Page 41 of Nightfall (Vampire Queen 11)

As Butch rose and came toward them, Quinn noted his expression and body language was not the same as the man he'd seen at the cattlemen's meeting. The aura of command and wealth was still there, but the affable I'm-just-a-cowboy-like-the-rest-of-you vibe was nowhere to be seen. His piercing eyes were far sharper and much older, despite the handsome face. His large body moved without sound, as smooth as a sidewinder across sand. Any veneer that he was human was gone, and it impressed the hell out of Quinn that he could cover it that well on a day-to-day basis. Or nightly basis, as it were. He never would have guessed.

Then Butch stepped in front of Selene, and everything she'd entreated Quinn to remember disappeared. Because Butch hit her in the face with a closed fist the size of a softball, dropping her like a stone.

*

The pain exploded inside her skull, but it wasn't unexpected. Selene knew her next movement was stupid, way too telling, but the alternative was far worse. She threw out a hand in Quinn's direction, speaking in his head so vehemently she was sure it came through to him as a shout.

Quinn, don't. Hold your ground.

Butch took advantage of her vulnerable position to give her a healthy kick in the side, one she was sure broke a couple of her ribs, but even worse, tore her silk camisole. Goddamn it, shirts didn't grow on trees for her, unlike him in his big, fancy house.

She didn't attempt to shield herself. He pulled her up by her hair, held her on swaying feet as pain screamed through her side and his eyes pinned her. He was a big man, big as Quinn, but the hand that held her was oddly graceful and long-fingered. It was that way with vampires. Everything about them was beauty and strength together, and though he had a rugged vitality to him, those hands told the story of his physical power. A man who could lift a car in one hand didn't have calluses, no matter how much he rode, worked or busted his ass to make his ranch a success. It was why she was one of the few bartenders without chapped hands. Nothing marked them. Nothing on the outside.

Her gaze flicked briefly to Quinn. Thank God for Dix's insight. He'd blocked Quinn, had an arm over her servant's chest, had him backed to the wall, was speaking to her enraged cowboy, low and fast. Thank God Butch was letting Quinn's reaction pass, though he acknowledged it.

"I'm not going to punish him for you being young and stupid. Not unless he forces the issue."

When he let her go, she fell back to one knee, no choice for it, swallowing a cry at the agony. It would heal. In just a few moments the bones would start to knit and later, unless Butch killed her and it was a moot point, she could take blood from Quinn and regain the strength the healing would take. It didn't ease the pain now, but one got used to that. Laurent had done far worse to her.

Then Butch did something Laurent had never done. Sliding his hands under her elbows, he helped her to her feet and eased her into his guest chair. "All right then. That's done. Here." He put a handkerchief in her hand, closed her shaking fingers over it. "The busted lip bled on your pretty shirt, no help for that, but Yolanda may have some magic she can do with it. She's also a good seamstress and may be able to work on that rip. Hold that up to your lip. Don't bleed on my floor. She gives me hell about that kind of thing."

His thumb passed over the bleeding lip. Selene raised her gaze to see him take a taste, his gaze kindling at the intimacy. "Might as well get that other part over with, right?"

Bending down, cupping her nape, he sealed his mouth over hers. His fangs speared her cheek as his tongue slid over her bloody lip, stroking her flesh as he took blood from both wounds he'd caused. Though she flinched at the sharp pain, she curled her hand over his, a gesture of acceptance. Hope unfurled inside her. An overlord took blood from a vampire in his territory to mark their whereabouts, as Laurent had. It didn't yet mean Butch would champion her being there, but at least it meant he wasn't going to kill her outright and deliver her body to Laurent to curry favor with the older, more powerful vampire. That had been a real possibility, which was why she accepted his analysis of her youthful impulsiveness without argument. She'd as much as said the same to Quinn.

Unfortunately, she also felt Quinn's fury reach new heights. Hitting her had been bad enough. This, an obviously sexual gesture that Butch claimed as his right, his hands sliding down her body, cupping her breasts and exploring while he took his requisite swallow, was enough to push Quinn to suicide-by-vampire-attack.

