Kicks and Giggles
One of the greatest things about writing the Brothers is the way they crack me up. On a regular basis, I’ll be at the computer upstairs, laughing my butt off at one thing or another. Butch reliably throws out some good ones, Rhage and Vishous are always quick with the comebacks, and Qhuinn is doing the next generation proud when it comes to being an ass.
I’ve taken some of my absolute favorite exchanges from the books, the ones that made me bark out loud and caused the dog to look at me funny, and excerpted them below.
Dark Lover
Wrath glared. “Nice of you to show up, Z. Busy tonight with the females?”
“How about you get off my dick?” Zsadist went over to the corner, staying away from the rest.
Wrath was dumbfounded.
And he wasn’t a vampire who got struck stupid very often.
Holy shit.
This half-human was the hottest thing he’d ever gotten anywhere near. And he’d cozied up to a lightning strike once or twice before.
If sex were food, Rhage would have been morbidly obese.
Wrath clapped his brother on the shoulder. On the whole, though, the SOB was a total keeper. “Forgiven, forgotten.”
“Feel free to hammer me anytime.”
“Believe me, I do.”
God knew the Omega was always receptive to initiative and new directions.
And would have benefited from some Ritalin when it came to loyalty.
The human reached inside Wrath’s jacket and started pulling out weapons. Three throwing stars, a switchblade, a handgun, a length of chain.
“Jesus Christ,” the cop muttered as he dropped the steel links on the ground with the rest of the load. “You got some ID? Or wasn’t there enough room in here for a wallet, considering you’re carrying about thirty pounds of concealed weapons?”
Giving in to a shrill instinct, she ran around the side of the building.
Butch was marching toward his car as if he were carrying an unstable load, and she rushed to catch up with them.
“Wait. I need to ask him a question.”
“You want to know his shoe size or something?” Butch snapped.
“Fourteen,” Wrath drawled.
“I’ll remember that at Christmas, asshole.”
“No, thanks.” Rhage laughed. “I’m a good little sewer, as you know firsthand. Now who’s your friend?”
“Beth Randall, this is Rhage. An associate of mine. Rhage, this is Beth, and she doesn’t do movie stars, got it?”
“Loud and clear.” Rhage leaned to one side, trying to see around Wrath. “Nice to meet you, Beth.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?” she said weakly.
“Nah. This one’s just messy. When you can use your large intestine as a belt loop, that’s when you hit the pros.”
“You have cable?” He nodded toward her TV.
She tossed him the clicker. “Sure do. And if I remember, there’s a Godzilla marathon on TBS tonight.”
“Sweet,” the vampire said, kicking his legs out. “I always root for the monster.”
She smiled at him. “Me, too.”
“And I left the aspirin next to the phone with a tall glass of water. Figured you weren’t going to be able to make it to the coffeepot. Take three, turn your ringer off, and sleep. If anything exciting happens, I’ll come and get you.”
“I love you, honey.”
“So buy me a mink and a nice pair of earrings for our anniversary.”
“You got it.”
A hand landed on his shoulder like an anvil. “How’d you like to stay for dinner?”
Butch looked up. The guy was wearing a baseball cap and had some kind of marking—was that a tattoo, on his face?
“How’d you like to be dinner?” said another one, who looked like some kind of model.
With a deliberate shrug, he stepped free of the hold on his shoulder.
“Tell me something, boys,” he drawled. “Do you wear that leather to turn each other on? I mean, is it a dick thing with you all?”
Butch got slammed so hard against the door that his back teeth rattled.
The model shoved his perfect face into Butch’s. “I’d watch your mouth, if I were you.”
“Why bother, when you’re keeping an eye on it for me? You gonna kiss me now?”
A growl like none Butch had ever heard came out of the guy.
“Okay, okay.” The one who seemed the most normal came forward. “Back off, Rhage. Hey, come on. Let’s relax.”
It took a minute before the model let go.
“That’s right. We’re cool,” Mr. Normal muttered, clapping his buddy on the back before looking at Butch. “Do yourself a favor and shut the hell up.”
Butch shrugged. “Blondie’s dying to get his hands on me. I can’t help it.”
The guy launched back at Butch, and Mr. Normal rolled his eyes, letting his friend go this time.
The fist that came sailing at jaw level snapped Butch’s head to one side. As the pain hit, Butch let his own rage fly. The fear for Beth, the pent-up hatred of these lowlifes, the frustration about his job, all of it came out of him. He tackled the bigger man, taking him down onto the floor.
The guy was momentarily surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Butch’s speed or strength, and Butch took advantage of the hesitation. He clocked Blondie in the mouth as payback and then grabbed the guy’s throat.
One second later, Butch was flat on his back with the man sitting on his chest like a parked car.
The guy took Butch’s face into his hand and squeezed, crunching the features together. It was nearly impossible to breathe, and Butch panted shallowly.
“Maybe I’ll find your wife,” the guy said, “and do her a couple of times. How’s that sound?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Then I’m coming after your girlfriend.”
Butch dragged in some air. “Got no woman.”
“So if the chicks won’t do you, what makes you think I’d want to?”
“Was hoping to piss you off.”
Stunning electric-blue eyes narrowed.
They had to be contacts, Butch thought. No one really had peepers that color.
“Now why’d you want to do that?” Blondie asked.
“If I attacked first”—Butch hauled more breath into his lungs—“your boys wouldn’t have let us fight. Would’ve killed me first. Before I had a chance at you.”
Blondie loosened his grip a little and laughed as he stripped Butch of his wallet, keys, and cell phone.
“You know, I kind of like this big dummy,” the guy drawled.
Someone cleared a throat. Rather officiously.
Blondie leaped to his feet, and Butch rolled over, gasping. When he looked up, he was convinced he was hallucinating.
Standing in the hall was a little old man dressed in livery. Holding a silver tray. “Pardon me, gentlemen. Dinner will be served in about fifteen minutes.”
“Hey, are those the spinach crepes I like so much?” Blondie said, going for the tray.
“Yes, Sire.”
“Hot damn.”
The other men clustered around the butler, taking what he offered. Along with cocktail napkins. Like they didn’t want to drop anything on the floor.
What the hell was this?
“Might I ask a favor?” the butler said.
Mr. Normal nodded with vigor. “Bring out another tray of these and we’ll kill anything you want for you.”
Yeah, guess the guy wasn’t really normal. Just relatively so.
The butler smiled as if touched. “If you’re going to bloody the human, would you be good enough to do it in the backyard?”
“No problem.” Mr. Normal popped another crepe in his mouth. “Damn, Rhage, you’re right. These are awesome.”
“So what’d you do to the lesser?” a male voice said.
“I lit his cigarette with a sawed-off,” another one answered. “He didn’t come down for breakfast, you feel me?”
“Tohr, relax. I’m a female, I cry at matings. It’s in the job description.”
“Hopefully, you won’t have to. Now tell me something. What’s your word for husband?”
“Hellren, I suppose. The short version is just hell.”
She laughed softly. “Go figure.”
Rhage nodded. “The place is also big enough. We could all live there without killing each other.”
“That depends more on your mouth than any floor plan,” Phury said with a grin.
“Yeah.” Rhage sighed. “All I want is one good female. But I guess I’ll settle for quantity until I find her. Life just sucks, doesn’t it?”
Wrath glared. “Nice of you to show up, Z. Busy tonight with the females?”
“How about you get off my dick?” Zsadist went over to the corner, staying away from the rest.
Wrath was dumbfounded.
And he wasn’t a vampire who got struck stupid very often.
Holy shit.
This half-human was the hottest thing he’d ever gotten anywhere near. And he’d cozied up to a lightning strike once or twice before.
If sex were food, Rhage would have been morbidly obese.
Wrath clapped his brother on the shoulder. On the whole, though, the SOB was a total keeper. “Forgiven, forgotten.”
“Feel free to hammer me anytime.”
“Believe me, I do.”
God knew the Omega was always receptive to initiative and new directions.
And would have benefited from some Ritalin when it came to loyalty.
The human reached inside Wrath’s jacket and started pulling out weapons. Three throwing stars, a switchblade, a handgun, a length of chain.
“Jesus Christ,” the cop muttered as he dropped the steel links on the ground with the rest of the load. “You got some ID? Or wasn’t there enough room in here for a wallet, considering you’re carrying about thirty pounds of concealed weapons?”
Giving in to a shrill instinct, she ran around the side of the building.
Butch was marching toward his car as if he were carrying an unstable load, and she rushed to catch up with them.
“Wait. I need to ask him a question.”
“You want to know his shoe size or something?” Butch snapped.
“Fourteen,” Wrath drawled.
“I’ll remember that at Christmas, asshole.”
“No, thanks.” Rhage laughed. “I’m a good little sewer, as you know firsthand. Now who’s your friend?”
“Beth Randall, this is Rhage. An associate of mine. Rhage, this is Beth, and she doesn’t do movie stars, got it?”
“Loud and clear.” Rhage leaned to one side, trying to see around Wrath. “Nice to meet you, Beth.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?” she said weakly.
“Nah. This one’s just messy. When you can use your large intestine as a belt loop, that’s when you hit the pros.”
“You have cable?” He nodded toward her TV.
She tossed him the clicker. “Sure do. And if I remember, there’s a Godzilla marathon on TBS tonight.”
“Sweet,” the vampire said, kicking his legs out. “I always root for the monster.”
She smiled at him. “Me, too.”
“And I left the aspirin next to the phone with a tall glass of water. Figured you weren’t going to be able to make it to the coffeepot. Take three, turn your ringer off, and sleep. If anything exciting happens, I’ll come and get you.”
“I love you, honey.”
“So buy me a mink and a nice pair of earrings for our anniversary.”
“You got it.”
A hand landed on his shoulder like an anvil. “How’d you like to stay for dinner?”
Butch looked up. The guy was wearing a baseball cap and had some kind of marking—was that a tattoo, on his face?
“How’d you like to be dinner?” said another one, who looked like some kind of model.
With a deliberate shrug, he stepped free of the hold on his shoulder.
“Tell me something, boys,” he drawled. “Do you wear that leather to turn each other on? I mean, is it a dick thing with you all?”
Butch got slammed so hard against the door that his back teeth rattled.
The model shoved his perfect face into Butch’s. “I’d watch your mouth, if I were you.”
“Why bother, when you’re keeping an eye on it for me? You gonna kiss me now?”
A growl like none Butch had ever heard came out of the guy.
“Okay, okay.” The one who seemed the most normal came forward. “Back off, Rhage. Hey, come on. Let’s relax.”
It took a minute before the model let go.
“That’s right. We’re cool,” Mr. Normal muttered, clapping his buddy on the back before looking at Butch. “Do yourself a favor and shut the hell up.”
Butch shrugged. “Blondie’s dying to get his hands on me. I can’t help it.”
The guy launched back at Butch, and Mr. Normal rolled his eyes, letting his friend go this time.
The fist that came sailing at jaw level snapped Butch’s head to one side. As the pain hit, Butch let his own rage fly. The fear for Beth, the pent-up hatred of these lowlifes, the frustration about his job, all of it came out of him. He tackled the bigger man, taking him down onto the floor.
The guy was momentarily surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Butch’s speed or strength, and Butch took advantage of the hesitation. He clocked Blondie in the mouth as payback and then grabbed the guy’s throat.
One second later, Butch was flat on his back with the man sitting on his chest like a parked car.
The guy took Butch’s face into his hand and squeezed, crunching the features together. It was nearly impossible to breathe, and Butch panted shallowly.
“Maybe I’ll find your wife,” the guy said, “and do her a couple of times. How’s that sound?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Then I’m coming after your girlfriend.”
Butch dragged in some air. “Got no woman.”
“So if the chicks won’t do you, what makes you think I’d want to?”
“Was hoping to piss you off.”
Stunning electric-blue eyes narrowed.
They had to be contacts, Butch thought. No one really had peepers that color.
“Now why’d you want to do that?” Blondie asked.
“If I attacked first”—Butch hauled more breath into his lungs—“your boys wouldn’t have let us fight. Would’ve killed me first. Before I had a chance at you.”
Blondie loosened his grip a little and laughed as he stripped Butch of his wallet, keys, and cell phone.
“You know, I kind of like this big dummy,” the guy drawled.
Someone cleared a throat. Rather officiously.
Blondie leaped to his feet, and Butch rolled over, gasping. When he looked up, he was convinced he was hallucinating.
Standing in the hall was a little old man dressed in livery. Holding a silver tray. “Pardon me, gentlemen. Dinner will be served in about fifteen minutes.”
“Hey, are those the spinach crepes I like so much?” Blondie said, going for the tray.
“Yes, Sire.”
“Hot damn.”
The other men clustered around the butler, taking what he offered. Along with cocktail napkins. Like they didn’t want to drop anything on the floor.
What the hell was this?
“Might I ask a favor?” the butler said.
Mr. Normal nodded with vigor. “Bring out another tray of these and we’ll kill anything you want for you.”
