Lover Revealed tbdb-4

by J. R. Ward

  Vishous repeated the licking more times than he had to. And on the last swipe, when he knew that he had to stop because he'd gone over the line already… when he knew he was going to lose control of Wrath unless he paid attention… on the last swipe, he looked out at Butch. And pressed his lips against the skin at his mouth in a kiss.

  He had the strangest feeling he was saying good-bye to his roommate.

  Butch woke up in a maelstrom. A whirlpool. A… blender.

  There was a roaring throughout his body, something that sent every one of his muscles into contraction. He was… drinking something. Something so good it brought tears to his eyes… something thick and lovely against the tongue, a dark wine. As he swallowed again and again, he thought dimly that he'd tasted something like it before. Not this exact vintage but—

  His eyes flipped open and he nearly passed out.

  Holy shit, he was alive and on the other side and…

  Wait, this wasn't Marissa. There was black hair hanging down over his face.

  He jerked his mouth out of the way. "Marissa?"

  When he heard her reply, he looked to the sound of her voice. Only to recoil.

  Good… God. Not exactly what he expected to see and not a welcome wagon to his new life, either. Not by a long shot.

  Wrath was right out of a Saturday-night movie, a hulking, snarling vampire monster, fangs bared, eyes glowing. And he wanted at Butch.

  The good news was that he was being held back by Vishous and Marissa. The bad news was that they seemed to be on the verge of losing control of him.

  Butch looked up at Beth, who was sucking the wound at her wrist shut. "Oh… shit." He'd drunk a lot from her, hadn't he? Oh… shit.

  He let his head fall back against the table. Wrath was going to kill him. Absolutely. When they let that boy go, the king was going to wipe the floor with him.

  Butch was cursing and measuring the distance to the door as Beth walked up to the trio.

  "Wrath?" In a lower voice she said, "Keep holding him."

  Butch turned on his side and met Marissa's eyes, praying he wasn't about to lose his life now. And he was impatient to get close to his female, but this was one situation that needed to be diffused with care.

  "Wrath?" Beth repeated.

  Wrath's instincts were so fired up, she had to talk at him for a while to get him focused on her instead of Butch.

  "It's over, okay?" She touched his face. "It's done, it's over."

  With a moan of desperation, Wrath pressed his lips to her palm, then squeezed his eyes shut in agony. "Tell them… tell them to let go slowly. And Beth… Beth, I'm going to come at you. I can't… stop that. But it'll be better than killing him…"

  "Yeah… much better," Butch agreed.

  Beth stepped back and braced herself. "Let him go."

  It was like turning a tiger loose. Marissa ducked and scrambled out of the way while Wrath threw Vishous off with such force the brother slammed into a cabinet.

  In one coordinated launch, the king went for Beth and bit her on the throat. As she gasped and fell back in ecstasy, Wrath wheeled around and nailed Butch with pure murder in his eyes.

  It was obvious the king drank now not for sustenance but to mark, and his bonding scent was a screaming warning that filled the room. As soon as he felt his point had been made, he picked his shellan up in his arms and left. There was no question where they were headed: nearest room with a door so he could get inside of her.

  Butch reached out for Marissa, and she came to him in the manner of hope to the disaffected: an illuminating warmth, a promise of a future worth living, a loving benediction. As she bent over him and held on tight, he kissed her softly and spoke a whole lot of nonsense, the words leaving him in an uncontrolled, unthought-out rush.

  When they separated a little to breathe, he looked at Vishous. The brother was standing awkwardly next to the open door and staring down at the floor, his big body trembling ever so slightly.

  "V?"

  V's diamond eyes lifted and he blinked quick. "Hey, man." As Butch reached out a hand, Vishous shook his head. "Glad you're back, cop."

  "Fuck you, come here. V… gitcha ass over here."

  V shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly walked to the gurney. Marissa was the one who linked them, drawing Vishous's arm up and out so Butch could reach the brother's palm.

  "You all right?" Butch asked, squeezing.

  For a split second, his grip was returned. Then V stomped one of his shitkickers like a horse and broke the contact. "Yeah. Fine."

  "Thank you."

