"If there's anything I can do…"
"No, no, I'm okay." She laughed. "It's nothing I haven't dealt with before."
"Well, I probably shouldn't be calling"—Fritz's voice dropped to a whisper—"but I didn't want you to be unprepared. Master has requested a special dinner tonight. For you and he, alone. I thought perhaps I would pick you up and we would find you a dress."
"A dress?"
For a date kind of thing with Wrath?
The idea struck her as a terrific one, but then she reminded herself to be careful about reading romance into things. She didn't really know the lay of the landscape.
Or who else he was laying, as it were.
"Mistress, I know this is presumptuous of me. He's going to call you himself—"
At that moment the second line on her phone started to ring.
"I just wanted you to be ready for tonight."
Caller ID flashed the number Wrath had made her memorize. She grinned like an idiot.
"I would love to get a dress. I would absolutely love to."
"Good. We shall go to the Galleria. They have a Brooks Brothers there as well. Master has put in a request for clothing. I believe he wants to look his best for you as well."
As she hung up, that stupid smile stuck to her face like glue.
Wrath left a message on Beth's voice mail and rolled over in bed, reaching out for the Braille clock. Three in the afternoon. He'd slept for about six hours, which was more than usual, but what his body typically needed after a feeding.
God, he wished she were with him.
Tohr had called at dawn with a report. The two of them had stayed up all night watching Godzilla movies, and by the sound of the male's voice, he was half in love with her.
Which Wrath simultaneously understood and resented the hell out of.
But man, he'd made the right call sending Tohr over. Rhage definitely would have come on to her, and then Wrath would have had to break something of the brother's. An arm, maybe a leg. Maybe both. And Vishous, while he didn't have Hollywood's outrageous good looks, had plenty of pimp juice. Phury's vow of celibacy was strong, but why put him in the path of temptation?
Zsadist?
He hadn't even considered that option. The scar down that brother's face would have scared the shit out of her. Hell, even Wrath could see the damn thing. And mortal terror in a female was Z's favorite turn-on. He got off on it like most males favored crap from Victoria's Secret.
No, Tohr would be on sentry duty if the need ever arose again.
Wrath stretched. Feeling the satin sheets against his naked skin made him yearn for Beth. Now that he'd fed, his body felt stronger than ever, as though his bones were shafts of carbon and his muscles were steel cables. He was back to himself again, and the whole lot of him was itching to be used hard.
Except he bitterly regretted what had happened with Marissa.
He thought back to the night. As soon as he'd lifted his head from her neck, he knew he'd nearly killed her. And not from drinking too much.
She'd pushed herself away, her body shaking from misery as she'd floundered off the bed.
"Marissa—"
"My lord, I release you. From the covenant. You are free of me."
He'd cursed, feeling like hell for what he'd done to her.
"I don't understand your anger," she'd said weakly. "This is what you have always wanted, and I grant it to you now."
"I never wanted—"
"Me," she'd whispered. "I know."
"Marissa—"
"Please don't say the words. I couldn't bear to hear the truth from your lips, even though I know it well. You have always been ashamed to be tied to me."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I disgust you."
"What?"
"Do you think I haven't noticed? You can't wait to be free of me. I drink and then you bolt up, as if you've had to force yourself to endure my presence." She'd started to sob then. "I've always tried to be clean when I come to you. I spend hours soaking in the tub, washing myself. But I cannot find the dirt that you see."
"Marissa, stop. Just stop. It isn't about you."
"Yes, I know. I saw the female. In your mind." She'd let out a shudder.
"I'm sorry," he'd said. "And you have never disgusted me. You're beautiful—"
"Don't say that. Not now." Marissa's voice had hardened then. "If anything, just be sorry that it took this long for me to see what has always been true."
"I will still protect you," he'd vowed.
"No, you won't. I'm no longer your concern. Not that I've ever been."
And then she'd left, the fresh scent of the ocean lingering a moment before dissipating.
Wrath rubbed his eyes. He was determined to make it up to her somehow. He wasn't sure exactly how he'd pull that off, considering the hell she'd been put through. But he wasn't prepared to have her drift off into the ether thinking that she'd been utterly nothing to him. Or that he'd found her in some way unclean.
He'd never loved her, true. But he hadn't wanted to hurt her, which was why he'd told her to leave him so often. If she pulled out, if she made it clear she didn't want him, she would still be able to hold her head up in the catty aristocratic circle she was from. In her class, a shellan who was rejected by her mate was perceived as damaged goods.
Now that she had left him, she'd be spared any ignominy. And he had a feeling that when word got out, no one would be surprised.
Funny, he'd never really considered how he and Marissa would part, perhaps because after all these centuries, he'd assumed they never would. But he'd certainly never expected it to be because he was forming some kind of attachment to another female.
And that was what was happening. With Beth. After marking her last night as he had, he couldn't pretend he wasn't getting emotionally tied to her.
He cursed out loud, knowing enough about male vampire behavior and psychology to realize he was in trouble. Hell, they were both in trouble now.
