
Even in the darkness, Mr. F knew what it was.
A black dagger.
Mr. F closed his eyes and let his head fall back. As the Brother resumed his approach, and the heavy footfalls grew closer, Mr. F got calmer, especially as the scent of the vampire became loud in his nose and he could feel the heat coming off of the male’s massive, deadly body.
“It ends here,” the Dhestroyer said.
“Thank you,” Mr. F whispered.
The strike did not come through the heart. Instead, the blade streaked across the front of Mr. F’s throat. As black blood bubbled up, he started to choke, fluid entering his lungs.
Giving himself up to the death he had begged for, he let himself go loose, but he didn’t fall to the ground. The vampire caught him before he hit the pavement, and Mr. F opened his eyes.
The Dhestroyer lowered his face down and the two of them looked at each other.
Then the vampire opened his mouth… and began to inhale.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Syn pounded down Market Street in the darkness, following the scent of lesser. The sheer amount of the stench made him throw some more power into his legs. It was as if an entire army of the enemy had shown up in the field from out of nowhere—and what the fuck was up with the lights? Caldwell’s power had been cut for some reason, only the anemic glow from fixtures powered by emergency generators giving distant stars to some of the skyscrapers.
Not that he gave a fuck.
He re-formed downtown in the quadrant he was usually given, over by the meatpacking district, but as soon as his nose had caught a whiff of this? Cue the running—and he would have dematerialized, but he didn’t know exactly where he was going.
Besides, it was only a matter of a couple of blocks—
The SUV came out of nowhere, rounding the corner from one way as Syn rounded the turn from the other. As the headlights blinded him, he slammed into the front grille, and was so pissed off by the inconvenience, he shoved back at the vehicle, pushing it out of his way.
Then he took off running again.
That slayer stench was a calling card not to be ignored.
One final corner later and Syn went stealth, slowing his speed so he could move in silence, nothing but the creak
of his leather jacket to warn anyone of his arrival—
Syn slowed.
Syn stopped.
The carnage was the kind of thing that the brain could not process. Bodies, everywhere on the ground, and he knew them all. It was the Brotherhood. The Bastards. The fighters. Too many to count or to comprehend. And in the middle of the horrible scene…
Butch was holding a lesser in his arms, bending it backward as he inhaled, the black smoke passing from the slayer into the Brother. And as he continued to draw, the skin of the undead became a bag round the skeleton, all the muscle melting away under clothes that started to slip free of the body, the cheeks hollowing out, the eye sockets growing deep, the lax arms and hands becoming sticks.
Butch continued to take the essence of the Omega into himself until there was nothing left.
Not even the bones.
The last of the clothes fell to the ground at the Brother’s feet, ribbons that had been pants and shirts, jacket and holsters.
Butch staggered, fumbling with something.
He was clearly injured as well.
Syn surged forward and caught the male, holding him up. “Butch…”
“It’s over…” came the reedy reply to the question Syn couldn’t voice. “It’s all over. The last lesser is gone.”
Gathering the fighter against him, Syn closed his eyes on a wave of self-hatred and guilt. The Dhestroyer Prophecy had been wrong—or at best, incomplete. The Omega had been destroyed. But so had the Brotherhood—
The sounds were so soft at first that, in his grief and regret that he had come too late, that he had failed to serve those he revered against a common enemy, he did not notice them. But then the chorus of movement, the shifts of boots upon the ground and of leather upon leather, registered. All around, the Brotherhood and the Bastards and the fighters were stirring, life animating limbs that had been terrifyingly still.
“They’re okay,” Butch said in a groggy way. “Coming… ’round.”
Syn’s only thought was that he was the last man standing. Literally. His second was that he had to control the scene. He was relieved that this alley wasn’t one massive open grave, but there were hundreds of thousands of humans, cops, and assholes out and about in the darkened city. There was no backup to be had, either. The fighters on hand at the mansion to protect Wrath had to stay put.