Lover Revealed

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.



Please let this need to feed pass. Please.



She breathed deeply until her head cleared, then slowly stood up and headed for the sink. As she cupped her hands under cold water and splashed her face, she knew she was going to have to go to Rehvenge. Just not tonight. Tonight she needed to be with Butch. She needed to see him up close and reassure herself that he was okay. And she had to talk to him. He was the important thing, not her body.



When she felt steady enough, she got dressed in that teal YSL gown. God, she really hated wearing the thing now. It held such bad associations for her, as if the scene with her brother was a nasty smell that had permeated the dress's fabric.



The knock she'd been waiting for came at precisely six o'clock. Fritz was on the other side of the bedroom door, the old male smiling as he bowed.



"Good evening, mistress."



"Good evening. Do you have the papers?"



"As you asked."



She took the file he held out and went to a bureau, where she leafed through the documents and signed on several lines. As she closed the top of the folder, she laid her hand on it. "This is over so fast."



"We have good lawyers, don't we?"



She took a deep breath and handed the power of attorney and the rental papers back to him. Then she went to the bedside table and picked up the bracelet from the suite of diamonds she'd still had on when she'd arrived at the Brotherhood's compound. As she held the glittering length out to the doggen, she had a fleeting thought that her father had given her the set over a hundred years ago.



He would never have guessed how it would be used. Thank the Scribe Virgin.



The butler frowned. "Master does not approve."



"I know, but Wrath has been too kind to me already." The diamonds sparkled as they hung from her fingertips. "Fritz? Take the bracelet."



"Master really does not approve."



"He's not my ghardian. So it's not his call."



"He is king. Everything is his call." But Fritz took the piece of jewelry.



As he turned away, the doggen looked so stricken, she said, "Thank you for bringing me some of my undergarments and for dry-cleaning this gown. You are very thoughtful."



He brightened a little at a job well done. "Perhaps you should like me to retrieve a few of your dresses from your trunks?"



She looked down at the St. Laurent and shook her head. "I won't be here for long. Best to leave them packed."



"As you wish, mistress."



"Thank you, Fritz."



He paused. "You should know that I have put fresh roses in the library for your rendezvous this evening with our master Butch. He asked me to get some for your pleasure. He asked me to ensure they were as lovely and pale a gold as your hair."



She closed her eyes. "Thank you, Fritz."



Butch rinsed out his razor, tapped it on the edge of his sink, and shut off the water. According to the mirror, the shave hadn't helped much; in fact, it just showcased his bruises, which were now yellowing out. Crap. He wanted to look nice for Marissa, especially since last night had turned out to be such a mess.



As he stared at his reflection, he poked his front tooth, the one with the little chip out of it. Shit... if he wanted to look like he deserved her, he'd need plastic surgery, detox, and a full set of caps.



Whatever. He had other things to worry about if he was going to see her in ten minutes. She'd sounded like hell over the phone last night, and it looked like they were back to having distance between them. But at least she was willing to see his ass.



Which led to his big concern. He reached down and picked up a paring knife off the edge of the white sink. Extending his forearm, he¡ª



"Cop, you're going to be full of holes if you keep this up."



Butch looked into the mirror. Behind him, V was leaning against the doorjamb, a glass of Goose and a cigarette in his hand. Turkish tobacco scented the air, pungent, masculine.



"Come on, V. I need to be sure. I know your hand works wonders, but..." He drew the blade over his skin, then closed his eyes, afraid of what was going to come out.



"It's red, Butch. You're okay."



He glanced at the wet crimson streak. "How do I know for sure, though?"



"You don't smell like a lesser anymore and you did last night." V came into the bathroom. "And secondly..."



Before Butch knew what was doing, V grabbed his forearm, bent down, and licked the cut, sealing it up quick.



Butch yanked out of his roommate's hold. "Jesus, V! What if that blood's contaminated!"



"It's fine. Just f¡ª" With a boneless lurch, Vishous gasped and collapsed against the wall, eyes rolling back in his head, body twitching.



"Oh, God... I" Butch reached out in horror¡ª



Only to have V cut the seizure off and calmly take a drink from his glass. "You're fine, cop. Tastes perfectly okay. Well, fine for human guy, which really ain't my 'tail of choice, you feel me?"



Butch hauled back and nailed his roommate in the arm with his fist. And as the brother cursed, Butch popped him another one.



V glared and rubbed himself. "Christ, cop."



