by J. R. Ward
The Omega leaned over Butch. "Where to hide, where to hide…"
As the knife came up and hovered over Butch's abdomen, Butch screamed. And he was still screaming as a shallow slice was made into his belly. Then the Omega picked up the little part of itself, the black digit.
Butch fought, yanking against the binds. Horror had his eyes bulging until the pressure on his optic nerve blinded him.
The Omega inserted its fingertip into Butch's gut, then bent low and blew over the fresh cut. The skin sealed up, the flesh knitting together. Immediately, Butch felt the rotting inside him, sensed the evil worming around, moving. He lifted his head. The skin around the cut was already turning gray.
Tears raced to his eyes. Seeped down his raw cheeks.
"Release him."
The Fore-lesser went to work on the chains, but when they were off, Butch realized he couldn't move. He was paralyzed.
"I will take him," the Omega said. "And he will survive and find his way back to the Brotherhood."
"They'll sense you."
"Perhaps, but they will take him."
"He'll tell them."
"No, because he won't remember me." The Omega's face tilted toward Butch. "You won't remember a thing."
As their stares met, Butch could feel the affinity between them, could sense the bond, the sameness. He wept for the violation of himself, but more for the Brotherhood. They would take him in. They would try to help him in whatever way they could.
And sure as the evil in him, he would end up betraying them.
Except maybe Vishous or the brothers wouldn't find him. How could they? And with no clothes on, surely he would die from exposure fast.
The Omega reached out and wiped the tears from one of Butch's cheeks. The shimmer of wetness was iridescent against those translucent black fingers, and Butch wanted what had come out of him back. Not to be. Lifting the hand to its mouth, the Evil savored Butch's pain and fear, licking… sucking.
Despair scrambled Butch's memory, but the faith he'd thought he'd foresworn spit out another line of the Psalm: Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
But that was no longer possible now, was it? He had evil inside him, under his skin.
The Omega smiled, though Butch didn't know how he knew it. "Pity we don't have more time, as you are in a fragile state. But there will be opportunities for you and me in the future. What I claim as my own always comes back to me. Now, sleep."
And like a lamp being clicked off, Butch did.
"Answer the fucking question, Vishous." V looked away from his king just as the grandfather clock in the corner of the study started to go off. It stopped at four chimes, so it was four in the afternoon. The Brotherhood had been in Wrath's command central all day long, prowling around the ridiculously elegant Louis XIV salon, saturating the delicate air of the place with their anger.
"Vishous," Wrath growled, "I'm waiting, How will you know how to find the cop? And why didn't you mention this before now?"
Because he'd known it was going to create problems, and their shopping cart of shit was already full.
As V tried to think of what he could say, he looked at his brothers. Phury was on the pale blue silk couch in front of the fireplace, his body dwarfing the piece of furniture, his multicolored hair now back down past his jawline. Z was behind his twin, up against the mantel, his eyes back to black because he was enraged. Rhage was by the door, his beautiful face set in a nasty expression, his shoulders twitching as if his inner beast was likewise rip shit pissed.
And then there was Wrath. Behind a dainty desk, the Blind King was all menace, his cruel visage set hard, his weak eyes hidden behind black-framed wraparounds. His heavy forearms, marked on the insides with tattoos of his pure-blooded lineage, were planted on a gold-embossed blotter.
That Tohr was not with the group was a gaping wound to all of them.
"V? Answer the question or so help me God I'll beat it out of you."
"I just know how to find him."
"What are you hiding?"
V went over to the bar, poured himself a couple fingers of Grey Goose, and hammered the shot. He swallowed a number of times and then let the words fly.
"I fed him."
A chorus of inhales floated around the room. As Wrath rose in disbelief, V poured himself another hit of Goose.
"You did what?" The last word was bellowed.
"I had him drink some of me."
"Vishous…" Wrath stalked around the desk, shitkickers hitting the floor like boulders. The king got face-to-face close. "He's a male. He's human. What the fuck were you thinking?" More vodka. Definitely time for more Goose.
