Lover Revealed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #4)(46)

Butch looked deeply into the undead’s eyes for the first time and something clicked into place, just locked the two of them up tight as if there were iron bars encircling their bodies. As the slayer went utterly still, Butch felt this overwhelming urge to…well, he didn’t know what. But the instinct was strong enough to have him opening his lips to breathe.

And that was when the inhaling started. Before he knew what he was doing, his lungs began to fill in one long, steady draw.

“No…” the slayer whispered, trembling.

Something passed between their mouths, some cloud of blackness leaving the lesser and getting drawn into Butch—

The connection was broken with a brutal attack from above. Vishous grabbed the slayer and yanked the undead free, throwing the thing against a building headfirst. Before the bastard could recover, V fell upon it, black blade slicing down.

As the spark and sizzle faded, Butch’s arms fell limp against the asphalt. Then he rolled over onto his side and curled in on himself, arms linking tight against his stomach. His gut was killing him, but more to the point, he felt nauseous as shit, a nasty echo of what he’d struggled with when he’d been at his sickest.

A pair of shitkickers came into his line of sight, but he couldn’t bear to look up and see either one of the brothers. He didn’t know what the hell he had done or what had happened. All he knew was that he and the lessers were kin.

V’s voice was as thin as Butch’s skin. “Are you okay?”

Butch squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Think it’s best…that you get me out of here. And don’t you dare take me home.”



Vishous unlocked his penthouse and muscled Butch inside while Rhage held the door open. The three of them had taken the cargo elevator up the back of the building, which made sense. The cop was a dead load, weighing more than he looked like he did, as if the pull of gravity had singled him out for special attention.

They laid the cop flat on the bed and he eased over onto his side, bringing his knees up until they hit his chest.

There was a long stretch of silence, during which Butch seemed to pass out.

Like he was walking off anxiety, Rhage started pacing around, and shit, after that showdown, V was all up in his head, too. He lit up and inhaled hard.

Hollywood cleared his throat. “So, V…this is where you go with the females, huh.” The brother went over and fingered a pair of chains bolted into the black wall. “We heard stories, of course. Guess they’re all true.”

“Whatever.” V headed to his bar and poured a long/tall of Grey Goose. “We’ve got to hit those lessers’ houses tonight.”

Rhage nodded toward the bed. “What about him?”

Miracle of miracles, the cop lifted his head. “I’m not going anywhere right now. Trust me.”

V narrowed his eyes on his roommate. Butch’s face, which normally got all Irish ruddy if he exerted himself, was utterly blushless. And he smelled…faintly sweet. Like baby powder.

Jesus Christ. It was like being around those slayers had brought out something else in him—something Omega in him.

“V?” Rhage’s voice was soft. Real close. “You want to stay here? Or maybe take him back to Havers?”

“I’m fine,” Butch croaked.

A lie on so many levels, V thought.

He polished off his vodka and looked at Rhage. “I’m coming with you. Cop, we’ll be back and I’ll bring food, true?”

“No. No food. And don’t come back tonight. Just lock me in so I can’t get out and leave me.”

Fuck. “Cop, if you hang yourself in the bathroom, I swear I will kill you all over again, ya herd me?”

Dull hazels opened up. “I want to know what was done to me more than I want to off my ass. So don’t worry.”

Butch squeezed his lids shut again and after a moment, Vishous and Rhage walked out to the balcony. As V locked the doors, he realized he was more worried about keeping Butch inside than protecting the guy.

“Where we going?” he asked Rhage. Even though he was usually the one with the plans.

“First wallet has an address of Four five nine Wichita Street, Apartment C-four.”

“Let’s hit it.”





Chapter Fourteen




When Marissa opened the door to her bedroom, she felt like an intruder in her own space: A wiped-out, heartbroken, lost…stranger.

Looking around aimlessly, she thought, God, it was such a pretty white room, wasn’t it? With its big canopied bed and its chaise lounge and antique dressers and side tables. Everything was so feminine, except for the art on the walls. Her collection of Albrecht Dürer woodcuts didn’t match the rest of the décor, those stark lines and hard edges more fitting to a male’s eyes and a male’s things.

Except that the images spoke to her.

As she went over to look at one, she had a passing thought that Havers had always disapproved of them. He’d thought that Maxfield Parrish paintings of romantic, dreamy scenes were more appropriate for a female Princeps.

They never had agreed on art, had they? But he’d bought the woodcuts for her anyway because she’d loved them.

Forcing herself into action, she closed her door and went for the shower. She had little time before the regularly scheduled Princeps Council meeting tonight, and Havers always liked to arrive early.