Текст книги "Blood Kiss"

Автор книги: J. R. Ward

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-two

As night fell, Marissa cracked the bedroom door and put her head out into the hall. There were no sounds from the Pit’s front room, so she padded down in her silk nightgown, her bare feet getting cold fast on the hardwood. Rounding the corner to look at the couch, she expected to find her mate asleep with his head at the kitchen end and his feet closer to her. He always slept like that, so he could see the TV better around the Foosball table.

The black leather sofa was vacant. More to the point, the Red Sox throw blanket she’d gotten him for his human Christmas holiday the year before was still folded across the back.

So he hadn’t even tried to sleep at home.

The blanket was the clue. She loved her hellren with all her heart, but the male was constitutionally incapable of pulling that thing over his legs and putting it back when he was done. It was a running joke between them, along the lines of his not returning bottle openers to their proper place in the kitchen and never, ever starting the dishwasher.

Exhaling, she closed her eyes and leaned against the jamb.

“He didn’t come back here last night.”

At the sound of V’s low voice, she glanced over at his bank of computers. The Brother had tilted his head around the various screens, his super-intelligent, diamond eyes staring at her without blinking—or judgment. And there was no reason to hide her heartbreak from the guy. For one, he was Butch’s brother for all intents and purposes; and two, Vishous knew her so well, he’d see through any I’m-fine lie she tried to float.

“We got into a big fight last night.”

V took a drag off his hand-rolled. “About what?”

Padding over to the couch, she sat down and arranged her nightie over her knees, smoothing, smoothing. “A sex club.”

The coughing fit would have been absolutely hysterical to watch if she’d been in a better mood—there was something incredibly satisfying that for once she was able to shock the unshockable Brother. Unfortunately, it was because she was such a lame straight arrow.

“I beg your pardon?” His eyebrows were up so high, they distorted the tattoos at his temple. “Sex club?”

The explanation was quick and to the point, and when she was done, V’s sardonic normal had returned to his expression.

“Yeah. He’d told me he was going. Asked me to come with him.”

She couldn’t hide her wince. She trusted Butch never to cheat on her—for godsakes, as a fully bonded male, he never noticed females on any level; they might as well be toasters on legs for all the sexual response he had to them. But there was something intimidating about getting V involved, maybe because it made her feel … excluded, even though that was crazy.

And then also inadequate because her mate needed Vishous there, but didn’t want her.

Plus it was true, V’s lifestyle had always shocked her a little—not because she thought he was a degenerate, but because it was so sexually extreme … and diverse.

“You know he loves you,” V muttered. “Come on.”

“I know.”

“And I won’t get weird with him or anything.”

“I don’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.” When the Brother fell silent, she knew she was right. “I just … sometimes I don’t want to be protected, if that makes sense. I mean, this issue with that female, who died in front of me—it’s mine. Does that make sense? It’s my … responsibility. And I’m grateful for his help, I want his help—but getting pushed aside because I’m a ‘good girl’ and I can’t handle certain things makes me feel like he thinks I’m weak or frivolous.”

“Look, I can’t get in the middle of this.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

As she went to stand up, he cut in: “But he cherishes you. You’re like … you’re like that Virgin Mary, that female he prays to. To him, you’re the most perfect female who has ever or will ever walk the earth. Taking you to a place like that would be like him watching porn in church. He thinks of you as pure and virtuous and good, and he wants—brace yourself, I’m about to use the P-word—to protect that in a world that is cruel and filthy and disgusting.”

She shook her head and thought about Butch and the whole blow-job thing. “I just don’t want it to be so black-and-white. I don’t want to be in a box even if he’s put me there because he loves certain parts of me.”

V’s chair let out a creak as he sat back and exhaled a steady stream of smoke. Funny, she had hated the smell of it when she’d first moved in here. Now? It was like incense, and it meant safety and home—and she didn’t even notice it most of the time.

Heck, V’s presence, as chilly and intellectual as he could be sometimes, meant comfort to her now, too.

“I don’t have an easy answer for that one.” His brows tightened. “I mean, ya boy’s kind of a right-and-wrong, black-and-white kind of guy. It’s a hardwiring thing. But there’re good sides of it, too. He’d never disrespect you. Never treat you badly. Never not focus on you.”

