by J. R. Ward
But then Vishous narrowed his eyes. His intellect was so fierce, getting assessed by him was like being plucked naked and sandblasted.
"You got one hell of a death wish." It wasn't a question.
"Yeah, maybe," Butch said. He waited to be asked why. When the inquiry didn't come, he was surprised.
"We all do," Vishous murmured. "That's why I'm not asking for details."
They were silent for a moment.
Vishous's eyes narrowed again. "You're not going back to your old life, cop. You know that, right? Because you've seen too much of us. We wouldn't be able to scrub your memories clean enough."
"You telling me to pick out a casket?"
"Hope not. But it's not my call. Depends a lot on you." There was a pause. "You don't have much to go back to, do you?"
Butch looked up at the ceiling.
When the brothers had let him check his messages this morning, there'd been only one. It had been the captain, telling him to come in for the results of Internal's investigation.
Yeah, like that was an appointment he needed to keep. He knew damn well what the outcome would be. He was going to be fired and served up as a sacrificial lamb to combat the image of police brutality. Or he was going to be put out to pasture at a desk job.
As for his family? Ma and Pop, bless them, were still in their row house in Southie, surrounded by the surviving sons and daughters they loved so much. Though still mourning Janie, they were happy in their retirement years. And Butch's brothers and sisters were so busy having babies, raising babies, and thinking about having more babies, that they were totally tied up with their family obligations. In the O'Neal clan, Butch was just a footnote. The Dark One Who Had Failed to Procreate.
Friends? José was the only one he could even remotely consider a friend. Abby wasn't even that. She was just a screw every now and again.
And after meeting Marissa last night, he'd lost his interest in casual sex.
He glanced over at the vampire. "Naw, I don't have anything."
"I know what that feels like." Vishous rustled around as if he were trying to get comfortable. When he settled on his back, he threw one heavy arm over his eyes.
Butch frowned as he caught sight of the vampire's left hand. It was covered with tattoos, dense, intricate designs that ran down the back of it, onto the palm, and around each finger. It must have hurt like a bitch to have done.
"V?"
"Yeah?"
"What's doing with the tats?"
"I didn't pester you about your curse, cop." Vishous put the arm away. "If I'm not up by eight, wake me, true?"
"Yeah. True." Butch closed his eyes.
* * *
Chapter Forty-two
In the chamber downstairs, Beth turned off the shower, reached for a towel, and clonked her new engagement ring on the marble counter.
"Oh, not good. Really not good…" She cradled her hand, thinking she was lucky Wrath was upstairs checking on preparations for the ceremony. Although maybe that cracking sound had carried to the first floor.
She braced herself before she looked down, convinced she'd either knocked the ruby loose or taken a hunk out of the stone. But it was fine.
Not that she was in a big hurry to bash it around again. Never one for rings, she was going to have to get used to wearing the thing.
Would that all of life's little adjustments be so hard, she thought wryly. Fiancé slides a priceless hunk of geology on your finger. What a bummer.
She had to smile as she dried off. Wrath had been so proud to put that ring on her. He'd told her it was a gift from someone whom she'd meet tonight.
At her wedding.
She paused with the towel. God, that word. Wedding.
Who'd have ever thought she'd—
Someone knocked on the chamber door.
"Hello, Beth? Are you in there?" The unfamiliar female voice was muffled.
Beth drew on Wrath's robe and went over, but didn't open the door. "Yes?"
"It's Wellsie. I'm Tohr's shellan. I thought you might like someone to help you get through tonight, and I've brought a gown for you, in case you don't have one already. Well, I'm also just your average nosy female, so I wanted to meet you."
Beth cracked the door.
Whoa.
There was nothing average about Wellsie. She had flame red hair, a face like a Greco-Roman goddess, and an aura of total self-possession. Her bright blue gown set off her coloring like an autumn sky over changing leaves.
"Ah, hi," Beth said.
