Blood Kiss (19 page)

She would travel this stretch backward into her history alone.

Checking her watch, she noted that it was three o'clock. Usually she waited until four a.m. to go home, but if she and the females could get these invitations addressed before everyone retired, then Fritz could take them to the human mail system and they would be received the day after.

With quick efficiency, she packed the invites and envelopes into the LV Neverfull that Butch had gotten her a while ago, and shut down her computer.

Her sense of satisfaction was short lived.

After checking in with her staff and excusing herself for the evening, she left the Wellsie wing and spirited back to the mansion. As she waited for the vestibule's inner door to be opened for her, she went right back to worrying about the female.

Still nothing on that “key.” And no e-mails to the general accounts at Safe Place or the audience house about a missing female. Nothing on the closed social media groups. No phone calls or texts, either.

But her family had to be missing her, right?

Fritz, the beloved butler, opened the door with a wide smile. “Mistress, how fare thee?”

Fucked-up, thank you. “I am very well, how are you?” She shook her head as he went to take her bag. “I've got this, thanks. Have you seen—”

“We're ready! And Mary's on her way!”

Marissa looked over at the archway into the billiards room. Bella, Beth, and Autumn were standing together, glasses of white wine and plumed pens in their hands.

“We're prepared to scribe up,” Bella said. “And then
we've asked for Last Meal on special service, because we're doing movie day upstairs in the theater.”

“
Magic Mike XXL
just came out on DVD,” Beth chimed in. “We have a moral obligation to support the arts, even if they're just the human ones.”

“I haven't seen the first one,” Autumn murmured. “They tell me his pelvis is double-jointed. Is that true?”

Beth came forward and took the Neverfull. “Come on, you look like you need a girls' night. Payne and Xhex are joining us. So are Cormia, Layla, Doc Jane, and Ehlena. We're getting all of us together—it's about time.”

For a split second, Marissa felt guilty about easing into the friendship that was being offered. It seemed . . . too frivolous when she thought about all she wasn't able to do for that unknown female.

Bella leaned in. “We've told the males that they can't come in. Mostly because if they see that Channing guy up on the big screen—”

Beth finished, “—we're going to need to do a remodel after they're done with things.”

“Back to the double-jointed business,” Autumn kicked in. “I mean, how does he walk?”

“Very well, my friend.” As Bella answered Tohr's mate, she put an arm around Marissa's shoulders. “Very, very well.”

As Marissa let herself get drawn into the billiards room—where ink pots had been set up on one of the coffee tables and there was already a glass set out for her—she began to blink fast. Part of the emotion was the fact that that female who had died wasn't ever going to have anything like this again—if she'd been lucky enough to find good people surrounding her while she'd been alive.

The other half was a gratitude so great, her chest could barely contain the emotion.

“Ladies,” she said, putting her arm around Bella's waist. “Let's do the addressing quickly—so we can get to the undressing.”

“I
'm sorry . . . they're doing
what
?”

As Butch spoke, he looked at the males-only group sitting around the mansion's dining room table. Not one of his brothers or any of the soldiers was laughing or talking loudly. The bunch of sad sack losers was just sitting in front of half-eaten plates and untouched rocks glasses of vodka, bourbon and whiskey like a roll call of bassett hounds who'd lost their anti-depressants.

Not what he'd expected to find as he came late to Last Meal.

When Marissa had texted him and told him she was working with the females on something, it had seemed like a good idea to take care of some trainee stuff.

He hadn't banked on this funeral thing just cuz the ladies were doing a project.

“Hello?” he demanded. “You guys lost your hearing along with your sac or something?”

Wrath inhaled like he was about to break the news of a death in the family. “They're having a movie night.”

Butch rolled his eyes and went over to his chair. Yeah, it was a little weird to sit down without his Marissa by his side, but for crissakes, it was nothing to go Prozac over. Besides, he was glad his woman had friends in the house—

“They're watching
Magic Mike
,” someone said.

“Is that a children's show?” He sat back as Fritz put a heaping plate of lamb in front of him. “Thanks, man—oh, thanks, yeah, I'd love a drink. I'll take a Lagavulin on the rocks—”

Butch stopped talking as he realized the entire table of males was looking at him. “What?”

“You haven't heard about
Magic Mike
?” Rhage demanded.

“No.” He leaned back again as his drink was delivered. “Thanks. Is it like Barney?”

“It's about strippers,” Hollywood countered.

Butch frowned and lowered the glass from his lips. “I'm sorry?”

V came in from the pantry with a thick pouch of tobacco, a pack of rolling papers, and a scowl like somebody had stripped his favorite sex toy of its batteries.

“Naked,” Vishous muttered as he sat where Marissa should have been. “Buck-ass naked. And they're humans. Christ, it's like being shown up by a pack of dogs.”

“In thongs,” someone else bitched. “Dogs in thongs.”

