Lover Revealed (16 page)

As dawn arrived and the steel shutters came down all around the mansion's billiards room, Vishous bit into an Arby's roast beef sandwich. Thing tasted like a phone book, through no fault of the ingredients.

At the soft smack of pool balls, he looked up. Beth, the queen, was just straightening from the felt.

"Nice shot," Rhage said as he lounged against a silk wall.

"Careful training." She walked around the table, sizing up her next stroke. When she leaned down again and braced the cue on her left hand, the queen's Saturnine Ruby flashed on her middle finger.

V wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. "She's going to beat you again, Hollywood."

"Probably."

Except she didn't get the chance. Wrath plowed through the doorway, clearly in a mood. His long black hair, which was down almost to his leather-covered ass now, flared behind him, then came to rest on his thick back.

Beth put her cue down. "How is John?"

"Who the hell knows." Wrath went over and kissed her on the mouth, then on both sides of her neck over her veins. "He won't go to see Havers. Refuses to get anywhere near the clinic. Kid's asleep in Tohr's office now, just exhausted."

"What was the trigger for the seizure this time?"

"Z was doing a class on explosives. Kid just whacked out, ended up on the floor. Same as before when he saw you."

Beth wrapped her arms around Wrath's waist and leaned into her
hellren's
body. Their black hair mixed together, his straight, hers wavy. God, Wrath's was so damn long now. But word had it that Beth liked the stuff so he'd grown it out for her.

V wiped his mouth again. Weird, how males do shit like that.

Beth shook her head. "I wish John would come stay in the house with us. Sleeping in that chair, staying in the office… He spends so much time alone and he doesn't eat enough anymore. Plus Mary says he won't talk about what happened with Tohr and Wellsie at all. He just refuses to open up."

"I don't care what he talks about as long as he goes to the damn doctor." Wrath's wraparound sunglasses shifted over to V, "And how's our other patient? Christ, I feel like we need an in-house physician around here."

V reached for the Arby's bag and took out sandwich number two. "Cop's healing up. I think he'll be out in a day or so."

"I want to know what the fuck was done to him. The Scribe Virgin's giving me nothing on this one. She's silent as stone."

"I started the research yesterday. Began with the Chronicles." Which were eighteen volumes in the Old Language, of vampire history. God, talk about your wallbangers. The damn things were about as much fun as reading an inventory list for a hardware store. "If I don't find anything, there are some other places to check. Compendiums of oral tradition that were reduced to writing, that kind of shit. It is highly improbable that in our twenty thousand years of taking up space on the planet something like this hasn't happened before. I'm going to spend today working on it."

Because as usual there'd be no sleep for him. It had been over a week since he'd REM'd out, and there was no reason to think things were going to be any different this afternoon.

Holy hell… being up for eight days straight was not good for his brain wave activity. Without going into a dream state regularly, psychosis could easily take root and rewire your circuit. It was a wonder he hadn't lost it already.

"V?" Wrath said.

"Sorry? What?"

"You okay?"

Vishous bit into his roast beef and chewed. "Yeah, fine. Just fine."

When night fell some twelve hours later, Van Dean stopped his truck underneath a maple tree on a nice, tidy little street.

He did not like this situation.

The house on the other side of the shallow lawn wasn't trouble on the surface, just another whatever Colonial in this whatever neighborhood. The problem was the number of cars parked in the driveway. Four of them.

He'd been told he was meeting Xavier one-on-one.

Van cased the place from inside his truck. Shades were all down. Only two lights on inside. Porch light was off.

But there was a lot on the line. Saying yes to this gig meant he could kick the construction shit to the curb, reducing the wear and tear on his body. And he could make more than he did now by double so he could save something to survive on when he couldn't fight anymore.

He got out and walked up to the front stoop. The ivy-themed welcome mat that he planted his boots on was just too frickin' creepy.

The door swung open before he hit the bell. Xavier was on the other side, all big and bleached-out looking. "You're late."

"And you said we'd be meeting alone."

"Worried you can't handle company?"

"Depends on what kind it is."

Xavier stepped to the right. "Why don't you get in here and find out?"

Van stayed on the mat. "Just so you know, I told my brother I was coming here. Address and everything."

"Which brother, the older or the younger?" Xavier smiled as Van narrowed his eyes. "Yes, we know about them. As you say, their addresses and everything."

Van put his hand into the pocket of his parka. The nine-millimeter he was packing slid into his palm like the thing was finding home.

Money, think about the money.

After a moment, he said, "We going to get down to it or keep yakking it up in this draft?"

"I'm not the one on the wrong side of the door, son."

Van came in, keeping an eye on Xavier. Inside, the place was cold, like the heat was down low or maybe the house was abandoned. The lack of furniture suggested the latter.

When Xavier reached into his back pocket, Van tensed up. And what came forward was a weapon of sorts: ten perfectly crisp hundred-dollar bills.

"So do we have a deal?" Xavier asked.

Van looked around. Then took the money and stashed it. "Yeah."

"Good. You start tonight." Xavier turned and walked to the back of the house.

Van followed, staying on high alert. Especially as they went down into the basement and he saw six more of Xavier standing around at the bottom of the stairs. The men were all tall, pale-haired, and smelling like old lady.

"Looks like you've got a few brothers of your own," Van said casually.

"They're not brothers. And don't use that word around here." Xavier glanced over at the hardasses. "These will be your trainees."

Moving under his own steam, but watched by a nurse in full hazmat dress, Butch got back into bed after having had his first shower and shave. The catheter and the IV were out and he'd managed to suck back a good meal. He'd also slept soundly for eleven out of the past twelve hours.

Man… he was beginning to feel human again, and the speed with which he was rebounding was a gift from God as far as he could tell.

"You did well, sire," the nurse said.

