Lover Revealed (25 page)

He didn't like to bring in anyone with a physical defect.

But the more he saw Van fight, the more clear it was that an absent pinkie was no liability at all. Then a' couple nights later he saw the tattoo. Van always fought with a T-shirt on, but at one point the thing got shoved up around his pecs. On his back, in black ink, an eye stared out from between his shoulder blades.

That had been what sent Mr. X into the Scrolls. The prophecy was buried deep in the text of the Lessening Society's handbook, an all-but-forgotten paragraph in the midst of the rules of induction. Fortunately, when Mr. X had become
Fore-lesser
the first time, he'd read the passages thoroughly enough to remember the damn thing was there.

As with the rest of the Scrolls, which had been translated into English in the 1930s, the wording of the prophecy was abstract. But if you were missing a finger on your right hand, then you had only four points to make. "Three lives" was childhood, adulthood, and then life in the Society. And according to the fight crowd, Van was homegrown, born in the city of Caldwell, which was also known as the Well.

But there was more. The man's instincts were twitchy as hell. All you had to do was watch him in that chicken-wire ring to know that north, south, east, and west were only part of what he was sensing. He had a rare talent for anticipating the way his opponent was going to move. It was the gift that set him apart.

The clincher, however, was the appendix removal. The word
score
could be construed in a variety of ways, but it very conceivably referred to scarring. And everyone had a belly button, so if you'd had your appendix removed as well, you'd have two scars on your "fore," wouldn't you?

Plus it was the right year to find him.

Mr. X reached for his cell phone and called one of his subordinates.

As the line rang, he was aware that he needed Van Dean, that modern fighter, that four-fingered bastard, more than anyone he'd met in his life. Or after his death.

When Marissa materialized in front of the dour gray mansion, she put her hand up to her throat and tilted her head back. God, so much stone rising from the earth, whole quarries stripped to gather the load. And so many leaded-glass windows, the diamond panes looking like bars. And then there was the twenty-foot-high retaining wall that wrapped around the courtyard and the grounds. And the security cameras. And the gates.

So secure, So cold.

The place was precisely as she'd expected it to be, a fortress not a home. And it was surrounded by a buffer of what in the Old Country was called
mhis
so that unless you were supposed to be here, your brain couldn't process the location well enough for you to find your way around. Hell, the only reason she'd made it to the Brotherhood's compound was because Wrath was inside. After three hundred years of living off his pure blood, she had so much of him in her that she could find him anywhere. Even through the
mhis
.

As she faced the mountain before her, her nape tingled like she was being stalked, and she looked over her shoulder. In the east, the light of day was gathering momentum, and the radiance made her eyes burn. She was almost out of time.

Hand still on her throat, she walked up to a pair of massive brass doors. There was no doorbell or knocker, so she tried one side. It opened, which was a shock—at least until she stood in the vestibule. Ah, here was where you were screened.

She put her face in front of a camera and waited. No doubt an alarm had gone off when she'd breached the first door, so someone would either come and let her in… or refuse her. In which case she was on to her second choice. At a dead run.

Rehvenge was the only other person she could have turned to, but he was complicated. His
mahmen
was a spiritual counselor of sorts to the
glymera
and would no doubt be highly offended by Marissa's presence.

With a prayer to the Scribe Virgin, she smoothed her hair with her palm. Maybe she'd gambled wrong, but she'd assumed that Wrath wouldn't turn her away this close to dawn. For all she'd endured with him, she figured he could spare her one day under the cover of his roof. And he was a male of honor.

At least Butch didn't live with the Brotherhood as far as she knew. He'd stayed at another place somewhere else over the summer and she guessed he still had it. Hoped he did.

The heavy wooden doors ahead of her opened, and Fritz, the butler, seemed very surprised to see her. "Madam?" The elderly
doggen
bowed low. "Are you… expected?"

"No, I'm not." She was about as far away from
expected
as it got. "I, ah—"

"Fritz, who is it?" came a female voice.

