Lover Revealed (55 page)

John looked at Blay and nodded, hoping like hell the two would keep talking.

In the quiet that followed, Blaylock stretched out his legs. Through the new blue jeans he had on, his heavy thigh muscles bunched and relaxed.

"So what do you feel like now?" Qhuinn prompted.

"Myself. Only… I don't know, so much stronger."

"Niiiiiice." Qhuinn laughed. "I can't wait."

Blaylock's eyes shifted over. "It's not something to look forward to. Trust me."

Qhuinn shook his head. "You are so wrong about that." There was a pause. "Do you get hard a lot now?"

Blay turned the color of a barn. "
What
?"

"Come on, you had to know that one was coming. So do you?" Silence stretched out. "Hello? Blay? Answer the question. Do you?"

Blay rubbed his face. "Um… yeah."

"Often?"

"Yeah."

"You work it, right? I mean… you must. So what's that like?"

"Are you out of your fucking mind? I'm not—"

"Just tell us once. We won't ask you again. Swear. Right, John?"

John nodded slowly, aware he was holding his breath. He'd had dreams, erotic dreams, but that wasn't the same as it actually happening. Or getting to hear about it firsthand.

Unfortunately, Blaylock seemed to have clammed up.

"Christ, Blay… what's it like?
Please
. All my life I've been waiting for what you have. I can't ask anyone else… I mean, like I'm going to my father with this shit? Just spit it out. What does it feel like to come?"

Blay picked at the label on his beer. "Powerful. That's what it's like. It's just this… powerful rush that builds up and then… you explode and drift."

Qhuinn's eyes closed. "Man, I want that. I want to be male."

God, that was exactly what John hungered for.

Blay chugged his Corona, then wiped his mouth. "Of course, now… now I want to do it with someone."

Qhuinn cracked one of his half smiles. "What about Jasim?"

"Nah. Not my type. And we're done with this. Conversation's over."

John glanced at the clock, then shuffled to the edge of the bed. With a quick scribble, he wrote on his pad and flashed it. Blay and Qhuinn both nodded.

"Good deal," Blay said.

"You up for hanging tomorrow night?" Qhuinn asked. John nodded and stood up—only to stumble and have to catch himself on the mattress.

Qhuinn laughed. "Look at you, punk. You're faced."

John just shrugged and concentrated on getting himself to the door. As he opened it, Blay said, "Yo, J?"

John glanced over his shoulder and cocked an eyebrow.

"Where can we learn that sign language thing?"

Qhuinn nodded and popped open another beer. "Yeah, where?"

John blinked. Then wrote on his pad,
The Internet. Search for American Sign Language
.

"Good deal. And you can help us, right?"

John nodded.

The two went back to the TV and fired up another game. As John shut the door, he heard them laughing and he started to smile. Only to feel the sting of disgrace.

Tohr and Wellsie were dead, he thought. He shouldn't be… enjoying stuff. A real man wouldn't get distracted from his goal, from his enemies… for nothing more than the company of friends.

John weaved down the hall, throwing one arm out to balance.

Trouble was… it felt so good to just be one of the guys. He had always wanted to have friends. Not a big group or anything. But a few, solid, strong… friends.

The kind you could rely on 'til death. Like brothers.

Marissa did not understand how Butch survived what happened to his body. It just seemed impossible. Except this was, evidently, what males went through, particularly warriors. And as he was of Wrath's line, he definitely had that thick blood in him.

When it was over, hours later, Butch lay on the table in the now frigid room, just breathing. His skin was waxy and covered with sweat like he'd run twelve marathons. His feet hung off the far edge of the gurney. His shoulders were nearly twice as big, and his boxers were stretched tight over his thighs.

His face comforted her, though. It was the same as it had been before, proportional with his new body, but the same. And when his eyes opened, they were the hazel she knew so well, with the spirit inside them that was his alone.

He was too dazed to speak, but he shivered, so she brought him a blanket and spread it over him. As the soft weight landed, he flinched as if his skin were too tender, but then he mouthed the words
I love you
and slid away into sleep.

Abruptly, she became more tired than she'd ever been in her life.

Vishous finished cleaning up the blood on the floor with a spray nozzle and said, "Let's eat."

"I don't want to leave him."

"I know. I asked Fritz to bring something to us and he left it just outside."

Marissa followed the Brother out into the Equipment Room and they each sat down on double-sized benches built out from the wall. They ate Fritz's little picnic munchies in the midst of racks of nunchakus and training daggers and swords and guns. The sandwiches were good and so were the apple juice and the oatmeal cookies.

After a while, Vishous lit a hand-rolled and leaned back. "He's going to be fine, you know."

"I can't see how he got through it."

"Mine was like that."

She stopped with a second ham sandwich on the way to her mouth. "Really?"

"Worse, actually. I was smaller than him when it happened."