"Next stop, the Olympics." He pulled the sheets up himself.

After the nurse left, he glanced at Marissa. She was sitting on the cot that he'd insisted be brought in for her and her head was bent over the needlepoint she was doing. Ever since he'd woken up about an hour ago she'd been acting a little strange, as if she was on the verge of saying something that she couldn't quite manage to let out.

His eyes went from the bright crown of her head, to her delicate hands, to the peach gown that overflowed her makeshift bed… and then he eased his stare back up to the bodice of the dress. There were dainty buttons going all the way down the front. Like a hundred of them.

Butch shifted his legs around, feeling restless. And found himself wondering how long it would take him to slip each of those pearls loose.

His body stirred, the blood pooling between his legs, making him swell up hard.

Well, what do you know. He
really
was better.

And man, he was a sonofabitch.

He rolled away from her and closed his eyes.

Trouble was, with his lids down, all he saw was him kissing her on Darius's second-story porch last summer. Oh, shit, he remembered it clear as a photograph. He'd been sitting down and she'd been between his legs and his tongue had been in her mouth. They'd ended up on the floor when he broke the chair—

"Butch?"

He opened his eyes and jerked back. Marissa was right in front of him, her face on his level. In a panic, he glanced down to make sure the sheets hid what was doing between his thighs.

"Yeah?" he said with so much gravel he had to repeat himself. Christ, his voice box always had rough edges, his words perpetually a little hoarse, but if there was one sure thing that made that worse it was thinking about getting naked. Especially with her.

As her eyes scanned his face, he feared that she saw everything, right down to the core of him. Where his obsession with her was the strongest.

"Marissa, I think I should go to sleep now. You know, rest and all that."

"Vishous said you came to see me. After Wrath was shot."

Butch squeezed his lids shut again. His first thought was that he was going to drag his sorry ass out of bed, find his roommate, and beat the guy. Goddamn, V—

"I wasn't told," she said. As he looked at her and frowned, she shook her head. "I didn't know you'd been by until Vishous told me last night. Who did you see when you came? What happened?"

She hadn't known? "I, ah, a
doggen
answered the door. After she went upstairs, she said you weren't receiving and you'd call. When you never did… I wasn't going to stalk you or something."

Well, okay… he'd stalked her a little. She'd just never known about it, thank God. Unless of course, V, that loose-lipped fool, had filled her in on that, too.
Bastard
.

"Butch, I got sick and I needed some time to regroup. But I wanted to see you. That's why I asked you to come calling when I ran into you back in December. When you said no, I thought… well, you'd lost interest."

She'd wanted to see him? Had she said that?

"Butch, I wanted to see you."

Yeah, she had. Twice.

Well, now… didn't that perk a guy up.

"Shit," he breathed, meeting her eyes. "Do you have any idea how many times I drove past your house?"

"You did?"

"Practically every night. I was pathetic." Hell, he still was.

"But you wanted me to leave this room. You were angry to see me here."

"I was pissed—er, angry because you weren't wearing a suit. And I assumed you'd gotten roped into being here." With a shaky hand, he reached out for a lock of her hair. God, it was so soft. "Vishous can be very persuasive. And I didn't want your compassion or your pity to put you someplace you didn't want to be."

"I wanted to be here. I
want
to be here." She grabbed his hand and squeezed.

In the
oh-my-God-this-has-to-be-Christmas
silence that followed, he struggled to reorder the last six months, to catch up with this reality they'd somehow missed. He wanted her. She wanted him. Was it true?

Felt true. Felt good. Felt…

He let incautious, desperate words fly. "I am pathetic over you, Marissa. Yeah, totally fuc—er… really pathetic. Over you."

Her pale blue eyes teared up. "Me… too. For you."

Butch wasn't even aware of making the big move. But one moment they were separated by air. The next, he was putting his mouth on hers. When she gasped, he pulled back.

"Sorry—"

"No—I—I was just surprised," she said, eyes on his lips. "I want you to…"

"Okay." He tilted his head to the side and brushed her mouth. "Come closer to me."

With a tug on her arm, he eased her onto the bed, then pulled her over so she was lying on top of him. The weight of her was little more than warm air and he loved it, especially as he was surrounded by her blond hair. Putting both hands to her face, he stared up at her.

As her lips parted in a gentle smile just for him, he saw the tips of her fangs. Oh, God, he had to get into her, had to penetrate her in some way, so he leaned up and led with his tongue. She moaned while he licked into her mouth and then they were kissing deep, his hands threading into her hair and cradling the back of her head. He spread his legs and her body eased between them, increasing the pressure where he was hard and thick and hot.

From out of nowhere, a question shot into his mind, one he had no right to ask, one that tripped him up and had him losing his rhythm. He pulled back from her.

"Butch, what is it?"

He stroked her mouth with his thumb, wondering if she'd had a man. In the nine months since he'd kissed her before, had she taken a lover? Maybe had more than one?

"Butch?"

"Nothing," he said, even as a fierce possessive streak clawed into his chest.

He took her mouth again, and now he kissed her with an ownership he had no right to, one hand shooting down to the small of her back, pressing her into his arousal. He felt this urgent need to stake a claim on her so that anything male would know whose woman she was. Which was nuts.

Abruptly she jerked back. As she sniffed the air, she seemed confused. "Do human males bond?"

"Ah… we get emotional, sure."

"No… bond." She buried her face in his neck, inhaled, then started to rub her nose against his skin.

He gripped her hips, wondering just how far things were going to go. He wasn't sure he had the strength for sex, even though he was totally erect. And he didn't want to presume anything. But Jesus God in heaven he wanted it from her.

"I love the way you smell, Butch."

"It's probably the soap I just used." As her fangs dragged up his neck, he groaned, "Oh, shit… don't… stop…"

Chapter Eleven