Butch followed through on taking a drink this time, swallowing the burn, welcoming the heat in his gut. Okay, fine, it was a bit of a surprise to find that he kept going until the glass was empty, but hey, he had a lot to think about. On one level, the fact that his
shellan
was watching a movie with her buddies, even if it did involve some nakey, really wasn't a big deal.

On another level, he wanted to find the electrical box and cut the power to that part of the mansion.

Then torch the DVD. And the screen.

And take his mate to bed just to show her all the tricks he had over some actor in a—oh, God, a
thong?

“It's fine,” he heard himself say as he motioned to a
doggen
for a refill. “I mean, first of all, they love us—and second, it's not like it's an X rated—”

“They show a cock pump,” Lassiter said with a wide smile, like he was helping. “And in action. You know, it's on a cock and it's pumping—”

Vishous unsheathed a dagger from somewhere and pointed the thing at the fallen angel's head. “You keep talking like that and I'ma trim your hair. With my eyes closed.”

Lassiter laughed. “Yeah, whatever, big boy. I thought
you had more mojo than to get worked up over something like this. You really that insecure?”

“You want insecure,” V said. “I'll make you—”

“Okay, okay,” Butch cut in. “Leave it, V. It's fine, it's great—they're just enjoying themselves. What's wrong with that? It's not like they're sleeping with the guy.”

“You sure about that?” Lassiter smiled. “You don't think they're fantasizing about—”

The collective growl that rose up from the Brotherhood was so loud, it managed to agitate the crystals in the enormous chandelier hanging over the table. And the fallen angel was an idiot, but he wasn't stupid.

Moving slowly, like there were multiple guns pointed at him, he put his hands up in submission. “Sorry. Whatever. I'll stop before all this lame-ass uncomfortability you bunch of morons are sporting kills me.”

“Wise choice,” Butch said dryly. “Not that I wouldn't mind hitting you right now. Although that's not specific to this sitch.”

Lassiter went back to eating, shoving food into his face.

The Brothers weren't so quick to do a reset on things, those narrowed eyes and bared fangs still trained on the angel with the big mouth.

“Come on, boys, it's
fine
.” He cut a piece of lamb off and put it in his mouth. “Mmm. Delish.”

In reality, the stuff tasted like cardboard, but he made a show of the yummies. He couldn't keep it up, though.

Two minutes later, he was shoving a full plate away and nursing his second whiskey. “Really. They should have a little independence. They don't need to be locked at our hips, and listen, life here revolves around us. It's about time they do something just for them. Really. This is great.”

Next to him, V lit up a fat hand-rolled. “Is it. You like the idea of Marissa looking at some other male's junk?”

“It's not an X-rated—” As his voice squeaked, he
cleared his throat. “I mean, it couldn't be. . . . no, it's not—”

“I already checked,” Rhage muttered. “They have the DVDs—they're probably watching the extended, uncut versions.”

“So the strippers aren't circumcised?” Lassiter put his palms up again before the growling got even worse. “Jesus, you guys are
so
damn touchy.”

Butch shook his head and decided the angel was on his own. “So, yeah, I mean, a little gyrating—a pec pump or two. It's nothing to get worked up over. Fritz, can I have a refill over here again?”

The butler hustled over to pick up the empty glass. “Would any of you care for dessert? We have homemade ice cream and
Petit Gâteau
.”

Butch glanced at Hollywood. “What do you say there, my man?”

When Rhage just swished his ginger ale around in his glass, Butch cursed and said to Fritz, “This one here will have some even if no one else does.”

“Bring me the dessert,” Rhage spoke up.

Fritz bowed with Butch's glass in his hand. “But of course, sire. I shall fix you a plate directly—”

“No. I want the whole dessert. All of the cake and all of the ice cream.”

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd that was how Hollywood ended up with a morose audience of however many playing witness to his consuming fifteen small chocolate cakes and two gallons of vanilla ice cream.

It was like watching paint dry, except there was no chemical smell and the room was the same color before and after.

The good news was that the booze was doing its job, fuzzing out Butch's mind, making his body both numb and horny. “May I have another?” he asked a passing
doggen
who was removing the final chocolate-smudged plate. “Thank you so much.”

When his glass came back, he pushed his chair away from the table. “I'm out. I've got some work to do.”

And no offense to any of them, but hanging around in their vibe was just making him more depressed. Any more of this and he was going to start braiding the noose.

Walking out, he paused in the grand foyer. Looked up the stairs. Tried to imagine his Marissa ogling some actor in his underwear.

“Really. It's fine. Good for her.”

He took his phone out and called up their text string. Hesitating, he thought he'd just send her something, you know, to remind her that . . .

Wow.

In his human iteration, he would never have given a shit about something like this. Marissa wasn't only the love of his life; she was a female of worth who would never cheat on him. And
hello
, it wasn't like she'd checked into a seedy motel with the guy, for fuck's sake. She was hanging with her friends just like he hung out with his.