“Oh, I know all that. But with where he’s at now, he’s getting in the way of something that is not only very important to me, but something that is within my right to do. And when you love someone that isn’t cool, even if your motivations are good hearted and loving.”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“Lemme talk to him.”

“I’d appreciate that.” She cursed quietly. “We’ve been having some problems this last little bit. It’s breaking my heart.”

“Relationships are like that. Even the best ones.”

“I guess so.”

“Look, he doesn’t want to be with anyone but you.” The Brother put his palm out. “Yeah, I know you know that, but I gotta say it again. And for better or worse, your grace and elegance and, yes, good-girlness is part of what attracts him to you. I mean, for instance, he had a shot with Xhex, but that was just sex—and all it was ever going to be. You’re his type, not her.”

Marissa jerked upright sure as if a bucket of ice water had just been poured over her head. “He had sex with her?”

Down in the training center’s office, Butch sat behind Tohr’s desk and stared at the shooting patterns of colorful lines that gyrated their way around the computer screen.

What he kept chewing on, what he had been chewing on all through the day, was what the hell was wrong with him. After Marissa had left him in the dust in the billiards room, he’d proceeded to get drunk, like, saturated drunk—but it hadn’t done the job. Yeah, sure, his body had gotten sloppy as fuck, to the point that making it back to the Pit to crash had become an absolute impossibility.

Hell, dragging himself over to one of the sofas by the pool tables so he could pass out on the vertical had been enough of a challenge.

His brain had remained tragically clear, however.

And the worst part? For some reason, the last image he’d had of his sister—of her looking at him through the back window of that car as she’d gone off to her rape and murder—kept popping up, like his mind was a slot machine that spit out mismatched losers over and over again.

Ah, screw the “for some reason.” It was Marissa’s dead girl, of course. And he guessed, if he were to go sit down with Mary and get all shrinked out, that the Brotherhood’s favorite therapist would tell him that the past was being kicked off by the present and he was rocking some PTSD—

The door into the supply closet was thrown wide. And he had enough alcohol in him to not jerk around and squeak like a pussy.

“V?” he said as his bestie stumbled in.

Okay, talk about your PTSD: Vishous was as disheveled as Butch had ever seen the brother, breathing hard, icy eyes wide as saucers, black hair all this way and that—and he was panting like he’d run the tunnel, not walked it.

“What?” Butch demanded. “Is Doc Jane okay? Is the Pit? Christ, what happened?”

V just marched around a little and then threw himself into Tohr’s green, ugly-ass, beloved chair on the far side of the desk. Propping his head on his gloved fist, he muttered, “One of my old dreams just came true.”

As Butch’s panic deflated, he rolled his eyes. “And what was that.”

“I just fucked you in the ass.”

Blink. Blink. And then Butch started laughing. “Yeah, yeah, good joke. Okay, what did Lass do now?”

“No, I’m serious. I just screwed you. Badly. I’m really fucking sorry.”

Leaning onto his forearms, Butch exhaled a curse. “No offense, there is nothing you could do that’s this bad.”

“I told Marissa that you fucked Xhex.”

Butch’s jaw unhinged, and he felt his mouth pop open. “How … why … what…”

V threw his hands up. “I thought she knew, true! I didn’t know you hadn’t told her! What the fuck, didn’t you guys do that whole ‘who’d you sleep with before me’ shit? What the fuck!”

If Butch hadn’t gone straight back into panic mode, he would have had to laugh at the guy again. V was the ultimate in unflappable, the kind of composed bastard who would sit on a gasoline can in the middle of a house fire just to take a load off.

Guess they’d figured out the criteria for his adrenal gland finally waking up. Good to know.

Bad news for Butch, though.

Putting his head in his hands, he rubbed his face. “What did she say?”

“Not much. She went down to your room, got dressed, and left for work, calm as could be. Which was what really made me shit in my pants, true?”

Butch wanted to say that it would be fine, it was going to be okay. But with the way he and his mate kept missing each other lately …

“How did the subject come up?” he asked.

V put both palms forward. “Look, she started talking about you guys.”

“The club thing?”

“Yeah. She feels like you’ve got her typecast in the virgin/whore duality and you’re smothering her. And listen, not that you have any interest in taking advice from me, but you gotta cut that shit out. Just because she sees a couple of humans banging in a public place doesn’t mean she’s going to change in any way. What do you think is going to happen? She’s suddenly going to turn into the likes of me? First of all, she’d need a sex change, and second, she’d have to get a fuck of a lot more uglier—and more stupid, too, evidently.”