"Suck it up, you deserve it."



Butch pushed by the brother and headed for his closet. As he tried to figure out what to wear, he was rough with his clothes, shoving them around on their hangers.



He stopped. Closed his eyes. "What the fuck, V. Last night I was bleeding black. Now I'm not. Is my body some kind of lesser-processing plant?"



V eased onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard, resting his glass on his leather-clad thigh. "Maybe. I don't know."



Man, he was so tired of feeling lost. "I thought you knew everything."



"Not fair, Butch."



"Shit... you're right. I apologize."



"Can we screw the 'sorry' part and let me hit you back instead?"



As they both laughed, Butch forced himself to pick a suit and ended up tossing a blue/black Zegna on the bed next to V. Then he fingered his ties. "I saw the Omega, didn't I. That thing in me was part of him. He put part of himself in me."



"Yeah. That's what I think."



Butch felt a sudden need to go to church and pray for his salvation. "No going back to normal for me, is there."



"Probably not."



Butch stared at his tie collection, getting swamped by the colors and the choices. As he stood frozen with indecision, for some reason he thought about his family in South Boston.



Talk about normal... and they were unchanging, too, so relentlessly the same. For the O'Neal clan, there had been one pivotal event, and that tragedy had thrown the chessboard of the family up in the air. When the pieces had fallen, they'd landed in glue: After Jane had been raped and murdered when she was fifteen, everyone had stayed in their places. And he was the unforgiven outsider.



To cut off his train of thought, Butch pulled a bloodred Ferragamo from the rack. "So what's on deck for you tonight, vampire?"



"I'm supposed to be off."



"Good."



"No, bad. You know I hate not fighting, true?"



"You're strung too tight."



"Hah."



Butch glanced over his shoulder. "Do I need to remind you about this afternoon?"



V's eyes dropped to his glass. "Nothing doing."



"You woke up screaming so loud I thought you'd been shot. What the hell were you dreaming about?"



"Nothing."



"Don't try and fade me, it's annoying."



V swirled the vodka in his glass. Swallowed it. "Just a dream."



"Bullshit. I've lived with you for nine months, buddy. You're stone quiet if you sleep at all."



"Whatever."



Butch dropped his towel, pulled on a pair of black boxers and took a starched white button-down out of the closet. "You should let Wrath know what's doing."



"How about we don't go there."



Butch put on the shirt, buttoned it up, then snapped the pinstriped pants off their hanger. "All I'm saying¡ª"



"Can it, cop."



"God, you're a tight-lipped bastard. Look, I'm here if you want to talk, okay?"



"Don't hold your breath. But... 'predate it." V cleared his throat. "By the way, I borrowed one of your shirts last night."



"That's cool. It's you whoring my socks that pisses me off."



"Didn't want to see your girl in fighting clothes. Which is all I got."



"She said you'd talked to her. I think you make her nervous."



V said something that sounded like "I should." Butch looked over. "What did you say?"



"Nothing." V shot up off the bed and headed for the door. "Listen, I'm going to go hang at my other place tonight. Being here by myself when everyone's on the job makes me bat shit. You need me, come find me at the penthouse."



"V." As his roommate stopped and looked back, Butch said, "Thanks."



"For what?"



Butch lifted his forearm. "You know."



V shrugged. "Figured you'd feel better being around her that way."



John walked through the underground tunnel, his footsteps an echoing drumroll that made him feel how alone he was as nothing else could.



Well, alone except for his anger. That was with him always now, close as his own skin, coating him like his skin, too. Man, he couldn't wait for class to start tonight so he could let some of it out. He was twitching, overactivated, restless.



But maybe some of that was because, as he headed for the main house, he couldn't help remembering the first time he'd come this way with Tohr. He'd been so nervous then, and having the male next to him had been reassuring.



Happy fucking anniversary, John thought.



Three months ago tonight was when it had all gone down. Three months ago tonight, Wellsie's murder and Sarelle's murder and Tohr's disappearance had been dealt like bad-news Tarot cards. Bang. Bang. Bang.



And the aftermath had been a special kind of hell. For a couple of weeks following the tragedies, John had assumed Tohr would come back. He'd waited, hoped, prayed. But... nothing. No communication, no phone calls, no... nothing.



Tohr was dead. Had to be.



