Lover Revealed tbdb-4

by J. R. Ward

  Okay… now would be a great time for V to show up.

  Except then the lesser looked down and met Butch's eyes, and the world just slowed down. Grinded to a halt. Stopped. Dead.

  Another kind of vise action bolted them together, but this was a locking of stares and Butch was the one in control, even though he was on the bottom of the body pile. The lesser became transfixed and Butch followed his instincts.

  Which meant he opened his mouth and began to inhale slowly.

  But he wasn't taking in air. He was taking in the slayer. Absorbing him. Consuming him. It was as before in the alley, but now no one stopped the process. Butch just kept sucking in an endless draw, a streaming black shadow passing from the lesser's eyes and nose and mouth and going into Butch.

  Who felt like a balloon filling up with smog. Who felt like he was assuming the mantle of the enemy.

  When it was over, the slayer's body just disintegrated into ash, the fine mist of gray particles falling onto Butch's face, chest, and legs.

  "Holy shit."

  In utter despair, Butch shifted his eyes around. V was leaning in through the front door, holding on to the frame as if the house was the only thing keeping him standing.

  "Oh, God." Butch rolled over onto his side, the ugly carpet scratchy on his cheek. He was wretchedly sick to his stomach, and his throat burned like he'd been hammering Scotch for hours. But worst, the evil was back in him, running through his veins.

  As he breathed through his nose, he smelled baby powder. And he knew it was him, not remnants of the lesser. "V…" he said with desperation, "what did I just do?"

  "I don't know, cop. I have no idea."

  Twenty minutes later, Vishous shut himself and his roommate in the Escalade and hit all the locks. As he dialed his cell phone and put it up to his ear, he eyed Butch. The cop was looking multifactorially ill in the passenger seat, like he was seasick and jet-lagged and coming down with the flu all at the same time. And he reeked of baby powder, as if he were sweating out the scent through every one of his pores.

  While the phone rang, Vishous started the SUV, threw it into drive, and thought back to Butch working some kind of mojo shit on that lesser. To steal a phrase from the cop, Holy Mary, Mother of God.

  Man… that suck job was a hell of weapon. But the complications were legion.

  V glanced over again. And realized it was to reassure himself that Butch wasn't eyeing him as a lesser would.

  Fuck.

  "Wrath?" V said as his call was answered. "Listen, I—shit… our boy here just consumed a lesser. No… not Rhage. Butch. Yes, Butch. What? No, I saw him… consume the thing. I don't know how, but the lesser disappeared into dust. No, no knife involved. He inhaled the damn thing. Look, just to be conservative, I'm going to take him to my place and let him sleep it off. Then I'm coming home, true? Right… No, I have no clue how he did it, but I'll give you the blow-by-blow when I get to the compound. Yup. Right. Uh-huh. Oh, for God's—yes, I'm fine and quit asking me that. Later."

  As he hung up and tossed the phone onto the dash, Butch's voice drifted over, all weak and hoarse. "I'm glad you're not taking me home."

  "Wish I could, though." V took out a hand-rolled and lit it, drawing hard on the thing. As he blew smoke, he cracked one of the windows. "Jesus Christ, cop, how did you know you could do that?"

  "I didn't." Butch coughed a little, like his throat was bothering him. "Lemme have one of your daggers."

  V frowned and looked at his roommate. "Why?"

  "Just give it to me." As V hesitated, Butch shook his head with sadness. "I'm not going to come after you with it. I swear on my mother."

  They hit a red light and V shifted his seat belt out of the way so he could unsheathe one of his blades from his chest holster. He gave the weapon to Butch handle first, then checked the road ahead. When he glanced back over, Butch had shoved up his sleeve and was slicing himself on the inside of his forearm. They both stared at what came out.

  "I'm bleeding black again."

  "Well… not a surprise."

  "I smell like one, too."

  "Yeah." Man, V did not like the way the cop was fixated on that dagger. "How 'bout you give my blade back, buddy?"

  Butch handed the thing over and V wiped the black steel on his leathers before resheathing the weapon.

