Lover Revealed

Chapter Twenty-two

Butch threw himself at the bathroom door and jerked the handle until his palm nearly tore open. On the other side he heard Marissa crying. Then a shattering noise.

He drove his shoulder into the wooden panels. "Marissa!"

He hit the door with his body again, but then stopped and listened. Wild fear bit into him when there was only silence. "Marissa?"

"Just go." The quiet desperation in her voice made his eyes sting. "Just… go."

He splayed his hand on the wood that separated them. "I'm so sorry."

"Go… just go. Oh, God, you have to leave."

"Marissa—"

"I won't come out until you're gone. Go!"

Feeling as if he were in a nightmare, he grabbed his jacket and stumbled out of the bedroom, all sloppy, loose-bodied, weak in the knees. Out in the hall, he sagged back against the wall and banged his head into the plaster.

Squeezing his eyes shut, all he could see was her cowering in the corner, her trembling body drawn in a defensive crouch, her gown hanging loose from her bare breasts as if it had been ripped off her.

Fuck. Him. She was a lovely virgin and he'd treated her like a whore, pushing her too far and too hard because he hadn't been able to control himself. Christ, no matter how hot she burned, she wasn't used to what a man wanted to do during sex.

Or what happened when a man's instincts took over. And even though he'd known all of that, he'd still held her down on that bed by the thighs, trapping her while he tongue-fucked her, for God's sake.

Butch slammed the back of his skull into the wall again. Dear God, she'd been so scared, she'd even bared her fangs as if she had to protect herself from him.

With a nasty curse, he tore off down the stairs, trying to outrun how much he despised himself, knowing he couldn't go that fast or that far.

When he hit the foyer, someone yelled, "Butch? Yo, Butch! You okay?"

He burst outside, jumped into the Escalade, and cranked the engine. All he wanted to do was apologize to her until he was hoarse, but he was the last person on the planet she wanted to see at the moment. And he didn't blame her.

He gunned the SUV for downtown, heading straight for V's place.

By the time he'd curbed the Escalade and was riding up the high-rise's elevator, he was about to take the bridge he was such a mess. He threw open V's door—

Shit!

In the glow of black candles, Vishous was bent over with his head down, his leather-clad hips driving back and forth, his bare shoulders and massive arms flexed up hard. Beneath him, a female was tied down on the table at the wrists and ankles, her body wrapped in leather except for the tips of her breasts and where V was slamming into her core. Even though there was a mask over her face and a ball gag in her mouth, Butch was pretty damn sure she was on the verge of an orgasm. She was making little mewling noises, begging for more even as tears streaked down her leather-covered cheeks.

When V's head lifted from the female's neck, his eyes were glowing and his fangs were long as… well, she might need stitches, put it that way.

"My bad," Butch blurted and ducked out of the penthouse.

He went back down for the Escalade in a daze and couldn't seem to think of anywhere to go once he got to the SUV. He just sat in the driver's seat, key in the ignition, hand on the gearshift… picturing Vishous feeding.

The glowing eyes. The long fangs. The sex.

Butch thought about how unconcerned Marissa had been that she was ill. And her voice popped into his head. I can take care of it. Then, I don't want to hurt you.

What if Marissa needed to feed? What if that was why she'd sent him away? She was a goddamned vampire, for chrissakes. Or did he think those beautiful fangs of hers were just for decoration?

He put his head down on the steering wheel. Oh, man, this was so unattractive. He had no business looking for other explanations. Besides, why hadn't she just asked if she could take some of him? He would have let her in a heartbeat. Maybe even faster.

Hell, the mere thought of it gave him a massive hard-on. The idea that she would settle in at his neck and suck was a turn-on the likes of which he'd never come across before. He pictured her naked, sprawled on his chest, her face at his throat—

Careful, O'Neal. Be careful you're not just looking for an out here.

Except she had been aroused, hadn't she. He'd tasted it. In fact, when he'd gone hard-core on her, it had seemed as if that sweetness had flowed even more. But then why hadn't she just told him what was wrong?

Maybe she didn't want to drink from him. Maybe she figured because he was a human he couldn't take it.

Maybe because he was a human, he actually couldn't.

Yeah, fuck that. He'd rather die feeding her than know some other man was taking care of his woman. The idea of Marissa's mouth on someone else's neck, her breasts against someone else's chest, her smell in someone else's nose… her swallowing someone else's blood…

Mine.

The word shot through his head. And he became aware his hand had moved into his coat and found the trigger of his Glock.

Hitting the gas, he took off for ZeroSum, knowing his next move had to be calming down and ironing his head out. Homicidal jealousy directed at some male vampire was so not on his to-do list.

When his cell phone started ringing in his pocket, he palmed the Razr. "Yeah?"

