Lover Unbound (Black Dagger Brotherhood 5)

Abruptly he whipped his head around, aware that they were not alone. "You, behind the column. Come out. Now."

A Chosen stepped into view, head bowed, body tense beneath her traditional white wrap. "Sire."

"What are you doing here?"

As the Chosen stared meekly at the marble floor, he thought, Lord save him from the subservience. Funny, during sex he'd demanded it. Now the shit annoyed the hell out of him.

"You'd better have come to comfort her," he growled. "If it's anything other than that, you need to get the hell out of here."

"It is for comfort," the Chosen said softly. "I worry for her."

"What's your name?"

"Chosen."

"For f**k's sake!" As both she and Cormia jumped, he forced his temper deep into his gut. "What is your name?"

"Amalya."

"Okay, then, Amalya. I want you to take care of her until I get back. That's an order." As the Chosen did some bowing and vowing, he took a last drag on the hand-rolled, then licked two of his fingers and pressed them to the tip. As he put the butt in the pocket of his robe, he wondered for no good reason why in the hell everyone had to wear f**king pajamas on the other side.

He glanced at Cormia. "See you in two days."

V left without looking back, walking up the white grass of the hill, avoiding the white silk path that had been laid out. When he came to the Scribe Virgin's courtyard, he prayed like hell he didn't run into her, and thanked God she wasn't around. The last thing he needed was a postgame wrap-up with the likes of Momzilla.

Under the watchful eyes of all those songbirds, he launched himself back to the real world, but he didn't go to the mansion.

He went exactly where he didn't need to be: He took form across the street from Jane's condo. It was a bad f**king idea on a skyscraper scale, but he was half-dead from sorrow and not thinking right, and besides, he didn't give a shit about anything. Not even the lines that couldn't be crossed between humans and his kind.

The night was cold, and he was barely dressed in the fakata ceremony clothes, but he didn't care. He was so numbed-out and wrecked in the head, he could have been naked in a sleet storm and not noticed -

What the hell.

There was a car in her driveway. A Porsche Carrera 4S. Same one Z had, only Z's was iron gray and this number was silver.

V hadn't intended to get closer than across the street, but that plan was blown out of the water as he inhaled and caught the scent of a male emanating from the convertible. It was that doctor, the one who'd pulled the lothario shit with her in the hospital room.

V materialized to the maple in her front yard and looked in through the kitchen window. Coffeepot was on. Sugar was out. There were two spoons on the counter.

Oh, hell, no. Hell mother f**king no.

V couldn't see much of the rest of the condo, so he jogged around the side, his bare feet screaming as he crunched through icy snow patches. As an old woman from the condo next door peered out her window as if she'd seen him, he threw some mhis around as a precaution - and because he figured he should do something that proved he had a brain.

This stalker routine sure as shit wasn't going to get him on Jeopardy!

As he came up to the back windows and got a look-see into the living room, he saw the death of another as clearly as if he'd committed the murder in real time:

That human male, that doctor, was on his knees and pressed up close to Jane as she sat on her sofa. The guy had one hand on her face, the other on her neck, and he was focused on her mouth.

V lost his concentration, dropped the mhis, and moved without thinking. Without reasoning. Without hesitation. He was nothing but screaming, bonded male instinct as went for the French doors, prepared to kill -

From out of nowhere Butch stepped in front of him, derailing the attack by grabbing him around the waist and dragging him away from the condo. It was a dangerous move, even between best friends. Unless you were an eighteen-wheeler, you didn't want to get in between a bonded male and the target of this kind of aggression: V's attack instinct shifted its focus instantly. He bared his fangs, hauled off, and punched his nearest and dearest in the side of the head.

The Irishman dropped V like a beehive, whipped back his fist, and threw a low-higher that caught V on the underside of his chin. As his jaw slammed into his skull and his teeth sang like a choir of angels, he caught fire sure as a dry meadow, instantly into overburn.

"Mhis, you f**ker," Butch spat. "You mhis this place first before we do this."

V slammed the visual block down and the two of them went at it hard-core, no holds barred, blood popping from noses and mouths as they pummeled the shit out of each other. Half way through, V realized this wasn't just about Jane being lost. It was about him being utterly alone. Even with Butch around, it wouldn't be the same without her, so it was as if V was left with nothing.

When it was all over, he and the cop lay flat on their backs side by side, chests heaving, sweat not so much drying on them as freezing. Shit, V could already feel the swelling: His knuckles and his face were going Michelin Man on him.

He coughed a little. "I need a cigarette."

"I need an ice pack and some Neosporin."

V rolled to the side, spat out some blood, then flopped back to where he'd been. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thanks. I needed that."

"No pr - " Butch groaned. "No problem. Damn, did you have to pound out my liver like that? As if the Scotch ain't enough of a problem for the thing."

"How did you know where I was?"

"Where else would you be? Phury came back alone and mentioned shit was going down, so I figured you'd eventually end up here." Butch cracked his shoulder and cursed. "Let's face it, the cop in me's like a radio tower for stupid morons. And no offense, but you're not winning any awards in the smarty division."

"I think I would have killed that man."

"I know you would have."

V lifted his head. When he couldn't see through Jane's windows, he pushed himself up on his elbows to get a clear shot. The sofa was empty.

He let himself fall down onto the ground again. Were the two of them making love upstairs in her bed? Right now? As he lay ruined on her back f**king lawn?

"Shit. I can't deal."

"I'm sorry, V. I really am." Butch cleared his throat. "Listen... it might be a good idea not to come here anymore."

"Said the jackass who did drive-bys on Marissa for how many months?"

"It's dangerous, V. For her."

V glared at his best friend. "If you are going to insist on being reasonable, I'm going to stop hanging with you."

Butch popped a misshapen smile - on account of the crack in his upper lip. "Sorry, buddy, you can't shake me even if you tried."

V blinked a couple of times, horrified at what he was about to say. "God, you're going for sainthood, you know that? You've always been there for me. Always. Even when I..."

"Even when you what?"

"You know."

"What?"

"Fuck. Even when I was in love with you. Or some shit."

Butch clasped his hands to his chest. "Was? Was? I can't believe you've lost interest." He threw one arm over his eyes, all Sarah Bernhardt. "My dreams of our future are shattered - "

"Shut it, cop."

Butch looked out from under his arm. "Are you kidding me? The reality show I had planned was fantastic. Was going to pitch it to VH1. Two Bites Are Better Than One. We were going to make millions."

"Oh, for the love."

Butch rolled over on his side and got serious. "Here's the deal, V. You and me? We're in this life together, and not just because of my curse. I don't know if I'm all into divine providence and shit, but there's a reason why we met. And as for that whole you-being-in-love-with-me thing? It was probably more about you just caring about someone for the first time."

"Okay, stop right there. You're giving me hives from this caring/sharing shit."

"You know I'm right."

"Fuck you, Dr. Phil."

"Good, I'm glad we agree." Butch frowned. "Hey, maybe I could have a talk show, since you aren't going to be my June Cleaver anymore. I could call it the O'Neal Hour. Sounds important, doesn't it?"

"First of all, you were going to be June Cleaver - "

"Screw that. No way I'd bottom for you."