  "Yeah."

  V was so twitchy, Butch took pity on him and changed the subject. "So is it over? Is that it?"

  V stroked his goatee and glanced at the clock. Then looked at Butch's body. "Let's wait another ten minutes."

  Okay, fine. Butch passed the time running his hands up and down Marissa's arms. And shoulders. And face. And hair. Eventually, V murmured, "I guess it is done."

  Even though there was a curious disappointment in the brother's voice, Butch grinned. "Well, that wasn't too bad. Except for the dying part, of course. That wasn't…" He let the sentence drift and frowned.

  "What is it?" Marissa said.

  "I don't know, I—" Something was happening… something in his gut…

  Vishous came over to the table. "What's going on, cop?"

  "I…" The vast wave of pain came over him like a shroud of nails, wrapping around his body, cutting into him from every angle possible. He gasped under the onslaught, his vision conking out, then coming back. "Oh, shit. I'm dying..."

  Vishous's face appeared in front of his. And the bastard was smiling… a big, fat Cheshire cat grin. "This is the change, my friend. Now… now you're turning."

  "What the f—" He didn't get the word out. Red-hot agony became all he knew and he receded deep within himself, getting lost in the swirling torture. As it intensified even further, he hoped to pass out. No such luck.

  After a hundred and fifty light-years of suffering, the popping started: The bones in his thighs were the first to snap and he howled, but there was no time to dwell on it because his upper arms were next. Then his shoulders. His spine… his lower legs… hands… feet… his skull screamed and his jaw ached. He rolled over… spit out two teeth…

  Through the hurricane of the change, Marissa was with him, talking to him. He held on to her voice and the image of her in his head, the only thing steady in his world of suffering.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Way across town, in a very nice, very secluded house, John finished his first beer. And then his second. And his third. He was surprised his stomach could handle them, but they went down smooth and stayed that way.

  Blaylock and Qhuinn were on the floor in front of the bed, locked in on a plasma-screen TV playing sKillerz, that kick-ass game that was everywhere. By some freak of nature, John had beaten them both, so they were battling for second place.

  As John lounged back on Blaylock's comforter, he tipped the Corona bottle to his mouth, realized it was empty, and looked at the clock. Fritz would be picking him up in about twenty minutes and that might be a problem. He was buzzing. Hard.

  It was really nice.

  Blaylock laughed and keeled over onto the floor. "I can't believe you beat me, you bastard."

  Qhuinn picked up his beer and gave Blay a little knock in the leg with the thing. "Sorry, big guy. But you suck."

  John propped his head up on his hand, relishing the feel of being all pleasantly out of it and mellow. He'd been so pissed off for so long, he hadn't been able to remember what relaxed felt like.

  Blay glanced over at him with a grin. "Of course, strong/silent up there is the real ass-kicker. I hate you, you know that?"

  John smiled and flipped the guy off. As the two on the floor laughed, a BlackBerry sounded.

  Qhuinn answered it. Did a lot of Uh-huh. Hung up. "Shit… Lash ain't coming back for a while. Seems like you" — the guy looked at John—"scared the shi
t out of him."

  "Man, that kid always was an asshole," Blay said.

  "Straight up."

  They were quiet for a while, just listening to Too Short's "Nasty." Then Qhuinn got this intense look on his face.

  His eyes, one blue, one green, narrowed. "Yo, Blay… so what was it like?"

  Blay's stare shot quickly to the ceiling. "Losing at sKillerz to you? A real buzz kill, thank you very much."

  "You know that's not what I'm talking about."

  With a curse, Blay reached over to a little refrigerator, took out another beer, and cracked it open. The guy had had seven and seemed sober as ever. Of course, he'd also eaten four McDonald's Big Macs, two things of large fries, a chocolate milk shake, and two cherry pies. Plus a bag of Ruffles.

  "Blay? Come on… what happened?"

  Blaylock took a slug from the bottle and swallowed hard. "Nothing."

  "Fuck. You."

  "Okay, fine." Blay took another draw. "I… ah, I wanted to die, okay. Was convinced I would. Then I… you know…" He cleared his throat. "I… ah, took her vein. And it got worse after that. A helluva lot worse."