It's part of the process, Quinn. Ease back. Please, if you care for me, go to that place in your head. Pretend this is just a bad dream.

She'd learned to relax during such things, and in truth it wasn't so bad. A vampire could feel pleasure, no matter the source, their carnal instincts far greater than morality or boundaries. So worried about the violence end of things, she'd forgotten to go over that with Quinn. Butch was skilled in his touch, intending to give her pleasure as well as take it, and her breasts peaked under his stimulation, her lips parting beneath his.

But Quinn, for all his acceptance of his role in her life, was still the ultimate alpha male. He'd be riding hard on his desire to pound Butch for what he did.

Do this for me. Just for me, Quinn.

"Nice." Butch retracted his fangs and lifted his head, studying her with his intent gray-blue eyes. "Doesn't change the fact you've put me in between a rock and hard place, fledgling."

His gaze shifted to Quinn. "You better take it down about ten notches, son, or I'll have you penned with the stock. Never too early to start learning how to deal with vampire social niceties. I've been around three centuries and believe you me, this is tame. And while you may be wondering what the hell you've signed up for, the sad thing is it's way too fucking late to back out."

Selene's heart lurched as she saw Quinn make a Herculean effort to rein himself back, all while she felt his anger boiling on her behalf, the rage of a good man who had no business being in this world, as Butch had just implied. Though Dix kept a restraining hand on his chest, fingers curled into his shirt in case Quinn made another lunge, Selene could feel her servant reasoning it out in his head. He didn't like any of it, not one bit. Butch hitting her, the way she'd allowed that kiss, but Quinn was a smart man, a brave man. A man who didn't let temper push him past rational thought. He pressed his lips together, inclined his head. Then surprised all of them by speaking in an even, strained voice.

"I'm here for her, sir. However she needs me."

Selene had to exert a pretty fierce effort herself not to show an emotional reaction to that. Butch slanted her a glance. "There may be hope for him yet. Maybe more than for you. Unfortunately, it's a package deal, isn't it?"

"I expect when you were my age, you made some similar missteps," she managed in a steady, cool tone. "Or perhaps not. You gave consent for your turning. You were guided by your sire, not foisted onto an overlord whose main interest in you was your money-making abilities."

"You looking for pity, youngling?"

"Not a bit. Just stating what is. You could have killed me, but I came to you anyway."

"You still haven't left alive," he pointed out dryly, but he returned to his desk and took a seat, bracing his foot once again to rock back the chair. When he glanced at the flat-screen to check the score, the casual pose didn't fool her a bit. Butch was a hundred percent honed on the situation. "So you want to be part of this territory. Why?"

"It's far from Laurent," she said bluntly. "It's run by a made vampire, which means you've had to work harder for the privilege. While I don't expect sympathy or special treatment, it suggests you might give a made vampire a fair shot to carve out a place to call her own, rather than treating her like a slave."

"In our world, many young vampires spend their first hundred years as little more than a vassal for stronger vampires. It is what it is. Why should you be so special at a mere sixty?"

"Because I'm good at what I do. Even better if I'm given incentive to make money for myself as well as you, if I feel like what I'm building and accomplishing is mine."

Butch lifted a shoulder. "Not an unreasonable request, but one that rests solely on my discretion to grant or not to grant. So what if I say no, Selene? What if I send you back to Laurent because I don't want to deal with the trouble you've brought me? And I'd advise you not to prick my ego with insults about letting a Yankee scare me into doing his bidding."

Lacing his fingers, he leaned forward and pinned her with his gaze. "I'm three hundred years old, Selene, and I'm where I am as a made vampire because I've learned not to let my impulses govern me. You have to fight through that shit. If you had done so recently, you wouldn't have tied a human to you when your situation was so uncertain."

"I know that." She bit back the obvious observation that when he was sixty he was probably having the same struggles she was with impulse, but with far more oversight from his sire. As he said, there was no room for self-pity in the vampire world. No Dr. Phils here. She took a breath and shut her mind to Quinn entirely, anticipating the explosive reaction in his head to her next words.

