Lover Revealed (Black Dagger Brotherhood 4)

V marshaled his mind and sifted through the night, trying to find the small echo of himself inside Butch. Penetrating the darkness, he searched across fields and mountains and frozen lakes and rushing streams... out... out... out -

Oh, God.

Butch was alive. Barely. And he was... north and east. Twelve, maybe fifteen miles away.

As V took out his Glock, an iron hand grabbed his arm. Rhage was back with a hard-on. "You do not take those lessers on alone."

"I got it."

"Swear to me," Rhage snapped. Like he knew damn well V was thinking of rushing whoever held Butch and only calling for cleanup.

Except this was personal, not just about the war between the vampires and the Lessening Society. Those undead bastards had taken his - well, he didn't know what Butch was to him specifically. But it ran deeper than anything he'd felt in a long time.

"Vishous - "

"I'll call you when I'm good and f**king ready." V dematerialized free of his brother's hold.

Traveling in a loose scramble of molecules, he misted out into Caldwell's rural farmland to a grove of woods beyond a pond that was still frozen. He triangulated his reappearance about a hundred yards away from the signal he got from Butch, coming together crouched and ready for a fight.

Which was a good plan because, holy hell, he could feel lessers everywhere -

V frowned and held his breath. Moving slowly, he turned in a semicircle, searching with his eyes and his ears, not his instincts. There were no slayers around. There was nothing around. Not even a shack or a hunting lodge -

Abruptly, he shuddered. No, there was something in these woods, all right - a big ass something, a condensed mark of malevolence, an evil that made him twitchy.

The Omega.

As he swiveled his head toward the dreadful concentration, a cold blast of wind nailed him in the face, like Mother Nature was urging him in the opposite direction.

Tough shit. He had to get his roommate out of here.

V ran toward what he could sense of Butch, his shitkickers punching through the crusty snow. Up ahead, the full moon shone brightly at the margin of a cloudless sky, but the presence of evil was so vivid V could have followed the way blindfolded. And shit, Butch was close to that blackness.

Fifty yards later, V saw the coyotes. They were circling something on the ground, growling not as if they were hungry but as if the pack was being threatened.

And whatever had captured their interest was of such magnitude they didn't even notice V's approach. To break them up, he pointed his gun overhead and let off a couple of rounds. The coyotes scattered and -

V skidded to a halt. As he looked at what was on the ground, he couldn't swallow. Which was fine, because his mouth went dry.

Butch was lying in the snow on his side, naked, beaten, blood all over him, face swollen and bruised. His thigh was bandaged, but whatever wound was under the gauze had bled through. None of that was the horror, however. Evil was all around the cop... all around... shit, he was the black, foul footprint V had sensed.

Oh, sweet Virgin in the Fade.

Vishous did a quick scan of the environs, then dropped to his knees and gently laid his gloved hand on his friend. As a painful zinger shot up his arm, V's instincts told him to bolt because what he'd laid his palm on was to be avoided at all costs. Evil.

"Butch, it's me. Butch?"

With a groan, the cop stirred, a kind of hope flaring in his battered face, as if he'd lifted his head to the sun. But then the expression faded.

Dear Lord, the man's eyes were frozen shut because he'd been crying and the tears hadn't gotten far in the cold.

"Don't worry, cop. I'm going to..." Do what? The male was about to die out here, but what the hell had been done to him? He was saturated by darkness.

Butch's mouth opened. The hoarse sounds that came out might have been words, but they didn't carry.

"Cop, don't say anything. I'm going to take care of you - "

Butch shook his head and began to move. With pathetic weakness, he stretched out his arms and grabbed at the ground, trying to pull his broken body through the snow. Away from V.

"Butch, it's me - "

"No..." The cop went all frantic, clawing, dragging himself. "Infected... don't know how... infected... you can't... take me. Don't know why..."

V used his voice like a slap, making it sharp and loud. "Butch! Stop it!"

The cop settled down, although whether it was because he was following orders or had run out of steam wasn't clear.

"What the hell did they do to you, my man?" V whipped out a Mylar blanket from his jacket and put it around his roommate.

"Infected." Butch awkwardly rolled onto his back and shoved the silver sheath down, his busted-up hand falling onto his belly. "In... fected."

"What the f**k..."

There was a fist-sized black circle on the cop's stomach, something like a bruise with highly defined edges. In the center of it, there seemed to be... a surgical scar.

"Shit." They'd put something in him.

"Kill me." Butch's voice was a chilling rasp. "Kill me now. Infected. Something... inside. Growing..."

V sat back on his heels and grabbed at his hair. Forcing his emotions to the back burner, he put his mind to work and prayed that his overdose of gray matter would come to the rescue. Moments later, the conclusion he reached was radical but logical, and it focused him to the point of calmness. He un-sheathed one of his black daggers with a perfectly steady hand and leaned in to his roommate.

What shouldn't be in there needed to come out. And given the evil that it was, the extraction had to be done here, in neutral territory, rather than at home or in Havers's clinic. Plus, death was breathing down the cop's neck, and the sooner he was decontam'd the better.

"Butch, buddy, I want you to take a deep breath, then hold still. I'm going to - "

"Be of care, warrior."

V whirled around in a crouch. Right behind him, hovering above the ground, was the Scribe Virgin. As always she was pure power, her black robes unruffled by the wind, her face hidden, her voice clear as the night air.

Vishous opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "Before you o'erstep your bounds and render inquiry, I will tell you, no, I cannot help directly. This is a matter of the sort I must stay out of. However, I will say this. You would be wise to unveil the curse you detest. Handling what is within him will bring you closer to death than ever you have been. And no one could remove it save you." She smiled a little, as if she read his thoughts. "Yes, this moment now is part of the reason you dreamed of him in the beginning. But there is another why of which you may see in time."

"Will he live?"

"Get to work, warrior," she said in a hard tone. "You shall make more progress toward his salvation if you act rather than offend me."

V leaned down to Butch and moved fast, drawing the knife over the cop's belly. As a moan left the man's cracked lips, a gaping hole opened up.

"Oh, Jesus." There was something black cocooned in the flesh.

The Scribe Virgin's voice was closer now, as if she were right over his shoulder. "Unsheathe your hand, warrior, and be of speed about it. How quickly that spreads."

V shoved his dagger back into his chest holster and ripped his glove off. He reached down, then stopped. "Wait, I can't touch anyone with this."

"The infection will offer the human protection. Do it now, warrior, and as you make contact, visualize the white glow of your palm all around you, as if you are skinned by light."

Vishous brought his hand forward while imagining himself surrounded by a pure, radiant incandescence. The moment he made contact with the black piece, his body shuddered and bucked. The thing, whatever it was, disintegrated with a hiss and pop, but, oh, shit, he felt ill.

"Breathe," the Scribe Virgin said. "Just breathe through it."

Vishous swayed and caught himself on the ground, his head hanging off his shoulders, his throat starting to pump. "I think I'm going to be - "

Yeah, he got sick. And as the retching tackled him again and again, he felt himself get eased off his arms. The Scribe Virgin supported him through the vomiting, and when it was over, he sagged into her. For a moment he even thought she was stroking his hair.

Then from out of nowhere, his cell phone appeared in his good hand, and her voice was strong in his ear. "Go now, take this human, and trust that the seat of evil is in the soul, not the body. And you must bring back the jar of one of your enemies. Bring it to this place and use your hand upon it. Do this without delay."