This was ridiculous.

He was
not
the jealous type—

The sound of shitkickers approaching had him glancing over his shoulder. It was Rhage, and the brother had a frothing glass of Alka-Seltzer in his hand.

Hollywood looked up the stairs. And dollars for dipshits, he was thinking exactly what Butch was.

“I'm going up,” the guy announced.

“Now, wait, wait, wait.” Butch grabbed that huge forearm and squeezed. “It's not like you can just burst in there.”

“Why not?”

“It's girls' night.”

“So I'll put on a dress.”

“Fucking hell, Rhage.
Really
?”

Next out were V., John Matthew and Tohr. And everyone else, including Wrath—and even Manny, who, in
spite of being a full-blown human, was right there along with the hound-faced rest of them.

“We are
not
going up there,” Butch announced. “We're going to go play some pool, and get drunk, and talk about all the kills we had in the attack on Brownswick. We're going to have a great fucking night—day, whatever the hell it is. Now pick your balls up off the floor and let's start behaving like men.”

•   •   •

“He has skills. I'm just saying.”

As Doc Jane spoke up, the captivated audience that was focused on the big screen was in total, very unmuted agreement.

Payne let out another of her now-trademark wolf whistles.

Xhex cursed and threw more Milk Duds at the image, yelling, “Damn, son, you get that shit! You get it!”

Marissa just laughed again. She couldn't decide what was more amusing, the movies or the company—probably the company. Although the humans were not hard on the eyes, she had to admit.

And then it was time for another round of hooting and hollaring.

God, she couldn't remember the last time she had laughed this hard. There was something about being with the girls that made the jokes both worse and better at the same time, and the giggling louder, and the silliness more stupid.

All of which was a very beautiful thing, as it turned out.

It also reminded her of how great it was to be accepted for exactly who she was, no external expectations laid on her, no shortfalls she hadn't volunteered for cutting her down. No judgment, just love.

Plus a number of naked guys who were almost as hot as her male? Not a hardship.

When the final scene was over and the credits started
to roll, they clapped like the actors could hear them all the way out in California.

“Can you teach me how to whistle like that?” someone asked Payne.

“You just put two lips around your fingers and blow,” the female replied.

“Isn't that a line from a movie?” somebody chimed in.

“Are they going to do a third one—”

“Magic Mike Ginormous—”

“We need to watch one and two again first as prep—we've got a tradition to uphold—”

“Anybody see
Nine and a Half Weeks
lately—”

“What's that—”

One by one, they stood up from the padded leather recliners and stretched in the dim, windowless room, backs cracking, shoulders unknotting. And it was funny—Marissa felt the urge to cut through the conversation and say something profound and meaningful, just to acknowledge the space they'd been in. But the right words didn't come.

Instead, she said, “Hey, can we do this again?”

Then again, maybe that was exactly what she meant.

Well, what do you know, the peanut gallery was so on board: The rousing cheer was as loud as the hoots at the dance scenes, and the idea that this special time wasn't a one-off made her feel a piercing kind of relief.

“I think we need a Chris Pratt marathon next.
Guardians of the Galaxy
,” Beth said.

“Is he the guy with the brother?” Bella asked.

“That's Hemsworth,” someone answered.

Starting the line for the departure up the middle aisle, Marissa wadded her empty Milk Duds box and made a rim shot with it into the trash. Abruptly, she realized that she couldn't wait to see Butch—and not because of all the scenes of half-naked bodies. She missed him—which was ridiculous, considering neither one of them had gone anywhere.

Heading for the door by the glass display of candy bars, she was smiling as she pushed open the—

“Dear . . . God,” she blurted as she recoiled.

The hallway beyond was filled with the males of the house, the Brothers and other fighters and Manny sitting on the floor with their backs to the bare walls, their legs stretched out, propped up, crossed at the knees or crossed at the ankles.

Apparently there had been quite a bit of drinking going on, empty bottles of vodka and whiskey littered around them, glasses in hands or on thighs.

“This is
not
as pathetic as it looks,” her Butch pointed out.

“Liar,” V muttered. “It so fucking is. I think I'm going to start knitting for reals.”

As the females emerged with her, each one of them registered shock, disbelief, and then a wry amusement.

“Is it me,” one of the males groused, “or did we just perform our own mass castration out here?”

“I think that just about sums this shit up,” somebody agreed. “I'm wearing panties under my leathers from now on. Anyone joining me?”

“Lassiter already does,” V said as he got to his feet and went to Jane. “Hey.”

And then it was group-reunion time.

While the other pairs found one another, Butch smiled as Marissa came over to him and put out her hand to help him off the floor. As they embraced, he kissed her on the side of the neck.

“Are you out of love with me now?” he murmured. “'Cuz I'm pussy-whipped?”