"If you decide I have to go back to Laurent, I'll go. I'll deliver myself to him, no escort required, and the way you know I'll do it is the favor I'll ask of you. You owe me no favors," she added, "but I'm not asking on behalf of myself, but a fellow Texan and a good man. I would ask you to mark Quinn as yours to protect him from other vampires, and let him live out his life on his ranch the way he's living it. He can be relied upon to keep our secret." She met Butch's gaze. "Given your age, your mark would override mine, have a better chance of protecting him if Laurent punishes me with execution."

"No way in hell," Quinn snapped. "Forget it, Selene."

Butch's gaze didn't even flicker in his direction. Selene didn't dare look his way either. Quinn's rejection of the idea was like a blast of heat at her back. She focused on keeping her expression impassive.

"I had Dix do some digging," Butch said, sitting back and drumming his fingertips on the mahogany. "You've put that saloon back on a good path pretty fast. I expect over time you'll branch out, have more than one. Quinn's ranch has good money-making potential, though I'd likely leave that alone for a while. Let him get it on its feet even more."

"Our bonding is recent," she said. "I haven't had a chance to discuss that with Quinn. It's his ranch, his decision. He's not part of this deal."

Butch gave a short, humorless laugh. "You ask me to protect him but offer nothing in return." His expression hardened. "He belongs to you now, which means all his holdings do as well. That wasn't a request, Selene. Not in any way. You know that."

"It's fine," Quinn said. "Selene, it's fine."

No it wasn't. He hadn't signed up for any of this. Of a sudden, she was so weary of it all, so sick of this game. She had embraced who and what she was, didn't wail and moan about it, but then for so long it had been all about getting clear to where she could have some life of her own, run her own bar. She hadn't expected Quinn, but that was no excuse. Butch had brought that into an even harsher light than she herself had, and she'd put a glaring spotlight on it more than once.

When he'd begged her to mark him, the path had been so vivid and clear. But in hindsight, she'd been no better than a teenager having unprotected sex in the heat of passion, just driven by feelings, no thought of consequences.

"I ask you. Beg you." She met Butch's gaze once more, put everything she could into the expression. "I will go back to Laurent without question if you want that. Just please...tell me you'll protect him. Let him live his life, so he doesn't pay for my mistake. I don't expect any mercy for myself, but if you can grant some to him, I'll do whatever you decide."

Butch leaned back in the chair, glanced over at Quinn. Dix had a death grip on his arm, was back to murmuring to him urgently, doing everything he could to keep Quinn from interjecting himself in the conversation in a way that would get him killed for sure. Something crossed Butch's face and he rose abruptly.

"Come with me, Selene. We're going to take a walk."

Chapter Twelve

The backyard was more of the same flagstone paths, interesting rock sculptures and native plants tufting and spiking out between the stones, a more aesthetically groomed reflection of the wild landscape, showing that its owner identified deeply with his roots here. Wherever his three hundred years had taken him, Butch considered Texas home. Selene knew that hunger for home and permanence as well. Would he understand that? Would it help?

He slid her hand into the crook of his elbow so they walked together in an almost companionable way. Selene leaned, she couldn't help it, because he made it possible for her to do so. She was tired, afraid and damn sick and tired of being afraid.

"When I was fifty-five, I took my first servant." Butch spoke conversationally. "Curtis Rutherford. Champion calf roper. Way too public a personality, so being my servant meant the end of his career. But he was passionate, strong, declaring his willingness to be my servant, no need to discuss all the nitty-gritty details. I quite frankly was a bit besotted, as well as riding high on the idea I was an all-powerful vampire and could do what I wanted, that there was nothing I couldn't make okay. Five years into his marking, he killed himself. Took a piece of rebar, lay down on his bed and hammered it into his chest."

