Lover Revealed (Black Dagger Brotherhood 4)

He opened his mouth and began to inhale.

Chapter Thirty-one

Lying in the middle of the road, bleeding like a sieve, Mr. X kept his eye on the contaminated human who was supposed to be dead. The guy handled himself, especially as he took down a lesser in the side yard, but he was going to get overpowered. And sure enough, he did. As the slayer flipped him on his back, he was going to get slaughtered in -

Except then the pair of them froze, and the dynamic shifted, the rules of strength and weakness getting scrambled. The slayer might have been on top, but the human was in charge.

Mr. X became breathless. Something was happening over there... something...

But then a blond-haired Brother materialized out of thin air right beside the two. The warrior swooped down and tore the lesser off the human, breaking whatever link had been forged.

From out of the shadows, Van came over to Mr. X and blocked the view. "How'd you like to get out of here?"

Probably the safest course. He was about to pass out. "Yeah... and move fast."

As Mr. X got picked up and rushed to the minivan, his head bobbed like a half-stuffed doll's, and he watched through the wobbles as the blond Brother disintegrated the other lesser then knelt to check on the human.

Such f**king heroes.

Mr. X let his eyes go lax. And thanked a God he didn't believe in that Van Dean was too much of a new recruit to know that lessers didn't take their injured back home with them.

Usually, a damaged slayer was left where he fell either for the Brothers to stab him back to the Omega or for him to gradually rot.

Mr. X felt himself get shoved into the minivan, and then the engine started and they were off. Easing over onto his back, he felt around his chest, assessing the damage. He was going to recover. It would take time, but his body wasn't so hurt that it couldn't regenerate.

As Van hung a sharp right, X's body was thrown against the door.

At his grunt of pain, Van looked back. "Sorry."

"Fuck it. Get us gone."

As the engine grew louder again, Mr. X closed his eyes. Man, that human showing up alive and breathing? Serious trouble. Serious trouble. What had happened? And why didn't the Omega know that the human still lived? Especially because the guy reeked of the master's presence?

Shit, who knew the whys. The more important thing was, now that X was aware that the man lived, did he tell the Omega? Or would that little news flash be what triggered another change in leadership and got X condemned forever? He'd sworn to the master that the Brothers had taken that guy out. He'd look like an idiot when it turned out not to be true.

The thing was, he was alive and on this side now, and he had to keep himself here until Van Dean came into his power. So, no... there would be no report on the Trojan human.

But the man was a dangerous liability. One that had to be eliminated ASAP.

Butch lay over on the snowy ground and tried to catch his breath, still caught in whatever the hell happened when he and one of those lessers got tight.

As his stomach rolled, he wondered where Rhage was. After Hollywood had cut off the link to the lesser and killed the bastard, he'd headed into the woods to make sure there were no others around.

So it was probably a good idea to get vertical and re-armed in case more came.

As Butch pushed himself up on his arms, he saw the mother and child across the lawn. They were cowering by a shed, wrapped up together as tight as vines. Shit... he recognized them; he'd seen them at Havers's. These were the two Marissa had been sitting with the day he'd finally left the quarantine room.

Yeah, this was definitely the pair. The young had a cast on her lower leg.

Poor things, he thought. Huddled as they were, they were like every human victim he'd ever seen on the job, the characteristics of trauma transcending species lines: The mother's wide eyes and pale skin and shattered illusions that life was okay were exactly what he'd dealt with before.

He got to his feet and went over to them slowly.

"I'm a - " He almost said police detective. "I'm a friend. I know what you are and I'm going to take care of you."

The mother's dilated eyes lifted from her daughter's messy hair.

Keeping his voice level and not taking one step closer, he pointed to the Escalade. "I'd like you both to go sit in that car. I'll give you the keys so you're in control and can lock yourself in. Then I'm going to do a quick check-in with my partner, okay? After that, you're going to Havers's."

He waited as the female surveyed him with a calculation he was very familiar with: Would he hurt her or her child? she was wondering. Did she dare trust someone of the opposite sex? What were her other options?

Keeping her daughter tight in her arms, she struggled to her feet, then held her hand way out. He came over and put his keys in her palm, knowing that V had another set so they could still get in the Escalade if they had to.

In a flash, the female turned and ran, her child a heavy, jangling load.

As Butch watched them go, he knew that little girl's face was going to keep him up at night. Unlike her mother, she was totally calm. Like this kind of violence was business as usual.

With a curse, he jogged over to the house and shouted, "V, I'm coming in."

Vishous's voice drifted down from the second floor. "There's no one else in here. And I didn't get a plate on that minivan that took off."

Butch checked out the body in the doorway. Male vampire, looked thirty-four years old or so. Then again, they all did until they started to age.

With his foot, Butch nudged the guy's head. It was loose as a bow on a present.

V's shitkickers came down the stairs. "He still dead?"

"Yup. You got him good - shit, your neck's bleeding. Did I shoot you?"

V put his hand up to his throat, then looked at the blood on his palm. "Don't know. He and I went at it in the back of the house and he nailed me with the saw, so this could be from anything. Where's Rhage?"

"Right here." Hollywood walked in. "I went through the woods. All clear. What happened to the mother and the kid?"

Butch nodded to the front door. "In the Escalade. They should go to the clinic. Mom has fresh bruises."

"Let's you and I take them," V said. "Rhage, why don't you get back to the twins?"

"Good deal. They're heading downtown now to hunt. Be safe, you two."

As Rhage dematerialized, Butch said, "What do you want to do with the body?"

"Let's put it around back. Sun'll be up in a couple of hours and that'll take care of it."

The two of them picked up the male, walked him through the grungy house, and laid him out next to the rotting shell of a Barcalounger.

Butch paused and looked at the hacked-out rear door. "So this guy shows up and goes all Jack Nicholson on his wife and kid. Meanwhile, the lessen have been scoping out the place and lucky, lucky they pick tonight to attack."

"Bingo."

"You get many domestic problems like this?"

"In the Old Country, sure, but here I haven't heard of many."

"Maybe they're just not being reported."

V rubbed his right eye, which was twitching. "Maybe. Yeah... maybe."

They went through what was left of the back door and locked it as best they could. On the way to the front exit, Butch saw a ratty stuffed animal in the corner of the living room, like it had been dropped there. He picked the tiger up, only to frown. The damn thing weighed a ton.

He tucked it under his arm, took out his cell phone, and made two quick calls as V worked on the front door to get it to shut. Then they walked over to the Escalade.

Butch cautiously approached the driver's side with his hands out, the tiger dangling from one palm. And Vishous went around the hood with the same nice-'n-easy routine, coming to a halt about three feet away from the passenger door. Neither of them moved.

The wind blew in from the north, a cold, wet rush that made Butch feel the aches from the fight.

After a moment, the locks in the car were released with a punching sound.

John couldn't stop staring at Blaylock. Especially in the shower. The guy's body was huge now, muscles sprouting from all different places, fanning out from his spine, filling his legs and shoulders, jacking up his arms. Plus he was easily six inches taller. Christ, he had to be six-foot-four now.

But the thing was, he didn't look happy. He moved awkwardly, facing the tiled wall for most of the time he washed. And going by his flinching, the soap he used seemed to irritate him, or maybe his skin itself was the problem. Plus he kept trying to get under the spray, only to step back and adjust the temperature.