Lover Revealed (20 page)

Holy shit
, Butch thought as he sagged down onto the floor. So this was what getting skinned alive felt like.

Scrubbing his jaw, he sat there staring into space, lost though he knew exactly what room he was in, alone with the remnants of the evil in him.

"Butch, my man."

He jerked his head up. Vishous was standing just inside the room and the brother was dressed for fighting, a big-ass, leather-wearing, stabbing machine. The Valentino garment bag dangling from his gloved hand seemed totally out of place, just as whacked as a butler toting an AK-47.

"Fuuuuck, Havers has got to be nuts to release you. You look like crap."

"Bad day, 's'all." And there were going to be a lot more of those, so he should get used to it.

"Where's Marissa?"

"She left."

"Left?"

"Don't make me say it again."

"Oh. Hell." Vishous took a deep breath and swung the bag onto the bed. "Well, got you some threads and a new cell phone—"

"It's still in me, V. I can feel it. I can… taste it."

V's diamond eyes did a quick up and down. Then he came over and held out his hand. "Rest of you is healing up good. Healing up quick."

Butch took his roommate's palm and got pulled to his feet. "Maybe if I'm free of here we can figure this out together. Unless you've found—"

"Nothing yet. But I haven't lost hope."

"That makes one of us."

Butch unzipped the bag, dropped the sheet, and dragged on some boxers. Then he punched his legs into a pair of black slacks and stuffed his arms into a silk shirt.

Putting on street clothes made him feel like a fraud because the truth was he was a patient, a freak, a nightmare. Jesus Christ… what had come out of him as he'd orgasmed? And Marissa… at least he'd washed her as soon as he could.

"Your levels look good," V said as he read the chart Havers had tossed. "Everything seems back to normal."

"I ejaculated about ten minutes ago and the stuff was black. So everything is
not
normal."

Silence greeted that happy little announcement. Man, if he had hauled off and sucker-punched V, he would have gotten less of a shocked-out reaction.

"Oh, Christ," Butch muttered, slipping his feet into his Gucci loafers and grabbing the black cashmere dress coat. "Let's just go."

As they went to the door, Butch glanced back at the bed. The sheets were still tangled from him and Marissa getting all over each other.

He cursed and walked out into a monitoring room, then V led the way through a little closet stocked with cleaning supplies. Outside, they went down a hall, past a lab, and came into the clinic proper, going by patient rooms. As he went, he looked inside each one until he stopped short.

Through the doorway he saw Marissa, sitting on the edge of a hospital bed, that peach gown all around her. She was holding the hand of a little girl and talking softly while an older female, probably the young's mother, looked on from the corner.

The mother was the one who glanced up. As she saw Butch and V, she retracted in on herself, bringing her pilled sweater closer to her body and dropping her eyes to the floor.

Butch swallowed hard and kept going.

They were at the bank of elevators, waiting for one, when he said, "V?"

"Yeah?"

"Even though it's nothing concrete, you have an idea of what was done to me, don't you?" He didn't look at his roommate. V didn't look at him.

"Maybe. But we're not alone here."

An electronic
ding
sounded and the doors opened. They rode up in silence.

When they'd walked out of the mansion and into the night, Butch said, "I bled black for a while, you know."

"They noted in your chart that the color came back."

Butch snagged V's arm and wheeled the male around. "Am I part
lesser
now?"

There. It was out on the table. His biggest fear, his reason for running from Marissa, the hell he was going to have to learn to live with.

V stared into his eyes. "No."

"How do we know?"

"Because I reject that conclusion."

Butch dropped his hold. "Dangerous to put your head in the sand, vampire. I could be your enemy now."

"Bull. Shit."

"Vishous, I could—"

V grabbed him by the lapels and yanked him up against his body. The brother was trembling from head to foot, his eyes glowing like crystals in the night. "
You are not my enemy
,"

Instantly pissed off, Butch gripped V's powerful shoulders, bunching up the leather jacket in his fists. "
How do we know for sure
."

V bared his fangs and hissed, his black eyebrows cranking down hard. Butch gave the aggression right back, hoping, praying, ready for them to start clocking each other. He was jonesing to hit and get hit back; he wanted blood all over the both of them.

For long moments, they stayed locked together, muscles straining, sweat blooming, right on the edge.

Then Vishous's voice came out into the space between their faces, the cracked tone riding a panting, desperate breath and getting bucked off. "You are my only friend. Never my enemy."

No telling who embraced who first, but the urge to beat the living shit out of the other guy bled from their bodies, leaving only the bond between them. They wound up tight together and stood for a time in the cold wind. When they stepped back, it was awkwardly and with embarrassment.

After some throat clearing on both sides, V took out a hand-rolled and lit it. As he exhaled, he said, "You're not a
lesser
, cop. The heart is removed when that happens. Yours is still beating."