V's voice was low. "Sorry you had to walk in on that. I didn't expect you to come—"

"V, what happens when a vampire doesn't feed?"

There was a pause. "Nothing good. You get tired, real damn tired. And the hunger hurts. Think food poisoning. Waves of pain rolling through your gut. If you let it get too out of hand, you turn into an animal. It gets dangerous."

"I've heard those stories about Zsadist, back before he got with Bella. He lived off humans, right? And I know for a fact those women didn't die. I'd see them back in the club after he was finished with them."

"You thinking of your girl?"

"Yeah."

"Look, you headed for a drink?"

"More than one."

"I'll meet you."

When Butch pulled into ZeroSum's parking lot, V was waiting by the side of the club, smoking a hand-rolled. Butch got out and triggered the Escalade's alarm.

"Cop—."

"V." Butch cleared his throat and tried not to think about what his roommate looked like feeding and having sex. He failed. All he saw was Vishous over that female, dominating her, pumping into her, his body moving like a piston.

Man, he was going to have to readjust his definition of hardcore, thanks to that eyeful.

V drew hard on his cigarette, then put it out on the heel of his shitkicker and slipped the butt into his back pocket. "You ready to go in?"

"Christ, yes."

The bouncers let them bypass the wait line and then they walked through the club's writhing, sweating, oversexed crowd to the VIP section. Within moments, and without an order, a waitress brought over a Lagavulin double and some Grey Goose.

As V's phone went off and he started talking, Butch glanced around—only to stiffen with a curse. In the corner, in the dim shelter of some shadow, he saw that tall, muscled female. And Rehvenge's head of security was watching him, her eyes burning like she wanted a repeat of the bathroom action they'd had.

Not going to happen.

Butch looked down into his glass as V clipped his phone shut. "That was Fritz. Message from Marissa to you."

Butch's head jacked up. "What she say?"

"She wants you to know that she's okay. Said she needs to lay low for tonight, but she'll be fine tomorrow. Said she doesn't want you to worry and she… ah, she loves you and you didn't do anything wrong when you did whatever you did." He cleared his throat. "So what did you do? Or is that TMI?"

"Wicked TMI." Butch tossed his drink back and held his empty glass up. The waitress came immediately.

As she took off to get him a freshie, he looked down at his hands. And felt V's eyes boring into him.

"Butch, she's going to need more than you can give her."

"Zsadist survived on—"

"Z drank from a lot of different humans. You're just the one. Thing is, because your blood is so weak, she'll drain you in no time because she'll have to do it so often." V took a deep breath. "Look, she can use me if you want. You can even be there so you know what happens. Sex doesn't have to be involved."

Butch tilted his head and focused on his roommate's jugular. Then he imagined Marissa at that thick neck, the two of them together. Intertwined.

"V, you know I love you like a brother, right?"

"Yeah."

"You feed her and I'll tear your fucking throat out."

V smirked, then broke into a full smile. The grin was so wide he had to cover his fangs with the back of his gloved hand. " 'Nuff said, my man. And just as well. I've never let someone take my vein before."

Butch frowned. "Never?"

"Nope. I'm a vascular virgin. Personally, I hate the idea of some female feeding off me."

"Why?"

"Not my bag." Butch opened his mouth and V held up his hand. "Enough. Just know I'm here if you change your mind and want to use me."

Not going to happen, Butch thought. Ever.

Taking a deep breath, he thanked God for Marissa's message. And he'd been right: She'd kicked him out because she needed to feed. That had to be it. Man, he was sorely tempted to head back home, except he wanted to respect her wishes and not behave like a stalker. Besides, tomorrow night, assuming this was about blood… well, then he had something for her, didn't he.

She was going to drink from him.

When the waitress came back with more Scotch, Rehvenge showed up at the table with her. The male's massive body blocked out the view of the crowd which meant Butch couldn't see the guy's security officer. Which meant he could take a deep breath.

"My people keeping you wet enough?" Rehv asked.

Butch nodded. "Very wet."

"That's what I like to hear." The Reverend slid into the booth, his amethyst eyes scanning the VIP section. He looked good, his suit black, his silk shirt black, his mohawk a dark cropped stripe that ran front to back on his skull. "So I want to share a little news."

"You getting married?" Butch tossed back half the new Lag. "Where you registered? Crate and Bury 'Em?"

"Try Heckler and Koch." The Reverend opened his jacket and flashed the butt of a forty.

"Nice little poodle shooter you got there, vampire."

"Put a hell of a—"

V cut in. "You two are like watching tennis, and racquet sports bore me. What's the news?"

Rehv looked at Butch. "He has such phenomenal people skills, doesn't he."

"Try living with him."