Yeah, guess the guy wasn’t really normal. Just relatively so.
The butler smiled as if touched. “If you’re going to bloody the human, would you be good enough to do it in the backyard?”
“No problem.” Mr. Normal popped another crepe in his mouth. “Damn, Rhage, you’re right. These are awesome.”
“So what’d you do to the lesser?” a male voice said.
“I lit his cigarette with a sawed-off,” another one answered. “He didn’t come down for breakfast, you feel me?”
“Tohr, relax. I’m a female, I cry at matings. It’s in the job description.”
“Hopefully, you won’t have to. Now tell me something. What’s your word for husband?”
“Hellren, I suppose. The short version is just hell.”
She laughed softly. “Go figure.”
Rhage nodded. “The place is also big enough. We could all live there without killing each other.”
“That depends more on your mouth than any floor plan,” Phury said with a grin.
“Yeah.” Rhage sighed. “All I want is one good female. But I guess I’ll settle for quantity until I find her. Life just sucks, doesn’t it?”
Lover Eternal
“All right, big guy, down you go.”
Oh, yeah. Bed. Bed was good.
“And look who’s here. It’s Nurse Vishous.”
“So say that.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Say nothing. Over and over and over again. Do it.”
She bristled, the scent of fear replaced by a sharp spice, like fresh, pungent mint from a garden. She was annoyed now.
“Say it,” he commanded, needing to feel more of what she did to him.
“Fine. Nothing. Nothing.” Abruptly she laughed, and the sound shot through to his spine, burning him. “Nothing, nothing. No-thing. No-thing. Noooooothing. There, is that good enough for you? Will you let me go now?”
“No.”
She fought against him again, creating a delicious friction between their bodies. And he knew the moment when the anxiety and irritation turned to something hot. He smelled her arousal, a lovely sweetening in the air, and his body answered her call.
He got hard as a diamond.
“Talk to me, Mary.” He moved his hips in a slow circle against her, rubbing his erection on her belly, increasing his ache and her heat.
After a moment the tension eased out of her, softening her against the thrust of his muscles and his arousal. Her hands flattened on his waist. And then slowly slid around to the small of his back, as if she were unsure why she was responding to him the way she was.
He arched against her, to show his approval and encourage her to touch more of him. When her palms moved up his spine, he growled low in his throat and dropped his head down so his ear was closer to her mouth. He wanted to give her another word to say, something like luscious or whisper or strawberry.
Hell, antidisestablishmentarianism would do it.
“Christ. You can be a real pain in the ass, you know that? No impulse control but totally single-minded. Helluva combination.”
“Okay, whadda we got here,” he said, opening his own. “Let’s have the Chicken Alfredo. The NY strip, rare. And a cheeseburger, also rare. Double on the fries. And some nachos. Yeah, I want the nachos with everything on them. Double that, too, will you?”
Mary could only stare as he closed the menu and waited.
The waitress looked a little awkward. “Is all that for both you and your sister?”
As if family obligation was the only reason a man like him would be out with a woman like her. Oh, man…
“No, that’s for me. And she’s my date, not my sister. Mary?”
“I…ah, I’ll just have a Caesar salad, whenever his—”feeding trough? —“dinner comes.”
“You’re getting into some kind of shape, cop.”
“Aw, come on, now.” Butch grinned. “Don’t let that shower we took go to your head.”
Rhage fired a towel at the male. “Just pointing out your beer gut’s gone.”
“It was a Scotch pot. And I don’t miss it.”
“The female threw me out of her house early this morning after doing a job on my ego.”
“What kind of hatchet did she use?”
“An unflattering comparison between me and a free-agent canine.”
“Ouch.” Butch twisted the shirt in the other direction. “So naturally, you’re dying to see her again.”
“Pretty much.”
“You’re pathetic.”
“I know.”
“But I can almost beat that.” The cop shook his head. “Last night, I…ah…I drove out to Marissa’s brother’s house. I don’t even know how the Escalade got there. I mean, the last thing I need is to run into her, you feel me?”
“Let me guess. You waited in hopes of catching a—”
“In the bushes, Rhage. I sat in the bushes. Under her bedroom window.”
“Wow. That’s…”
“Yeah. In my old life I could have arrested me for stalking. Look, maybe we should change the topic.”
One look at the movie collection and he knew he was in trouble. There were a lot of foreign titles, some deeply sincere American ones. A couple of golden oldies like An Affair to Remember. Casa-fucking-blanca.
Absolutely nothing by Sam Raimi or Roger Corman. Hadn’t she heard of the Evil Dead series?
“Shit, you’ve bonded with her.” Wrath put a hand through his long hair. “For God’s sake…You just met her, my brother.”
“And how long did it take you to mark Beth as your own? Twenty-four hours? Oh, right, you waited two days. Yeah, good thing you gave it some time.”
Wrath let out a short laugh. “You gotta keep bringing my shellan into it, don’t you?”
Oh, the humanity.
The Austin Powers boxed set. Aliens and Alien. Jaws. All the Naked Guns. Godzilla. Godzilla. Godzilla…wait, the rest of this whole shelf was Godzilla. She went one lower. Friday the 13th, Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street. Well, at least he hadn’t bothered with the sequels to those. Caddyshack. The Evil Dead boxed set.
It was a wonder Rhage hadn’t blinded himself with all that pop culture.
She smiled a little. “You are a manipulator.”
“I like to think of myself more as an outcome engineer.”
Phury’s laugh came out of the robe on the right. “Only you could try to turn this into a party.”
“Well, hell, you’ve all wanted to nail me a good one for some shit I’ve popped, right? This is your lucky day.” He clapped Phury on the thigh. “I mean, come on, my brother, I’ve ridden you for years about the no females. And Wrath, a couple of months ago I needled you until you stabbed a wall. V, just the other day you threatened to use that hand of yours on me. Remember? When I told you what I thought about that goatee monstrosity?”
V chuckled. “I had to do something to shut you up. Every damn time I’ve run into you since I grew it, you ask me if I’ve French-kissed a tailpipe.”
“And I’m still convinced you’re doing my GTO, you bastard.”
“What is your name?” she murmured.
He cocked an eyebrow at her and then went back to staring at his brother. “I’m the evil one, in case you haven’t figured it out.”
“I wanted your name, not your calling.”
“Being a bastard’s more of a compulsion, really. And it’s Zsadist. I am Zsadist.”
He took a deep breath: “God, I love you. I really, really love you.”
And then he smiled.
She laughed in a loud crack that brought every head in the room around.
The cherry stem was tied neatly around one of his fangs.
A male who looked as dangerous as he did, people were bound to talk. Her brother was the same way. She’d heard whispers about Rehvenge for years, and God knew, all of them were false.
No one was listening to her.
“God, spare me from heroes,” she muttered. “Back the fuck off!”
That got their attention.
She shook her head and bent down to pick up a shirt from the floor. “You are the sweetest thug I’ve ever known.”
Sweeping her hair back, she laughed. “So your sight’s returning?”
“Among other things. Come here, Mary. I want to kiss you.”
“Oh, sure. Make up for being a bully by plying me with your body.”
“I’ll use any asset I’ve got.”
He threw the sheets and duvet off himself and swept his hand down his chest, over his stomach. Lower. Her eyes widened when he took his heavy erection in his palm. As he stroked himself, the scent of her arousal bloomed like a bouquet in the room.
“Come over here, Mary.” He twisted his hips. “I’m not sure I’m doing this right. It feels so much better when you touch me.”
“You are incorrigible.”
“Just looking for some instruction.”
“Like you need that,” she muttered, taking off her sweater.
“I told you, that’s fine with me.” She smiled. “I mean, come on. He’s kind of cute, in a Godzilla sort of way. And I’ll look at it as a two-for-one kind of deal.”
“All right, big guy, down you go.”
Oh, yeah. Bed. Bed was good.
“And look who’s here. It’s Nurse Vishous.”
“So say that.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Say nothing. Over and over and over again. Do it.”
She bristled, the scent of fear replaced by a sharp spice, like fresh, pungent mint from a garden. She was annoyed now.
“Say it,” he commanded, needing to feel more of what she did to him.
“Fine. Nothing. Nothing.” Abruptly she laughed, and the sound shot through to his spine, burning him. “Nothing, nothing. No-thing. No-thing. Noooooothing. There, is that good enough for you? Will you let me go now?”
“No.”
She fought against him again, creating a delicious friction between their bodies. And he knew the moment when the anxiety and irritation turned to something hot. He smelled her arousal, a lovely sweetening in the air, and his body answered her call.
He got hard as a diamond.
“Talk to me, Mary.” He moved his hips in a slow circle against her, rubbing his erection on her belly, increasing his ache and her heat.
After a moment the tension eased out of her, softening her against the thrust of his muscles and his arousal. Her hands flattened on his waist. And then slowly slid around to the small of his back, as if she were unsure why she was responding to him the way she was.
He arched against her, to show his approval and encourage her to touch more of him. When her palms moved up his spine, he growled low in his throat and dropped his head down so his ear was closer to her mouth. He wanted to give her another word to say, something like luscious or whisper or strawberry.
Hell, antidisestablishmentarianism would do it.
“Christ. You can be a real pain in the ass, you know that? No impulse control but totally single-minded. Helluva combination.”
“Okay, whadda we got here,” he said, opening his own. “Let’s have the Chicken Alfredo. The NY strip, rare. And a cheeseburger, also rare. Double on the fries. And some nachos. Yeah, I want the nachos with everything on them. Double that, too, will you?”
Mary could only stare as he closed the menu and waited.
The waitress looked a little awkward. “Is all that for both you and your sister?”
As if family obligation was the only reason a man like him would be out with a woman like her. Oh, man…
“No, that’s for me. And she’s my date, not my sister. Mary?”
“I…ah, I’ll just have a Caesar salad, whenever his—”feeding trough? —“dinner comes.”
“You’re getting into some kind of shape, cop.”
“Aw, come on, now.” Butch grinned. “Don’t let that shower we took go to your head.”
Rhage fired a towel at the male. “Just pointing out your beer gut’s gone.”
“It was a Scotch pot. And I don’t miss it.”
“The female threw me out of her house early this morning after doing a job on my ego.”
“What kind of hatchet did she use?”
“An unflattering comparison between me and a free-agent canine.”
“Ouch.” Butch twisted the shirt in the other direction. “So naturally, you’re dying to see her again.”
“Pretty much.”
“You’re pathetic.”
“I know.”
“But I can almost beat that.” The cop shook his head. “Last night, I…ah…I drove out to Marissa’s brother’s house. I don’t even know how the Escalade got there. I mean, the last thing I need is to run into her, you feel me?”
“Let me guess. You waited in hopes of catching a—”
“In the bushes, Rhage. I sat in the bushes. Under her bedroom window.”
“Wow. That’s…”
“Yeah. In my old life I could have arrested me for stalking. Look, maybe we should change the topic.”
One look at the movie collection and he knew he was in trouble. There were a lot of foreign titles, some deeply sincere American ones. A couple of golden oldies like An Affair to Remember. Casa-fucking-blanca.
Absolutely nothing by Sam Raimi or Roger Corman. Hadn’t she heard of the Evil Dead series?
“Shit, you’ve bonded with her.” Wrath put a hand through his long hair. “For God’s sake…You just met her, my brother.”
“And how long did it take you to mark Beth as your own? Twenty-four hours? Oh, right, you waited two days. Yeah, good thing you gave it some time.”
Wrath let out a short laugh. “You gotta keep bringing my shellan into it, don’t you?”
Oh, the humanity.
The Austin Powers boxed set. Aliens and Alien. Jaws. All the Naked Guns. Godzilla. Godzilla. Godzilla…wait, the rest of this whole shelf was Godzilla. She went one lower. Friday the 13th, Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street. Well, at least he hadn’t bothered with the sequels to those. Caddyshack. The Evil Dead boxed set.
It was a wonder Rhage hadn’t blinded himself with all that pop culture.
She smiled a little. “You are a manipulator.”
“I like to think of myself more as an outcome engineer.”
Phury’s laugh came out of the robe on the right. “Only you could try to turn this into a party.”
“Well, hell, you’ve all wanted to nail me a good one for some shit I’ve popped, right? This is your lucky day.” He clapped Phury on the thigh. “I mean, come on, my brother, I’ve ridden you for years about the no females. And Wrath, a couple of months ago I needled you until you stabbed a wall. V, just the other day you threatened to use that hand of yours on me. Remember? When I told you what I thought about that goatee monstrosity?”
V chuckled. “I had to do something to shut you up. Every damn time I’ve run into you since I grew it, you ask me if I’ve French-kissed a tailpipe.”
“And I’m still convinced you’re doing my GTO, you bastard.”
“What is your name?” she murmured.
He cocked an eyebrow at her and then went back to staring at his brother. “I’m the evil one, in case you haven’t figured it out.”
“I wanted your name, not your calling.”
