He was so pathetic. But as long as she had no idea how whipped he was, he could almost handle it. Which was why he was on edge tonight. He didn't want to be caught hanging out in the clinic in case she thought he was after her. After all, a man had to have his pride. At least, as far as the outside world could see.
He checked his watch. A whopping thirteen minutes had passed. He figured this session with the shrink was an hour, so his Patek Philippe's long hand had to take forty-seven more trips around before he could stuff the kid back in the car and bust on out of here.
"Would you like some coffee?" a female voice said.
He looked up. A nurse dressed in a white uniform was standing in front of him. She looked young, especially as she fiddled with one of her sleeves. She also seemed desperate to do something.
"Yeah, sure. Coffee'd be good."
She smiled broadly, her fangs showing. "How do you like it?"
"Black. Black's fine. Thanks."
The whisper of her soft-soled shoes faded while she went down the corridor.
Butch unbuttoned his double-breasted jacket and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. The Valentino suit he'd put on before coming was one of his favorites. So was the Hermes tie around his neck. And the Gucci loafers on his feet.
If he got busted by Marissa, he'd figured he might as well look as good as he ever did.
"Do you want me to drug you?"
Bella focused on Zsadist's face as he loomed above her. His black eyes were mere slits, and he had that beautiful flush of arousal on his stark cheekbones. He was heavy on top of her, and as the needing rose again she thought of him releasing inside of her. She'd felt a wondrous, cooling ease as soon as he'd started to come, the first relief she'd had since the symptoms of the needing had started a couple of hours ago.
But the drive was back now.
"Would you like me to put you out, Bella?"
Maybe it would be better if he drugged her. This was going to be a long night, and from what she understood, it would only get harder and more intense as the hours churned. Was it really fair of her to ask that he stay?
Something soft stroked her cheek. His thumb, brushing over her skin.
"I won't leave you," he said. "No matter how long, no matter how many times. I'll serve you and let you take my vein until it's over. I will not abandon you."
Staring up into his face, she knew without asking that this would be their only time together. The resolve was in his eyes. She could see it clearly.
One night and no other.
Abruptly he lifted his body from hers and reached for the bedside table. His tremendous erection stood out straight from his hips, and just as he came back with a syringe, she grasped his hard flesh.
He hissed and swayed before catching himself by throwing a hand down to the mattress.
"You," she whispered. "Not the drug. I want you."
He dropped the needle on the floor and kissed her, spreading her thighs with his knees. She guided him into her body and felt a glorious rush as he filled her. With a mighty swell her pleasure rose and then broke into two separate needs, one for his sex, one for his blood. Her fangs elongated as she eyed the thick vein at the side of his neck.
As if he sensed what she needed, he twisted his body around so he could stay inside of her while giving her access to his throat.
"Feed," he said hoarsely, his body moving into her and pulling back. "Take what you need."
She bit him without hesitation, piercing right through the slave band, going deep into his skin. As his taste hit her tongue, she heard a roar leave him. And then the strength and the power of him washed over her, through her.
O fell still over his captive, unsure he'd heard right. The vampire he'd caught downtown and brought to the shed behind the cabin was strapped to the table, a butterfly mounted.
He'd captured the male only with plans to work out his frustration. He'd never imagined he'd learn anything useful.
"What was that?" O put his ear down closer to the civilian's mouth.
"She is called... Bella. The one... the female who was taken... her name...Bella."
O straightened, a heady, balmy bloom flowing across his skin. "Do you know if she's alive?"
"I thought she was dead." The civilian coughed weakly. "She's been gone so long."
"Where does her family live?" When there was no immediate answer, O did something guaranteed to open the male's mouth. After the scream faded, O said, "Where is her family?"
"I don't know. I... don't honestly know. Her family... I don't know... I don't know... "
Babble, babble, babble. The civilian slid into the diarrhea-of-the-mouth stage of interrogation, becoming all but useless.
O slapped the thing into silence. "Address. I want an address."
When there was no reply, he provided another source of encouragement. The male gasped under the fresh onslaught, and then blurted, "Twenty-seven Formann Lane."
O's heart started pumping, but he leaned over the vampire casually. "I'm going to go there right now. If you've told the truth I'll set you free. If you haven't I'll kill you slowly as soon as I get back. Now, do you want to change anything?"
The civilian's eyes darted away. Came back.
"Hello?" O said. "You hear me?"
To hurry the civilian up, he applied pressure to a sensitive area. The thing yelped like a dog.
"Tell me," O said softly. "And I'll let you go. This will all stop."
The male's face squeezed into itself, his mouth peeling up and revealing gritted teeth. A tear snaked down his bruised cheek. Though there was the temptation to add another shot of agony as inducement, O decided not to upset the battle between conscience and self-preservation.
"Twenty-seven Thorne."
"Avenue, right?"
"Yes."
O wiped off the tear. Then slit the civilian's throat wide-open.
"You are such a liar," he said as the vampire bled out.
O didn't hang around, just grabbed his jacket full of weapons and left. He was damn sure the addresses were nothing. That was the problem with persuasion. You really couldn't trust the information you got.
He'd check out whatever was there on both streets, but he was clearly being jerked around.
Waste of f**king time.
Chapter Thirty-two
Butch swirled the last inch of coffee around the bottom of the mug, thinking that the stuff was the color of Scotch. As he tossed the cold swill back, he wished it were some high-test Lagavulin.
He checked his watch. Six minutes till seven. God, he hoped the session was only an hour. If everything went smooth, he could drop John at Tohr and Wellsie's and be sitting on his couch with a shot glass at his elbow before CSI came on.
He winced. No wonder Marissa wouldn't see him. What a frickin' catch. High-functioning alcoholic living in a world that wasn't his own.
Yay. Let's beat feet for the altar.
As he pictured himself at home, he had a passing thought about V's warning to get away from the compound. Trouble was, being out at a bar or on the streets alone was not a good plan, not with the mood he was in. He was as raw as the weather.
A few minutes later, voices drifted down the corridor, and John came around the corner with an older woman. The poor kid looked like he'd been pulled through a ringer. His hair was standing up like weeds, as if he'd been shoving his hands into it, and his eyes were glued to the floor. That notebook was clutched to his chest as though the thing were a bulletproof vest.
"So we'll see about the next appointment, John," the female said softly. "After you've thought about it."
John didn't respond, and Butch forgot about all his own whiny crap. Whatever had come out in that office was still out, and the boy needed a buddy. He put his arm around the kid tentatively, and when John leaned into him, all of Butch's protective instincts reared up and snarled. He didn't care that the therapist looked like Mary Poppins; he wanted to yell at her for upsetting the little guy.
"John?" she said. "You'll get back in touch with me about the next - "
"Yeah, we'll call you," Butch muttered. UAH-Hugh, right.
"I told him there was no rush. But I do think he should come again."
Butch glanced over at the woman, thoroughly annoyed... only to have her eyes scare the shit out of him. They were so damned serious, so very grave. What the hell had gone down in that session?
Butch looked at the top of John's head. "Let's go, J-man."
John didn't move, so Butch gave him a little push, and led the way out of the clinic, his arm still on the kid's thin shoulders. When they got to the car John climbed into the seat, but didn't put his belt on. He just stared straight ahead.