The Reverend smirked, then grew serious. As he spoke, his mouth barely moved and his words didn't carry far. "The Princeps Council met night before last. Issue was mandatory sehclusion for all unmated females. The leahdyre wants a recommendation passed and submitted to Wrath ASAP."

V whistled under his breath. "A lockdown."

"Precisely. They're using my sister's abduction and Wellesandra's death as the rationales. Which is some powerful shit, as it should be." The Reverend locked eyes with V. "Word to your boss. The glymera is pissed off at these civilian losses all around town. This motion is their warning shot across Wrath's bow and they are dead serious about passing it. The leahdyre's all up in my grill because they can't hold a vote unless every member of the council is in the room, and I'm a consistent no-show. I can put off the meeting for a little while, but not forever." At that moment, a cell phone went off in the Reverend's jacket and he took the thing out. "And what do you know, here's Bella now. Hey, sister mine—" The male's eyes flashed and his body shifted. "Tahlly?"

Butch frowned, getting the distinct impression that whoever was on that line was a female and not of the sister kind: Rehvenge's body was suddenly throwing off heat like a banked fire.

Man, you had to wonder what kind of woman would tangle with a piece of work like the Reverend. Then again, V was obviously getting laid, so those kind of females were out there.

"Hold on, tahlly." Rehv frowned and got to his feet. "Later, gentlemen. And drinks are on me tonight."

"Thanks for the heads-up," V said.

"I'm such a model fucking citizen, aren't I?" Rehv sauntered down to his office and shut himself away.

Butch shook his head. "So the Reverend's got a chippie, huh?"

V grunted. "Pity that female."

"For real." As Butch's stare drifted, he tensed up. That hard-ass female with the men's haircut still had her eyes on him in the shadows.

"Did you do her, cop?" V asked softly.

"Who." He kicked the tail end of the shot.

"You know exactly who I'm asking about."

"None of your biz, roommate."

As Marissa waited for Rehvenge's voice to come back on the line, she wondered where he was. There was a din coming over the connection—music, voices. A party?

The noise cut off sharply, as if he'd closed a door. "Tahlly, where are you? Or did Havers get his phones really encrypted?"

"I'm not at home."

Silence. Then, "Are you where I think you are? Are you with the Brotherhood?"

"How did you know?"

He muttered something, then said, "Only one number on the planet this phone can't trace, and it's where my sister calls me from. Now you're pulling the same no-show thing for an ID. What the hell's going on?"

She glossed over the situation, telling him only that she and Havers had argued and she'd needed somewhere to stay.

Rehv cursed. "You should have called me first. I want to take care of you."

"It's complicated. Your mother—"

"You don't worry about her." Rehv's voice smoothed out into a purr. "Come stay with me, tallhy. All you have to do is materialize to the penthouse and I'll have you picked up."

"Thank you, but no. I'm only going to be here long enough to get settled somewhere else."

"Settled somewhere—what the hell? This stuff with your brother is permanent!"

"It'll be fine. Listen, Rehvenge, I… need you. I need to try again to…" She put her head in her hand. She hated using him, but who else could she go to? And Butch… God, Butch… she felt like she was betraying him. Except what was her alternative?

Rehvenge growled, "When, tahlly? When do you want me?"

"Now."

"Just go to—ah, hell, I've got to meet the Princeps leahdyre. And then I've got some work-related issues I have to take care of."

She gripped the phone. Waiting was bad. "Tomorrow, then?"

"At nightfall. Unless you want to come and stay at my home. Then we could have… all day long."

"I'll see you first thing tomorrow evening."

"I can't wait, tahlly."

After she hung up, she stretched out on the bed and sank into utter exhaustion, her body becoming indistinguishable from the sheets and blankets and pillows, just another inanimate object on top of the mattress.

Oh hell… maybe waiting until tomorrow was better. She could rest up then talk to Butch and let him know what was going on. As long as she wasn't sexually charged, she should be able to control herself around him and this was one conversation that was better to have in person: If humans who were in love were anything like bonded male vampires, Butch wasn't going to handle the fact that she needed to be with someone else well.

With a sigh, she thought about Rehv. Then the Princeps Council. Then her sex in general.

God, even if that sehclusion motion was defeated by some miracle, there really was no safe place for females to go if they were threatened at home, was there? With the disintegration of vampire society and all the fighting with the lessers, there were no social services for the race. No safety net. No one to help females and their young if the hellren in their house was violent. Or if the family turned the female away.

Good Lord, what would have happened to her if Beth and Wrath hadn't taken her in? Or if she didn't have Rehvenge?

She might well have died.

Down in the compound's training center, John was the first in the locker room after the in-class session was done. He changed quickly into his jockstrap and his ji impatient for the fighting practice to begin.

"What's the hurry, John? Oh, wait, you like to get your ass kicked."