V swallowed the shot and poured number four. "With my blood in him, I can find him and that's why I had him drink. I saw… that I was supposed to. So I did it, and I would do it again."
Wrath wheeled away and paced around the room, hands cranked into fists. As the boss man walked off frustration, the rest of the Brotherhood looked over with curiosity.
"I did what I had to," V snapped, throwing his glass back.
Wrath stopped by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The thing was shuttered for the day, no light coming through. "Did he take your vein?"
"No."
A couple of the brothers cleared their throats, like they were urging him to be honest.
V cursed and poured some more. "Oh, for God's sake, it's not like that with him. I gave him some in a glass. He didn't know what he was drinking."
"Shit, V," Wrath muttered, "you could have killed him outright—"
"It was three months ago. He got through it, so there's no harm done—"
Wrath's voice rang out loud as an air strike. "You violated the law! Feeding a human! Christ! What am I supposed to do with this?"
"You want to serve me up to the Scribe Virgin, I'll go willingly. But I want to be clear. First, I find Butch and bring him home, dead or alive."
Wrath popped up his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, a habit he'd developed lately when he got tired of the king shit. "If he was interrogated, he may have talked. We could be compromised."
V looked down into his glass and slowly shook his head. "He'd die before giving us up. I guarantee it." He swallowed the vodka and felt it slide down his throat. "My man is good like that."
Chapter Five
Rehvenge had not seemed at all surprised when she called him, Marissa thought. But then, he'd always had this uncanny way of reading her.
Gathering up her black cloak, she stepped out the back of her brother's mansion. Night had just fallen, and she shivered, though not because of the cold. It was that horrible dream she'd had during the day. She'd been flying, flying across the landscape, flying over a frozen pond with pines on its far side, going farther past a ring of trees, until she'd slowed and peered downward. On the snowy ground, curled up and bleeding, she saw… Butch.
The urge to call the Brotherhood lingered as much as the images of the nightmare did. Except how stupid would she feel when the warriors called back all annoyed, just to tell her he was perfectly fine? They'd probably think she was stalking him. Except, God… that vision of him bleeding into the white-covered earth, that picture of him, helpless in the fetal position, haunted her.
It was only a dream, though. Merely… a dream.
Closing her eyes, she forced herself into a semblance of calm and dematerialized downtown to the terrace of a penthouse apartment some thirty stories up. As soon as she took form, Rehvenge slid open one of six glass doors.
He immediately frowned. "You're upset."
She forced a smile as she went over to him. "You know I'm always a little uncomfortable."
He pointed his gold engraved cane at her. "No, this is different."
God, she'd never known anyone so in tune with her emotions. "I'll be fine."
As he took her elbow and pulled her inside, a tropical warmth embraced her. Rehv always had the temperature this hi
gh, and his floor length sable coat always stayed on until they got to the couch. She had no idea how he could stand the heat, but he seemed to crave it.
He shut the slider. "Marissa, I want to know what's doing."
"Nothing, really."
With a twist, she took off her cloak and draped it on a chrome-and-black chair. Three sides of the penthouse were made up of sheets of glass, and the sprawling view of Caldwell's two halves showed the shimmering lights of downtown, the dark curve of the Hudson River, the stars over it all. The decor was minimalist, all ebony and cream elegance… rather like Rehv, with his black mohawk and his golden skin and his perfect clothes.
Under different circumstances, she would have adored the penthouse.
Under different circumstances, she might have adored him.
Rehv's violet eyes narrowed as he leaned on his cane and came to her. He was a huge male, built like a Brother, and he had looming down pat, his handsome face hard. "Don't lie to me."
She smiled slightly. Males like him tended to be very protective, and though the two of them were not mated, she wasn't surprised he seemed ready to hunt something down on her behalf. "I had a disturbing dream this morning and haven't shaken it off yet. That's all."
