Chapter Twenty-eight
“I lied.”
As Axe spoke up, Butch looked across the rose-and-vine kitchen. The male was leaning against the countertop by the stove, his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted down so that there were great shadows where his deeply set eyes should have been.
“About what.”
It took the guy a while to answer, and Axe passed the time fiddling with the row of black hoops that went down the outside of his ear. “The key. In the office.”
Andjustlikethat, Butch went on full alert—not that he showed it. “Oh, yeah? How so?”
Axe rubbed under his nose, and Butch banked that tell for future reference.
“Where did you get it?” the guy asked.
“A friend gave it to me.” Like he was going to come out with the dead female stuff before he needed to play that card? “A good friend.”
“You’re not supposed to share them. It’s against the rules.”
“So if I go there, will I get in trouble?” Butch asked on a flier.
“I dunno. Depends on the night. If you’re wearing a mask, you might get away with it. I’ve never brought anybody, but the policy is plus-one as long as the guests adhere to the rules. Also, you accept responsibility if they don’t. That’s how you get kicked out.”
“How long have you been a part of it?”
“Since before the raids. That’s where I had my bender when … you know, the shit with my father went down. The humans there, they never knew—still don’t know—what I am. So many different kinds of freak there—they just figure I’m a vampire poser.”
“When was the last time you went?”
“Three or four nights ago. I didn’t know how things were going to go with the training program. Figured it might be my last time for a while.”
Which was about the time the girl had been found on Safe Place’s lawn.
“What are you into?” Butch rolled his eyes. “And before you think I’m coming on to a student, I’m perfectly happily mated to a female I’m fully aware is too good for me—this is just to make conversation because we got nothing better to do until what’s-his-face gets back.”
Axe’s affect loosened up, his body, too. “I like to make them submit.”
“Men or women?”
“Both.”
“You and V would get along just fine then. Although he’s a one-female guy now, too.” Butch stretched his arms over his head until his spine cracked. “When are you going again?”
“When’s our next night off?”
“Will you take me and show me around? So I don’t embarrass the shit out of my buddy who gave the key to me?”
“You just told me you were happily mated.”
Butch shot the guy a don’t-be-stoopid. “I like to watch, asshole. It’s not cheating if you don’t get your hands, your tongue, or your dick involved.”
Axe nodded like he respected that logic. “Yeah, I’ll take you. But only on a masked night. If you fuck up or get a case of the pussies, I don’t want it traced back to me.”
Butch thought back to a certain night with Vishous, that night when there had been certain revelations made after Butch had … done some things that had needed doing to his best friend.
“I can handle myself,” he said dryly. “Don’t worry.”
The sounds of heavy feet on the shallow steps to the side door announced Craeg’s re-arrival.
“That was fast,” Butch muttered as the male came in with only one ratty duffel.
“Told you,” Craeg replied. “I don’t have much.”
Marissa came home early because she had a headache. And no, not one of Trez’s migraines, just a dull thumper behind her eyes that made it difficult to concentrate, hard to read documents on paper, and impossible to focus on a computer screen.
Mounting the stone steps to the mansion’s grand entrance, she figured out what was wrong: She’d skipped First Meal and had worked through the snack that was served every night at midnight at Safe Place.
“Dummy,” she said as she entered the vestibule and looked into the security camera.
When the lock was sprung, she walked into the grand foyer and smiled at Fritz. “I’m awfully sorry to trouble you, but may I please have something to eat?”
The ancient doggen clasped his hands together and all but swooned, sure as if she had handed him a winning lottery ticket or the most perfect birthday present ever given to anybody.
“Oh, mistress, yes! May I get you eggs and toast? A sandwich? Soup? Something more substantial—”
She laughed a little. “Surprise me?”
“Right away! Yes, yes, right away!”
The speed with which he left and the bounce in that step suggested he had many more centuries left in him, and that was a good thing—
“Oh, heeeeey, gurl.”
She turned to the billiards room. Lassiter was leaning against the open archway, a bowl of popcorn in his hand, a giant-bag, leopard-print Snuggie covering about seventy percent of his torso, his strong, bare forearms and bare legs showing at its hems.
“Hey there…” She frowned as something dawned on her. “Are you wearing anything under that?”
“Of course I am.” He threw a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “You wanna watch some tube with me? Right now I got a whole lot of MacGyver on, but I’m willing to be flexible.”
Marissa opened her mouth to say no, but then figured, What the heck. She was just going to have a little snack and wait for Butch to be done at the training center. She’d texted him that she was off work early, and he’d hit her right back, telling her to sit tight; he’d be back in twenty, thirty minutes, tops.
“Sure.”