A bonded male was a dangerous thing.
Especially when he was going to have to leave his female.
And give her into the keeping of another.
Trying to push the implications out of his mind, Wrath reached for the phone and dialed upstairs, thinking he needed something to eat. When there was no answer, he assumed Fritz must have gone to the store to buy food.
Good thing. Wrath had asked the brothers to come later in the evening, and they liked to eat big. It was time to reconnoiter, catch up with their investigations.
The need to avenge Darius burned.
And the closer Wrath got to Beth, the hotter the fire.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-three
Butch walked out of the captain's office. His holster felt too light without his gun in it. Wallet was too flat without his badge. It was like being naked.
"What happened?" José asked.
"I'm taking a vacation."
"What the hell does that mean?"
Butch started down the hall. "Did the NYPD have anything on that suspect?"
José grabbed his arm and pulled him into an interrogation room. "What happened?"
"I'm suspended without pay, pending the conclusion of an internal investigation. Which we both know is going to find that I acted with inappropriate force."
José buried a hand in his hair. "I told you to back off those suspects, man."
"That Riddle guy deserved worse."
"Not the point."
"Funny, that's what the captain said."
Butch walked over to the two-way mirror and looked at himself. God, he was getting old. Or maybe he was just tired of the only job he'd ever wanted to do.
Police brutality. Screw that. He was a protector of the innocent, not some self-impressed skull-cracker who got off on being a tough guy. The trouble was, there were just too many rules favoring criminals. The victims whose lives were shattered by violence should be half so lucky.
"I don't belong h
ere anyway," he said softly.
"What?"
There was just no place for men like him in the world anymore, he thought.
Butch turned around. "So. The NYPD. What did we find out?"
José stared at him for a long time. "Suspended from the force, huh?"
"At least until they officially can me."
José put his hands on his hips and looked down, shaking his head as if he were remonstrating with his shoes. But he answered.
"Nada. It's like he came out of nowhere."
Butch cursed. "Those stars. I know you can get them on the Web, but they can be bought locally, right?"
"Yeah, through martial-arts academies."
"We've got a couple of those in town."
José nodded slowly.
Butch took his keys out of his pocket. "I'll see ya."
"Hold up—we already sent someone out to ask around. Both academies said they don't remember anyone buying them who fit the suspect's description."
"Thanks for the tip." Butch started for the door.
"Detective. Yo, O'Neal." José grabbed Butch's forearm. "Damn it, will you stop for a minute?"
Butch glared over his shoulder. "Is this where you warn me to stay out of police business? 'Cause you might as well save the speech."
"Christ, Butch, I'm not your enemy." Jose's dark brown eyes were penetrating. "The boys and I are behind you. As far as we're concerned, you do what you need to do, and you've never been wrong. Anyone you've knocked around has deserved it. But maybe you've just been lucky, you know? What if you'd hurt someone who wasn't—"
"Cut the preacher routine. I'm not interested." He clamped his hand on the doorknob.
José squeezed hard. "You're off the force, O'Neal. And going half-cocked into an investigation you've been removed from won't bring Janie back."
Butch expelled his breath like he'd been punched. "You want to kick me in the nuts now, too?"
José removed his hand, looking as if he were throwing in the towel. "I'm sorry. But you gotta know that getting deeper in the weeds is only going to screw you. It's not going to help your sister. It's never helped her."
Butch slowly shook his head. "Shit. I know that."
"You sure?"
Yeah, he was. He'd really liked hurting Billy Riddle, and that was about vengeance for what had been done to Beth. It had nothing to do with bringing his sister back to life. Janie was gone. And she'd been gone for a long, long time.
Still, Josh's sad eyes made him feel like he had a terminal illness.
"It's gonna be fine," he found himself saying. Although he didn't really believe it.
"Just don't… don't push your luck out there, Detective."
Butch threw open the door. "Pushing's all I know how to do, José."
Mr. X leaned back in his office chair, thinking about the night ahead. He was ready to try again, even though the downtown area was hot right now, what with the car bombing and the discovery of the whore's body. Trolling for vampires in the vicinity of Screamer's was going to be risky, but the risk of being caught added to the challenge.
Even more to the point, however, if you wanted to catch a shark, you didn't fish in freshwater. He had to go to where the vampires were.
Anticipation shot through him.
He'd been brushing up on his torture techniques. And this morning, before leaving for the academy, he'd visited the workspace he'd set up in his barn. His tools were gathered and gleaming: a dentist's drill set; knives of various sizes; a ball-peen hammer and a chisel; a Sawzall.
A melon bailer. For the eyes.
The trick was, of course, walking that fine line between pain and death. Pain you could stretch out for hours, days. Death was the ultimate off switch.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter," he said.
It was the receptionist, the jacked woman who had arms big as a man's and no breasts to speak of. Her contradictions never ceased to amaze him. In spite of the fact that a raging case of penis envy caused her to take steroids and pump iron like a gorilla, she insisted on wearing makeup. And doing her hair. In her cropped T-shirt and leggings, she looked like a bad drag queen.