As he measured her, she had the oddest sense he was sifting through her emotions, examining how they interconnected from the inside.
"Give me your hand," he said.
She reached out with no hesitation. He always observed the glymera's formalities, and he hadn't yet greeted her as custom required. Except when their palms met, he didn't brush his lips across hers in a kiss. He put his thumb over her wrist and pushed down a little. Then even harder. Suddenly, as if he'd opened up some kind of drain, her feelings of fear and worry tunneled down her arm and out to him, pulled through by the contact.
"Rehvenge?" she whispered weakly.
The instant he let her go, the emotions came back, a well-spring no longer tapped.
"You won't be able to be with me tonight."
She flushed and rubbed the skin where he'd touched her. "Of course I will. It's… time."
To get them started, she went to the black leather couch they usually used and stood beside it. After a moment, Rehvenge came over to her and took off his sable coat, slinging the fur out flat for them to lie on. Then he unbuttoned his black suit coat and removed it as well. His fine silk shirt, which seemed so very white, parted down the middle at his fingertips and then the heavy, hairless expense of his chest was revealed. Tattoos marked his pecs, two five-pointed stars in black ink, and there were more designs on his ribbed stomach.
As he sat down and eased back into the couch's arms, his muscles flexed. Looking up at her, his glowing amethyst stare drew her in, and so did his hand as he extended his arm and crooked his forefinger at her. "Come here, tahlly. I've got what you need."
She lifted the skirt of her gown and climbed between his legs. Rehv always insisted she take from his throat, but in the three times they had done this, he had never once been aroused. Which was a relief as well as a reminder. Wrath had never had an erection when he was near her either.
As she glanced down at Rehv's smooth-skinned male glory, the low-level hunger she had been feeling for the past few days hit hard. She put her palms on his pecs and arched over him, watching as he closed his eyes, tilted his chin to the side, and ran his hands up her arms. A soft groan left his lips, which was something he always did right before she struck. In another situation, she would have said it was anticipation, but she knew that wasn't true. His body was always flaccid, and she couldn't believe he liked being used that much.
She opened her mouth, her fangs elongating, extending downward from her upper jaw. Leaning into Rehv, she—
The image of Butch in the snow froze her, and she had to shake her head to refocus on Rehv's throat and her hunger.
Feed, she told herself. Take what he offers.
She tried again, only to stop with her mouth on his neck. As she squeezed her eyes shut in frustration, Rehv put his hand under her chin and lifted her head up.
"Who is he, tahlly?" Rehv's thumb stroked her bottom lip. "Who is this male you love who won't feed you? And I'm going to be totally insulted if you don't tell me."
"Oh, Rehvenge… it's no one you know."
"He is a fool."
"No. I am the fool."
With an unexpected surge, Rehv pulled her down to his mouth. She was so shocked, she gasped, and in an erotic rush, his tongue entered her. He kissed her with skill, all smooth moves and sliding penetrations. She felt no arousal but could tell what kind of lover he would be: dominant, powerful… thorough.
When she pushed against his chest, he let her break the contact.
As Rehv eased back, his amethyst eyes glowed, a beautiful purple light pouring out of them, pouring into her. Though she felt no erection at his hips, the trembling that ran throughout his big, muscular body told her he was a male with sex on his mind and in his blood—and that he wanted to penetrate her.
"You look so surprised," he drawled.
Considering the way most males regarded her, she was. "That was unexpected. Especially as I didn't think you could—"
"I am capable of mating with a female." His lids dropped, and for a moment he looked frightening. "Under certain circumstances."
From out of nowhere, a shocking image shot into her brain: her naked on a bed with a sable blanket beneath her, Rehv naked and fully aroused, spreading her legs with his hips. On the inside of her thigh, she saw a bite mark, as if he'd fed from the vein there.
As she inhaled sharply and covered her eyes, the vision disappeared and he murmured, "My apologies, tahlly. I fear my fantasies are rather well developed. But don't worry, we can just keep them in my head."