“Niiiiice.” The angel straightened. “What’s your poison, TV-wise?”
As he turned around, she let out a squeak.
Because she was staring at his bare ass.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, all concerned.
Covering her eyes, she said, “You told me you had something on!”
“A jockstrap. Duh.”
At that moment, Fritz appeared next to her with a tray laden with so many covered plates that he might as well have been feeding Rhage.
“Ah…” Marissa rubbed her eyebrows, that headache back in full force.
“She’s eating in here,” Lassiter called out. “And yes, Marissa, I’ll put my damn jeans on.”
“Thank you, baby Jesus,” she muttered as she entered the game room.
As Fritz set the tray up on the bar to the left, Lassiter pulled the Levis on and flopped down on one of the sofas that faced the enormous screen mounted over the fireplace. “FYI, if I get chafed, it’s on you.”
She went over and took a seat on one of the padded stools. “FYI, my mate is due in here at any moment. So you just saved yourself a whoop-assing.”
Lassiter pointed the remote at the TV and called up the cable schedule. “Psssh, whatever. I can take him.”
“Doubt it.”
“Actually, I got nothing better to do for the rest of tonight. Think he’ll want to fight? I could use the exercise.”
Marissa laughed at the hopeful tone as she sat back and let Fritz pop the cloches off the plates and describe, with all the precision and elegance of a Nobu waiter, what was being served.
“Thank you so much,” she murmured as she picked up her fork and tried the rice pilaf. “Mmmmm.”
She wasn’t going to eat even half of it all, but that never seemed to bother the butler. Then again, to him, the joy of serving was the very best job satisfaction he had.
“Oh, my God,” Lassiter said, jerking upright. “I can’t believe it.”
“What? And if it’s a Beaches marathon again, you can forget it.” She rubbed the center of her chest with her free hand. “I’m not watching anyone die even in two dimensions.”
There had been more than enough of that. Dearest Virgin Scribe, what if they couldn’t find out anything about—
“It’s Melrose Place. I love this epi—it’s where Kimberly went psycho.”
“Wait, wasn’t she always psycho?”
“Well, yeah, but this is where she takes the wig off and you see the scar. Easily one of the most significant and influential scenes in television history.”
“And to think I assumed that was, like, the human lunar landing or something.”
Lassiter glanced over. “Wait, those rats without tails made it to the moon? You’re kidding me. They can’t even decide what time it is, clocks always flipping back and forth from season to season. And then there’s their health bullshit, eat this, you’ll live longer—no, strike that, it’ll kill you, so you need to do this. Internet trolls. Asshat preachers and politicians. And you know, don’t get me started on potholes. Why don’t they fix the roads?”
Marissa threw her head back and laughed. “You don’t even drive. Or care about any of those things.”
The fallen angel shrugged, his gold piercings and chains gleaming like sunshine with the shift. “Just repeating what they talk about on the evening news.”
Marissa shook her head with a smile. And she was about to ask him what exactly he did aside from sunning himself each noontime if there was no cloud cover, and taking up space on that couch in front of the TV—but then his eyes flicked back to her and they were dead serious. As his gaze returned to the big screen, she realized he’d picked up on her mood and was doing his best to help her out of it.
“You’re okay, Lass,” she said softly. “You know that?”
“I’m more than okay. I’m amaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazing,” he sang out. “So does this mean I can put you down for a dozen of my calendars?”
With any other person in the house, she might have been tempted to laugh it off as a joke. Him, though? “No, you can’t. I don’t even know what they’re like, but the answer is no.”
“Fine, half a dozen,” he tossed back. “They’re only five bucks. I have to cover printing costs. Good news? There was no photographer expense—I took the pics with my selfie stick.”
She lowered a forkful of chicken back to her plate. “You actually made a calendar of yourself.”
“Why do you think I had my pants off.”
“Lass. Really. You took twelve naked pictures of yourself—”
“Jockstrap. I was in my jockstrap, remember. I just did December’s by the fire. I am so hot, it is flat-out stupid.”
Marissa passed an eye around the room and shuddered at the number of things he’d probably put his naked ass on before settling for the hearth in front of the banked fire. “What gave you this idea?”
He rolled his eyes. “We’ve only got how many nights left in this year? I need to get ’em back from Kinko’s before December thirty-first.”
From out of nowhere, she had an image of some poor human in a FedEx Office branch getting an eyeful and a half of the mostly naked fallen angel.
Without warning, she started to laugh so hard, tears came to her eyes. The good kind of tears, that was.
And as she gave herself up to the angel’s ridiculousness, Lass just sat there on the couch, staring up at Melrose Place, a sly, quiet smile on his beautiful, deranged face.
What an angel he was, she thought to herself. A total angel.