"Hi, yourself." Wellsie's sherry-colored eyes were shrewd without being cold. Especially as she started to smile. "Aren't you gorgeous. No wonder Wrath fell as hard as he did."
"Would you like to come in?"
Wellsie marched into the room, carrying a long flat box and a big bag. She gave off an air of being in charge, but somehow, she didn't seem pushy.
"Tohr almost didn't tell me what was going on. He and Wrath are in a thing."
"Thing?"
Wellsie rolled her eyes, shut the door from across the room, and put the box down on the coffee table.
"Males like them, they get all riled up and take a hunk out of each other every once in a while. It's inevitable. Tohr won't tell me what it's all about, but I can guess. Honor, prowess on the field, or us, their females." Wellsie flipped open the box, revealing folds of red satin. "They're good-hearted, our boys. But they can blow their stacks and say something stupid every now and again."
She turned and smiled. "Enough of them. Are you ready for this?"
Beth was normally reticent around strangers. But this straight-talking woman with the no-nonsense eyes felt like someone worth taking a gamble on.
"Maybe not." Beth laughed. "I mean, I haven't known Wrath for long, but he feels like he's mine. I'm going with my gut on this. Not my head."
"I was the same way with Tohr." Wellsie's face softened. "Took one look at him and I knew I was done for."
Her hand absently went to her stomach.
She's pregnant, Beth thought. "When are you due?"
Wellsie flushed, but it seemed to be out of anxiety more than happiness.
"Long time. A year. If I can hold it." She bent down and took out the gown. "So would you like to try this on? We're almost the same size."
The dress was an antique, with black beading over lace on the bodice and a tremendous waterfall of a skirt. The red satin positively smoldered, catching the light from the candles and holding the glow deep within its folds.
"That's… spectacular." Beth reached out and stroked the skirting.
"My mother had it made for me. I was mated in it almost two hundred years ago. We can skip the corset if you want, but I brought the petticoats. They're such fun. And listen, if you don't like it or have something else you were planning to wear, I will absolutely not take offense."
"Are you crazy? Like I'm going to turn that down so I can get married in my shorts?"
Beth gathered up the dress and nearly ran to the bathroom. Stepping into the gown was like stepping back in time, and when she came back out into the chamber, she couldn't stop herself from fluffing the skirt. It was a little tight in the bodice, but she didn't care if she never took a full breath.
"You look great," Wellsie said.
"Yeah, because this is the most beautiful thing I've ever had on. Can you do the last buttons up the back?"
Wellsie's fingers were cool and quick. When she was finished, she tilted her head to one side, clasping her hands together. "You do it justice. The whole red-and-black combo really works with your hair. Wrath's going to pass out when he sees you."
"Are you sure you want to lend it to me?" What if she spilled on the thing?
"Clothes are meant to be worn. And that gown hasn't been on a body since 1814." Wellsie checked her diamond watch. "I'm going to go upstairs and see how the prep's coming. Fritz is probably going to need help. The brothers sure know how to eat, but their kitchen skills are deplorable. You'd think they'd be bette
r with knives, considering what they do for a living."
Beth turned around. "Give me a hand undoing these buttons and I'll go with you."
After helping her out of the dress, Wellsie hesitated.
"Listen, Beth… I'm happy for you. I truly am. But I feel like I should be honest. Having one of these males as a mate isn't easy. I hope you'll call me if you need someone to vent to."
"Thanks," Beth said, thinking she actually might do that. She could see Wellsie giving good advice. Probably because the woman looked like she had everything under control in her own life. She just seemed so… competent.
Wellsie smiled. "And maybe I'll be able to call you once in a while, too. God, I've waited so long to have someone to talk to who understands."
"None of the other brothers have wives, right?"
"You and I are it, dearie."
Beth smiled. "So we'd better stick together."
Wrath went upstairs, wondering who'd slept where. He knocked on one of the guest room doors, and Butch answered. The human was drying his hair with a towel. Had another wrapped around his waist.
