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When she patted the couch seat, he went over with relief and sat beside her, taking her hands in his. God, she was so cold.
"I'm really ready for this," he said, with thick anticipation. Man, he was suddenly dying to head back to her bedroom. "Let's go."
A curious expression crossed her face. "You want to watch?"
He stopped breathing. "Watch?"
"I, ah... I'm not sure that's a good idea."
As her words hit him, Butch became aware of a sinking feeling in his gut. Like someone had popped the stoppers on a number of his internal organs. "What are you talking about, watch?"
"When I'm with the male who lets me take his vein."
Abruptly, Marissa recoiled, giving him a good idea of what the expression on his face must be like.
Yeah, or maybe she was reacting to the fact that he'd started to growl.
"The other male," he said slowly, as he put it all together. "The one you told me you've been seeing. You've fed from him."
She nodded slowly. "Yes."
Butch jacked up to his feet. "Often?"
"Ah... four or five times."
"And he's an aristocrat, of course."
"Well, yes."
"And he'd make a socially acceptable mate for you, wouldn't he." Unlike a POS human. "Wouldn't he?"
"Butch, it isn't romantic. I swear."
Yeah, maybe on her side it wasn't. But it was damn hard to imagine any male not sexing her. The bastard would have to be impotent or some shit. "He's into you, isn't he. Answer the question, Marissa. Flyboy with the superhero plasma... he wants you, doesn't he? Doesn't he?"
God, where the hell was this wild jealousy coming from?
"But he knows I don't feel that way about him."
"Has he kissed you?"
When she didn't reply, Butch was very glad he didn't know the Joe's name and address. "You're not using him anymore. You have me."
"Butch, I can't feed from you. I'll take too - where are you going?"
He stalked across the room, shut the double doors, and locked them in together. As he came back at her, he tossed his black suit jacket on the floor and ripped open his shirt, the buttons popping off and flying everywhere. Falling to his knees in front of her, he tilted back his head and offered his throat, himself, to her.
"You will use me."
There was a long silence. Then her scent, that gorgeous clean fragrance, intensified until it flooded the room. Her body began to shake, her mouth opening.
As her fangs unsheathed, he got an instant erection.
"Oh... yeah," he said in a dark voice. "Take me. I need to feed you."
"No," she moaned, tears glowing in her cornflower blue eyes.
She made a move to get up, but he jumped at her, taking her by the shoulders, holding her down on the couch. He moved himself between her legs, bringing their bodies together, getting all up in her. While she trembled against him and pushed at him, he kept her close, nuzzling her, nipping her ear, sucking on her jaw. Before long, she stopped fighting to get away. And started gripping the two halves of his shirt to pull him in tighter.
"That's right, baby," he growled. "You grab on to me. Let me feel those fangs get into me deep. I want it."
He palmed the back of her head and brought her mouth to his throat. As an arc of pure sexual power exploded between them, they both began to pant, her breath and tears hot on his skin.
But then she seemed to come to her senses. She struggled hard and he did his best to keep her in place, even though they were both going to end up with bruises. And even though he was ultimately going to lose the fight against her. As he was just a human, she was stronger, even though he outweighed her by well over a hundred pounds.
But hopefully she would give in and use him before his energy flagged.
"Marissa, please, take me," he groaned, his voice hoarse from the struggle and now the begging.
"No..."
His heart broke as she sobbed, but he didn't let her go. He couldn't. "Take what's inside of me. I know I'm not good-enough, but take me anyway - "
"Don't make me do this - "
"I have to." God, he felt like crying with her.
"Butch..." Her body bucked and strained against his, their clothes flapping as they struggled. "I can't hold back... for much longer... let me go... before I hurt you."
"Never."
It happened so fast. His name shot out of her on a yell and then he felt a searing blaze of pain at the side of his throat.
Her fangs sinking into his jugular.
"Oh .. .fuck... yes ... !" He loosened his grip and cradled her as she latched on to his neck. He barked her name at the first erotic draw, the first hard suck on his vein, the first swallow for her. As she repositioned for a better angle, pleasure swamped him, sparks flowing all through his body as if he were orgasming. This was so the way it had to be. He needed her to take from him in order to live -
Marissa broke the contact and dematerialized, right out of his arms.
Butch fell headfirst into the empty air where she'd been, face-planting into the sofa cushions. In a messy scramble, he shoved himself to his feet and spun around. "Marissa! Marissa!"
He threw himself at the doors and clawed at the lock, but couldn't get free.
Then he heard her broken, desperate voice on the other side. "I'll kill you... God help me, but I'll kill you... I want you too much."
He pounded on the door. "Let me out!"
"I'm sorry - " Her voice cracked, then grew strong. And he feared her resolve more than anything else. "I'm so sorry. I'll come to you afterward. After it is done."
"Marissa, don't do this - "
"I love you."
He beat the wood with his fists. "I don't care if I die! Don't go to him!"
When the lock finally gave way, he burst into the hall and ran flat out for the staircase.
But by the time he threw open the mansion's front door she was gone.
Across town, in the underground parking garage where the brokered fights took place, Van hopped into the chicken-wire cage and bounced on the balls of his feet. The drumbeat of him warming up echoed through the concrete levels, cutting off the silence.
Tonight there was no crowd, just three people. But he was juiced like it was standing room only.
Van was the one who'd suggested the locale to Mr. X, and he'd shown them how to break into the place. As he knew the schedule of fights, he'd been sure there wouldn't be anyone around this evening and a big part of him wanted to have his glory, his resurrection here in this ring, not in some anonymous basement somewhere.
He tried out some kicks, so very satisfied with his strength, then eyed his opponent. The other lesser was just as lit for the hand-to-hand as he was.
From the other side of the cage, Xavier barked, "You don't stop until it's over. And Mr. D, on the ground unmoving is not 'over,' we clear?"
Van nodded, already used to being called by his last initial.
"Good." Xavier's palms clapped together and the fight was on.
Van and the other lesser circled each other, but Van had no intention of letting the slow-dance crap go on for long. He moved in first, throwing punches, forcing his opponent back against the cage. The guy took the bare-knuckled pounders like they were nothing more than spring rain on his cheeks and then tossed out a mean-ass right hook. The damn thing caught Van at an angle, splitting his lip open like an envelope.
It hurt, but the pain was good, a strengthener, something that focused him further. Van spun around and sent his foot out flying, a body bomb on the end of a steel chain. Sure as shit it took the lesser down, sprawling the guy flat. Van jumped on his opponent and cranked him into a submission hold, wrenching one arm back and around so the joints strained at the shoulder and elbow. Just a little tighter and he was going to pop this sucker right off -
The lesser pulled a smoothie, somehow nailing Van in the balls with his knee. Quick switch of positions and Van was on the bottom. Then another roll and they were up on their feet.
The fight went on and on, no time-outs, no breathers, the two of them battering the holy hell out of each other. It was flipping miraculous. Van felt like he could go for hours, no matter how beat up his body got. It was like he had an engine in him, a driving force, one that was not as dulled by exhaustion or pain as his old self had been.
When the break in the action finally came, the tipping factor was Van's special... whatever it was. Though the two of them were identically matched for strength, Van was the master at this, and he saw the opening for the win. He popped the other slayer in the gut, nailing a liver shot that would have left a human opponent shitting in his shorts. Then he picked his opponent up and slammed him down onto the ring floor. As he mounted the body and looked down, Van's blood welled from the cuts around his eyes and dropped onto the guy's face like tears... black tears.