“Being a bastard’s more of a compulsion, really. And it’s Zsadist. I am Zsadist.”
He took a deep breath: “God, I love you. I really, really love you.”
And then he smiled.
She laughed in a loud crack that brought every head in the room around.
The cherry stem was tied neatly around one of his fangs.
A male who looked as dangerous as he did, people were bound to talk. Her brother was the same way. She’d heard whispers about Rehvenge for years, and God knew, all of them were false.
No one was listening to her.
“God, spare me from heroes,” she muttered. “Back the fuck off!”
That got their attention.
She shook her head and bent down to pick up a shirt from the floor. “You are the sweetest thug I’ve ever known.”
Sweeping her hair back, she laughed. “So your sight’s returning?”
“Among other things. Come here, Mary. I want to kiss you.”
“Oh, sure. Make up for being a bully by plying me with your body.”
“I’ll use any asset I’ve got.”
He threw the sheets and duvet off himself and swept his hand down his chest, over his stomach. Lower. Her eyes widened when he took his heavy erection in his palm. As he stroked himself, the scent of her arousal bloomed like a bouquet in the room.
“Come over here, Mary.” He twisted his hips. “I’m not sure I’m doing this right. It feels so much better when you touch me.”
“You are incorrigible.”
“Just looking for some instruction.”
“Like you need that,” she muttered, taking off her sweater.
“I told you, that’s fine with me.” She smiled. “I mean, come on. He’s kind of cute, in a Godzilla sort of way. And I’ll look at it as a two-for-one kind of deal.”
Lover Awakened
Man, it was a good thing he fought like a nasty bastard or he might have been taken for a nancy.
…The other was behind the desk and hump-ugly: a ragged, avocado green leather monstrosity with dog-eared corners, a sagging seat, and a set of legs that gave new meaning to the word sturdy.
Tohr put his hand on the thing’s high back. “Can you believe Wellsie made me get rid of this?”
John nodded and signed, Yes, I can.
“Well, I can’t read. So we’re SOL, you and me.”
John worked his Bic quickly. As he showed the pad to Phury, the male with the black stare frowned. “What did the kid write?”
“He says that’s okay. He’s a good listener. You can do the talking.”
p. 94
He grabbed her hand, whipped the pen out of it, and flattened her palm.
I want to talk to you, he wrote.
Then he looked straight into her eyes and did the most amazing, ballsy thing.
He smiled at her.
John nodded and looked at the twelve guys who were seated in pairs and staring at him.
Whoa. Really not feeling the love here, fellas, he thought.
After a moment Blaylock pulled a polite one and introduced the others. They all had odd names. The blond’s was Lash. And how fricking appropriate was that?
“This place is just too frickin’ precious,” the cop said, eyeing a guy dressed in a hot pink leisure suit with makeup to match. “Give me rednecks and home-grown beer any day of the week over this X-culture bullshit.”
“Just want to make sure your needs are served. Customer satisfaction is so damned important.” The male moved even closer and nodded at Phury’s arm, the one that disappeared into his coat. “Your hand’s on a gun butt right now, isn’t it? Afraid of me?”
“Just want to make sure I can take care of you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. In case you need a little Glock-to-mouth resuscitation.”
That female who’d walked in on him and the Reverend clearly had a big mouth and…Christ. Butch must have already told Vishous. The two were like an old mated couple, no secrets between them. And V would squeal to Rhage. And once Rhage knew, you might as well have popped the news flash on the Reuters wire.
Their eyes met. She was so pretty, she made him dizzy.
“Do you want to kiss me?” she whispered.
John’s eyes cracked open. Like a balloon had popped behind his head.
“Because I’d like you to.” She licked her lips a little. “I really would.”
Whoa…Chance of a lifetime, right here, right now, he thought.
Do not pass out. Passing out would be a total buzz kill.
John quickly called on every movie he’d ever seen…and got no help at all. As a horror fan, he was swamped by visions of Godzilla stomping across Tokyo and of Jaws chewing on the ass end of the Orca. Big help.
…The guy was cracking down on the Brotherhood, organizing shifts, trying to turn four loose cannons like V, Phury, Rhage, and Z into soldiers. No wonder he always looked like his head hurt.
Phury lit a blunt and eyed the sixteen cans of Aqua Net that were lined up on Butch and V’s coffee table. “What’s doing with the hair spray? You boys going drag on us?”
Butch held up the length of PVC pipe he was punching a hole in. “Potato launcher, my man. Big fun.”
“Excuse me?”
“Didn’t you ever go to summer camp?”
“Basket weaving and woodcarving are for humans. No offense, but we have better things to teach to our youngs.”
“Ha! You haven’t lived until you’ve gone on a midnight panty raid. Anyway, you put the potato in this end, you fill up the bottom with spray—”
“And then you light it,” V cut in from his bedroom. He came out in a robe, rubbing a towel on his wet hair. “Makes a great noise.”
“Great noise,” Butch echoed.
Phury looked at his brother. “V, you’ve done this before?”
“Yeah, last night. But the launcher jammed up.”
Butch cursed. “Potato was too big. Damn Idaho bakers. We’re leading with red skins tonight. It’s going to be great. Of course, trajectory can be a bitch—”
“But it’s really just like golf,” V said, dropping the towel across a chair. He pulled a glove over his right hand, covering the sacred tattoos that marked the thing from palm to fingertip and all across the back. “I mean, you gotta think of your arc in the air—”
Butch nodded up a storm. “Yeah, it’s just like golf. Wind plays a big role—”
“Huge.”
Phury smoked along as they finished each other’s sentences for another couple minutes. After a while he felt compelled to mention, “The two of you are spending way too much time together, you feel me?”
V shook his head at the cop. “The brother has no appreciation for this kind of thing. Never has.”
“Then we aim for his room.”
“True that. And it faces the garden—”
“So we don’t have to work around the cars in the courtyard. Excellent.”
Tohr laughed softly. “Yeah, I’m not much for the emotive crap either—Ouch! Wellsie, what the hell?”
He put the bottle on the table next to him and held up his gloved hand. “After all, this godforsaken thing still glows like a lamp. And until I lose this whacked-out night-light of mine, I figure I’m still normal. Well…normal for me.”
Phury pulled on a pair of nylon warm-ups. “You want food? I’m going to make a kitchen trip.”
Butch’s eyes blissed out. “You’re actually going to bring it up here? As in, I don’t have to move?”
“You’re going to owe me, but yeah, I’m willing to deliver.”
“You are a god.”
Phury put on a T-shirt. “What do you want?”
“Whatever’s in the kitchen. Hell, make yourself really useful and drag that refrigerator on up here. I’m starved.”
“Then why are you wearing that bandage like a sash?”
“It makes my ass look smaller.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Well…in the words of Vishous, want in one hand, shit in the other—see what you get most of.”
Phury was lying on the king-size bed, lines plugged into him as if he were a switchboard.
The male’s head turned. “Z…what are you doing up?”
“Giving the medical staff a workout.” He shut the door and weaved into the room, heading for the bed. “They’re pretty damn fast, actually.”
There was no reply. So Z glanced over again—just as a tear slid down Phury’s cheek.
“Ah…fuck,” Z muttered.
“Yeah. Pretty much.” Another tear rolled out of Phury’s eye. “God…damn. I’m leaking.”
“Okay, brace yourself.”
Phury scrubbed his face with his palms. “Why?”
“Because…I think I’m going to try to hug you.”
Phury’s hands dropped and he looked over with an absurd expression.
Feeling like an utter ass, Z pushed himself over to his twin. “Lift up your head, damn it.” Phury craned his neck. Z slid his arm underneath. The two of them froze in the unnatural positions. “You know, this was a hell of a lot easier when you were out cold in the back of that truck.”
“That was you?”
“You think it was Santa Claus or some shit?”
Butch sighed in relief. “Listen, man, do me a favor. Warn me before you pull another stunt like that. I’d rather choose.” Then he smiled a little. “And we still ain’t dating.”
p. 406
Lover Revealed
…When it was finished, the scaled dragon looked around and as the thing spotted V, a growl rippled up to the bleachers, then ended in a snort.
“You finished, big guy?” V called down. “FYI, goalpost over there would work righteous as a toothpick.”
“For sure. I’m thinking about a future in contracting. Wanted to see how this bathroom was put together. Excellent tile work. You should check it.”
“How about I carry you back to bed?”
“I want to look at the sink pipes next.”
Respect and affection clearly drove V’s cool smirk. “At least let me help you up.”
“Nah, I can do it.” With a groan, Butch gave the vertical move a shot, but eased back down onto the tile. Turned out lifting his head was a little overwhelming. But if they left him here long enough—a week, maybe ten days?
“Come on, cop. Cry uncle here and let me help.”
Butch was suddenly too tired to front. As he went totally limp, he was aware of Marissa staring at him and thought, man, could he look any weaker? Shit, the only saving grace was that there wasn’t a cold breeze on his butt.
Which suggested the hospital gown had stayed closed. Thank you, God.
“You know you were with the lessers, true?”
Butch lifted one of his busted-up hands. “And here I thought I’d been to Elizabeth Arden.”
“Sure.” Except when V brought up his business hand and started taking off that glove, Butch recoiled. “What are you going to do with that thing?”
“Trust me, true?”
Butch barked a laugh. “Last time you said that I ended up with a vampire cocktail, remember?”
“Saved your ass. That’s how I found you.”
So that had been the why of it. “Well, then, fly me some of that hand.”
Still, as V put the glowing thing close, Butch winced.
“Relax, cop. This isn’t going to hurt.”
“I’ve seen you toast a house with that bastard.”
“Point taken. But the Firestarter routine isn’t going down here.”
She pulled back the sheet. Good God, his sex was…“It’s gotten so…huge.”
Butch barked out a laugh. “You say the nicest things.”
“Man,” Rhage muttered, “someone hit this place with the Hallmark stick.”
“Until it broke.”
“When the females tie you down, do they paint your toenails and shit? Or just do your makeup?” As V laughed in a loud crack, the cop said, “Wait…they tickle your pits with a feather, right?”
Before Butch knew what was doing, V grabbed his forearm, bent down, and licked the cut, sealing it up quick.
Butch yanked out of his roommate’s hold. “Jesus, V! What if that blood’s contaminated!”
“It’s fine. Just f—” With a boneless lurch, Vishous gasped and collapsed against the wall, eyes rolling back in his head, body twitching.
“Oh, God…!” Butch reached out in horror—
Only to have V cut the seizure off and calmly take a drink from his glass. “You’re fine, cop. Tastes perfectly okay. Well, fine for a human guy, which really ain’t my tail of choice, you feel me?”
Butch hauled back and nailed his roommate in the arm with his fist. And as the brother cursed, Butch popped him another one.
V glared and rubbed himself. “Christ, cop.”
“Suck it up, you deserve it.”
“Shit…you’re right. I apologize.”
“Can we screw the ‘sorry’ part and let me hit you back instead?”
“V, you know I love you like a brother, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You feed her and I’ll tear your fucking throat out.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” The Reverend slid into the booth, his amethyst eyes scanning the VIP section. He looked good, his suit black, his silk shirt black, his mohawk a dark cropped stripe that ran front to back on his skull. “So I want to share a little news.”
“You getting married?” Butch tossed back half the new Lag. “Where you registered? Crate and Bury ’Em?”
“Try Heckler and Koch.” The Reverend opened his jacket and flashed the butt of a forty.
“Nice little poodle shooter you got there, vampire.”
“Put a hell of a—”
V cut in. “You two are like watching tennis, and racquet sports bore me. What’s the news?”
Rehv looked at Butch. “He has such phenomenal people skills, doesn’t he.”
“Try living with him.”
“You’re such a pain in the ass.”
“Said the SIG to the Glock.”
Except when his roommate’s palm landed on his bare chest all he felt was a warm weight. Butch frowned. This was it? This was fucking it? Scaring the shit out of Marissa for no good—
He looked down, pissed off.
Oh, wrong hand.
“Marissa,” he mumbled, taking her hand. “Don’t want to see you drink so much.” Wait, not really what he’d been going for. “Ah…don’t you to see me drink so much…want.”
Whatever. God…he was so confused.
Wrath smiled broadly, his fangs so very white. “What’s doing…cousin.”
Butch frowned. “What…?”
“You’ve got some of me in you, cop.” Wrath’s smile stuck around as he slid his glasses back in. “Course, I always knew you were a royal. Just didn’t think it went past the pain-in-the-ass part, is all.”
Butch looked back at the Scribe Virgin.
“Do you have any idea how relieved—”
As Marissa gasped, V stepped in and slapped his gloved hand over Butch’s mouth, yanking him backward by the head and hissing in his ear, “Do you want to get fried like an egg here, buddy? No questions—”
“Ease from him, warrior,” the Scribe Virgin snapped. “This I wish to hear.”
V’s grip slid off his face. “Watch it.”