She disgusted him.
You should always know who you are, he thought. And who you aren't.
"A guy's here to speak with you." Her voice was about an octave and a half too low. "O'Neal, I think that's the name. Acts like a cop, but didn't pop a badge."
"Tell him I'll be right out." You freak of nature, he added to himself.
Still, Mr. X had to laugh as the door shut behind her. Him. Whatever.
Here he was, a man with no soul who killed vampires, and he was calling her a freak?
Yeah, well, at least he had a purpose. And a plan.
She was just going to Gold's Gym again tonight. Right after she got rid of her five-o'clock shadow.
It was a little before six when Butch pulled the unmarked up in front of Beth's building. He'd have to return the vehicle eventually, but suspended wasn't fired. The captain was going to have to ask for the damn car back.
He'd gone to both martial-arts academies and talked with the directors. One guy had been obnoxious. Your typical ass-kiss-craving, self-defense lunatic who'd convinced himself he was actually Asian. In spite of the fact that he was as white as Butch was.
The other man had been just plain weird. He'd looked like a 1950s milkman, with blond hair that had obviously been hit with some pomade and a bright, annoying smile that had missed its Pepsodent ad by nearly half a century. The guy had bent over to be helpful, but something was off. Butch's bullshit detector had spiked a serious woody the minute Mr. Mayberry had opened his mouth.
And the guy had smelled like a sissy, besides.
Butch leaped up Beth's front steps and rang her buzzer.
He'd left her a voice mail at work and at home telling her he was coming over. He was about to hit the button again when he saw her through the glass door, coming into the lobby.
Goddamn.
She had on a wraparound black dress that just about brought his headache back, it was so perfect for her. The vee in front dipped down and showed a little of her breasts. The tight waist set off her slim hips beautifully. And the slit up one side showed a flash of thigh with every step she took. Her heels were tall, making her ankles look fragile and lovely.
She looked up from the purse she'd been rummaging around in and seemed surprised to see him.
Her hair was up. He thought about what it would be like to take it down.
She opened the door. "Butch."
"Hi." He felt tongue-tied as a kid.
"I got your messages," she said softly.
He stepped back so she could come outside. "You got time to talk?"
Even though he knew what her answer was going to be.
"Ah, not right now."
"Where are you going?"
"I have a date."
"With whom?"
She met his eyes with such deliberate calmness, he knew the next thing she said was going to be a lie.
"No one special."
Yeah, right.
"What happened to the man last night, Beth? Where is he?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
Her eyes never wavered from his. "If you'll excuse me—"
He gripped her arm. "Do not go to him."
The low sound of an engine filled the silence between them. A large black Mercedes with tinted windows pulled up. Real drug-lord time.
"Ah, fuck, Beth." He squeezed her arm, desperate to get her attention. "Don't do this. You're aiding and abetting a suspect."
"Let go of me, Butch."
"He's dangerous."
"And you aren't?"
He dropped his hold.
"Tomorrow," she said, stepping back. "We'll talk tomorrow. Meet me here after work."
Getting frantic, he put his body in her path. "Beth, I can't let you—"
"Are you going to arrest me?"
Not
as a cop, he couldn't. Not unless he was reinstated to the force.
"No. I won't take you in."
"Thank you."
"I'm not doing it as a favor," he said bitterly as she walked around him. "Beth, please."
She paused. "Nothing is as it seems."
"I don't know. I've got a pretty fucking clear picture. You're protecting a killer, and there's a serious chance you're going to get stuffed into a pine box. Do you understand what this guy is? I've seen his face up close. When his hand was around my neck and he was squeezing the life right out of me. A man like that has murder in his blood. It's his nature. How can you go to him? Hell, how can you let him walk the streets?"
"He's not like that."
But the words were phrased as a question.
The car door opened, and a little old man in a tuxedo got out.
"Mistress, is there a difficulty?" the man asked her solicitously, while at the same time shooting Butch the evil eye.
"No, Fritz. No problem." She smiled, but it was a shaky one. "Tomorrow, Butch."
"If you live that long."
She paled, but rushed down the stairs, sliding into the car.
After a moment Butch got into his. And trailed them.
When Havers heard footsteps coming toward the dining room, he looked up from his plate with a frown. He'd been hoping to make it through his meal without an interruption.
But it wasn't one or the doggen coming in with news that a patient had arrived to be treated.
"Marissa!" He rose from his chair.
She marshaled a smile for him. "I thought I would come down. I'm tired of spending so much time in my room."
"I'm very pleased to have your company."
As she came up to the table, he pulled out her chair. He was happy that he'd insisted her place was always set, even after he'd lost hope she would join him. And tonight it seemed as though she was making an effort with more than just coming to eat. She was wearing a beautiful dress made of black silk that had a jacket with a stiff, stand-up collar. Her hair was down around her shoulders, flashing spun gold in the candlelight. She looked lovely, and he felt a flush of animosity. It was a total insult that Wrath couldn't appreciate all she had to offer, that this exquisite female of noble blood was not good enough for him.