The color momentarily freaked Van out, and the other lesser took advantage of the lapse in focus by spinning him over onto his back.
Yeah, not happening, not this time. Van balled his fist and rammed it into the guy's temple at exactly the right force and the right place, knocking the lesser stupid. With a quick surge, Van kicked his opponent over, straddled the slayer's chest and repeated the punch over and over again, battering the skull until the bone helmet went soft. And he just kept going, sticking to the task until the very structure of the man's face let go, the head becoming a loose bag, his opponent dead and then some.
"Finish him!" Xavier called from the sidelines.
Van looked up, panting hard. "I just did."
"No . . .finish him!"
"How?"
"You should know what to do!" Xavier's pale eyes shined with an eerie desperation. "You must!"
Van wasn't clear on exactly how much deader he could make the guy, but he grabbed the lesser by the ears and twisted until the neck snapped. Then he eased off the body. Though he had no heart that beat anymore, his lungs burned and his body was deliciously logy from exertion... except the logy didn't last.
He started to laugh. Already the strength was returning to him, just pouring in from somewhere else as if he'd eaten and slept and recovered for days.
Xavier's boots landed hard in the ring and the Fore-lesser strode over, furious. "I told you to finish him, goddamn it."
"Uh-huh. Right." Christ. Xavier just had to suck the triumph out of the moment. "You think he's walking away from this?"
Xavier shook with rage as he took out a knife. "I told you to finish him."
Van tensed up and leaped to his feet. But Xavier just bent over that messy, punching bag of a lesser and stabbed the thing in the chest. There was a flash of light and then... gone. Nothing but black smudges on the ring's tarmac.
Van backed up until he hit the fencing. "What the hell..."
From across the way, Xavier pointed the knife right at Van's chest. "I have expectations for you."
"Like... what?"
"You should be able to do that" - he jabbed toward the disintegration mark with the blade - "on your own."
"So give me a knife next time."
Xavier shook his head, a bizarre kind of panic flaring in his face. "Fuck!" He paced around, then muttered, "It's just going to take time. Let's go."
"What about the blood?" Man, that oily black stuff suddenly made him dizzy.
"Like I give a shit?" Xavier picked up the dead lesser's duffel bag and left.
As Van followed him out of the parking garage, he found it really f**king annoying that Mr. X was playing it like this. The fight had been a good one and Van had won. He wanted to enjoy the feeling.
In strained silence, the two of them headed for the minivan, which was parked blocks away, and as they went along, Van scrubbed his face with a towel and tried not to curse. When they got to the car, Xavier slid behind the wheel.
"Where are we going?" Van asked as he got in.
Xavier didn't answer, just started to drive, so Van stared out the windshield, wondering how he could get away from the guy. Not easily, he suspected.
As they passed by a new skyscraper that was going up, he eyed the men pulling the nightshift. Under electric lights, the union crews were all over the building like ants, and he envied them even though he'd hated doing what they did.
Man, if he were still one of them, he wouldn't be dealing with Mr. X's crap attitude.
On a whim, Van lifted his right hand and looked at his missing pinkie, remembering how he'd done it. So f**king stupid. He'd been at a construction site, cutting boards on a table saw, and decided to take the guards off the machine to make the process go faster. One lapse of focus later and his finger had ended up flying through the air with the greatest of ease. The blood loss had seemed tremendous, the stuff leaking all over him, covering the saw's flat back, soaking into the ground. Red, not black.
Van put his hand to his chest and felt nothing beating behind his breastbone.
Anxiety trembled down the back of his neck, like spiders slipping under his collar. He glanced at Xavier, the only resource he had. "Are we alive?"
"No."
"But that guy was killed, right? So we must be alive."
Xavier's eyes shot across the seat. "We're not alive. Trust me."
"What happened to him, then?"
Exhaustion flared in Xavier's pale, dead stare, the drooping of his lids making him look like he was a million years old.
"What happened to him, Mr. X?"
The Fore-lesser didn't answer, just kept on driving.
Chapter Twenty-four
Marissa materialized on the terrace of Rehvenge's penthouse and nearly collapsed. As she lurched for the sliding door, he opened it wide.
"Marissa, good God." He shot his arm around her and pulled her inside.
Overcome with bloodlust, she gripped his biceps, the thirst in her so strong she was liable to bite him where he stood. To keep from ripping his throat open, she yanked out of his hold, but he caught her and spun her around.
"Come over here right now!" He all but threw her on the couch. "You're about to shock out on me."
As she hit the cushions in a heap, she knew he was right. Her body was wildly off balance, her head spinning, her hands and feet numb. Her stomach was an empty, grinding pit, her fangs throbbing, her throat dry as winter, hot as August.
But when he yanked his tie off and popped the buttons on his shirt, she mumbled, "Not at your throat. I can't bear that... not your - "
"You're too far gone for the wrist. You won't get enough and we're out of time."
As if on cue, her vision started to dim and she began to pass out. She heard him swear and then he pulled her on top of him, shoved her face in his neck and...
Biology took over. She bit him so hard she felt his big body jerk and she sucked at him with mindless instinct. With a great roar, his strength poured into her gut and spread out to her limbs and made her body come back to life.
As she swallowed with desperation, her tears flowed as thick as his blood.
Rehvenge held Marissa loosely, hating the starvation that rode her so hard. She was such a fragile, delicate thing. She should never be in this desperate state, and he ran his hands up and down her willowy back, trying to calm her. While she cried silently, he got pissed. Christ, what was wrong with that male she was so into? How could he force her to come to another?
Ten minutes later, she lifted her head. There was a little streak of blood on her lower lip and Rehv had to grab onto the sofa arm so he didn't lean up and lick it off.
With satiated grace but a face marked by tears, Marissa eased back against the leather cushions at the other end of the couch and cradled herself with her thin arms. She closed her eyes and he watched the color float back into her wet cheeks.
God, look at that hair of hers. So fine. So lush. So perfect. He wanted to be naked and unmedicated and hard as a stone, with those blond waves all over his body. And if he couldn't have all that, he wanted to kiss her. Right now.
Instead, he reached for his suit coat, grabbed his handkerchief, and leaned over to her. She jumped as he blotted her tears, and she took the linen square from him quickly.
He went back to his corner of the sofa. "Marissa, come stay with me. I want to take care of you."
In the silence that followed, he thought about where she was staying - and figured the male she wanted had to be at the Brotherhood's compound. "You're still in love with Wrath, aren't you."
Her eyes flipped open. "What?"
"You said you couldn't feed from the male you wanted. Wrath's mated now - "
"It's not him."
"Phury, then? As a celibate - "
"No, and I - I just can't talk about it, if you don't mind." She looked down at his handkerchief. "Rehvenge, I would really love some time alone. May I sit here for a little while? By myself?"
Even though he wasn't used to being dismissed, especially not from his own turf, he was so willing to cut her some slack. "Stay as long as you like, tahlly. Just close the slider when you leave. I'll remote the alarm after you go."
As he put his suit coat on, he left his tie loose and his shirt collar open because she'd chewed him raw and the bite marks were too tender to be covered. Not that he cared in the slightest.
"You are so kind to me," she said, staring at his loafers.