In the silence that followed, half of Butch’s brain went on overload with the Xhex thing; the other half came to a sudden realization.

Marissa was right. He felt more uncomfortable with her being in a place like that than she did.

Damn it.

“Anyway,” V muttered, “you two need to talk now. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I thought I was helping. I just wanted to point out to her that she’s your type. She’s your girl. You don’t need anything more or less from her.”

“That is true.” He patted around for his cell phone. “She was going to work, yeah?”

“Yeah. That’s what she said when she left.”

“I’ll call her.” As V punched up out of the chair, Butch offered his palm. “We’re good, my man. It’s my own damn fault. I should have told her, I guess. It’s just anything that was before her doesn’t matter, you know?”

V slapped palms. “I feel like fucking shit about this. If you want a rythe, let me know.”

“Nah, but you may have to pick up my dry cleaning for a month.”

“Doesn’t Fritz do that already?”

“It’s a human joke.”

“Ah, which is why it wasn’t funny.” V walked over to the glass door. “When do you want that night off again so you can go to that club?”

“Might as well be tomorrow. What the hell.”

“Okay. I’m taking the class to spar in the gym. Then Z is going to talk about poisoning people—you sure I don’t need to get a food taster?”

“You’re good. But if Z needs someone to practice on, let’s get Lassiter to be the guinea pig.”

“Done. So fucking done.”

As Vishous walked off and the door shut silently, Butch called his mate and prayed she picked up. When things just went to voice mail, he cursed and hoped that it was because she was in a meeting and not because she was so pissed off she’d blocked him.

She wouldn’t do that. Surely, she wouldn’t.

Then again …

“Shit.”

Chapter Thirty-three

Talk about adding a layer of excitement to every single second.

As Paradise went through a sparring session in the gym, and then a truly eye-opening class on how to kill things with lotions and potions, she felt like she had the most amazing secret on the planet. With every punch and kick thrown, with each note taken, question asked, and answer given to her, she had to fight to keep a smile off her face.

And part of that was that she knew Craeg was exactly the same.

From time to time, she’d catch him looking over at her with hooded eyes that suggested whatever he was thinking of, it wasn’t the lesson at hand.

Instead, he was obviously back in the dark, on the phone. With her.

And gee, it was no surprise that her body wanted more of him again—so badly, in fact, that she squirmed and cracked her back and had to readjust stances and sitting positions pretty much constantly.

Nobody else seemed to know, however—although maybe that was self-delusion. And if it wasn’t? Screw it. Before she’d left her house to dematerialize to the bus, she’d reread the application forms and the disclosures—namely all the stuff she hadn’t shown her father because she hadn’t wanted to spook him—and there was no mention of a policy prohibiting relationships.

Or romantic attachments.

Or … whatever it was they were doing.

So they were legal as far as the regs went. They were also both of age, and yeah, sure, the idea of Peyton and Anslam finding out presented a potential complication with the glymera, but 1) she had so much dirt on Peyton that she could blackmail him into silence if she had to, and 2) Anslam was your typical, self-involved son of privilege who wasn’t going to notice a pink elephant in the room unless it in some way benefited him.

When the final leg of the evening arrived, she walked into the weight room with Craeg ahead of her, and she allowed herself a rare ogle, measuring the breadth of his shoulders, and his towering height, and the way he walked with such leashed power.

And yup, that spectacular ass of his.

Wow.

But then it was all business as the Brother Butch gave them their marching orders, assigning people to various machines and free weights.

“Paradise, you’re running tonight,” he said, pointing over to the treadmills. “One hour. Break at twenty and forty for water. No incline during warm-up.”

Heading across the mats, she hopped up on the nearest machine, put the stop key in, and programmed the computer for sixty minutes at a stiff clip. As the band started to whiz along, she jumped on and fell into a rhythm that was rougher than usual—then again, her thighs were tired from her having crouched in the defensive position earlier in the evening. That got better soon, though, the platform bouncing and whining to the beat of her Brooks Glycerin 12s, her breathing becoming deeper and deeper.

Craeg ended up at the squat station.

Talk about a show of shows.