Selene came to a halt. Butch released her, moving off the path to drop to his boot heels and study one of the bushes, brushing his large fingers over a frond. Feathery pieces came free, floated away. "We all hear how it feels to lose a servant," he said, watching them drift, his rugged profile turned to her, the short pieces of his dark hair fluttering over his high brow. "Like having your heart gripped in a fist, all your organs seizing up. Even though we don't need to breathe, we're gasping for air. It's like a glimpse of what death will be like, up close and personal. It's one of the ironies of our world that we own them completely, but nothing else reminds us of our mortality quite so much, or that we can and do love, care, hurt...and grieve."

His gaze lifted to her. "You won't hear a born vampire talk about that. They keep it hammered down, maybe don't feel it at all. Maybe we do because we've been human. Regardless, yes, Selene, I've been where you've been on this. A young vampire makes mistakes just like a young human does, only we seem to have fewer guardian angels watching over us and protecting others from our missteps."

She set her jaw. "I already feel like shit about this. Is it necessary to kick me while I'm down? You already did that. I probably did get blood on your nice rug."

He gave her a fang-baring smile. "A smart vampire finds the balance between spirit and docility. I expect you're a little heavy on the front end, but that's fine. I prefer a vampire to speak her mind, even if I'm going to knock her down for it. Tells me fear doesn't govern you. But shut up. Because I'm not kicking you when you're down." He took her hand, gave it a none-too-gentle squeeze. "What I'm telling you is you didn't necessarily do the wrong thing, even if you did it on impulse."

Surprise filled her. An automatic denial rose to her lips, because obviously she had screwed up by marking Quinn when her life was so unsettled, but he wasn't done.

"Only time will tell. Right now you're feeling trapped, and you're trying to figure out how to get him out of it. But he's telling you he's willing to see it through with you. I chose the wrong servant. You could have, but maybe you didn't. Give him the chance to ride this out with you and see where you land afterward. If you're willing to stand up for yourself, accept you made a mistake but live with it, instead of crawling back to Laurent and begging for death like some kind of whipped cur, you might be the kind of vampire I want in my territory. Understand?"

He pursed his lips. "Women tend to decide the best way to handle a problem is accept the blame for everything and make it right for everyone else. In our world, the best way to handle a problem is accept responsibility, say fuck you to those who'd take you to task for it and move forward. So?"

He cocked a brow at her. Despite her whirling mind, aching ribs and ruined shirt, she couldn't help a grudging smile at his expectant look. "Fuck you?"

"Are you asking or telling me? Afraid I'll hit you again?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Fuck you."

He nodded. "Better. Good girl. Now we'd best return so you can simmer that cowboy down before Dix has to hogtie him. Which Dix might actually enjoy, 'cause he's got a bit of the Dom in him when it comes to dealing with other servants." His teeth flashed. "Tonight may not be the night to let your boy see that side of things. But he could handle seeing some of what it's about, a testing of the waters, and that would bring me pleasure. Which, given it's my house, is what it's all about."

She blinked at his charming smile that reminded her of a tiger licking his chops, then he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow again and strolled back toward the house. "So we'll have dinner, bunk you all down. Unless I change my mind, you'll head back to Nightfall tomorrow night. I'll get things going between my Region Master and Laurent's." He slanted her a glance. "Once that's initiated, Laurent can't take you out of my territory until a decision is made, but I have to alert him to the process once it starts, which means he'll know where you are. I'll give you a heads-up right before I call him. But whatever the Region Masters decide, we have to abide by it. Understand?"

She nodded, tension coiling in her lower belly. Facing Laurent again was not something she'd relish. Ever.

"I'll do my best to keep you here though," Butch said, offering her that much. "I can't predict what the Region Masters will decide, but my guess is it will be something along the lines of giving your first ten years of profit to New York to compensate Laurent for his loss. Can you live with meeting your operating costs and handing the rest to him for a decade? It's got to be a fair shake. If you're not making comparable money with what you did for him, he'll call foul and it will get negotiated on much worse terms for you."

It was a sour pill to swallow, but she understood what "much worse" could mean. "Profits on the saloon only?"

"Does he know about Quinn?"

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