  Butch wrapped his arms around his middle. "I don't want to be anywhere around Marissa when I'm like this, okay?"

  "No problem. I'll take care of everything."

  "V?"

  "What?"

  "I will die rather than hurt you."

  V's eyes shot across the space between them. The cop's face was grim and his hazels were dead serious, the words not a mere expression of thought but a vow: Butch O'Neal was prepared to take himself out of the game if shit got critical. And he was fully capable of doing the job.

  V inhaled on his hand-rolled again and tried not to get even more attached to the human. "Hopefully it won't come to that."

  Please, God, let it not come to that.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Marissa paced another circle around the Brotherhood's library and ended up back at the windows that looked out over the terrace and the pool.

  The day must have been a warm one, she thought. There were patches in the snow that had melted through, revealing black slate at the terrace or brown ground over the lawn—

  Oh, who the hell cared about the goddamned landscape.

  Butch had left after First Meal, saying he had a quick errand to run. Which was fine. Dandy. A-okay. But that had been two hours ago.

  She wheeled around as someone came into the room. "Butch—oh… it's… you."

  Vishous stood in the archway, a full-blooded warrior framed by the extravagant gold-leaf molding around him.

  Dear Virgin in the Fade… his expression was utterly blank, the kind of thing you put on your face when you had bad news to deliver.

  "Tell me he is alive," she said. "Save my life right here and now and tell me he is alive."

  "He is."

  Her knees buckled and she grabbed on to one of the wall-to-wall bookshelves. "But he isn't coming, is he?"

  "No."

  As they stared at each other, she noticed absently that he was wearing a fine white shirt with his black leathers: a Turn-bull and Asser button-down. She recognized the cut. It was what Butch wore.

  Marissa wrapped an arm around her waist, overwhelmed by Vishous even though he was all the way across the room. He seemed like such a dangerous male—and not because of the tattoos on his temple or the black goatee or that fearsome body. The Brother was cold to the core, and someone that removed was capable of anything.

  "Where is he?" she asked.

  "He's okay."

  "Then why isn't he here?"

  "It was just a quick fight."

  A… quick… fight. Her knees loosened again as memories of being at Butch's bedside crashed over her. She saw him lying on hospital sheets in that johnny, beaten up, almost dying. Contaminated by something evil.

  "I want to see him."

  "He's not here."

  "Is he at my brother's?"

  "No."

  "And you're not going to tell me where he is, are you?"

  "He's going to call you in a little bit."

  "Was it with the lessers?" When all Vishous did was continue to stare at her, her heart kicked into overdrive. She couldn't bear for Butch to be involved in this war. Look what had already been done to him. "Goddamn it, tell me if it was with the slayers, you smug bastard."

  Only silence. Which of course answered the question. And also suggested that Vishous didn't care whether or not she was pissed off at him.

  Marissa gathered up her skirts and marched over to the warrior. Up close, she had to crane her neck to look at his face. God, those eyes, those diamond white eyes with the midnight blue lines around the irises. Cold. So very cold.

  She did her best to hide her shiver, but he caught it. Tracked it in her shoulders.


  "Scared of me, Marissa?" he said. "Exactly what do you think I'd do to you?"

  She ignored that. "I don't want Butch fighting."

  One black eyebrow cocked. "Not your call."

  "It's too dangerous for him."

  "After tonight, I'm not so sure about that."

  The Brother's hard smile made her take a step back, but anger saved her from a full-on retreat. "You remember that hospital bed? You saw what they did to him last time. I thought you cared about him."

  "If it turns out he's an asset, and he's willing, he will be used."

  "I don't like the Brotherhood right now," she blurted. "Or you."

  She started to go past him, but his hand shot out, grabbing her arm and jerking her close, holding her, though not hurting her. His eyes went over her face, her neck, then swept down her body.

  And that was when she saw the fire in him. The volcanic heat. The interior inferno that was caged by all that glacial self-control.

  "Let go of me," she whispered, heart beating hard.