The amount of weight he could handle was so great, Butch and Tohr ended up spotting him, one on each side, just in case he lost control of what had to be six hundred pounds. Positioning himself under the supported bar, he put both hands up with the wrists out, puffed some air, and grunted as he freed the load and accepted it with his body. Instantly, his face turned red and his neck muscles and veins popped as he backed up two feet to assume a stable stance.

Up …

… down.

Up …

… down.

In spite of the way he trembled on the surface of his skin, his large muscles and iron torso were rock-solid as he hefted the bar over and over again. Sweat began to run down his face, not that he appeared to notice, and there was no way she wasn’t trying to imagine what his massive thigh muscles looked like under the uniform’s supposedly loose pants: Those things went tight as a second skin as he dropped down because of how big his muscles got. In fact, he looked as if he were going to split them wide—

It happened so fast.

One minute, she was running with her stride, keeping up with the speed. The next, her right foot landed half on the band, half on the side rail.

She went down too quickly to catch herself, or at least catch herself with an arm or a hand. Instead, she hit the console hard, bounced, and nearly sanded her face off on the belt because the stop key she had so carefully put in the machine was not attached to her clothing.

So the treadmill just kept running.

For a second, she was too stunned to move—but then a shot of burning pain was enough to get her flipping over from wherever she’d landed. God, the nauseating stink of toasting flesh made her nose crinkle.

That was when she saw the shitkickers.

Right next to her face.

Abruptly, there were all kinds of people talking above her, and she tried to track what they were saying, but something was in her eyes. And her head hurt. Why did her head hurt?

“…Doc Jane, right away.”

“…stretcher?”

“Fast. Hurry!”

Flopping around with her hand, she tried to get the sweat out of her eyes so she could see better.

Not sweat. Blood: When she looked at the palm she’d passed over her face, it was smudged with bright red blood.

Oh, crap. She’d hurt herself fairly badly.

And all because she’d been being a chick.

Damn it.

When Paradise went down across the weight room, Craeg nearly threw the barbell off to the side to run over to her. But you didn’t do that with six hundred and eighty pounds—not unless you wanted to hurt yourself, or hurt somebody else.

With as much control as he could spare, he moved forward one step and relied on the Brothers’ help getting the load back on the supports. Then all three of them hightailed it over. Craeg went for the stop key, yanking it out—because she was way too close to that goddamn band, her crumpled body half on, half off the fucking piece of shit.

“Paradise?” he said.

As Butch knelt down beside her, Craeg nearly yanked the guy out of the way, but that was ridiculous. For one, the Brother was a teacher. For another, there was no bigger announcement that Paradise and he were up to something than if he went all territorial over her in an emergency fucking situation.

“Paradise?” Craeg repeated. “Paradise…”

She sat up when she heard him say her name, and then she turned to look to him—oh, God. There was blood. So much … fucking hell, he was going to pass out.

The Brothers barked commands at each other and then Tohr left to get help. Which meant there was a space next to her to fill, and Craeg’s body took advantage of that before he had a conscious thought to move.

“I’m fine,” she said, batting at hands and sitting up. “I just feel stupid. I don’t need help.”

Ripping off his shirt, he wadded it into a ball and pressed the fabric to the leaker over her eye. “Shut up,” he muttered as she started to argue with him. “You’re going to the clinic. You probably need stitches.”

“It’s only a little cut.”

“What exactly do you think all this red stuff means.”

“No reason to get hysterical—”

“I’m not the one arguing with…”

They went back and forth, terse words crisscrossing and canceling one another out. It wasn’t until they paused to take a breath that he realized everybody in the weight room was staring at them with a collective well-isn’t-this-news.

Shit.

Whatever, he needed to make sure she consented to treatment first. Then he’d worry about all the conclusions that were being jumped to.

And yes, he was the one who picked her up and put her on the gurney.

And yes, if any other male, including her little buddy Peyton over there, or either of the Brothers, had touched her, he would have bitten the male’s arm off.

Out in the corridor, she was still fighting with him, and he knew it was because she had scared herself and was burning off the fear.

“Ridiculous.” But at least she was holding his shirt against her face. “I just need to rinse my face off and it’ll stop.”

“Yeah, ’cause a little water’s really going to help that two-inch slice up there.”

“This is overkill!”

“And you went to med school when?”

As they came up to the clinic door, he intended to go in there with her, but Butch stepped in front of him. “You need to go back to class.”