"He's the same on the inside, though, isn't he?"

"Yup, he's still your boy."

When she finished the sandwich, she put both her legs up on the bench and eased back against the wall. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Sealing me up." She held out her wrist.

His diamond gaze shifted away. "No problem."

In the quiet, her eyelids drooped and she shook herself to wake up.

"Nan, let yourself go," Vishous murmured. "I'll watch him and as soon as he comes around, I'll let you know. Go on… lie down."

She stretched out, then curled on her side. She didn't expect to sleep, but shut her eyes anyway.

"Lift your head," Vishous said. When she did, he slid a rolled-up towel under her ear. "This is better for your neck."

"You're very kind."

"You kidding? Cop would kick my ass for letting you be uncomfortable."

She could have sworn Vishous brushed his hand down her hair, but then figured it was in her mind.

"What about you?" she said softly as he sat on the other bench. God, he had to be as tired as she was.

His smile was remote. "You don't worry about me, female. Just sleep."

Surprisingly, she did.

* * *

V watched Marissa pass out from exhaustion. Then he tilted his head and looked into the PT/first aid suite. From this angle he could see the soles of the cop's much larger feet. Man… Butch really was one of them now. A card-carrying, fanged-up, warrior male who looked like he was going to stand at about six-six, maybe six-seven. Wrath's bloodline was definitely in that boy—and V wondered if they were ever going to find out why.

The door to the Equipment Room swung open and Z walked in, with Phury right behind him.

"What happened?" the two of them asked in unison.

"Shhh." V nodded at Marissa. Then in a quiet voice he said, "See for yourself. He's in there."

The two went to the doorway. "Holy shit…" Phury breathed.

"That's a big one," Z muttered. Then he sniffed the air. "Why is Wrath's bonding scent all over this place—or is it me?"

V stood up. "Come outside to the gym, I don't want to wake either of them."

The three walked onto the blue mats and V shut the door most of the way behind them.

"So where is Wrath?" Phury asked as they sat down. "I thought he was here to witness the whole thing."

"He's busy." No doubt.

Z stared at the door. "That cop's big, V. That cop is really big."

"I know." V laid himself out flat on his back and took a drag. As he exhaled, he refused to look at his brothers.

"V, he's
really
big."

"Don't even go there. It's too early to know what he's going to be like."

Z rubbed over his skull trim. "I'm just saying. He's—"

"I know."

"And he's got Wrath's blood in him."

"
I know
, But look, it's too soon, Z. It's just too soon. Besides, his mother isn't a Chosen."

Z's yellow eyes grew annoyed. "Stupid fucking rule if you ask me."

Chapter Forty

Butch woke up on the gurney in the midst of taking a deep breath in through his nose. He was… smelling something. Something that pleased him greatly. Something that made him hum with power.
Mine
, a voice said in his head.

He tried to shake the word off, but it just got louder. With every breath he took, the single syllable repeated in his brain until it was like the beat of his heart: Involuntary. The source of his very life. The seat of his soul.

With a groan, he sat up on the table, only to lurch off balance and nearly fall onto the floor. As he caught himself, he looked down at his arms. What the—no, this was wrong. These were not his arms—or… shit, his legs either. His thighs were
huge
.

This is not me
, he thought.

Mine
, came the voice again.

He looked around. God, everything in the clinical room was crystal clear, like his eyes were windows that had been wiped clean. And his ears… he looked up at the fluorescent lights. He could actually hear the electricity going through the tubes.

Mine.

He inhaled again. Marissa. That scent was Marissa. She was close by—

His mouth opened of its own accord, and he let out a deep, rhythmic purr that ended in a growled word:
Mine
.

His heart pounded as he realized the control tower in his head had been completely overtaken. No longer logical, he was being ruled by a possessive instinct that made what he'd felt toward Marissa before look like a passing fancy.

Mine!

He glanced down at his hips and got a load of what was doing in his now way-too-small boxers. His cock had grown along with the rest of him, and it was punching out at the stretched-thin cotton. The thing twitched as he looked at it as if to get his attention.

Oh… God. His body wanted to mate. With Marissa.
Now
.

As if he'd called her name, she appeared in the doorway. "Butch?"

With no warning, he became a torpedo, his body aiming itself at her and shooting across the room. He took her down to the floor and kissed her hard, mounting her while he grabbed the front of her slacks and wrenched the zipper down. Grunting, straining, he peeled her pants off her smooth legs, spread her thighs roughly, and buried his face in her core.

As if he were a split personality, he watched himself act from a distance, seeing his hands shove her shirt up and capture her breasts while he tongued her. Then he was surging forward, baring fangs he somehow knew how to use and biting through the front of her bra. He kept trying to get himself to stop, but he was caught in some kind of centrifugal force, and Marissa… she was the axis he whirled around.