"Dear God, Rehvenge, I never would have guessed. And maybe if things were different…"
"Fair enough." He stared into her face and then shook his head. "I really want to meet this male of yours."
"That's the problem. He's not mine."
"Then like I said, he's a fool." Rehv touched her hair. "And hungry as you are, we're going to have to do this another time, tahlly. That heart of yours isn't going to allow it tonight."
She pushed away from him and stood up, her eyes going to the windows and the glowing city. She wondered where Butch was and what he was doing, then looked back over at Rehv and wanted to know why in the hell she wasn't attracted to him. He was beautiful in the ways of a warrior—potent, thick-blooded, strong… especially now, with his massive body sprawled on the sable-covered couch, his legs spread in blatant sexual invitation.
"I wish I wanted you, Rehv."
He laughed dryly. "Funny, I know just what you mean."
V pushed out through the mansion's vestibule and stood in the courtyard. In the lee of the looming stone manse, he cast his mind out into the night, radar looking for a signal.
"You do not go in alone," Rhage snarled at his ear. "You find the place they're keeping him and you call us."
When V didn't reply, he was grabbed by the back of the neck and shaken like a rag doll. In spite of the fact that he was a jacked six-foot-six.
Rhage's face pushed into his, all no-fooling-around. "Vishous. You hear me?"
"Yeah, whatever." He shoved the male off him, only to become very aware that they were not alone. The rest of the Brotherhood was waiting, armed and angry, a cannon ready to be fired. Except… in the midst of all their aggression, they were looking over at him with worry. As the concern drove him nuts, he turned away.
V marshaled his mind and sifted through the night, trying to find the small echo of himself inside Butch. Penetrating the darkness, he searched across fields and mountains and frozen lakes and rushing streams… out… out… out—
Oh, God.
Butch was alive. Barely. And he was… north and east. Twelve, maybe fifteen miles away.
As V took out his Glock, an iron hand grabbed his arm. Rhage was back with a hard-on. "You do not take those lessers on alone.
"
"I got it."
"Swear to me," Rhage snapped. Like he knew damn well V was thinking of rushing whoever held Butch and only calling for cleanup.
Except this was personal, not just about the war between the vampires and the Lessening Society. Those undead bastards had taken his—well, he didn't know what Butch was to him specifically. But it ran deeper than anything he'd felt in a long time.
"Vishous—"
"I'll call you when I'm good and fucking ready." V dematerialized free of his brother's hold.
Traveling in a loose scramble of molecules, he misted out into Caldwell's rural farmland to a grove of woods beyond a pond that was still frozen. He triangulated his reappearance about a hundred yards away from the signal he got from Butch, coming together crouched and ready for a fight.
Which was a good plan because, holy hell, he could feel lessers everywhere—
V frowned and held his breath. Moving slowly, he turned in a semicircle, searching with his eyes and his ears, not his instincts. There were no slayers around. There was nothing around. Not even a shack or a hunting lodge—
Abruptly, he shuddered. No, there was something in these woods, all right—a big ass something, a condensed mark of malevolence, an evil that made him twitchy.
The Omega.
As he swiveled his head toward the dreadful concentration, a cold blast of wind nailed him in the face, like Mother Nature was urging him in the opposite direction.
Tough shit. He had to get his roommate out of here.
V ran toward what he could sense of Butch, his shitkickers punching through the crusty snow. Up ahead, the full moon shone brightly at the margin of a cloudless sky, but the presence of evil was so vivid V could have followed the way blindfolded. And shit, Butch was close to that blackness.
Fifty yards later, V saw the coyotes. They were circling something on the ground, growling not as if they were hungry but as if the pack was being threatened.
And whatever had captured their interest was of such magnitude they didn't even notice V's approach. To break them up, he pointed his gun overhead and let off a couple of rounds. The coyotes scattered and—