Craeg opened his mouth to argue—and that was when he knew he’d lost his damn mind. He’d properly met the female, what, four nights ago, tops? This was inappropriate.

Even so, his head shook back and forth. “I’m not leaving.”

“They’re going to have to examine her,” Butch countered. “All of her, if you get my drift.”

Craeg cursed and took one last glance through the slowly closing door as Paradise transferred herself from the gurney to the exam table. As if sensing he was no longer with her, she glanced up in confusion, looking for him.

“I, ah…” Craeg cleared his throat. “I’d like to see her after she’s finished.”

“If that’s cool with her, you got it.”

Craeg nodded and commanded his feet to do an about-face and head back in the weight room’s direction. It was a good half minute before they responded, and talk about sluggish—his legs took their damn sweet time getting him back where he needed to be.

And what do you know, Peyton was waiting outside the weight room for him.

Muttering under his breath, Craeg braced himself to fight the guy again.

“When did it happen?” the guy demanded.

“When did what happen.”

“You and her.”

The other male was staring up at him with a strange calmness that could have meant acceptance or preparation for attack. Funny, those perfect J.Crew looks and that aristocratic entitlement attitude, coupled with the whole fancy background, made the guy a much better eHarmony candidate for a female.

And yet Paradise, for some reason, had chosen Craeg.

She had to be nuts.

“There’s nothing going on between us,” Craeg said.

“Don’t fucking bullshit me, okay? You’ve bonded with her.”

“The fuck I have.”

Peyton’s blue stare made a trip around the world. Then he frowned. “Wait, you’re serious.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You honestly don’t recognize it. You’re not aware that your bonding scent’s been triggered—or of the fact that you bared your fangs at all of us when we went over to help her. You are honestly fucking unaware of all that.”

Craeg blinked like a cow for a little bit. Then he looked to the left of the guy and measured the distance between his own forehead and the concrete block wall. Maybe if he hit his skull hard enough, he could cause sufficient brain damage that his short-term memory would give him a break and he could forget he’d ever met that female.

Peyton started to laugh. “You know, I want to hate you, I really fucking do. She’s one of the best females I’ve ever known. Instead, I feel bad for you.”

“Why’s that,” Craeg snapped.

“Because you’re so far gone and you’re still fighting it. This is going to be fun to watch.”

“So glad I can amuse you.”

Peyton had the gall to clap him on the shoulder. “You’d better take care of her properly—or I will hunt you down and kill you. Slowly.”

Craeg stepped back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure you don’t.”

Peyton was still laughing as he turned away to open the door.

Craeg caught hold of the guy. “How do you know her?”

There was a pause. “She works at the audience house.”

“That’s how I met her, too.”

“Just so we’re clear, sometimes I think I’m in love with her, too.” Peyton rolled his eyes again. “God, will you stop with that?”

“With what.”

“You’re snarling at me.”

Huh. What do you know. His fangs had dropped and his upper lip had curled back. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, you’re not bonded. Not at all.” Peyton crossed his arms over his chest. “Anyway, before you go Cujo on my ass, I’ve never even kissed her. It’s not there for her. Toward me, at any rate. Just as well—I’m a total fucking asshole—and she’s right, I got a couple of bad habits. Anyway, remember what I said.”

“And here I was, hoping we could both forget this conversation.”

“Never going to happen, my man.” Abruptly, Peyton’s eyes narrowed and pure aggression shone out of them. “Anyone who hurts that female is an enemy of mine. And I might be an aristocrat, but I am capable of going straight-up animal to protect what’s mine. Got it?”

Craeg measured the guy. “I can’t promise anything.”

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

“I have … things … I need to do after this, and they don’t include settling down and taking a mate. Bonding or no bonding, nothing is going to change that reality. Not even her—and she knows this.”

Peyton’s voice dropped until it was so deep, it was barely audible. “Then you are a fool. You are a dumb motherfucking fool.” Except then the guy shrugged. “But hey, that’s good news. It means I might still have a chance with her. And before I have to give you a distemper shot, fuck you. You walk away, it’s on you, asshole—and I promise you, I will make a play for her serious, like.”

As Craeg’s inner beast stood up and roared, it was probably best that the male walked back into the weight room at that point.

Yup.

They already had one trainee in the clinic. The class didn’t need two.

Especially if that second one had to be brought there in pieces.