  "I'm not surprised." His reply was quiet… quiet as a sharp knife laid on a table.

  "About w-what?"

  "You're a female of worth. So you shouldn't like me." Those glittering eyes narrowed on her face. "You know, you really are the great beauty of the species, aren't you."

  "No… no, I am not—"

  "Yeah, you are." Vishous's voice grew lower and lower, softer, until she wasn't sure whether she was hearing it or he was in her mind. "Butch is a wise choice for you, female. He'll take good care of you, if you let him. Will you, Marissa? Will you let him… take care of you?"

  As those diamond eyes hypnotized her, she felt his thumb move over her wrist, shifting back and forth. Her heart rate gradually slowed to the lazy rhythm.

  "Answer my question, Marissa."

  She swayed. "What… what did you ask?"

  "Will you let him take you?" Vishous leaned down and put his mouth at her ear. "Will you take him inside of you?"

  "Yes…" she breathed, aware they were talking about sex, but too seduced in the moment not to reply. "I will have him within me."

  That hard hand loosened, then stroked her arm, traveling over her skin warmly, strongly. He looked down at where he was touching her, an expression of deep concentration on his face, "Good. That's good. The two of you are beautiful together. A fucking inspiration."

  The male turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

  Disoriented, shocked, she stumbled over to the library's doorway and saw Vishous going up the stairs, his heavy thighs eating the distance with no effort.

  Without warning, he stopped and snapped his head her way. Her hand fluttered to her throat.

  Vishous's smile was as dark as his eyes were pale. "Come on, Marissa. Did you really think I was going to kiss you?"

  She gasped. That was exactly what had been going through her—

  Vishous shook his head. "You're Butch's female and whether you end up with him or not, you always will be to me." He started up again. "Besides, you're not my type. Your skin's too soft."

  V walked into Wrath's study and shut the double doors, thinking that little chat with Marissa had been disturbing as hell on a variety of levels. God, he hadn't gotten into anyone's thoughts for weeks now, but he'd read hers clear as day. Or maybe he'd just hazarded a guess. Hell, more likely the latter. Going by those saucer-wide eyes of hers, she'd clearly been convinced he was going to lay his mouth on her.

  Wrong. The reason he'd stared at her was because she fascinated him, not attracted him. He wanted to know what it was about her that made Butch lay with her with such warmth and love. Was it something in her skin? Her bones? Her beauty? How did she do it?

  How did she take Butch to a place were sex was communion?

  V rubbed the center of his chest, aware of a piercing loneliness.

  "Hello? My brother?" Wrath leaned onto his dainty desk, all heavy forearms and big hands. "You here to report or make like sculpture?"

  "Yeah… sorry. Distracted."

  Vishous lit up and replayed the fight, especially the final part when he'd watched a lesser disappear into the thin air, thanks to his roommate.

  "God damn…" Wrath breathed.

  V went to the fireplace and chucked the ass end of his hand-rolled into the flames. "Never seen anything like it."

  "Is he okay?"

  "Don't know. I'd take him to Havers to get checked out, but there's no going back to the clinic with the cop. Right now, he's at my place with his cell phone. He'll call me if things get ratty and I'll think of something."

  Wrath's brows disappeared behind his mirrored wraparounds. "How confident are you that the lessers can't trace him?"

  "Damn confident. In both cases, he's the one that went after them. It's like he smelled them or something. When he gets up close, they seem to recognize him, but it's always him engaging first."

  Wrath looked down at the stacks of paper on his desk. "Don't like him out there alone. Don't like it at all."

  There was a long pause and then V said, "I could go get him. Bring him home."

  Wrath took off his sunglasses. As he rubbed his eyes, the king's ring, that massive black diamond, sparkled on his middle finger. "We got females here. One of whom is pregnant."

  "I could watch him. I could make sure he stays in the Pit. I could seal off the tunnel access."

  "Hell." Those sunglasses got slid back on. "Go get him. Bring our boy home."