“Sorry about the question thing,” Butch said to the black robes. “But I just…I’m glad I know what’s in my veins. And honestly, if I die today, I’m grateful I finally know what I am.” He took Marissa’s hand. “And who I love. If this is where my life took me after all those years of being lost, I’d say my time here wasn’t wasted.”
There was a long silence. Then the Scribe Virgin said, “Do you regret that you leave behind your human family?”
“Nope. This is my family. Here with me now and elsewhere in the compound. Why would I need anything else?” The cursing in the room told him he’d thrown another question out there. “Yeah…ah, sorry—”
A soft feminine laugh came from under the robes. “You are rather fearless, human.”
“Or you could call it stupid.” As Wrath’s mouth fell open, Butch rubbed his face. “You know, I’m trying here. I really am. You know, to be respectful.”
“Your hand, human.”
He offered her his left, the one that was free.
“Palm up,” Wrath barked.
He flipped his hand over.
“Tell me, human,” the Scribe Virgin said, “if I asked for the one you hold this female with, would you offer it to me?”
“Yeah. I’d just reach over to her with the other guy.” As that little laugh came again, he said, “You know, you sound like birds when you do that chuckle thing. It’s nice.”
Over to the left, Vishous put his head in his hands.
There was a long silence.
Butch took a deep breath. “Guess I’m not allowed to say that.”
The Scribe Virgin reached up and slowly lifted the robes from her face.
Jesus…Christ…Butch squeezed Marissa’s hand hard at what was revealed.
“You’re an angel,” he whispered.
Perfect lips lifted in a smile. “No. I am Myself.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“I know.” Her voice became authoritative again. “Your right palm, Butch O’Neal, descended of Wrath son of Wrath.”
Butch let go of Marissa, regripped her with his left hand, and reached forward. When the Scribe Virgin touched him, he flinched. Though his bones weren’t crushed, the awesome strength in her was merely shelved potential. She could grind him to powder on a whim.
The Scribe Virgin turned to Marissa. “Child, give me yours now.”
The instant that connection was made, a warm current flooded Butch’s body. At first he assumed it was because the heating system in the room was really cooking, but then he realized the rush was under his skin.
“Ah, yes. This is a very good mating,” the Scribe Virgin pronounced. “And you have my permission to join for however long you have together.” She dropped their hands and looked at Wrath. “The presentation to me is complete. If he lives, you shall finish the ceremony as soon as he is well enough.”
The king bowed his head. “So be it.”
The Scribe Virgin turned back to Butch. “Now, we shall see how strong you are.”
“Wait,” Butch said, thinking about the glymera. “Marissa’s mated now, right? I mean, even if I die, she will have had a mate, right?”
“Death wish,” V said under his breath. “Fucking Death Wish Boy we got over here.”
The Scribe Virgin seemed flat-out amazed. “I should kill you now.”
“I’m sorry, but this matters. I don’t want her falling under that whole sehclusion thing. I want her to be my widow so she doesn’t have to worry about anyone else leading her life.”
“Human, you are astoundingly arrogant,” the Scribe Virgin snapped. But then she smiled. “And totally unrepentant, aren’t you.”
V was halfway down the hall when he heard a yelp. He hightailed it back, barging through the door. “What? What’s—”
“I’m going bald!”
V whipped back the shower curtain and frowned. “What are you talking about? You’ve still got your hair—”
“Not my head! My body, you idiot! I’m going bald!”
Vishous glanced down. Butch’s torso and legs were shedding, a rush of dark brown fuzz pooling around the drain.
V started laughing. “Think of it this way. At least you won’t have to worry about shaving your back as you get old, true? No manscaping for you.”
He was not surprised when a bar of soap came firing at him.
As her brother rose from his chair, Marissa rapped her knuckles sharply on the table. All eyes shot to her. “Wrong name.”
The leahdyre’s eyes went so wide she was quite sure he could see behind himself. And he was so aghast at her interruption, he was speechless as she smiled a little and glanced at Havers. “You may sit down, physician,” she said.
“I beg your pardon,” the leahdyre stammered.
Marissa got to her feet. “It’s been so long since we’ve done one of these votes…not since Wrath’s father died.” She leaned forward on her hands as she pegged the leahdyre ’s face with a level stare. “And back then, centuries ago, my father lived and cast our family’s vote. So obviously that is why you are confused.”
The leahdyre looked at Havers in a panic. “Perhaps you will inform your sister she is out of order—”
Marissa cut in. “I’m not his sister anymore, or so he’s told me. Though I believe we can all agree that blood lineage is immutable. As is order of birth.” She smiled coolly. “It so happens that I was born eleven years before Havers. Which makes me older than he is. Which means he can sit down, because as the eldest surviving member of my family, the vote from our bloodline is mine to cast. Or not. And in this case, it is most definitely…not.”
Chaos broke out. Absolute pandemonium.
In the midst of which, Rehv laughed and clapped his palms together. “Hot damn, girl. You are so the shit.”
Then the Omega disappeared in a flare of white. As did the Scribe Virgin.
Gone. Both of them. Nothing remaining except a bitterly cold wind that cleared the clouds from the sky like curtains ripped away by a savage hand.
Rhage cleared his throat. “Okay…I’m not sleeping for the next week and a half. How about you two?”
“That’s you,” Wrath said. “You shall be called the Black Dagger warrior Dhestroyer , descended of Wrath son of Wrath.”
“But you’ll always be Butch to us,” Rhage cut in. “As well as hard-ass. Smart-ass. Royal pain in the ass. You know, whatever the situation calls for. I think as long as there’s an ass in there, it’ll be accurate.”
“How about basstard?” Z suggested.
“Nice. I feel that.”
Man, it was a good thing he fought like a nasty bastard or he might have been taken for a nancy.
…The other was behind the desk and hump-ugly: a ragged, avocado green leather monstrosity with dog-eared corners, a sagging seat, and a set of legs that gave new meaning to the word sturdy.
Tohr put his hand on the thing’s high back. “Can you believe Wellsie made me get rid of this?”
John nodded and signed, Yes, I can.
“Well, I can’t read. So we’re SOL, you and me.”
John worked his Bic quickly. As he showed the pad to Phury, the male with the black stare frowned. “What did the kid write?”
“He says that’s okay. He’s a good listener. You can do the talking.”
p. 94
He grabbed her hand, whipped the pen out of it, and flattened her palm.
I want to talk to you, he wrote.
Then he looked straight into her eyes and did the most amazing, ballsy thing.
He smiled at her.
John nodded and looked at the twelve guys who were seated in pairs and staring at him.
Whoa. Really not feeling the love here, fellas, he thought.
After a moment Blaylock pulled a polite one and introduced the others. They all had odd names. The blond’s was Lash. And how fricking appropriate was that?
“This place is just too frickin’ precious,” the cop said, eyeing a guy dressed in a hot pink leisure suit with makeup to match. “Give me rednecks and home-grown beer any day of the week over this X-culture bullshit.”
“Just want to make sure your needs are served. Customer satisfaction is so damned important.” The male moved even closer and nodded at Phury’s arm, the one that disappeared into his coat. “Your hand’s on a gun butt right now, isn’t it? Afraid of me?”
“Just want to make sure I can take care of you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. In case you need a little Glock-to-mouth resuscitation.”
That female who’d walked in on him and the Reverend clearly had a big mouth and…Christ. Butch must have already told Vishous. The two were like an old mated couple, no secrets between them. And V would squeal to Rhage. And once Rhage knew, you might as well have popped the news flash on the Reuters wire.
Their eyes met. She was so pretty, she made him dizzy.
“Do you want to kiss me?” she whispered.
John’s eyes cracked open. Like a balloon had popped behind his head.
“Because I’d like you to.” She licked her lips a little. “I really would.”
Whoa…Chance of a lifetime, right here, right now, he thought.
Do not pass out. Passing out would be a total buzz kill.
John quickly called on every movie he’d ever seen…and got no help at all. As a horror fan, he was swamped by visions of Godzilla stomping across Tokyo and of Jaws chewing on the ass end of the Orca. Big help.
…The guy was cracking down on the Brotherhood, organizing shifts, trying to turn four loose cannons like V, Phury, Rhage, and Z into soldiers. No wonder he always looked like his head hurt.
Phury lit a blunt and eyed the sixteen cans of Aqua Net that were lined up on Butch and V’s coffee table. “What’s doing with the hair spray? You boys going drag on us?”
Butch held up the length of PVC pipe he was punching a hole in. “Potato launcher, my man. Big fun.”
“Excuse me?”
“Didn’t you ever go to summer camp?”
“Basket weaving and woodcarving are for humans. No offense, but we have better things to teach to our youngs.”
“Ha! You haven’t lived until you’ve gone on a midnight panty raid. Anyway, you put the potato in this end, you fill up the bottom with spray—”
“And then you light it,” V cut in from his bedroom. He came out in a robe, rubbing a towel on his wet hair. “Makes a great noise.”
“Great noise,” Butch echoed.
Phury looked at his brother. “V, you’ve done this before?”
“Yeah, last night. But the launcher jammed up.”
Butch cursed. “Potato was too big. Damn Idaho bakers. We’re leading with red skins tonight. It’s going to be great. Of course, trajectory can be a bitch—”
“But it’s really just like golf,” V said, dropping the towel across a chair. He pulled a glove over his right hand, covering the sacred tattoos that marked the thing from palm to fingertip and all across the back. “I mean, you gotta think of your arc in the air—”
Butch nodded up a storm. “Yeah, it’s just like golf. Wind plays a big role—”
“Huge.”
Phury smoked along as they finished each other’s sentences for another couple minutes. After a while he felt compelled to mention, “The two of you are spending way too much time together, you feel me?”
V shook his head at the cop. “The brother has no appreciation for this kind of thing. Never has.”
“Then we aim for his room.”
“True that. And it faces the garden—”
“So we don’t have to work around the cars in the courtyard. Excellent.”
Tohr laughed softly. “Yeah, I’m not much for the emotive crap either—Ouch! Wellsie, what the hell?”
He put the bottle on the table next to him and held up his gloved hand. “After all, this godforsaken thing still glows like a lamp. And until I lose this whacked-out night-light of mine, I figure I’m still normal. Well…normal for me.”
Phury pulled on a pair of nylon warm-ups. “You want food? I’m going to make a kitchen trip.”
Butch’s eyes blissed out. “You’re actually going to bring it up here? As in, I don’t have to move?”
“You’re going to owe me, but yeah, I’m willing to deliver.”
“You are a god.”
Phury put on a T-shirt. “What do you want?”
“Whatever’s in the kitchen. Hell, make yourself really useful and drag that refrigerator on up here. I’m starved.”
“Then why are you wearing that bandage like a sash?”
“It makes my ass look smaller.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Well…in the words of Vishous, want in one hand, shit in the other—see what you get most of.”
Phury was lying on the king-size bed, lines plugged into him as if he were a switchboard.
The male’s head turned. “Z…what are you doing up?”
“Giving the medical staff a workout.” He shut the door and weaved into the room, heading for the bed. “They’re pretty damn fast, actually.”
There was no reply. So Z glanced over again—just as a tear slid down Phury’s cheek.
“Ah…fuck,” Z muttered.
“Yeah. Pretty much.” Another tear rolled out of Phury’s eye. “God…damn. I’m leaking.”
“Okay, brace yourself.”
Phury scrubbed his face with his palms. “Why?”
“Because…I think I’m going to try to hug you.”
Phury’s hands dropped and he looked over with an absurd expression.
Feeling like an utter ass, Z pushed himself over to his twin. “Lift up your head, damn it.” Phury craned his neck. Z slid his arm underneath. The two of them froze in the unnatural positions. “You know, this was a hell of a lot easier when you were out cold in the back of that truck.”
“That was you?”
“You think it was Santa Claus or some shit?”
Butch sighed in relief. “Listen, man, do me a favor. Warn me before you pull another stunt like that. I’d rather choose.” Then he smiled a little. “And we still ain’t dating.”
p. 406
Lover Revealed
…When it was finished, the scaled dragon looked around and as the thing spotted V, a growl rippled up to the bleachers, then ended in a snort.
“You finished, big guy?” V called down. “FYI, goalpost over there would work righteous as a toothpick.”
“For sure. I’m thinking about a future in contracting. Wanted to see how this bathroom was put together. Excellent tile work. You should check it.”
“How about I carry you back to bed?”
“I want to look at the sink pipes next.”
Respect and affection clearly drove V’s cool smirk. “At least let me help you up.”
“Nah, I can do it.” With a groan, Butch gave the vertical move a shot, but eased back down onto the tile. Turned out lifting his head was a little overwhelming. But if they left him here long enough—a week, maybe ten days?
“Come on, cop. Cry uncle here and let me help.”
Butch was suddenly too tired to front. As he went totally limp, he was aware of Marissa staring at him and thought, man, could he look any weaker? Shit, the only saving grace was that there wasn’t a cold breeze on his butt.
Which suggested the hospital gown had stayed closed. Thank you, God.
“You know you were with the lessers, true?”