"You know where V is?" Wrath asked.
"Yeah, he's shaving." The cop nodded over his shoulder and stepped aside.
"You need me, boss?" V called out from the bathroom.
Wrath chuckled. "Well, isn't this cozy."
The "fuck off" came from both of them as Vishous sauntered into the bedroom, boxers hanging low on his hips. His cheeks were white, and he was dragging an old-fashioned razor across his jawbone. Both his hands were bare.
Oh, man. V's left hand was actually in the breeze, its sacred tattoos spelling out the dire consequences if anyone came into contact with it. Wrath wondered whether the human had any conception what V could do with that thing.
Probably not, or the cop wouldn't be so damned relaxed dancing around the room half-naked.
"So, V," Wrath said, "there's a little issue I need to settle before I'm mated."
Usually he worked alone, but if he was going to take care of Billy Riddle, he wanted Vishous as backup. Humans didn't obligingly disintegrate when you stabbed them, but his brother's left hand would take care of the body. Work of a moment and that corpse would be ether.
V grinned. "Give me five and I'm ready."
"Good deal." Wrath could feel Butch's eyes on him. Clearly, the guy wanted to know what was up. "You don't want to get tangled in this one, cop. Especially given your vocation."
"I'm off the force. Just so you know."
Interesting, Wrath thought. "Mind telling me why?"
"I broke a suspect's nose."
"In a fight?"
"During questioning."
Somehow that was not a surprise. "Now why'd you do that?"
"He tried to rape your future wife, vampire. I wasn't inclined to be gentle when he said she was asking for it."
Wrath felt a growl come out of his throat. The sound was like a living thing as it rose up from his gut. "Billy Riddle."
"Beth told you about the guy?"
Wrath stalked to the door. "Haul ass, V," he snapped.
When he got downstairs, he sensed Beth's presence and found her coming through the painting. He walked up and put his arms around her, hugging her fiercely. He would have her avenged before they were joined. She deserved no less from her hellren.
"Are you okay?" she whispered.
He nodded against her hair and then looked at Tohr's shellan. "Hey, Wellsie. Good of you to come."
The female smiled. "I thought she deserved some support."
"And I'm glad you're here." He pulled back from Beth long enough to kiss Wellsie on the hand.
Vishous strode into the room, fully armed. "Wrath, man, we off?"
"Where are you going?" Beth asked.
"I need to take care of something." He ran his hand down her arm. "The other brothers are staying here to help get things ready. The ceremony will start at midnight, and I'll be back before then."
She looked like she wanted to argue, but then glanced at Wellsie. Something seemed to pass between the two females.
"Be safe," Beth finally said to him. "Please."
"Don't worry." He kissed her long and slow. "I love you, leelan."
"What does that word mean?"
"Something close to 'dearest one'." He picked his jacket off a chair and gave her one more peck on the lips before leaving.
* * *
Chapter Forty-three
Butch combed his hair, slapped on a little cologne, and slipped into a suit that wasn't his. Just as the medicine cabinet in the bathroom was lined with different aftershaves and shaving creams, the closets were full of brand-new men's clothes of various large sizes. All top-drawer, designer stuff.
He'd never worn Gucci before.
And though he didn't like being a mooch, he just couldn't see Marissa in the same clothes he'd been wearing last night. Even if they'd been particularly sharp—and they weren't—he was sure they now smelled like a bar: V's Turkish tobacco and booze combined.
He wanted to be fresh as a daisy for her. He really did.
Butch took a turn in front of a full-length mirror, feeling like a pansy, but unable to help himself. The black pinstripe fit him well. The bright white, open-collared shirt made his tan come out. And the sweet pair of Ferragamo loafers he'd found in a box were just the right amount of flash.
He was almost handsome, he thought. As long as she didn't look too closely at his bloodshot eyes.
The four hours of sleep and all that Scotch showed.
A soft rapping noise sounded.