  "Whose vein was it?"

  "Jasim's."

  "Whoa. She's hot."

  "Whatever." Blay leaned to the side, grabbed a sweatshirt, and pulled it over his hips. Like he had something worth covering up there.

  Qhuinn tracked the movement. So did John.

  "Did you have her, Blay?"

  "No! Believe me, when the transition hits, sex is not on your mind."

  "But I've heard afterward—"

  "No, I did not do it with her."

  "Okay, that's cool." But clearly Qhuinn thought his buddy was nuts. "So what about the change? What did it feel like?"

  "I… I broke apart and came back together." Blay drank deeply. "That's it."

  Qhuinn flexed his little hands, then curled them into fists. "Do you feel different?"

  "Yeah."

  "How?"

  "Christ, Qhuinn—"

  "What do you have to hide? We're all going to go through it. I mean… shit, John, you've got to want to know, right?"

  John looked at Blay and nodded, hoping like hell the two would keep talking.

  In the quiet that followed, Blaylock stretched out his legs. Through the new blue jeans he had on, his heavy thigh muscles bunched and relaxed.

  "So what do you feel like now?" Qhuinn prompted.

  "Myself. Only… I don't know, so much stronger."

  "Niiiiiice." Qhuinn laughed. "I can't wait."

  Blaylock's eyes shifted over. "It's not something to look forward to. Trust me."

  Qhuinn shook his head. "You are so wrong about that." There was a pause. "Do you get hard a lot now?"

  Blay turned the color of a barn. "What?"

  "Come on, you had to know that one was coming. So do you?" Silence stretched out. "Hello? Blay? Answer the question. Do you?"

  Blay rubbed his face. "Um… yeah."

  "Often?"

  "Yeah."

  "You work it, right? I mean… you must. So what's that like?"

  "Are you out of your fucking mind? I'm not—"

  "Just tell us once. We won't ask you again. Swear. Right, John?"

  John nodded slowly, aware he was holding his breath. He'd had dreams, erotic dreams, but that wasn't the same as it actually happening. Or getting to hear about it firsthand.

  Unfortunately, Blaylock seemed to have clammed up.

  "Christ, Blay… what's it like? Please. All my life I've been waiting for what you have. I can't ask anyone else… I mean, like I'm going to my father with this shit? Just spit it out. What does it feel like to come?"

  Blay picked at the label on his beer. "Powerful. That's what it's like. It's just this… powerful rush that builds up and then… you explode and drift."

  Qhuinn's eyes closed. "Man, I want that. I want to be male."

  God, that was exactly what John hungered for.

  Blay chugged his Corona, then wiped his mouth. "Of course, now… now I want to do it with someone."

  Qhuinn cracked one of his half smiles. "What about Jasim?"

  "Nah. Not my type. And we're done with this. Conversation's over."

  John glanced at the clock, then shuffled to the edge of the bed. With a quick scribble, he wrote on his pad and flashed it. Blay and Qhuinn both nodded.

  "Good deal," Blay said.

  "You up for hanging tomorrow night?" Qhuinn asked. John nodded and stood up—only to stumble and have to catch himself on the mattress.

  Qhuinn laughed. "Look at you, punk. You're faced."

  John just shrugged and concentrated on getting himself to the door. As he opened it, Blay said, "Yo, J?"

  John glanced over his shoulder and cocked an eyebrow.

  "Where can we learn that sign language thing?"

  Qhuinn nodded and popped open another beer. "Yeah, where?"

  John blinked. Then wrote on his pad, The Internet. Search for American Sign Language.

  "Good deal. And you can help us, right?"

  John nodded.

  The two went back to the TV and fired up another game. As John shut the door, he heard them laughing and he started to smile. Only to feel the sting of disgrace.

  Tohr and Wellsie were dead, he thought. He shouldn't be… enjoying stuff. A real man wouldn't get distracted from his goal, from his enemies… for nothing more than the company of friends.

  John weaved down the hall, throwing one arm out to balance.

