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When he heard fast footsteps, he glanced up at the open double doors. Marissa walked by, heading for the staircase and looking desolate. Butch was tight on her heels, looking worse.
Oh, no... He hoped they would be okay. He liked them both so much.
When a door shut with a bang upstairs, he walked over to the diamond-pane windows and stared outside. As he put his hand up to the glass, he thought about what Wrath had said - that Tohr was alive, somewhere.
He so wanted to believe that.
"Sire?" When he turned at the sound of Fritz's voice, the old man smiled. "Your guest has arrived. Shall I show her in?"
John swallowed. Twice. Then nodded. Fritz disappeared and a moment later a woman appeared in the doorway. Without looking at John, she bowed to him and stayed parallel to the floor in supplication. She seemed to be about six feet tall and was wearing something like a white toga. Her blond hair was coiled on top of her head, and though he couldn't see her face now, the split-second eyeball he'd gotten of it stuck with him.
She was beyond beautiful. Straight into angel territory.
There was a long silence, during which all he could do was stare.
"Your grace," she said softly. "May I meet thine eyes?"
He opened his mouth. Then started to nod frantically.
Except she just stayed as she was. Well, duh, she couldn't see him. Shit.
"Your grace?" Now her voice wavered a little. "Perhaps... you would care for another of us?"
John went over to her and lifted his hand to touch her lightly. Um, where, though? That toga thing was low-cut and slit up the sleeves as well as down the front of the skirt... God, she smelled good.
He tapped her awkwardly on the shoulder, and she inhaled as if he'd surprised her.
"Your grace?"
With a little pressure on her arm, he brought her upright. Whoa ... her eyes were really green. Like summer grapes. Or the inside of a lime.
He gestured to his throat and then made a cutting motion with his hand.
Her perfect face tilted to the side. "You do not speak, your grace?"
He shook his head, a little surprised Wrath hadn't mentioned it. Then again, the king had a lot of other things on his mind.
In response, Layla's eyes positively glowed, and as she smiled, she knocked him out. Her teeth were perfect and her fangs were... incredibly lovely. "Your grace, the vow of silence is to be commended. Such self-discipline. You shall be a warrior of great power, you who have been bred from Darius son of Marklon's line."
Good Lord. She was seriously impressed by him. And hell, if she wanted to think he'd taken a vow, that was fine. No reason to tell her he had a defect.
"Perhaps you would like to have knowledge of me?" she said. "So that you are assured you shall have what you want when you are in need?"
He nodded and glanced over at the couch, thinking he was glad he'd brought a pad with him. Maybe they could sit there for a while and get to know one another -
When he looked back she was gloriously naked, the toga thing in a pool at her feet.
John felt his eyes bug out. Holy... shit.
"Do you approve, your grace?"
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph... Even if he'd had a voice box, he still would have been speechless.
"Your grace?"
As John started to nod, he thought, man, wait until he told Blaylock and Qhuinn about this.
Chapter Forty-five
The following evening, Marissa emerged from the basement rooms of Safe Place and tried to pretend that her world hadn't crashed and burned.
"Mastimon wants to talk to you," a little voice said.
Marissa turned around and saw the young with the leg cast. Forcing a smile, she crouched down and got eye to eye with the stuffed tiger. "Does he?"
"Yes. He says that you are not to be sad, because he is here to protect us. And he wants to hug you."
Marissa took the ratty toy and cradled it tight to her neck. "He is both fierce and kind."
"True. And you should keep him with you for now." The young's expression was all business. "I have to help mahmen prepare First Meal."
"I'll be careful of him."
With a solemn nod the young was off, pegging her half-pint crutches into the floor.
As Marissa held on to the tiger, she thought about what it had been like to pack up her few things and leave the Pit the night before. Butch had tried to talk her out of going, but the decision he'd made was in his eyes, so the words he'd spoken had made no difference.
The reality was, her love had not cured his death wish or his risk-taking personality. And as painful as the separation was, if she stayed with him, it would be worse: nothing but night after night of waiting for the call to come that he was dead. Or even more tragic, that he had turned into something evil.
Plus, the more she thought about it, the more she didn't trust him to keep safe. Not after his suicide attempt in the clinic. And the regression he'd volunteered for. And the transition he'd put himself through. And now the battling - the consuming of lessers. Yes, the outcomes had been positive so far, but the trend wasn't good: All she had to go on was a consistent pattern of self-abuse that she knew damn well sooner or later he was going to get seriously damaged by.
She loved him too much to watch him kill himself.
As tears came to her eyes, she wiped them away and stared into space. After a while, some kind of flickering thought, like an echo, flashed through the back of her mind. But whatever it was faded quickly.
Forcing herself to stand up, she was momentarily lost. She literally couldn't remember what she was doing or why she was in the hall. In the end, she headed for her office because there was always something waiting for her to do there.
One thing about being a former cop was you never lost your idiot radar.
Butch paused in the alley next to ZeroSum. Down the way, loitering at the club's emergency exit, was that half-pint, Euro-trash, flash-in-the-pan blond kid who'd made such a stink at the waitress last week. Next to him was one of his steakheads and the pair were lighting cigarettes.
Although why they were smoking it up out here in the cold didn't make a lot of sense.
Butch hung back and watched. Which of course gave him time to think. Which sucked, as usual. Man, anytime things got quiet, all he could see was Marissa getting into Fritz's Mercedes and that S600 disappearing through the gates.
With a curse, Butch rubbed the center of his chest and hoped like hell he found a lesser. He needed to fight something to take the edge off this perma - ache. Like now.
From off Trade Street, a car turned into the alley and came forward at a fast clip. As it flew past and stopped short at the club's side door, the black Infiniti was spinning enough chrome to qualify as a frickin' disco ball. And what do you know, Little Blond Dickhead sauntered over like this was an arranged meet-and-greet.
As the kid and the driver gum-flapped and palm-slapped, Butch couldn't tell exactly what was doing, but he was damn sure they weren't comparing cookie recipes.
When the Infiniti reversed it out, Butch stepped from the shadows, figuring there was one way of knowing if his hunch was correct: Assume and see what came back at him. "Tell me you aren't going to deal that shit inside? The Reverend hates freelancers."
The little blond guy wheeled around, all righteous pissed. "Who the f**k are - " His words dried up. "Wait, I've seen you before... except..."
"Yeah, I got my chassis overhauled. I run better now. Lot better. So what are you - " Butch froze as he felt his instincts fire up.
Lessen. Close by. Shit.
"Boys," he said calmly. "You need to take off now. And you can't reenter through that door."
Dickhead's attitude came back online. "Who do you think you are?"
"Trust me on this and get your groove on. Now."
"Fuck you, we can stand out here all night if we - " The punk froze, then blanched as a sweet smell rode down to them on a breeze. "Oh, my God..."
Hmmm, so Little Blond Dickhead was a pre-trans, not human. "Yeah, like I said. Get gone, kid."
The pair took off, but they weren't fast enough: A trio of lessers appeared at the open end of the alley, blocking their way.
Great. Just terrific.
Butch activated his newest wristwatch, sending out a beacon and coordinates. Within moments, V and Rhage materialized by his side.
"Use the strategy we agreed on," Butch muttered. "I'll sweep up."
The two nodded their heads as the lessers closed in.
Rehvenge stood up from his desk and pulled on his sable coat. "Gotta bounce, Xhex. Princeps Council meeting. I'm dematerializing, so I don't need the car, and I hope to be back in an hour. But before I go, what's the status of that newest OD?"
