Lover Revealed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #4)(94)

Sometime later, he woke up and glanced at the clock. He’d slept for two hours straight, and now he was in the hangover phase of things, his head one big, dull ache, his eyes supersensitive to the light coming in under the door. He rolled over and stretched, his spine cracking.

An eerie moan drifted down the hall.

“V?” he said.

Another moan.

“You okay there, V?”

From out of nowhere, there was a crashing noise, like something heavy had been dropped. Then choking sounds, the kind you made when you were too hurt to cry out and scared to death. Butch sprang off his bed and ran into the living room.

“Jesus Christ!”

Vishous had thrown himself off the couch and landed facefirst on the coffee table, scattering bottles and glasses. As he flailed around, his eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth gaped with screams unvoiced.

“Vishous! Wake up!” Butch grabbed on to those heavy arms, only to realize V had taken his glove off: That god-awful hand of his was glowing like the sun, burning holes in the wood of the table and the leather of the couch.

“Fuck!” Butch leaped out of the strike zone as he nearly got swiped.

All he could do was call out Vishous’s name as the brother struggled in the grip of whatever monster held him. Finally, something got through. Maybe the sound of Butch’s voice. Maybe V knocked himself around hard enough to wake himself up.

As Vishous opened his eyes, he was panting and shivering, covered with fear sweat.

“My man?” When Butch knelt down and touched his friend on the shoulder, V shrank back, cowering. Which was the scariest part. “Hey…easy, you’re home. You’re safe.”

V’s stare, usually so cool and calm, was glassy. “Butch…oh, my God. Butch…the death. The death…The blood down the front of my shirt. A shirt of mine…”

“Okay, just go easy. We’re going to cool out here, big guy.” Butch clamped a hand under V’s right armpit and hoisted the brother back on the couch. Poor bastard flopped against the leather cushions like a rag doll. “Let’s get you a drink.”

Butch headed for the galley kitchen, picked up a fairly clean glass off the counter, and rinsed it out. He filled the thing with cold water, even though V would no doubt rather it be Goose.

When he came back, Vishous was lighting up a cigarette with hands that were like flags in the wind.

As V took the glass, Butch said, “You want something stronger?”

“Nah. This is good. Thanks, man.”

Butch sat down on the other end of the sofa. “V, I think it’s time we did something about this nightmare thing.”

“Not going there.” V inhaled deeply and let out a steady stream of smoke from his lips. “Besides, I’ve got good news. Kind of.”

Butch would rather have stayed on the V dreamland shit, but that was clearly not happening. “So talk. And you should have woken me up as soon as you—”

“Tried. You were out cold. Anyway…” Another exhale. This one more normal. “You know I’ve looked into your past, right?”

“I figured.”

“Had to know what was doing, if you were going to live with me—with us. I traced your blood back to Ireland. Lot of pasty-white bog people in your veins, cop.”

Butch got real still. “Did you find…anything else?”

“Not when I searched nine months ago. And not when I retraced you an hour ago.”

Oh. Buzz kill. Although, Christ, what was he thinking? He wasn’t a vampire. “So why are we talking about this?”

“You sure you don’t have any weird-ass stories in your family? Especially back in Europe? You know, some female in your line getting pinched at night? Maybe a pregnancy that came out of the blue? Like someone’s daughter who disappeared and maybe came back with a child?”

Actually, there hadn’t been a lot of O’Neal lore passed along. For his first twelve years, his mother had been busy raising six kids and working as a nurse. Then after Janie’s murder, Odell had been too shattered to carry stories. And his father? Yeah, right. Pulling nine to five for the telephone company and then hitting the night shift as a security guard didn’t make for a lot of quality chat time with the kidlets: When Eddie O’Neal had been home, he’d been drinking or asleep.

“I don’t know of anything.”

“Well, here’s the deal, Butch.” V inhaled, then talked through the smoke as he breathed out. “I want to see if you’ve got any of us in you.”

Whoa. “But you know my family tree, right? And wouldn’t my blood tests at the clinic, or even throughout my life, have shown something?”

“Not necessarily and I have a very precise way of finding out. It’s called ancestor regression.” V brought up his glowing hand and clenched it into a fist. “Goddamn, I hate this thing. But this is how we do it.”

Butch eyed the scorched coffee table. “You’re going to torch me like kindling.”

“I’ll be able to channel it to the purpose. Not saying it will be fun for you, but it shouldn’t kill you. Bottom line? That shit with Marissa and the feeding and the way you reacted to it? The fact that you’re telling me you throw off scent around her? Plus god knows, you’re aggressive enough. Who knows what we’ll find.”