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Not that the whys mattered at the moment. All she knew was the hunger.
Her lips parted and she started to reach for him -
Except what would happen if she drank from him?
Well, that was easy. She'd drain him dry trying to satisfy herself because his human blood was so weak. She would kill him.
But God, he would taste good.
She cut off the voice of the bloodlust, and in an act of iron will, put her arms under the sheets. "I'll see you tonight."
As Butch straightened, his eyes dulled and he put his hands over the front of his hips, like he was hiding an erection. Which naturally made the urge to grab him get even stronger.
"You take care of yourself, Marissa," he said in a low, sad tone.
He was at the door when she said, "Butch?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't think of you as weak."
He frowned as if wondering where that came from. "Neither do I. Sleep well, beautiful. I'll see you soon."
When she was alone, she waited for the hunger to pass and it did. Which gave her some hope. With everything that was going on right now, she would love to put feeding off for a little while. Getting so close to Rehvenge just seemed wrong.
Chapter Eighteen
Van drove downtown as night came rolling over Caldwell. After getting off the highway, he took a half-assed access road to the river, easing his truck along a pothole-riddled strip that ran beneath the city's big bridge. Stopping under a pylon marked f-8 in orange spray paint, he got out and looked around.
Traffic overhead rushed by, semis bumping along with echoing thunder, cars letting off the occasional horn blast. Down here, at river level, the Hudson was almost as loud as the din from above. The day had been the first to carry a shot of spring warmth, and the water was flowing fast from the runoff of melting snow.
The dark gray rush looked like liquid asphalt. Smelled like dirt.
He scanned the area, instincts hackling up. Man, alone under the bridge was never a good place to be. Especially as daylight faded.
Fuck this, he shouldn't have come. He turned back to his truck.
Xavier stepped from the shadows. "Glad you made it, son."
Van sucked back his surprise. Shit, the guy was like some kind of ghost. "Why couldn't we do this over the phone?" Well, didn't that sound weak. "I got things I have to f**king do."
"I need you to help me with something."
"I told you I wasn't interested."
Xavier smiled a little. "Yes, you did, didn't you."
The sound of wheels on loose gravel percolated into Van's ears and he looked to the left. The Chrysler Town & Country, that gold-toned, utterly forgettable minivan, was pulling up right next to him.
Keeping his eyes on Xavier, Van put his hand in his pocket and slipped his finger into the trigger of his nine. If they were going to try and whack him, they were going to get a lead fight.
"There's something in the back for you, son. Go ahead. Open her up." There was a pause. "Afraid, Van?"
"Fuck that." He walked over, ready to pull out his heat. But when he slid back the door, all he could do was recoil. His brother, Richard, was tied up with nylon rope, strips of duct tape over his mouth and his eyes.
"Jesus, Rich..." When he reached forward, he heard a gun get cocked and he looked up at the minivan's driver. The pale-haired bastard behind the wheel was pointing what looked like a Smith & Wesson forty right in Van's face.
"I'd like you to rethink my invitation," Xavier said.
Behind the wheel of Sally Forrester's Honda, Butch cursed as he took a left at a stoplight and saw a Caldwell PD patrol car parked at the Stewart's on the corner of. Framingham and Hollis. Holy hell. Driving around in a stolen car with two grand in cash did not make a guy feel relaxed.
Good thing he had backup. V was right on his ass in the Escalade as they headed to the Barnstable Road address.
Nine and a half minutes later, Butch found Sally's little Cape Cod. After he killed the headlights and let the Accord roll to a stop, he broke the wire connection to cut off the engine. The house was dark, so he walked right up to the front door, shoved the envelope with the cash through the mail slot, and then beat feet across the street for the Escalade. He wasn't worried about getting caught on this quiet street. If anyone asked questions, V would just do a mental Windex on them.
He was getting into the SUV when he froze, an odd feeling rushing through him.
For no apparent reason, his body started to ring - that was the only way he could describe it. Like there was a cell phone smack dead in the center of his chest.
Down the street... down the street. He had to go down the street.
Oh, God - lessers were there.
"What is it, cop?"
"I feel them. They're close."
"Game on, then." Vishous slipped out from behind the wheel and they both shut their doors. As V hit the alarm, the Escalade's lights flashed once. "Go with it, cop. Let's see where this takes us."
Butch started walking. Then fell into a jog.
Together they ran through the shadows of the peaceful subdivision, staying out of the pools of light thrown by porches and streetlamps. They cut through someone's backyard. Dodged around an aboveground pool. Sidled past a garage.
The neighborhood got shittier. Dogs barked in warning. A car passed by with no headlights on and rap thumping. And then an abandoned house. Followed by an empty lot. Until finally they came up to a decrepit two-story from the seventies that was surrounded by a nine-foot-high wooden fence.
"In here," Butch said, looking around for a gate.
"Give me your leg, cop."
As Butch grabbed the top of the fence and cocked his knee, V tossed him over the thing like he was the morning newspaper. He landed in a crouch.
There they were. Three lessers. Two of whom were dragging a male out of the house by his arms.
Butch went into an instant overboil. He was radioactive angry about what had been done to him, frustrated by his fears for Marissa, trapped by his human nature - and those slayers became the focal point of his aggression.
Except V materialized next to him and grabbed his shoulder. As Butch wheeled around to tell the brother to f**k off, Vishous hissed, "You can have at them. Just keep it quiet. We've got eyes everywhere and without Rhage around, I need to fight on all cylinders, true? So I can't pull off no mhis. I'm not going to be able to mask this one."
Butch stared at his roommate, realizing this was the first time he'd ever been given free rein to go fight. "Why are you letting me in now?"
"We gotta be sure whose side you're on," V said, unsheathing a dagger. "And this is how we'll know. So I'll take the two with the civilian and you hit the other one."
Butch nodded once, then sprang forward, aware of a great roaring between his ears and within his body. As he gunned for the lesser that was about to move in on the house, the thing turned like he heard the approach.
The bastard merely looked annoyed as Butch ran up on him. "About time you backups showed." The slayer pivoted away. "There are two females in here. The blonde's really fast, so I want her - "
Butch tackled the lesser from behind and made like a vise, clamping on to the f**ker's head and shoulders. It was like mounting a rodeo horse. The slayer went shit wild and spun around, grabbing at Butch's legs and arms. When that didn't work, the thing slammed the two of them back against the house hard enough to dent the aluminum siding.
Butch stayed locked on, his forearm tight against the lesser's esophagus, his other hand on his straining wrist, pulling back. To get an even better hold, he linked his legs around the slayer's hips, crossed his ankles, and squeezed with his thighs.
It took a while, but asphyxia and exertion eventually slowed the undead down.
Except, holy hell, by the time the lesser's knees started to wobble, Butch knew what a pinball felt like. He'd been knocked against the house's exterior, then its front doorjamb, and now they were in the hall and he was getting banged back and forth in the narrow space. His brains were pinging around the inside of his skull and his internal organs were like scrambled eggs, but, goddamn it, he was not letting go. The longer he kept the lesser occupied, the more chance those females had to escape -
Oh, shit, it was Tilt-A-Whirl time. The world spun and Butch hit the floor first, the lesser turtling over on top of him.
Bad place to be. Now he was the one who couldn't breathe.
He threw out a leg, kicked against the wall, and slid out from under, wrenching the lesser's torso. Unfortunately, the bastard pulled a twist move, too, and the two of them started rolling around and around on the nasty orange carpet. Finally, Butch's strength wore out.