  Trouble was… it felt so good to just be one of the guys. He had always wanted to have friends. Not a big group or anything. But a few, solid, strong… friends.

  The kind you could rely on 'til death. Like brothers.

  Marissa did not understand how Butch survived what happened to his body. It just seemed impossible. Except this was, evidently, what males went through, particularly warriors. And as he was of Wrath's line, he definitely had that thick blood in him.

  When it was over, hours later, Butch lay on the table in the now frigid room, just breathing. His skin was waxy and covered with sweat like he'd run twelve marathons. His feet hung off the far edge of the gurney. His shoulders were nearly twice as big, and his boxers were stretched tight over his thighs.

  His face comforted her, though. It was the same as it had been before, proportional with his new body, but the same. And when his eyes opened, they were the hazel she knew so well, with the spirit inside them that was his alone.

  He was too dazed to speak, but he shivered, so she brought him a blanket and spread it over him. As the soft weight landed, he flinched as if his skin were too tender, but then he mouthed the words I love you and slid away into sleep.

  Abruptly, she became more tired than she'd ever been in her life.

  Vishous finished cleaning up the blood on the floor with a spray nozzle and said, "Let's eat."

  "I don't want to leave him."

  "I know. I asked Fritz to bring something to us and he left it just outside."

  Marissa followed the Brother out into the Equipment Room and they each sat down on double-sized benches built out from the wall. They ate Fritz's little picnic munchies in the midst of racks of nunchakus and training daggers and swords and guns. The sandwiches were good and so were the apple juice and the oatmeal cookies.

  After a while, Vishous lit a hand-rolled and leaned back. "He's going to be fine, you know."

  "I can't see how he got through it."

  "Mine was like that."

  She stopped with a second ham sandwich on the way to her mouth. "Really?"

  "Worse, actually. I was smaller than him when it happened."

  "He's the same on the inside, though, isn't he?"

  "Yup, he's still your boy."

  When she finished the sandwich, she put both her legs up on the bench and eased back against the wall. "Thank you."

  "For what?"

  "Sealing me up." She held out her wrist.

  His diamond gaze shifted away. "No problem."
/>
  In the quiet, her eyelids drooped and she shook herself to wake up.

  "Nan, let yourself go," Vishous murmured. "I'll watch him and as soon as he comes around, I'll let you know. Go on… lie down."

  She stretched out, then curled on her side. She didn't expect to sleep, but shut her eyes anyway.

  "Lift your head," Vishous said. When she did, he slid a rolled-up towel under her ear. "This is better for your neck."

  "You're very kind."

  "You kidding? Cop would kick my ass for letting you be uncomfortable."

  She could have sworn Vishous brushed his hand down her hair, but then figured it was in her mind.

  "What about you?" she said softly as he sat on the other bench. God, he had to be as tired as she was.

  His smile was remote. "You don't worry about me, female. Just sleep."

  Surprisingly, she did.

  * * *

  V watched Marissa pass out from exhaustion. Then he tilted his head and looked into the PT/first aid suite. From this angle he could see the soles of the cop's much larger feet. Man… Butch really was one of them now. A card-carrying, fanged-up, warrior male who looked like he was going to stand at about six-six, maybe six-seven. Wrath's bloodline was definitely in that boy—and V wondered if they were ever going to find out why.

  The door to the Equipment Room swung open and Z walked in, with Phury right behind him.

  "What happened?" the two of them asked in unison.

  "Shhh." V nodded at Marissa. Then in a quiet voice he said, "See for yourself. He's in there."

  The two went to the doorway. "Holy shit…" Phury breathed.

  "That's a big one," Z muttered. Then he sniffed the air. "Why is Wrath's bonding scent all over this place—or is it me?"

  V stood up. "Come outside to the gym, I don't want to wake either of them."

  The three walked onto the blue mats and V shut the door most of the way behind them.

  "So where is Wrath?" Phury asked as they sat down. "I thought he was here to witness the whole thing."

  "He's busy." No doubt.

  Z stared at the door. "That cop's big, V. That cop is really big."

  "I know." V laid himself out flat on his back and took a drag. As he exhaled, he refused to look at his brothers.

  "V, he's really big."