Butch lifted one of his busted-up hands. “And here I thought I’d been to Elizabeth Arden.”
“Sure.” Except when V brought up his business hand and started taking off that glove, Butch recoiled. “What are you going to do with that thing?”
“Trust me, true?”
Butch barked a laugh. “Last time you said that I ended up with a vampire cocktail, remember?”
“Saved your ass. That’s how I found you.”
So that had been the why of it. “Well, then, fly me some of that hand.”
Still, as V put the glowing thing close, Butch winced.
“Relax, cop. This isn’t going to hurt.”
“I’ve seen you toast a house with that bastard.”
“Point taken. But the Firestarter routine isn’t going down here.”
She pulled back the sheet. Good God, his sex was…“It’s gotten so…huge.”
Butch barked out a laugh. “You say the nicest things.”
“Man,” Rhage muttered, “someone hit this place with the Hallmark stick.”
“Until it broke.”
“When the females tie you down, do they paint your toenails and shit? Or just do your makeup?” As V laughed in a loud crack, the cop said, “Wait…they tickle your pits with a feather, right?”
Before Butch knew what was doing, V grabbed his forearm, bent down, and licked the cut, sealing it up quick.
Butch yanked out of his roommate’s hold. “Jesus, V! What if that blood’s contaminated!”
“It’s fine. Just f—” With a boneless lurch, Vishous gasped and collapsed against the wall, eyes rolling back in his head, body twitching.
“Oh, God…!” Butch reached out in horror—
Only to have V cut the seizure off and calmly take a drink from his glass. “You’re fine, cop. Tastes perfectly okay. Well, fine for a human guy, which really ain’t my tail of choice, you feel me?”
Butch hauled back and nailed his roommate in the arm with his fist. And as the brother cursed, Butch popped him another one.
V glared and rubbed himself. “Christ, cop.”
“Suck it up, you deserve it.”
“Shit…you’re right. I apologize.”
“Can we screw the ‘sorry’ part and let me hit you back instead?”
“V, you know I love you like a brother, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You feed her and I’ll tear your fucking throat out.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” The Reverend slid into the booth, his amethyst eyes scanning the VIP section. He looked good, his suit black, his silk shirt black, his mohawk a dark cropped stripe that ran front to back on his skull. “So I want to share a little news.”
“You getting married?” Butch tossed back half the new Lag. “Where you registered? Crate and Bury ’Em?”
“Try Heckler and Koch.” The Reverend opened his jacket and flashed the butt of a forty.
“Nice little poodle shooter you got there, vampire.”
“Put a hell of a—”
V cut in. “You two are like watching tennis, and racquet sports bore me. What’s the news?”
Rehv looked at Butch. “He has such phenomenal people skills, doesn’t he.”
“Try living with him.”
“You’re such a pain in the ass.”
“Said the SIG to the Glock.”
Except when his roommate’s palm landed on his bare chest all he felt was a warm weight. Butch frowned. This was it? This was fucking it? Scaring the shit out of Marissa for no good—
He looked down, pissed off.
Oh, wrong hand.
“Marissa,” he mumbled, taking her hand. “Don’t want to see you drink so much.” Wait, not really what he’d been going for. “Ah…don’t you to see me drink so much…want.”
Whatever. God…he was so confused.
Wrath smiled broadly, his fangs so very white. “What’s doing…cousin.”
Butch frowned. “What…?”
“You’ve got some of me in you, cop.” Wrath’s smile stuck around as he slid his glasses back in. “Course, I always knew you were a royal. Just didn’t think it went past the pain-in-the-ass part, is all.”
Butch looked back at the Scribe Virgin.
“Do you have any idea how relieved—”
As Marissa gasped, V stepped in and slapped his gloved hand over Butch’s mouth, yanking him backward by the head and hissing in his ear, “Do you want to get fried like an egg here, buddy? No questions—”
“Ease from him, warrior,” the Scribe Virgin snapped. “This I wish to hear.”
V’s grip slid off his face. “Watch it.”
“Sorry about the question thing,” Butch said to the black robes. “But I just…I’m glad I know what’s in my veins. And honestly, if I die today, I’m grateful I finally know what I am.” He took Marissa’s hand. “And who I love. If this is where my life took me after all those years of being lost, I’d say my time here wasn’t wasted.”
There was a long silence. Then the Scribe Virgin said, “Do you regret that you leave behind your human family?”
“Nope. This is my family. Here with me now and elsewhere in the compound. Why would I need anything else?” The cursing in the room told him he’d thrown another question out there. “Yeah…ah, sorry—”
A soft feminine laugh came from under the robes. “You are rather fearless, human.”
“Or you could call it stupid.” As Wrath’s mouth fell open, Butch rubbed his face. “You know, I’m trying here. I really am. You know, to be respectful.”
“Your hand, human.”
He offered her his left, the one that was free.
“Palm up,” Wrath barked.
He flipped his hand over.
“Tell me, human,” the Scribe Virgin said, “if I asked for the one you hold this female with, would you offer it to me?”
“Yeah. I’d just reach over to her with the other guy.” As that little laugh came again, he said, “You know, you sound like birds when you do that chuckle thing. It’s nice.”
Over to the left, Vishous put his head in his hands.
There was a long silence.
Butch took a deep breath. “Guess I’m not allowed to say that.”
The Scribe Virgin reached up and slowly lifted the robes from her face.
Jesus…Christ…Butch squeezed Marissa’s hand hard at what was revealed.
“You’re an angel,” he whispered.
Perfect lips lifted in a smile. “No. I am Myself.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“I know.” Her voice became authoritative again. “Your right palm, Butch O’Neal, descended of Wrath son of Wrath.”
Butch let go of Marissa, regripped her with his left hand, and reached forward. When the Scribe Virgin touched him, he flinched. Though his bones weren’t crushed, the awesome strength in her was merely shelved potential. She could grind him to powder on a whim.
The Scribe Virgin turned to Marissa. “Child, give me yours now.”
The instant that connection was made, a warm current flooded Butch’s body. At first he assumed it was because the heating system in the room was really cooking, but then he realized the rush was under his skin.
“Ah, yes. This is a very good mating,” the Scribe Virgin pronounced. “And you have my permission to join for however long you have together.” She dropped their hands and looked at Wrath. “The presentation to me is complete. If he lives, you shall finish the ceremony as soon as he is well enough.”
The king bowed his head. “So be it.”
The Scribe Virgin turned back to Butch. “Now, we shall see how strong you are.”
“Wait,” Butch said, thinking about the glymera. “Marissa’s mated now, right? I mean, even if I die, she will have had a mate, right?”
“Death wish,” V said under his breath. “Fucking Death Wish Boy we got over here.”
The Scribe Virgin seemed flat-out amazed. “I should kill you now.”
“I’m sorry, but this matters. I don’t want her falling under that whole sehclusion thing. I want her to be my widow so she doesn’t have to worry about anyone else leading her life.”
“Human, you are astoundingly arrogant,” the Scribe Virgin snapped. But then she smiled. “And totally unrepentant, aren’t you.”
V was halfway down the hall when he heard a yelp. He hightailed it back, barging through the door. “What? What’s—”
“I’m going bald!”
V whipped back the shower curtain and frowned. “What are you talking about? You’ve still got your hair—”
“Not my head! My body, you idiot! I’m going bald!”
Vishous glanced down. Butch’s torso and legs were shedding, a rush of dark brown fuzz pooling around the drain.
V started laughing. “Think of it this way. At least you won’t have to worry about shaving your back as you get old, true? No manscaping for you.”
He was not surprised when a bar of soap came firing at him.
As her brother rose from his chair, Marissa rapped her knuckles sharply on the table. All eyes shot to her. “Wrong name.”
The leahdyre’s eyes went so wide she was quite sure he could see behind himself. And he was so aghast at her interruption, he was speechless as she smiled a little and glanced at Havers. “You may sit down, physician,” she said.
“I beg your pardon,” the leahdyre stammered.
Marissa got to her feet. “It’s been so long since we’ve done one of these votes…not since Wrath’s father died.” She leaned forward on her hands as she pegged the leahdyre ’s face with a level stare. “And back then, centuries ago, my father lived and cast our family’s vote. So obviously that is why you are confused.”
The leahdyre looked at Havers in a panic. “Perhaps you will inform your sister she is out of order—”
Marissa cut in. “I’m not his sister anymore, or so he’s told me. Though I believe we can all agree that blood lineage is immutable. As is order of birth.” She smiled coolly. “It so happens that I was born eleven years before Havers. Which makes me older than he is. Which means he can sit down, because as the eldest surviving member of my family, the vote from our bloodline is mine to cast. Or not. And in this case, it is most definitely…not.”
Chaos broke out. Absolute pandemonium.
In the midst of which, Rehv laughed and clapped his palms together. “Hot damn, girl. You are so the shit.”
Then the Omega disappeared in a flare of white. As did the Scribe Virgin.
Gone. Both of them. Nothing remaining except a bitterly cold wind that cleared the clouds from the sky like curtains ripped away by a savage hand.
Rhage cleared his throat. “Okay…I’m not sleeping for the next week and a half. How about you two?”
“That’s you,” Wrath said. “You shall be called the Black Dagger warrior Dhestroyer , descended of Wrath son of Wrath.”
“But you’ll always be Butch to us,” Rhage cut in. “As well as hard-ass. Smart-ass. Royal pain in the ass. You know, whatever the situation calls for. I think as long as there’s an ass in there, it’ll be accurate.”
“How about basstard?” Z suggested.
“Nice. I feel that.”
Lover Unbound
“I am so not feeling all this cowhide.”
Vishous looked up from his bank of computers. Butch O’Neal was standing in the Pit’s living room with a pair of leathers on his thighs and a whole lot of you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me on his puss.
“They don’t fit you?” V asked his roommate.
“Not the point. No offense, but these are wicked Village People.” Butch held his heavy arms out and turned in a circle, his bare chest catching the light. “I mean, come on.”
“They’re for fighting, not fashion.”
“So are kilts, but you don’t see me rocking the tartan.”
“And thank God for that. You’re too bowlegged to pull that shit off.”
Butch assumed a bored expression. “You can bite me.”
As another martini arrived, Phury tried to remember whether it was his fifth? Or sixth? He wasn’t sure.
“Man, good thing we ain’t fighting tonight,” Butch said. “You’re drinking that shit like water.”
“I’m thirsty.”
“Guess so.” The cop stretched in the booth. “How much longer you plan on rehydrating there, Lawrence of Arabia?”
Moments later a huge male with a cropped mohawk came out. Rehvenge was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and had a black cane in his right hand. As he came slowly over to the Brotherhood’s table, his patrons parted before him, partially out of respect for his size, partly out of fear from his reputation. Everyone knew who he was and what he was capable of: Rehv was the kind of drug lord who took a personal interest in his livelihood. You crossed him and you turned up diced like something off the Food Channel.
“Okay, so spill,” Blay said. “What was your transition like?”
“Screw the change, I got laid.” As Blay and John both bug-eyed, Qhuinn chuckled. “Yeah. I did. Got my cherry popped, so to speak.”
“You so need to lighten up about that potato-launcher incident,” Butch said.
Phury rolled his eyes and eased back in the banquette. “You broke my window.”
“Of course we did. V and I were aiming for it.”
“Twice.”
“Thus proving that he and I are outstanding marksmen.”
“What the guy look like?”
“The vic?” The kid leaned in. “Vic is what the police call the victim. I heard ’em.”
“Thanks for the clarification,” Phury muttered. “So what did he look like?”
…Damn it. She had no interest in playing doc. It was a big enough job being kidnap victim, thank you very much.
“Didn’t we just do this?” Red Sox murmured to the patient. “’Cept I was the guy in the bed? How about we call it even now and not pull this wounded shit anymore.”
Those icy bright eyes left her and shifted to his buddy. The frown didn’t leave his face. “You look like hell.”
“And you’re Miss America.”
Berating herself and them, she took her hand from her pocket, bent down, and grabbed a vial of Demerol out of the bigger duffel. “There aren’t any syringes.”
“I’ve got some.” Red Sox came over and held a sterile pack out. When she tried to take it from him, he kept a grip on the thing. “I know you’ll use this wisely.”
“Wisely?” She snapped the syringe out of his hand. “No, I’m going to poke him in the eye with it. Because that’s what they trained me to do in medical school.”
“You’re kidding me, right? Like I’m supposed to forget the abduction and the mortal threat and give you a drive-thru order?”
V settled back against the pillows and measured the hard line of her chin. “Take off your coat.”
“Excuse me?”
“Take it off.”
“No.”
“I want it off.”
“Then I suggest you hold your breath. Won’t affect me in the slightest, but at least the suffocation will help pass the time for you.”
“What job do you have at the end, exactly?” Please let it not be buying Hefty bags to put her body parts in.
“You aren’t interested in what I am?”
“Tell you what, you let me go, and I’ll ask you plenty of questions about your race. Until then, I’m slightly distracted with how this happy little vacation on the good ship Holy Shit is going to pan out for me.”
