Lover Revealed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #4)(116)

Except the guy was still in Caldwell.

And that meant sooner or later, O’Neal was going to get popped, and Van wanted to be the one to do it. It was time for an inaugural kill and that ex-cop would fit the bill as well as anything else with a heartbeat would.

Just like Mr. X had said. Find the guy. Take him out.

As Van came up to a stoplight, he frowned, thinking that drive to murder probably should have bothered him. Except ever since he’d been inducted into the Society, he seemed to have lost some of his…humanity. And more was getting up to go every day. He didn’t even miss his brother anymore.

That should have bothered him, too, right? But it didn’t.

Because he could feel a dark kind of power growing inside of him, taking up the space left by his soul’s departure. Every day he was getting more…powerful.





Chapter Thirty-seven




Butch walked across the bright blue mats of the gym, his destination a steel door on the far side marked EQUIPMENT ROOM. Along the way, as he followed Wrath and V, he held on to Marissa’s cold hand. He wanted to give her some kind of pep talk, but she was too smart for that old it’s-gonna-to-be-okay thing. Bottom line was, no one knew what was going to happen, and trying to falsely reassure her was like training a floodlight on the free fall he was about to take.

At the end of the mats, V unlocked the reinforced door and they filed into a jungle of workout gear and caged weapons, heading back to the physical therapy/first aid suite. V let them in and hit the lights, fluorescent tubes flickering on in a chorus of hums.

The place was right out of an episode of ER, all white tiles and glass-front stainless-steel cabinets filled with vials and medical supplies. In the corner there was a whirlpool tub, a massage table, and a cardiac crash cart, but none of that registered much. Butch was primarily interested in the center of the room, where showtime was going to happen: Sitting like a stage waiting for Shakespeare, there was a gurney with some kind of a high-tech chandelier hanging over it. And underneath…a drain in the floor.

He tried to imagine himself up on that table under those lights. And felt like he was drowning.

As Wrath shut the door, Marissa said in a flat voice, “We should be doing this at Havers’s clinic.”

V shook his head. “No offense, but I wouldn’t take Butch to your brother for a paper cut. And the fewer people who know about this, the better.” He went over to the gurney and checked that the brake was engaged. “Besides, I’m a damn good medic. Butch, ditch the clothes and let’s do this.”

Butch stripped to his boxers, his skin goose-bumping all over. “Can we do something about the temperature in this meat locker?”

“Yup.” V walked over to the wall. “We want it warm in here for the first part. Then I’m going to throw the air-conditioning on hard-core and you’ll love me for it.”

Butch went to the gurney and popped his body up on the thing. As a hiss and a rush of toasty air came from overhead, he held his arms out for Marissa. After closing her eyes briefly, she came to him, and he took refuge in her body heat, hugging her hard. Her tears were slow and silent, and when he tried to talk to her, she just shook her head.

“Would you choose to be mated this day?”

Everyone in the room jerked around.

A diminutive figure in black robes had appeared in the corner out of nowhere. The Scribe Virgin.

Butch’s heart jackhammered. He’d seen her only once before, at Wrath and Beth’s mating ceremony, and she was now as she had been then: a presence to respect and fear, power incarnate, a force of nature.

Then he realized what she’d asked. “I would, yes…. Marissa?”

Marissa’s hands went down as if she were about to pick up the skirting of a gown she wasn’t wearing. Then she dropped her arms awkwardly, but still curtsied low and with grace. As she held the pose, she said, “If it would not offend, we would be honored beyond measure to be joined by Your Holiness.”

The Scribe Virgin came forward, her deep chuckle filling the room. As she laid her glowing hand on Marissa’s bowed head, she said, “Such manners, child. Your line has always had such perfect manners. Now come to your height and lift thine eyes unto me.” Marissa came out of the curtsy and looked up. As she did, Butch could have sworn the Scribe Virgin sighed a little. “Beautiful. Just beautiful. You are so exquisitely formed.”

Then the Scribe Virgin looked at Butch. Though there was an opaque black veil over her face, the impact of her stare made his skin tingle all over in warning. Like he was standing in the path of an impending lightning strike.

“What is your father’s name, human?”

“Eddie. Edward. O’Neal. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather not bring him into this, okay?”

Everyone in the room stiffened and V muttered, “Take it easy with the inquiry, cop. Really easy.”

“And why is that, human?” the Scribe Virgin asked. The word human was pronounced like the phrase piece of shit.

Butch shrugged. “He’s nothing to me.”

“Are humans always so dismissive of their lines?”

“My father and I have nothing to do with each other, that’s all.”

“Therefore blood ties mean little to you, yes?”

No, Butch thought, glancing over at Wrath. Blood ties were everything.