"Maybe it was a partial job? Something that was interrupted?"

"That I can't answer. I went through the race's records, looking for something, anything. Didn't find shit the first trip through, so I'm reading the Chronicles all over again. Hell, I'm even checking in the human world, looking for obscure shit on the Internet." V blew out another cloud of Turkish smoke. "I'll find out. Somehow, some way, I'll find out."

"Have you tried to see what's coming?"

"You mean the future?"

"Yeah."

"Of course I have." V dropped the hand-rolled, crushed it with his shitkicker, then bent down and picked up the butt. As he slipped the deadie into his back pocket, he said, "But I'm still getting nothing. Shit… I need a drink."

"Me, too. ZeroSum?"

"You sure you're up for that?"

"Not in the slightest."

"All right then, ZeroSum it is."

They walked over to the Escalade and got in, Butch riding shotgun. After putting on his seat belt, his hand went to his stomach. His abdomen was hurting like a bitch now because he'd been mobile, but the pain didn't matter. Matter of fact, nothing really seemed to.

They were just pulling out of Hayers's drive when V said, "By the way, you got a telephone call on the general line. Late last night. Guy named Mikey Rafferty."

Butch frowned. Why would one of his brothers-in-law be calling, especially that one? Of all his sisters and brothers, Joyce disliked him the most—which was really saying something, considering how the others felt. Had his father finally had the heart attack that had been waiting in the wings all these years?

"What did he say?"

"Baptizing a kid. Wanted you to know so you could show if you were into it. It's this Sunday."

Butch looked out the window. Another baby. Well, Joyce's first, but it was grandchild number… how many? Seven? No… eight.

As they drove along in silence, heading toward the city's urban hub, the lights from oncoming cars flared and faded. Houses were passed. Then stores. Then turn-of-the-century office buildings. Butch thought of all the people living and breathing in Caldwell.

"You ever want kids, V?"

"Nope. Not interested."

"I used to."

"No more?"

"Not gonna happen for me, but it doesn't matter. Plenty of O'Neals in this world now. Plenty."

Fifteen minutes later, they were downtown and parked behind ZeroSum, but he found it hard to get out of the Escalade. The familiarity of it all—the car, his roommate, his watering hole—unsettled him. Because even though it was just the same, he had changed.

Frustrated, cagey, he reached forward and got a Red Sox hat out of the glove compartment. As he put it on, he opened the door, telling himself he was being melodramatic and this was all business as usual.

The moment he stepped foot out of the SUV, he froze.

"Butch? What is it, my man?"

Well, wasn't that the million-dollar question. His body seemed to have turned into some kind of tuning fork. Energy was vibrating through him… drawing him…

He turned and started walking down Tenth Street, moving fast. He just had to find out what it was, this magnet, this homing signal.

"Butch? Where you going, cop?"

When V grabbed his arm, Butch snapped free and broke into a jog, feeling like he was on the end of a rope and something was pulling him.

He was dimly aware of V jogging next to him and talking as if he'd gotten on his cell phone. "Rhage? I got me a situation here. Tenth Street. No, it's Butch."

Butch began to run flat out, the cashmere coat flapping behind him. When Rhage's towering body materialized in his path from out of nowhere, he made a shift to get around the male.

Rhage jumped right in his way. "Butch, where you going?"

When the brother grabbed at him, Butch shoved Rhage back so hard the guy slammed against a brick building. "Don't touch me!"

Two hundred yards of hauling it later, he found what was calling him: Three
lessers
coming out of an alley.

Butch stopped. The slayers stopped. And there was a hideous moment of communion, one that brought tears to Butch's eyes as he recognized in them what was inside of him.

"Are you a new recruit?" one of them asked.

"'Course he is," another said. "And you missed check-in tonight, idiot."

No… no… oh, God, no…

In a synchronized movement, the three slayers looked over his shoulder at what had to be V and Rhage coming around the corner. The
lessers
prepared to strike, falling into combat stance, bringing up their hands.

Butch took a step toward the trio. Then another.

"Butch…" The aching voice behind him was Vishous. "God…
no
."

Chapter Thirteen

John shuffled his little body around and closed his eyes again. Wedged into the seat of a beat-up, ugly-ass, avocado green armchair, he smelled Tohr with every inhale he took: The decorator's nightmare had been the Brother's favorite possession and Wellsie's "
seatus non grata
." Exiled here to his office at the training center, Tohr had spent hours doing admin work in it while John studied.

John had used the thing as a bed since the killings.

Aggravated, he twisted himself around so his legs were draped over one arm and his head and shoulders were shoved back into the top half of the chair. He squeezed his eyes closed even harder and prayed for some rest. Trouble was, his blood was buzzing through his veins and his head was spinning with a whole lot of nothing specific, everything urgent bullshit.