As footsteps got closer, Marissa clasped her hands together and lowered her head.

Oh, Lord. Beth, the queen. It would have been so much better to see Wrath first. And now she could only assume this wasn't going to work out.

Surely her majesty would let her use the phone to call Rehvenge? God, did she even have time to dial?

The doors creaked open even wider. "Who is…
Marissa
!"

Marissa kept her eyes on the floor and curtsied, as was custom. "My queen."

"Fritz, will you excuse us?" A moment later Beth said, "Would you like to come in?"

Marissa hesitated, then stepped through the door. She had a peripheral sense of incredible color and warmth, but she couldn't lift her head to take it all in.

"How did you find us?" Beth asked.

"Your…
hellren's
blood lingers within me. I… I have come to him for a favor. I would speak to Wrath, if it would not offend?"

Marissa was shocked when her hand was grasped. "What's happened?"

When she lifted her eyes to the queen, she nearly gasped. Beth was so genuinely concerned, so worried. To be greeted with any kind of warmth was disarming, especially from this female who by all rights might be tempted to kick her out.

"Marissa, talk to me."

Where to start. "I am… ah, I am in need of a place to stay. I have nowhere to go. I have been cast out. I am—"

"Wait, slow down. Just slow down. What happened?"

Marissa took a deep breath and gave a condensed version of the story, one that avoided any mention of Butch. The words ran out of her like dirty water, spilling onto the brilliant mosaic floor, staining the beauty beneath her feet. The shame of the recounting stung her throat.

"So you will stay with us," Beth pronounced when it was over.

"Just the one night."

"For however long you want." Beth squeezed Marissa's hand. "However. Long."

As Marissa shut her eyes and tried not to break down, she became dimly aware of a pounding sound, of heavy boots descending carpeted stairs.

Then Wrath's deep voice filled the cavernous three-story foyer. "What the hell's going on?"

"Marissa is moving in with us."

While Marissa dropped into another curtsy, she was totally stripped of her pride, as vulnerable as if she were naked. To have nothing and throw yourself on the mercy of others was a strange kind of terror.

"Marissa, look at me."

Wrath's hard tone was utterly familiar, the one he'd always used with her, the one that had made her cringe for three centuries. In desperation, she eyed the open door to the vestibule even though she was by now officially out of time.

The wooden panels slammed shut as if the king had willed it so. "Marissa, talk."

"Back off, Wrath," the queen snapped. "She's been through too much tonight already. Havers threw her out."

"
What
? Why?"

Beth made quick work of the story, and hearing it from a third party only increased Marissa's humiliation. As her vision blurred, she struggled not to lose it.

And the battle was lost when Wrath said, "Jesus Christ, that idiot. Of course she stays here."

With a shaking hand, she brushed under both eyes, capturing her tears and quickly rubbing them away between her fingertips.

"Marissa? Look at me."

She lifted her head. God, Wrath was just the same, his face too cruel to be truly handsome, those wraparound sunglasses making him look even more intimidating. Absently, she noted that his hair was much longer than when she'd known him, down nearly to the small of his back.

"I'm glad you came to us."

She cleared her throat. "I would be grateful for a short tenure here."

"Where are your things?"

"They're all packed up at my house—er, my brother's—I mean, Havers's house. I came back from the
Princeps
Council and everything I own was in boxes. But it can remain there until I figure out—"

"Fritz!" When the
doggen
came running in, Wrath said, "Go to Havers's and pick up her stuff. You better take the van and an extra set of arms."

Fritz bowed and took off, moving faster than you would think an old
doggen
could.

Marissa tried to find words. "I—I—"

"I'm going to show you to your room," Beth said. "You look like you're about to collapse."

The queen took Marissa over to the grand staircase, and as they went, Marissa glanced over her shoulder. Wrath had an utterly ruthless expression on his face, his jaw set like concrete.

She had to stop. "Are you sure?" she asked him.

His glower got worse. "That brother of yours has a real knack for pissing me off."