When she drew the cloth downward, he pulled away.
“Don’t want you near that hand of mine. Even if it’s gloved.”
“Why is—”
“I’m not talking about it. So don’t even ask.”
Okaaaay. “It nearly killed one of my nurses, you know.”
“I’m not surprised.” He glared at the glove. “I’d cut it off if I had the chance.”
“I wouldn’t advise that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t know what it’s like to live with this nightmare on the end of your arm—”
“No, I meant I’d have someone else do the cutting if I were you. You’re more likely to get the job done that way.”
There was a beat of silence; then the patient barked out a laugh. “Smart-ass.”
Jane hid the smile that popped up on her face by doing another dip/rinse routine. “Just rendering a medical opinion.”
“Sounds like you want a date, Lash,” Qhuinn barked. “Good deal, ’cause you keep that shit up, you’re going to get fucked, buddy.”
Red Sox looked around Jane at the patient. “Your mind reading coming back?”
“With her? Sometimes.”
“Huh. You getting anything from anyone else?”
“Nope.”
Red Sox repositioned his hat. “Well, ah…let me know if you pick up shit from me, ’k? There are some things that I’d prefer to keep private, feel me?”
“Roger that. Although I can’t help it sometimes.”
“Which is why I’m going to take up thinking about baseball when you’re around.”
“Thank fuck you’re not a Yankees fan.”
“Don’t use the Y-word. We’re in mixed company.”
Gimme an S! A T! An O! A C! Followed by a K-H-O-L-M! What’s it spell? HEAD FUCK.
The patient leaned down to her ear. “I can’t see you as the cheerleader type. But you’re right. We both would slaughter anything that so much as startled you.” The patient straightened again, one giant testosterone surge plugged into bedroom slippers.
Jane tapped him on the forearm and crooked her forefinger so he’d lean back down. When he did, she whispered, “I’m scared of mice and spiders. But you don’t need to use that gun on your hip to blow a hole in a wall if I run into one, okay? Havahart traps and rolled newspapers work just as well. Plus, you don’t need a Sheetrock patch and plaster job afterward. I’m just saying.”
She patted his arm, dismissing him, and refocused on the tunnel ahead.
Butch nodded as if he knew exactly what was doing. “Like I said, my man, it’s whatever. You and me? Same as always, no matter who you screw. Although…if you’re into sheep, that would be tough. Don’t know if I could handle that.”
V had to smile. “I don’t do farm animals.”
“Can’t stand hay in your leathers?”
“Or wool in my teeth.”
“She is.” Butch headed for the door but then paused and looked over his shoulder. “V?”
Vishous raised his stare. “Yeah?”
“I think you should know, after all this deep conversatin’…” Butch shook his head gravely. “We still ain’t dating.”
Standing in front of his locker three hours later, John wished Qhuinn would shut his damn piehole. Even though the locker room was loud from sounds of metal doors banging shut and clothes flapping and shoes dropping, he felt like his buddy had a bullhorn stapled to his upper lip.
“You’re flippin’ huge, J.M. For real. Like…ginormous.”
That is not a word. John shoved his backpack in like he usually did and realized none of the clothes he was crushing would fit him anymore.
“The hell it isn’t. Back me up, Blay.”
Blay nodded as he pulled on his ji. “Yeah, you fill out? You’re going to be, like, Brother-sized.”
“Gigundous.”
Okay, also not a word, asshole.
“Fine, really, really, really big. How’s that?”
Qhuinn smiled, baring his fangs. “Has anyone ever shown you the difference between good touch and bad touch? ’Cause I’d love to demonstrate. We could start right now.”
“I came to see if you were dead.”
Jane had to smile. “Jesus, Manello, don’t be such a romantic.”
“You look like shit.”
“And now with the compliments. Stop. You’re making me blush.”
V blinked a couple of times, horrified at what he was about to say. “God, you’re going for sainthood, you know that? You’ve always been there for me. Always. Even when I…”
“Even when you what?”
“You know.”
“What?”
“Fuck. Even when I was in love with you. Or some shit.”
Butch clasped his hands to his chest. “Was? Was? I can’t believe you’ve lost interest.” He threw one arm over his eyes, all Sarah Bernhardt. “My dreams of our future are shattered—”
“Shut it, cop.”
Butch looked out from under his arm. “Are you kidding me? The reality show I had planned was fantastic. Was going to pitch it to VH1. Two Bites Are Better Than One. We were going to make millions.”
“Oh, for the love.”
“You know I’m right.”
“Fuck you, Dr. Phil.”
“Good, I’m glad we agree.” Butch frowned. “Hey, maybe I could have a talk show, since you aren’t going to be my June Cleaver anymore. I could call it The O’Neal Hour. Sounds important, doesn’t it?”
“First of all, you were going to be June Cleaver—”
“Screw that. No way I’d bottom for you.”
“Whatever. And second, I don’t think there’s much of a market for your particular brand of psychology.”
“So not true.”
“Butch, you and I just beat the crap out of each other.”
“You started it. And actually, it would be perfect for Spike TV. UFC meets Oprah. God, I’m brilliant.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“Ten minutes,” Butch whispered into Marissa’s ear. “Can I have ten minutes with you before you go? Please, baby…”
V rolled his eyes and was relieved to be annoyed at the lovey-dovey routine. At least all the testosterone in him hadn’t dried up.
“Baby…please?”
V took a pull on his mug. “Marissa, throw the sap bastard a bone, would you? The simpering wears on my nerves.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Marissa packed up her papers with a laugh and shot Butch a look. “Ten minutes. And you’d better make them count.”
Butch was up out of that chair like the thing was on fire. “Don’t I always?”
“Mmm…yes.”
As the two locked lips, V snorted. “Have fun, kiddies. Somewhere else.”
“I am so not feeling all this cowhide.”
Vishous looked up from his bank of computers. Butch O’Neal was standing in the Pit’s living room with a pair of leathers on his thighs and a whole lot of you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me on his puss.
“They don’t fit you?” V asked his roommate.
“Not the point. No offense, but these are wicked Village People.” Butch held his heavy arms out and turned in a circle, his bare chest catching the light. “I mean, come on.”
“They’re for fighting, not fashion.”
“So are kilts, but you don’t see me rocking the tartan.”
“And thank God for that. You’re too bowlegged to pull that shit off.”
Butch assumed a bored expression. “You can bite me.”
As another martini arrived, Phury tried to remember whether it was his fifth? Or sixth? He wasn’t sure.
“Man, good thing we ain’t fighting tonight,” Butch said. “You’re drinking that shit like water.”
“I’m thirsty.”
“Guess so.” The cop stretched in the booth. “How much longer you plan on rehydrating there, Lawrence of Arabia?”
Moments later a huge male with a cropped mohawk came out. Rehvenge was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and had a black cane in his right hand. As he came slowly over to the Brotherhood’s table, his patrons parted before him, partially out of respect for his size, partly out of fear from his reputation. Everyone knew who he was and what he was capable of: Rehv was the kind of drug lord who took a personal interest in his livelihood. You crossed him and you turned up diced like something off the Food Channel.
“Okay, so spill,” Blay said. “What was your transition like?”
“Screw the change, I got laid.” As Blay and John both bug-eyed, Qhuinn chuckled. “Yeah. I did. Got my cherry popped, so to speak.”
“You so need to lighten up about that potato-launcher incident,” Butch said.
Phury rolled his eyes and eased back in the banquette. “You broke my window.”
“Of course we did. V and I were aiming for it.”
“Twice.”
“Thus proving that he and I are outstanding marksmen.”
“What the guy look like?”
“The vic?” The kid leaned in. “Vic is what the police call the victim. I heard ’em.”
“Thanks for the clarification,” Phury muttered. “So what did he look like?”
…Damn it. She had no interest in playing doc. It was a big enough job being kidnap victim, thank you very much.
“Didn’t we just do this?” Red Sox murmured to the patient. “’Cept I was the guy in the bed? How about we call it even now and not pull this wounded shit anymore.”
Those icy bright eyes left her and shifted to his buddy. The frown didn’t leave his face. “You look like hell.”
“And you’re Miss America.”
Berating herself and them, she took her hand from her pocket, bent down, and grabbed a vial of Demerol out of the bigger duffel. “There aren’t any syringes.”
“I’ve got some.” Red Sox came over and held a sterile pack out. When she tried to take it from him, he kept a grip on the thing. “I know you’ll use this wisely.”
“Wisely?” She snapped the syringe out of his hand. “No, I’m going to poke him in the eye with it. Because that’s what they trained me to do in medical school.”
“You’re kidding me, right? Like I’m supposed to forget the abduction and the mortal threat and give you a drive-thru order?”
V settled back against the pillows and measured the hard line of her chin. “Take off your coat.”
“Excuse me?”
“Take it off.”
“No.”
“I want it off.”
“Then I suggest you hold your breath. Won’t affect me in the slightest, but at least the suffocation will help pass the time for you.”
“What job do you have at the end, exactly?” Please let it not be buying Hefty bags to put her body parts in.
“You aren’t interested in what I am?”
“Tell you what, you let me go, and I’ll ask you plenty of questions about your race. Until then, I’m slightly distracted with how this happy little vacation on the good ship Holy Shit is going to pan out for me.”
When she drew the cloth downward, he pulled away.
“Don’t want you near that hand of mine. Even if it’s gloved.”
“Why is—”
“I’m not talking about it. So don’t even ask.”
Okaaaay. “It nearly killed one of my nurses, you know.”
“I’m not surprised.” He glared at the glove. “I’d cut it off if I had the chance.”
“I wouldn’t advise that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t know what it’s like to live with this nightmare on the end of your arm—”
“No, I meant I’d have someone else do the cutting if I were you. You’re more likely to get the job done that way.”
There was a beat of silence; then the patient barked out a laugh. “Smart-ass.”
Jane hid the smile that popped up on her face by doing another dip/rinse routine. “Just rendering a medical opinion.”
“Sounds like you want a date, Lash,” Qhuinn barked. “Good deal, ’cause you keep that shit up, you’re going to get fucked, buddy.”
Red Sox looked around Jane at the patient. “Your mind reading coming back?”
“With her? Sometimes.”
“Huh. You getting anything from anyone else?”
“Nope.”
Red Sox repositioned his hat. “Well, ah…let me know if you pick up shit from me, ’k? There are some things that I’d prefer to keep private, feel me?”
“Roger that. Although I can’t help it sometimes.”
“Which is why I’m going to take up thinking about baseball when you’re around.”
“Thank fuck you’re not a Yankees fan.”
“Don’t use the Y-word. We’re in mixed company.”
Gimme an S! A T! An O! A C! Followed by a K-H-O-L-M! What’s it spell? HEAD FUCK.
The patient leaned down to her ear. “I can’t see you as the cheerleader type. But you’re right. We both would slaughter anything that so much as startled you.” The patient straightened again, one giant testosterone surge plugged into bedroom slippers.
Jane tapped him on the forearm and crooked her forefinger so he’d lean back down. When he did, she whispered, “I’m scared of mice and spiders. But you don’t need to use that gun on your hip to blow a hole in a wall if I run into one, okay? Havahart traps and rolled newspapers work just as well. Plus, you don’t need a Sheetrock patch and plaster job afterward. I’m just saying.”
She patted his arm, dismissing him, and refocused on the tunnel ahead.
Butch nodded as if he knew exactly what was doing. “Like I said, my man, it’s whatever. You and me? Same as always, no matter who you screw. Although…if you’re into sheep, that would be tough. Don’t know if I could handle that.”
V had to smile. “I don’t do farm animals.”
“Can’t stand hay in your leathers?”
“Or wool in my teeth.”
“She is.” Butch headed for the door but then paused and looked over his shoulder. “V?”
Vishous raised his stare. “Yeah?”
“I think you should know, after all this deep conversatin’…” Butch shook his head gravely. “We still ain’t dating.”
Standing in front of his locker three hours later, John wished Qhuinn would shut his damn piehole. Even though the locker room was loud from sounds of metal doors banging shut and clothes flapping and shoes dropping, he felt like his buddy had a bullhorn stapled to his upper lip.
“You’re flippin’ huge, J.M. For real. Like…ginormous.”
That is not a word. John shoved his backpack in like he usually did and realized none of the clothes he was crushing would fit him anymore.
“The hell it isn’t. Back me up, Blay.”
Blay nodded as he pulled on his ji. “Yeah, you fill out? You’re going to be, like, Brother-sized.”
“Gigundous.”
Okay, also not a word, asshole.
“Fine, really, really, really big. How’s that?”
Qhuinn smiled, baring his fangs. “Has anyone ever shown you the difference between good touch and bad touch? ’Cause I’d love to demonstrate. We could start right now.”
“I came to see if you were dead.”
Jane had to smile. “Jesus, Manello, don’t be such a romantic.”
“You look like shit.”
“And now with the compliments. Stop. You’re making me blush.”