As John came up to the shallow set of stairs that led into the mansion, he could not bear to go through the hidden door into the foyer. He so wasn't interested in eating. Didn't want to see anyone. Didn't want to sit at the table. But sure as hell, Zsadist would come after him. The Brother had totally dragged him to the big house for meals the last couple of days. Which was embarrassing and pissed them both off.



John forced himself to go up the steps and into the mansion. To him, the foyer's blinding splash of color was an affront to the senses, no longer a feast for the eyes, and he headed for the dining room with his stare locked on the floor. When he walked under the grand arch, he saw that the table was set but not yet occupied. And he smelled roast lamb¡ªWrath's absolute favorite meal.



John's stomach rumbled with starvation, but he wasn't falling for it. Lately, however hungry he was, the instant he put food in his gut, even the kind specially made for a pre-trans, he got cramps. And he was supposed to eat more for the change? Yeah, right.



When he heard light, rushing footfalls, he turned his head. Someone was racing along the second-floor balcony.



Then laughter drifted down from above. Glorious feminine laughter.



He leaned out the archway and glanced at the grand staircase.



Bella appeared on the landing above, breathless, smiling, a black satin robe gathered in her hands. As she slowed at the head of the stairs, she looked over her shoulder, her thick dark hair swinging like a mane.



The pounding that came next was heavy and distant, growing louder until it was like boulders hitting the ground. Obviously, it was what she was waiting for. She let out a laugh, yanked her robe up even higher, and started down the stairs, bare feet skirting the steps as if she were floating. At the bottom, she hit the mosaic floor of the foyer and wheeled around just as Zsadist appeared in the second-story hallway.



The Brother spotted her and went straight for the balcony, pegging his hands into the rail, swinging his legs up and pushing himself straight off into thin air. He flew outward, body in a perfect swan dive¡ªexcept he wasn't over water, he was two floors up over hard stone.



John's cry for help came out as a mute, sustained rush of air¡ª



Which was cut off as Zsadist dematerialized at the height of the dive. He took form twenty feet in front of Bella, who watched the show with glowing happiness.



Meanwhile, John's heart pounded from shock... then pumped fast for a different reason.



Bella smiled up at her mate, her breath still hard, her hands still gripping the robe, her eyes heavy with invitation. And Zsadist came forward to answer her call, seeming to get even bigger as he stalked over to her. The Brother's bonding scent filled the foyer, just as his low, lionlike growl did. The male was all animal at the moment... a very sexual animal.



"You like to be chased, nalla," Z said in a voice so deep it distorted.



Bella's smile widened even more as she backed up into a corner. "Maybe."



"So run some more, why don't you." The words were dark and even John caught the erotic threat in them.



Bella took off, darting around her mate, going for the billiards room. Z tracked her like prey, pivoting around, his eyes leveled on the female's streaming hair and graceful body. As his lips peeled off his fangs, the white canines elongated, protruding from his mouth. And they weren't the only response he had to his shellan.



At his hips, pressing into the front of his leathers, was an erection the size of tree trunk.



Z shot John a quick glance and then went back to his hunt, disappearing into the room, that pumping growl getting louder. From out of the open doors, there came a delighted squeal, a scramble, a female's gasp, and then... nothing.



He'd caught her.



John put his hand on the wall, steadying a lurch he hadn't realized he'd fallen into. As he thought about what they were doing, his body grew curiously loose and a little tingly. Like maybe something was waking up.



When Zsadist came out a moment later, he had Bella in his arms, her black hair trailing down his shoulder as she lounged in the strength that held her. Her eyes were locked on Z's face while he looked where he was going, her hand stroking his chest, her lips curved in a private smile.



There was a bite mark on her neck, one that had very definitely not been there before, and Bella's satisfaction as she stared at the hunger in her hellren's face was utterly compelling. John knew instinctively that Zsadist was going to finish two things upstairs: the mating and the feeding. The Brother was going to be at her throat and in between her legs. Probably at the same time.



God, John wanted that kind of connection.



Except what about his past? Even if he made it through his transition, how was he ever going to be that comfortable and confident with a female? Real males hadn't been through what he had, hadn't been forced at knifepoint into a hideous submission.



Hell, look at Zsadist. So strong, so powerful. Females went for that kind of thing, not weaklings like John. And there was no mistaking it. No matter how big John's body got, that's what he would always be: a weakling, marked forever by what had been done to him.



He turned away and went to the dining room table, sitting down alone in the midst of all the china and silver and crystal and candles.



But alone was okay, he decided.



Alone was safe.