"I don't mean to inconvenience you—"

Wrath rolled right over her words. "This was about Butch, wasn't it. V told me that you went to the cop and pulled him through. Let me guess—Havers didn't appreciate you getting too tight with our human, right?"

Marissa could only nod.

"Like I said, your brother really pisses me off. Butch is our boy even if he isn't in the Brotherhood and anyone who cares for him cares for us. So you take up residence here for the rest of your natural goddamned life as far as I'm concerned." Wrath headed around the base of the stairs. "Fucking Havers. Fucking
idiot
. I'll go find V and let him know you're here. Butch isn't around, but V'll know where to find him."

"Oh—no, you don't have to—"

Wrath didn't stop, didn't even hesitate, reminding her that you didn't tell the king to do anything. Even if it was not to worry about something.

"Well," Beth murmured, "at least he's not armed right now."

"I'm surprised he cares this much."

"Are you kidding? It's appalling. To turn you out right before dawn? Anyway, let's get you settled."

Marissa resisted the female's gentle pull. "You welcome me so graciously. How can you be so—"

"Marissa." Beth's navy blue eyes were level. "You saved the man I love. When he was shot and my blood wasn't strong enough, you kept him alive by giving him your wrist. So let's be perfectly clear. There is absolutely
nothing
I wouldn't do for you."

As dawn arrived and light poured into the penthouse, Butch woke up fully aroused and in the process of grinding his hips into a twist of satin sheets. He was covered with sweat, his skin hypersensitized, his erection pulsing.

Groggy, confused as to what was reality and what he just hoped was real, he reached downward. Undid his belt. Burrowed through his slacks and his boxers.

Images of Marissa swirled in his head, half the fantasy he'd been so gloriously lost in, half memories of the feel of her. He fell into a rhythm with his hand, unsure whether he was the one who was doing the stroking… Maybe it was her… God, he wanted it to be her.

He closed his eyes and arched his back.
Oh, yeah. So good
.

Except then he woke up.

As he realized what he was doing, he became vicious. Angry with himself and so much of what was going on, he handled his sex roughly until he barked a curse and ejaculated. He couldn't even call it an orgasm. More like his cock swore out loud.

With sickening dread, he braced himself and looked down at his hand.

Then just sagged from relief. At least something was back to normal.

After kicking out of his trousers and wiping up with the boxers, he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Under the spray, all he could think about was Marissa. He missed her with a stinging hunger, a kind of craving pain that reminded him of when he'd quit smoking the year before.

And shit, no Nicoderm for this.

When he came out of the bath with a towel around his hips, his new cell phone was ringing. He fumbled around the pillows and finally found the thing.

"Yeah, V?" he rasped. Man, his voice was always shot to shit in the morning and today was no different. He sounded like a car engine that wouldn't turn over.

Okay, so that was two normals in his favor.

"Marissa's moved in."

"
What
?" He sank down onto the mattress. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Havers kicked her out."

"Because of me?"

"Yup."

"
That bastard
—"

"She's here in the compound, so you don't worry about her safety. But she's rattled as hell." There was a long silence. "Cop? You there, my man?"

"Yeah." Butch fell back on the bed. Realized his thigh muscles were twitching with the need to get to her.

"So like I said, she's okay. You want me to bring her to you tonight?"

Butch put his hand up to his eyes. The idea that someone had hurt her in any way made him positively mental. To the point of violence.

"Butch? Hello?"

As Marissa settled into a canopied bed, she pulled the covers up to her neck and wished she weren't naked. Trouble was, she had no clothes.

God, even though no one would bother her here, being bare just… felt wrong. Scandalous, though no one would ever know.

She glanced around. The room she'd been given was lovely, done in a delphinium blue toile, with the pastoral scene of a lady and a kneeling suitor repeated on the walls, the drapes, the bedcovers, the chair.

Not exactly what she wanted to look at. The two French lovers crowded her, striking her as not visual but audible, a chaotic staccato of what she didn't have with Butch. Wouldn't ever have with Butch.