V blinked a couple of times, horrified at what he was about to say. “God, you’re going for sainthood, you know that? You’ve always been there for me. Always. Even when I…”
“Even when you what?”
“You know.”
“What?”
“Fuck. Even when I was in love with you. Or some shit.”
Butch clasped his hands to his chest. “Was? Was? I can’t believe you’ve lost interest.” He threw one arm over his eyes, all Sarah Bernhardt. “My dreams of our future are shattered—”
“Shut it, cop.”
Butch looked out from under his arm. “Are you kidding me? The reality show I had planned was fantastic. Was going to pitch it to VH1. Two Bites Are Better Than One. We were going to make millions.”
“Oh, for the love.”
“You know I’m right.”
“Fuck you, Dr. Phil.”
“Good, I’m glad we agree.” Butch frowned. “Hey, maybe I could have a talk show, since you aren’t going to be my June Cleaver anymore. I could call it The O’Neal Hour. Sounds important, doesn’t it?”
“First of all, you were going to be June Cleaver—”
“Screw that. No way I’d bottom for you.”
“Whatever. And second, I don’t think there’s much of a market for your particular brand of psychology.”
“So not true.”
“Butch, you and I just beat the crap out of each other.”
“You started it. And actually, it would be perfect for Spike TV. UFC meets Oprah. God, I’m brilliant.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“Ten minutes,” Butch whispered into Marissa’s ear. “Can I have ten minutes with you before you go? Please, baby…”
V rolled his eyes and was relieved to be annoyed at the lovey-dovey routine. At least all the testosterone in him hadn’t dried up.
“Baby…please?”
V took a pull on his mug. “Marissa, throw the sap bastard a bone, would you? The simpering wears on my nerves.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Marissa packed up her papers with a laugh and shot Butch a look. “Ten minutes. And you’d better make them count.”
Butch was up out of that chair like the thing was on fire. “Don’t I always?”
“Mmm…yes.”
As the two locked lips, V snorted. “Have fun, kiddies. Somewhere else.”
Lover Enshrined
Shoulda. Woulda. Coulda.
Cute rhyme. The reality was that one of the Ring-wraiths from The Lord of the Rings drove him to red smoke sure as if the bastard hog-tied him and threw him in the back of a car.
Actually, mate, you’d be the front bumper.
Exactly.
…The thing had woken him up as usual, an alarm clock as reliable and stiff off the ground as Big Fucking Ben.
The Brother Rhage’s voice boomed. “That bunch of self-serving, prejudicial, light-in-the-loafer—”
“Watch the loafer references,” the Brother Butch cut in. “I have some on.”
“—parasitic, shortsighted motherfuckers—”
“Tell us how you really feel,” someone else said.
“-can take their fakakta ball and blow it out their asses.”
The king’s laugh was low. “Good thing you’re not a diplomat, Hollywood.”
“Oh, you gotta let me send a message. Better yet, let’s have my beast go as an emissary. I’ll have him rip up the place. Serve those bastards right for how they’ve treated Marissa.”
“You know,” Butch announced, “I’ve always thought you had half a brain. In spite of what everyone else has said.”
Not more than five blocks to the east, in his private office at ZeroSum, Rehvenge, aka the Reverend, cursed. He hated the incontinent ones. Hated them.
The human man dangling in front of his desk had just pissed in his pants, the stain showing up as a dark blue circle at the crotch of his distressed Z Brands.
Looked like someone had nailed him in the hey-nanny-nannies with a wet sponge.
“You got hair like a girl,” Mr. D said.
“And you smell like bubble bath. At least I can get a trim.”
The king’s voice resonated through the wall she leaned against. “Not having fun tonight, Z? You look like someone’s shit on your front lawn.”
You’re a freak. But I really can’t accept these—
“Were you raised in a barn? Don’t be ruuuuuuuuuuuuude, my boy. They’re a gift.”
Blay shook his head. “Take them, John. You’re just going to lose this argument, and it will save us from the theatrics.”
“Theatrics?” Qhuinn leaped up and assumed a Roman oratory pose. “Whither thou knowest thy ass from thy elbow, young scribe?”
Blay blushed. “Come on—”
Qhuinn threw himself at Blay, grasping onto the guy’s shoulders and hanging his full weight off him. “Hold me. Your insult has left me breathless. I’m agasp.”
Blay grunted and scrambled to keep Qhuinn up off the floor. “That’s agape.”
“Agasp sounds better.”
Blay was trying not to smile, trying not to be delighted, but his eyes were sparkling like sapphires and his cheeks were getting red.
With a silent laugh, John sat on one of the locker room benches, shook out his pair of white socks, and pulled them on under his new old jeans. You sure, Qhuinn? ’Cuz I have a feeling they’re going to fit and you might change your mind.
Qhuinn abruptly lifted himself off Blay and straightened his clothes with a sharp tug. “And now you offend my honor.” Facing off at John, he flipped into a fencing stance. “Touché.”
Blay laughed. “That’s en garde, you damn fool.”
Qhuinn shot a look over his shoulder. “Ça va, Brutus?”
“Et tu!”
“That would be tutu, I believe, and you can keep the cross-dressing to yourself, ya perv.” Qhuinn flashed a brilliant smile, all twelve kinds of proud for being such an ass. “Now, put the fuckers on, John, and let’s be done with this. Before we have to put Blay in an iron lung.”
“Try sanitarium!”
“No, thanks, I had a big lunch.”
Xhex offered him her arm without looking at him because she knew he was too much of a pride-filled dickhead to lean on her otherwise. And he needed to lean on her. He was weak as shit.
“I hate when you’re right,” he said.
“Which explains why you’re usually so short-tempered.”
In spite of the exhaustion that was dragging at him, he shook his head. “Tell me.”
“You don’t—”
“You tell me…or I’m going to get up and start doing fucking Pilates.”
“Whatever. You’ve always said that was for pansies.”
“Fine. Jujitsu. Talk before I pass out, would you?”
“Understood. And listen, I’m going to want to help Havers out. It’s too much for him to set up the new clinic and care for patients. Thing is, it’s going to involve some days off-site for me.”
“Vishous okay with that security risk?”
“Not his call, and I’m telling you only out of courtesy.” The female laughed dryly. “Don’t give me that look. I’m already dead. It’s not like the lessers can kill me again.”
“That is so not funny.”
“Gallows humor is part of having a doctor in the house. Deal with it.”
Wrath barked a laugh. “You are such a hard-ass. No wonder V fell for you.”
The hidden entrance to the escape tunnel was all the way in the far corner to the right and it was shielded by bookshelves that were on a slide. You simply reached out, pulled the copy of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight forward, and a latch released, causing the partition to retract and reveal—
“You are such a moron.”
Qhuinn jumped like an Olympian. There, in the tunnel, seated in an outdoor lounger like he was getting a tan, was Blay. He had a book on his lap, a battery-operated lamp on a little table, and a blanket over his legs.
The guy calmly lifted a glass of orange juice up in toast, then took a sip. “Hellllllllo, Lucy.”
“What the fuck? You’re like lying in wait for me or some shit?”
“Yup.”
“What was in your bed?”
“Pillows and my head blankie. I’ve had a nice little chill sesh hanging here. Good book, too.” He flashed the cover of A Season in Purgatory. “I like Dominick Dunne. Good writer. Great glasses.”
Hell, he expected a fleet of Dobermans to come trucking around the corner with their chompers showing.
Then again, the dogs were probably still gnawing on the bones of the last guest they’d turned into pulled pork.
Hey, John signed.
“Hey.”
John stepped back, clearing the way. How are you doing?
“I wish I were a smoker.” Because then he could put this off for the duration of a cig.
No, you don’t. You hate smoking.
“When I face the firing squad, I may rethink that hard line.”
Shut up.
In quick succession Qhuinn reviewed his answers: No, of course not, the knife was acting of its own volition, I was actually trying to stop it…No, I only meant to give him a shave…No, I didn’t realize that slicing open someone’s jugular was going to lead to death…
“John wants you to stay here.”
Qhuinn’s eyes shot to the king. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Shit. You can’t approve that. No way can I stay here.”
Black eyebrows crashed down. “Excuse me?”
“Er…sorry.” Qhuinn clammed up, reminding himself that the Brother was king, which meant he could do whatever the fuck he wanted, including but not limited to renaming the sun and the moon, declaring that people had to salute him with their thumbs up their asses…and taking roadkill like Qhuinn under his roof if he were so inclined.
King was spelled c-a-r-t-e b-l-a-n-c-h-e in the vampire world.
As Qhuinn looked at his friend, he was not about to tell the guy that he was going to jail and then being released into the custody of Lash’s parents to be tortured for the rest of his days. “Ah, not too bad.”
You lie.
“Do not.”
You’re the color of fog.
“Well, hello, I had surgery, like, yesterday.”
Oh, please. What’s happening?
“To tell you the truth, I have no clue—”
“You have what I call a ‘male brow.’ Which is a frown brought on when you’re thinking about your male and you either want to boot him in the ass or wrap your arms around him and hold on ’til he can’t breathe.”
But Tudor mansions on manicured grounds didn’t look right with their grand front doors wide open to the night. It was like a debutante flashing her bra thanks to a wardrobe malfunction.
“Thank you,” Qhuinn said as V smoothed on more of that ointment, the fresh ink vivid against his golden skin. “Thank you very much.”
“You haven’t seen it yet. For all you know, I could have inked ‘jackass’ back here.”
“Nah. I never doubt you,” Qhuinn said, grinning up at the Brother.
Vishous smiled a little, his hard face with its tattoos showing approval. “Yeah, well, you aren’t a flincher. Flinchers get fucked. The steady ones get the goods.”
Qhuinn pulled a light jacket from his bag and seemed to gather himself as he put it on. When he turned back around, his characteristic smart-ass smile was back in place. “Your wish is my command, prince of mine.”
Don’t call me that.
John headed for the exit, and he texted Blay, hoping the guy would show eventually. Maybe if he was bugged enough he’d relent?
“So what should I call you?” Qhuinn said as he leaped ahead to open the door with a flourish. “Would you prefer ‘my liege’?”
Give it a rest, would you.
“How about good ol’-fashioned ‘master’?” When John just glared over his shoulder, Qhuinn shrugged. “Fine. I’ll go with fathead, then. But that’s your damage, I gave you options.”
“You want me to open your door,” Qhuinn said dryly as he cut the engine.
John looked over. If I say yes, would you do it?
“No.”
Then by all means, open my door.
“Damn you.” Qhuinn got out of the driver’s seat. “Ruining my fun.”
John shut his door and shook his head. I’m just glad you’re so manipulate-able.
“That’s not a word.”
Since when have you been in bed with Daniel Webster? Hello? ‘Gigunda’?
Qhuinn glanced to the house. He could just hear Blay’s voice filling in, That would be Merriam-Webster. “Whatever.”
“Long time no see,” the angel said.
“Not long enough.”
“Always with the hospitality.”
“Listen, GE.” Rehv blinked hard. “Mind if you dim your disco ball?”
The glow drifted away until Lassiter appeared normal. Well, normal for someone with a serious-ass piercing fetish and aspirations for being some country’s gold currency standard.
Trez shut the door and stood behind it, a wall of you-fuck-with-my-boy-and-angel-or-not-ima-show-your-ass-a-beatdown.
“What brings you onto my property?” Rehv said, cradling his mug with both hands and trying to absorb its warmth.
“Got a problem.”
“I can’t fix your personality, sorry.”
Lassiter laughed, the sound ringing through the house like church bells. “No. I like myself just as I am, thank you.”
“Can’t help your delusional nature, either.”
“I need to find an address.”
“Do I look like a phone book?”
“You look like shit, as a matter of fact.”
“And you with the compliments.” Rehv finished his coffee. “What makes you think I’d help you?”
“Son of a bitch,” Wrath breathed as the figure stopped twenty yards away.
The glowing man laughed. “Well, if it isn’t good King Wrath and his band of merry-merry-happy-happy. I swear you boys should do kiddie shows, you’re so fucking cheery.”
“Great,” Rhage muttered, “his sense of humor’s still intact.”
Vishous exhaled. “Maybe I can try and beat it out of him.”
“Use his own arm to do it, if you can—”
Wrath glared at the two of them, who shot him back a pair of who-us? stares. The king shook his head and addressed the lit figure. “Been a while. Thank God. How the hell are you?”
Before the man could answer, V cursed. “If I have to hear all that Keanu Reeves, Matrix, ‘I am Neo’ kind of shit, my head’s going to explode.”
“Don’t you mean Neon?” Butch shot back. “’Cause he reminds me of the Citgo sign.”
After a moment, Wrath turned to John. “This is Lassiter, the fallen angel. One of the last times he was here on earth, there was a plague in central Europe—”
“Okay, that was so not my fault—”
“—which wiped out two-thirds of the human population.”
“I’d like to remind you that you don’t like humans.”
“They smell bad when they’re dead.”
