Lover Awakened (Black Dagger Brotherhood #3)(64)

She stopped when she got to the dining room. Beyond the wide archway at the far end was the kitchen. Dread coiled in her gut.

Steeling herself, she walked into the other space and halted. As she saw everything so neat and unbroken, she remembered the violence that had taken place.

“Someone’s cleaned it up,” she whispered.

“Zsadist.” Butch stepped by her, gun up at chest level, eyes scanning around.

“He…did all this?” She motioned her hand in a sweep.

“The night after you were taken. He spent hours here. Downstairs is neat as a pin, too.”

She tried to imagine Zsadist with a mop and bucket, getting rid of the bloodstains and the glass shards.

Why? she wondered.

Butch shrugged. “He said it was personal.”

Had she spoken out loud? “Did he explain…why that was?”

As the human shook his head, she was aware of Phury pointedly taking interest in the outdoors.

“You want to go to your bedroom?” Butch asked.

When she nodded, Phury said, “I’m staying up here.”

Down in the basement she found everything in order, arranged…clean. She opened her closet, went through her dresser drawers, wandered around her bathroom. Small things captivated her. A bottle of perfume. A magazine dated from before the abduction. A candle she could remember lighting next to the claw-foot tub.

Lingering, touching, sliding back into place in some profound way, she wanted to spend hours…days. But she could feel Butch’s increasing strain.

“I think I’ve seen enough for tonight,” she said, wishing she could stay longer.

Butch went first as they headed back to the first floor. When he came into the kitchen, he looked at Phury. “She’s ready to head out.”

Phury flipped open his phone. There was a pause. “Z, time to go. Start the car for the cop.”

As Butch shut the cellar door, Bella went over to her fish tank and peered in. She wondered if she would ever live at the farmhouse again. And had a feeling she wouldn’t.

“Do you want to take anything with you?” Butch asked.

“No, I think—”

A gunshot rang outside, the hollow popping noise muffled.

Butch grabbed her and hauled her back against his body. “Stay quiet,” he said in her ear.

“Out front,” Phury hissed as he fell into a crouch. He pointed his gun down the hall at the door they’d come in through.

Another gunshot. And another. Getting closer. Coming around the house.

“We’re out the tunnel,” Butch whispered as he muscled her around and pushed her toward the basement door.

Phury tracked the sounds with his gun muzzle. “I got your back.”

Just as Butch’s hand fell on the cellar door’s knob, time compressed into fractals of seconds, then collapsed into nonsense.

The French door behind them smashed open, the wood frame splintering, the glass shattering.

Zsadist took the whole thing out with his back as he was pushed through the thing by some tremendous force. As he landed on the kitchen floor, his skull jacked back and hit the tile so hard it sounded like another gun had gone off. Then, with a horrible yell, the lesser that had thrown him through the door leaped on his chest and the two of them slid across the room, heading right for the cellar stairs.

Zsadist was rock-still under the slayer. Dazed? Dead?

Bella screamed as Butch yanked her out of the way. The only place to go was against the stove, and he shoved her in that direction, shielding her with his body. Only now they were trapped in the kitchen.

Phury and Butch both leveled guns at the tangle of arms and legs on the floor, but the slayer didn’t care. The undead lifted his fist and punched Zsadist in the head.

“No!” she roared.

Except, strangely, the hit seemed to wake Zsadist up. Or maybe her voice had done the trick. His black eyes flipped open and an evil expression came over his face. With a quick thrust he clamped his hands under the lesser’s armpits and twisted so hard, the slayer’s torso contorted into a vicious arch.

In a flash Zsadist was on top, straddling the lesser. He grabbed hold of the slayer’s right arm and stretched it into a bone-cracking bad angle. Then he jammed his thumb under the undead’s chin so far you couldn’t see half the finger and bared long fangs that glistened white and deadly. He bit the lesser in the neck, right through the esophageal column.

The slayer hollered in pain, thrashing wildly between his legs. And that was only the beginning. Zsadist tore his prey apart. When the thing no longer moved, he paused while panting and pushed his fingers into the lesser’s dark hair, splitting a section wide, clearly looking for white roots.

But she could have told him it wasn’t David. Assuming she could find her voice.

Zsadist cursed and caught his breath, but stayed crouched over his kill, looking for signs of life. As if he wanted to keep going.

And then he frowned and glanced up, clearly realizing the battle was over and there had been witnesses.

Oh…Jesus. His face was marked with the black blood of the lesser, and more of the stain covered his chest and hands.

His black eyes shifted to hers. They were bright. Shiny. Just like the blood he’d spilled to defend her. And he quickly looked away, as if he wanted to hide the satisfaction he’d gotten from the kill.