John looked over his shoulder. Lash was standing in front of an open locker, taking off a fancy silk shirt. His chest was no bigger than John's and his arms just as thin, but as the guy stared back, his eyes burned like he was the size of a bull.

John met that glare head-on, his body heating up. Man, he was jonesing for Lash to open his mouth and say something else. Just one more thing.

"You gonna pass out on us again, John? Like the pansy you are?"

Bingo.

John launched himself at the kid but didn't get far. Blaylock, the redhead, caught him and held him back, trying to derail the fight. But Lash didn't have any such deadweight. The bastard drew his fist back and threw a right hook so hard that John spun out of Blaylock's hold and hit the bank of lockers with a metal bang.

Stunned, breath knocked out of him, John reached out blindly.

Blaylock caught him again. "Jesus Christ, Lash—"

"What? He was coming at me."

"Because you were begging for it."

Lash's eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"

"You don't have to be such an asshole."

As Lash pointed at Blaylock, his Jacob & Co. watch sparkled under the lights like it was a battery-powered twinkler.

"Careful, Blay. Playing on his team ain't such a hot idea." The guy shook out his hand and dropped his pants. "Man, that felt good. How was it on your end, John-boy?"

John let that one go and pushed himself free. As his face throbbed to the beat of his heart, he thought of a car blinker for some absurd reason.

Oh, Lord… how bad was the damage? He stumbled over to the row of sinks, and in the long mirror that ran down the length of the wall, he got a look at his puss. Great. Just great. His chin and lip were already swelling.

Blaylock appeared behind him with a cold bottle of water. "Put this on it."

John took the icy Aquafina and eased it onto his face. Then he closed his eyes to avoid seeing either himself or the redhead.

"You want me to tell Zsadist you're not training tonight?"

John shook his head.

"You sure?"

Ignoring the question, John gave the water back and walked out to the gym. The other guys followed in a tense group, stomping over the blue mats and lining up next to him.

Zsadist came out of the Equipment Room, took one look at John's face and got good and pissed off. "Everyone put their hands out, palms down." He walked past each trainee until he stopped in front of Lash. "Nice knuckles. Over against the wall."

Lash sauntered across the gym, looking self-satisfied that he wasn't going to have to work out.

Zsadist stopped in front of John's hands. "Turn 'em over."

John did. There was a heartbeat of silence. Then Zsadist gripped John's chin and forced his head up. "Seeing double?"

John shook his head.

"Nauseous?"

John shook his head.

"This hurt?" Zsadist prodded the jaw a little.

John winced. Shook his head.

"Liar. But that's what I want to hear." Z stepped away and addressed the trainees. "Laps. Twenty. And each time you get to your classmate over there, you drop in front of him and do twenty push-ups. Marine style. Move it."

The groans were loud.

"Do I look like I care?" Zsadist whistled through his teeth. "Move it."

John started off with the rest of them, thinking this was going to be a really long night. But at least Lash wasn't looking quite so pleased with himself…

Four hours later, it turned out John was right.

By the end of the session, they were all exhausted. Z not only ground them into the mats, he kept them longer than usual. Like, centuries longer than usual. The damn training was so grueling that not even John had the energy to keep practicing after they broke for the night. Instead, he went directly to Tohr's office and collapsed in the chair without even showering.

Curling his legs up tight, he figured he would just rest a minute, then go rinse off—

The door swung open. "You okay?" Zsadist demanded.

John didn't look over, just nodded.

"I'm recommending that Lash get kicked out of the program."

John jerked upright and started shaking his head.

"Whatever, John. That's the second time he's gone after you. Or do I have to remind you of the nunchakus thing a few months back?"

No, John remembered. Shit, though.

With too much to say to be able to sign and have Z catch everything, he reached for his pad and wrote with extra neatness: If he gets kicked out, I look weak to the others. I want to fight with these guys someday. How can they trust me if they think I'm a lightweight?

He handed the pad to Zsadist, who held the pages with care in his big hands. The Brother's head dropped low and his brows crunched together, his distorted mouth moving a little as if he were sounding out each word.

When Z was finished, he tossed the pad on the desk. "I won't have that little shit beating on you, John. Just won't have it. But you got a point. I'll slap Lash with some serious probation. But one more of these happy little episodes, and he's out."

Zsadist walked over to the closet where the tunnel access was hidden, then looked over his shoulder. "Listen up, John. I don't want a free-for-all during training. So no going after the bastard even though he deserves it. You just keep your head down and your hands to yourself. Phury and I'll watch him for you, okay?"

John looked away, thinking of how badly he'd wanted to clock Lash. How badly he still wanted to do that.

"John? We clear? No brawling."

After a long moment, John nodded slowly.

And hoped he'd be able to keep his word.