Feeling like a poser and hoping it wasn't one of the brothers, he opened the door.
The butler looked up with a smile. "Sire, you look quite dashing. Fine choices, fine choices."
Butch shrugged, fussing with the shirt collar. "Yeah, well."
"But you need a handkerchief in your breast pocket. May I?"
"Ah, sure."
The little old man buzzed right over to a bureau, pulled out a drawer, and rifled around. "This should be perfect."
His knobby hands worked the white square into some kind of origami masterpiece and stuffed the thing into place on Butch's chest.
"Now, you are ready for your guest. She is here. Are you receiving?"
Receiving? "Hell, yeah."
As they went out into the hall, the butler laughed softly.
"I look stupid, don't I?" Butch said.
Fritz's face grew serious. "No, not at all, sire. I was just thinking how much Darius would have enjoyed all this. He liked a full house."
"Who's Dar—"
"Butch?"
Marissa's voice brought them both to a halt. She was at the head of the stairs, and she took Butch's breath away. Her hair was up high on her head, and her gown was a pale pink sheath. Her shy pleasure at seeing him made his chest swell.
"Hey, baby." He walked forward, aware that the butler was beaming with delight.
She fidgeted with her dress, as if she were a little nervous. "I probably should have waited downstairs. But everyone's so busy. I felt like I was in the way."
"You want to hang up here for a while?"
She nodded. "If you don't mind. It's quieter."
The butler chimed in. "There's a second-floor sitting porch. Just go down the hall. It's at the end."
Butch offered her his arm. "That okay with you?"
She slipped her hand through his elbow. As her eyes skittered away from his, her blush was enchanting. "Yes. Yes, it is."
So she wanted to be alone with him.
This was a good sign, Butch thought.
As Beth carried a heaping platter of crudités into the dining room, she decided that Fritz and Wellsie could have run a small country together. They had the brothers racing around, setting the dining room table, putting fresh candles out, helping with the food. And God only knew what was happening in Wrath's chamber. The ceremony was going to take place there, and Rhage had been down in the room for an hour.
Bet
h put the platter on the sideboard and headed back into the kitchen. She found Fritz struggling to reach a large crystal bowl high up in the cupboard.
"Here, let me get that."
"Oh, thank you, mistress."
She put it down on the counter and then watched as he filled it with salt.
That's some serious hypertension right there, she thought.
"Beth?" Wellsie called out. "Can you go into the pantry and grab three jars of peach preserves for the ham basting?"
Beth went inside the boxy little room and flipped on the light switch. Cans and jars ran from floor to ceiling in an overwhelming array of options. She was looking for the peach section when she heard the door open.
"Fritz, do you know—"
She pivoted around. And slammed right into Zsadist's hard body.
He hissed, and they both leaped back as the door shut them in together.
He closed his eyes as if in pain, his lips drawing back from his fangs and teeth.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, trying to move farther away. There wasn't much room, and there was no escape. He was standing in front of the door. "I didn't see you. I'm really sorry."
He was wearing another tight long-sleeved shirt, so as his hands curled into fists, the flexing of his arms and then his shoulders was obvious. He was big to begin with, but the power in his body made him seem huge.
His lids opened. When those black eyes touched her face, she cringed.
Cold. So very cold.
"Christ, I know I'm ugly," he snapped. "But don't fear me. I'm not a total savage."
Then he grabbed something and left.
Beth sagged against the jars and cans, looking up at the empty space he'd left on the shelf. Chutney. He'd taken chutney.
"Beth, did you find—" Wellsie stopped short in the doorway. "What happened?"
"Nothing. It was… nothing."
Wellsie gave her a level stare while adjusting the apron over her blue dress. "You're lying to me, but it's your mating day, so I'll let you get away with it." She located the jam and took down some jars. "Hey, why don't you go to your father's room and have a lie-down? Rhage has finished, so you can take a deep breath down there. You need to pamper yourself a little before you're mated."