“All you mortal types do.”
p. 488
“Fuck. Me,” Vishous breathed.
“I will so pass on that,” Lassiter muttered.
The stairwell fire alarm went off, its shrill cry the kind of thing that made you want to be deaf.
Phury laughed and rolled to the side, tucking her into his chest. “Five…four…three…two—”
“Soooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrryyy!” Layla called out from the foot of the stairs.
“What was it this time, Chosen?” he hollered back.
“Scrambled eggs,” she yelled up.
Phury shook his head and said softly to Cormia, “See, I’d have figured it was the toast.”
“Can’t be that. She broke the toaster yesterday.”
“She did?”
Cormia nodded. “Tried to put a piece of pizza in it. The cheese.”
“Everywhere?”
“Everywhere.”
Phury spoke up. “That’s okay, Layla. You can always clean the pan and try again.”
“I don’t think the pan’s going to work anymore,” came the reply.
Phury’s voice dropped. “I’m so not going to ask.”
“Aren’t they metal?”
“Should be.”
Shoulda. Woulda. Coulda.
Cute rhyme. The reality was that one of the Ring-wraiths from The Lord of the Rings drove him to red smoke sure as if the bastard hog-tied him and threw him in the back of a car.
Actually, mate, you’d be the front bumper.
Exactly.
…The thing had woken him up as usual, an alarm clock as reliable and stiff off the ground as Big Fucking Ben.
The Brother Rhage’s voice boomed. “That bunch of self-serving, prejudicial, light-in-the-loafer—”
“Watch the loafer references,” the Brother Butch cut in. “I have some on.”
“—parasitic, shortsighted motherfuckers—”
“Tell us how you really feel,” someone else said.
“-can take their fakakta ball and blow it out their asses.”
The king’s laugh was low. “Good thing you’re not a diplomat, Hollywood.”
“Oh, you gotta let me send a message. Better yet, let’s have my beast go as an emissary. I’ll have him rip up the place. Serve those bastards right for how they’ve treated Marissa.”
“You know,” Butch announced, “I’ve always thought you had half a brain. In spite of what everyone else has said.”
Not more than five blocks to the east, in his private office at ZeroSum, Rehvenge, aka the Reverend, cursed. He hated the incontinent ones. Hated them.
The human man dangling in front of his desk had just pissed in his pants, the stain showing up as a dark blue circle at the crotch of his distressed Z Brands.
Looked like someone had nailed him in the hey-nanny-nannies with a wet sponge.
“You got hair like a girl,” Mr. D said.
“And you smell like bubble bath. At least I can get a trim.”
The king’s voice resonated through the wall she leaned against. “Not having fun tonight, Z? You look like someone’s shit on your front lawn.”
You’re a freak. But I really can’t accept these—
“Were you raised in a barn? Don’t be ruuuuuuuuuuuuude, my boy. They’re a gift.”
Blay shook his head. “Take them, John. You’re just going to lose this argument, and it will save us from the theatrics.”
“Theatrics?” Qhuinn leaped up and assumed a Roman oratory pose. “Whither thou knowest thy ass from thy elbow, young scribe?”
Blay blushed. “Come on—”
Qhuinn threw himself at Blay, grasping onto the guy’s shoulders and hanging his full weight off him. “Hold me. Your insult has left me breathless. I’m agasp.”
Blay grunted and scrambled to keep Qhuinn up off the floor. “That’s agape.”
“Agasp sounds better.”
Blay was trying not to smile, trying not to be delighted, but his eyes were sparkling like sapphires and his cheeks were getting red.
With a silent laugh, John sat on one of the locker room benches, shook out his pair of white socks, and pulled them on under his new old jeans. You sure, Qhuinn? ’Cuz I have a feeling they’re going to fit and you might change your mind.
Qhuinn abruptly lifted himself off Blay and straightened his clothes with a sharp tug. “And now you offend my honor.” Facing off at John, he flipped into a fencing stance. “Touché.”
Blay laughed. “That’s en garde, you damn fool.”
Qhuinn shot a look over his shoulder. “Ça va, Brutus?”
“Et tu!”
“That would be tutu, I believe, and you can keep the cross-dressing to yourself, ya perv.” Qhuinn flashed a brilliant smile, all twelve kinds of proud for being such an ass. “Now, put the fuckers on, John, and let’s be done with this. Before we have to put Blay in an iron lung.”
“Try sanitarium!”
“No, thanks, I had a big lunch.”
Xhex offered him her arm without looking at him because she knew he was too much of a pride-filled dickhead to lean on her otherwise. And he needed to lean on her. He was weak as shit.
“I hate when you’re right,” he said.
“Which explains why you’re usually so short-tempered.”
In spite of the exhaustion that was dragging at him, he shook his head. “Tell me.”
“You don’t—”
“You tell me…or I’m going to get up and start doing fucking Pilates.”
“Whatever. You’ve always said that was for pansies.”
“Fine. Jujitsu. Talk before I pass out, would you?”
“Understood. And listen, I’m going to want to help Havers out. It’s too much for him to set up the new clinic and care for patients. Thing is, it’s going to involve some days off-site for me.”
“Vishous okay with that security risk?”
“Not his call, and I’m telling you only out of courtesy.” The female laughed dryly. “Don’t give me that look. I’m already dead. It’s not like the lessers can kill me again.”
“That is so not funny.”
“Gallows humor is part of having a doctor in the house. Deal with it.”
Wrath barked a laugh. “You are such a hard-ass. No wonder V fell for you.”
The hidden entrance to the escape tunnel was all the way in the far corner to the right and it was shielded by bookshelves that were on a slide. You simply reached out, pulled the copy of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight forward, and a latch released, causing the partition to retract and reveal—
“You are such a moron.”
Qhuinn jumped like an Olympian. There, in the tunnel, seated in an outdoor lounger like he was getting a tan, was Blay. He had a book on his lap, a battery-operated lamp on a little table, and a blanket over his legs.
The guy calmly lifted a glass of orange juice up in toast, then took a sip. “Hellllllllo, Lucy.”
“What the fuck? You’re like lying in wait for me or some shit?”
“Yup.”
“What was in your bed?”
“Pillows and my head blankie. I’ve had a nice little chill sesh hanging here. Good book, too.” He flashed the cover of A Season in Purgatory. “I like Dominick Dunne. Good writer. Great glasses.”
Hell, he expected a fleet of Dobermans to come trucking around the corner with their chompers showing.
Then again, the dogs were probably still gnawing on the bones of the last guest they’d turned into pulled pork.
Hey, John signed.
“Hey.”
John stepped back, clearing the way. How are you doing?
“I wish I were a smoker.” Because then he could put this off for the duration of a cig.
No, you don’t. You hate smoking.
“When I face the firing squad, I may rethink that hard line.”
Shut up.
In quick succession Qhuinn reviewed his answers: No, of course not, the knife was acting of its own volition, I was actually trying to stop it…No, I only meant to give him a shave…No, I didn’t realize that slicing open someone’s jugular was going to lead to death…
“John wants you to stay here.”
Qhuinn’s eyes shot to the king. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Shit. You can’t approve that. No way can I stay here.”
Black eyebrows crashed down. “Excuse me?”
“Er…sorry.” Qhuinn clammed up, reminding himself that the Brother was king, which meant he could do whatever the fuck he wanted, including but not limited to renaming the sun and the moon, declaring that people had to salute him with their thumbs up their asses…and taking roadkill like Qhuinn under his roof if he were so inclined.
King was spelled c-a-r-t-e b-l-a-n-c-h-e in the vampire world.
As Qhuinn looked at his friend, he was not about to tell the guy that he was going to jail and then being released into the custody of Lash’s parents to be tortured for the rest of his days. “Ah, not too bad.”
You lie.
“Do not.”
You’re the color of fog.
“Well, hello, I had surgery, like, yesterday.”
Oh, please. What’s happening?
“To tell you the truth, I have no clue—”
“You have what I call a ‘male brow.’ Which is a frown brought on when you’re thinking about your male and you either want to boot him in the ass or wrap your arms around him and hold on ’til he can’t breathe.”
But Tudor mansions on manicured grounds didn’t look right with their grand front doors wide open to the night. It was like a debutante flashing her bra thanks to a wardrobe malfunction.
“Thank you,” Qhuinn said as V smoothed on more of that ointment, the fresh ink vivid against his golden skin. “Thank you very much.”
“You haven’t seen it yet. For all you know, I could have inked ‘jackass’ back here.”
“Nah. I never doubt you,” Qhuinn said, grinning up at the Brother.
Vishous smiled a little, his hard face with its tattoos showing approval. “Yeah, well, you aren’t a flincher. Flinchers get fucked. The steady ones get the goods.”
Qhuinn pulled a light jacket from his bag and seemed to gather himself as he put it on. When he turned back around, his characteristic smart-ass smile was back in place. “Your wish is my command, prince of mine.”
Don’t call me that.
John headed for the exit, and he texted Blay, hoping the guy would show eventually. Maybe if he was bugged enough he’d relent?
“So what should I call you?” Qhuinn said as he leaped ahead to open the door with a flourish. “Would you prefer ‘my liege’?”
Give it a rest, would you.
“How about good ol’-fashioned ‘master’?” When John just glared over his shoulder, Qhuinn shrugged. “Fine. I’ll go with fathead, then. But that’s your damage, I gave you options.”
“You want me to open your door,” Qhuinn said dryly as he cut the engine.
John looked over. If I say yes, would you do it?
“No.”
Then by all means, open my door.
“Damn you.” Qhuinn got out of the driver’s seat. “Ruining my fun.”
John shut his door and shook his head. I’m just glad you’re so manipulate-able.
“That’s not a word.”
Since when have you been in bed with Daniel Webster? Hello? ‘Gigunda’?
Qhuinn glanced to the house. He could just hear Blay’s voice filling in, That would be Merriam-Webster. “Whatever.”
“Long time no see,” the angel said.
“Not long enough.”
“Always with the hospitality.”
“Listen, GE.” Rehv blinked hard. “Mind if you dim your disco ball?”
The glow drifted away until Lassiter appeared normal. Well, normal for someone with a serious-ass piercing fetish and aspirations for being some country’s gold currency standard.
Trez shut the door and stood behind it, a wall of you-fuck-with-my-boy-and-angel-or-not-ima-show-your-ass-a-beatdown.
“What brings you onto my property?” Rehv said, cradling his mug with both hands and trying to absorb its warmth.
“Got a problem.”
“I can’t fix your personality, sorry.”
Lassiter laughed, the sound ringing through the house like church bells. “No. I like myself just as I am, thank you.”
“Can’t help your delusional nature, either.”
“I need to find an address.”
“Do I look like a phone book?”
“You look like shit, as a matter of fact.”
“And you with the compliments.” Rehv finished his coffee. “What makes you think I’d help you?”
“Son of a bitch,” Wrath breathed as the figure stopped twenty yards away.
The glowing man laughed. “Well, if it isn’t good King Wrath and his band of merry-merry-happy-happy. I swear you boys should do kiddie shows, you’re so fucking cheery.”
“Great,” Rhage muttered, “his sense of humor’s still intact.”
Vishous exhaled. “Maybe I can try and beat it out of him.”
“Use his own arm to do it, if you can—”
Wrath glared at the two of them, who shot him back a pair of who-us? stares. The king shook his head and addressed the lit figure. “Been a while. Thank God. How the hell are you?”
Before the man could answer, V cursed. “If I have to hear all that Keanu Reeves, Matrix, ‘I am Neo’ kind of shit, my head’s going to explode.”
“Don’t you mean Neon?” Butch shot back. “’Cause he reminds me of the Citgo sign.”
After a moment, Wrath turned to John. “This is Lassiter, the fallen angel. One of the last times he was here on earth, there was a plague in central Europe—”
“Okay, that was so not my fault—”
“—which wiped out two-thirds of the human population.”
“I’d like to remind you that you don’t like humans.”
“They smell bad when they’re dead.”
“All you mortal types do.”
p. 488
“Fuck. Me,” Vishous breathed.
“I will so pass on that,” Lassiter muttered.
The stairwell fire alarm went off, its shrill cry the kind of thing that made you want to be deaf.
Phury laughed and rolled to the side, tucking her into his chest. “Five…four…three…two—”
“Soooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrryyy!” Layla called out from the foot of the stairs.
“What was it this time, Chosen?” he hollered back.
“Scrambled eggs,” she yelled up.
Phury shook his head and said softly to Cormia, “See, I’d have figured it was the toast.”
“Can’t be that. She broke the toaster yesterday.”
“She did?”
Cormia nodded. “Tried to put a piece of pizza in it. The cheese.”
“Everywhere?”
“Everywhere.”
Phury spoke up. “That’s okay, Layla. You can always clean the pan and try again.”
“I don’t think the pan’s going to work anymore,” came the reply.
Phury’s voice dropped. “I’m so not going to ask.”
“Aren’t they metal?”
“Should be.”
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