  * * *

  For Van, the scariest part of his induction into the Lessening Society was not the physical conversion or the Omega or the involuntary nature of it all. Not that that shit wasn't horrifying. It was. Jesus Christ… to know that evil actually existed and walked around and… did things to people? Yeah, huge wake-up call in a bad way.

  But not the scariest part.

  With a grunt, Van pushed himself up on the bare mattress he'd been on for God only knew how long. Staring down at his body, he extended his arm out from his shoulder socket, then curled it in tight.

  No, the scariest part was the fact that when he'd finally stopped throwing up and managed to catch his breath, he couldn't quite remember why he hadn't wanted to join in the first place. Because the power was back in his body; the roar from his twenties was parked in his garage once again. Thanks to the Omega, he was returned to himself, no longer a faded, washed-up shadow of what he once had been. Sure, the means had been a mind bender of terror and disbelief. But the ends… were glorious.

  He flexed his bicep again, just feeling the muscles and bones, loving them.

  "You're smiling," Xavier said as he came into the room.

  Van looked up. "I feel great. Really… fucking… great."

  Xavier's eyes were distant. "Don't let it go to your head. And listen up good. I want you to stay close to me. You never go anywhere without me. We clear?"

  "Yeah. Sure." Van shifted his legs off the bed. He couldn't wait to run and see what that felt like.

  As he stood, Xavier's expression was odd. Frustration?

  "What's wrong?" Van asked.

  "Your induction was so… average."

  Average? Getting your heart taken out and your blood exchanged for something that looked like tar didn't count as average to him. And for chrissakes, Van wasn't interested in this buzz-kill routine. The world was fresh and new again as far as he was concerned. He was reborn.

  "Sorry to disappoint you," he muttered.

  "I'm not disappointed in you. Yet." Xavier checked his watch. "Get dressed. We leave in five."

  Van went into the bathroom and stood over the toilet, only to realize he didn't have to go. And he wasn't thirsty or hungry either.

  Okay, this was weird. It seemed unnatural not to follow his morning routine.

  Leaning forward, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His features were the same, but his eyes were different.

  With unease snaking through him, he rubbed his face with his palm to reassure himself that he was fles
h and blood still. As he felt the bones of his skull through his thin skin, he thought of Richard.

  Who was at home with his wife and two kids. Safe now.

  Van would have no more contact with his family. Ever. But his brother's life seemed like a fair trade. Fathers mattered.

  Besides, look at all he'd gained for that sacrifice. His special part was back in business.

  "You ready to go?" Xavier called from down the hall.

  Van swallowed hard. Man, whatever he was caught up in was so much darker and deeper than just a criminal life. He was an agent of evil now, wasn't he?

  And that should have bothered him more.

  Instead, he reveled in his power, ready to wield it. "Yeah. I am."

  Van smiled at his reflection, feeling as if his special destiny had been realized. And he was exactly who he needed to be.

  Chapter Twenty

  That following evening, Marissa was getting out of the shower when she heard the shutters lift for the night. Shame all she wanted to do was go back to bed.

  God, she was tired, but then it had been a busy day. Very busy.

  Although the good thing was at least everything she'd had to do had kept her from obsessing about Butch. Well, mostly kept her occupied. Okay, sometimes stopped her from thinking about him.

  The fact that he'd been hurt by a lesser again was only part of her preoccupation. She wondered where he was and who was caring for him. Not her brother, obviously. But did Butch have someone else?

  Had he spent the day with another female, being nursed by her?

  Sure, Marissa had talked to him last night and he'd said all the right things: He'd reassured her he was okay. Hadn't lied about fighting with a lesser. Been up-front about not wanting to come see her until he felt more stable. And he'd told her he'd see her at First Meal tonight. She'd assumed if he'd been stilted, it was because he'd been rattled, and she didn't blame him.

  It was only after they hung up that she realized everything she'd neglected to ask him.

  Disgusted with her insecurities, she marched over to the laundry chute and shoved her towel down the mouth of it, As she straightened, she got so dizzy she weaved on her bare feet and had to sink down into a crouch. It was either that or pass out cold.