Yeah, you think?
Butch took a swig. "Thanks."
"So can we kill him now?" said the one with the goatee and the baseball hat.
Beth's man spoke harshly. "Back off, V."
"Why? He's just a human."
"And my shellan is half-human. The man doesn't die just because he's not one of us."
"Jesus, you've changed your tune."
"So you need to catch up, brother."
Butch got to his feet. If his death was going to be debated, he wanted in on the discussion.
"I appreciate the support," he said to Beth's boy. "But I don't need it."
He went over to the guy with the hat, discreetly switching his grip on the bottle's neck in case he had to crack the damn thing over a head. He moved in tight, so their noses were almost touching. He could feel the vampire heating up, priming for a fight.
"I'm happy to take you on, asshole," Butch said. "I'll probably end up losing, but I fight dirty, so I'll make you hurt while you kill me." Then he eyed the guy's hat. "Though I hate clocking the shit out of another Red Sox fan."
There was a shout of laughter from behind him. Someone said, "This is gonna be fun to watch."
The guy in front of Butch narrowed his eyes into slits. "You true about the Sox?"
"Born and raised in Southie. Haven't stopped grinning since '04."
There was a long pause.
The vampire snorted. "I don't like humans."
"Yeah, well, I'm not too crazy about you bloodsuckers."
Another stretch of silence.
The guy stroked his goatee. "What do you call twenty guys watching the World Series?"
"The New York Yankees," Butch replied.
The vampire laughed in a loud burst, whipped the baseball cap off his head, and slapped it on his thigh. Just like that, the tension was broken.
Butch let out a long breath, feeling like he'd just been missed by an eighteen-wheeler. As he took another swig from the bottle, he decided it had been one weird fucking night.
"Tell me that Curt Schilling was not a god," the vampire said.
There was a collective groan from the other men. One of them muttered, "If he starts going on about Varitek, I'm outta here."
"Schilling was a true warrior," Butch said, taking another hit of the single-malt. When he offered the Scotch to the vampire, the guy grabbed the bottle and took a hard pull.
"Amen to that," the vampire said.
Chapter Thirty-nine
When Marissa walked into her bedroom, she took a little spin, feeling her gown splay out around her.
"Where have you been?"
She stopped midtwirl. The dress came to a heel in a swirling rush.
Havers was sitting on the chaise, his face in shadow. "I asked, where were you?"
"Please don't take that tone-"
"You saw the brute."
"He's not a-"
"Do not defend him to me!"
She wasn't going to. She was going to tell her brother that Wrath had listened to her recrimations and accepted all blame for the past. That he'd apologized and his regret had been tangible. That although his words couldn't make up for what had happened, she felt that she had been heard.
And that even if her former hellren was the reason she'd gone to Darius's, he wasn't why she'd stayed.
"Havers, please. Things are much different." After all, Wrath had told her he was to be mated. And she had… met someone. "You must hear me out."
"No, I mustn't. I know that you go to him still. That is enough."
Havers got off the chaise, moving without his usual grace. As he stepped into the light, she was horrified. His skin was gray, his cheeks hollow. He'd been getting thinner and thinner of late. Now, he looked like a skeleton.
"You are ill," she whispered.
"I am perfectly well."
"The transfusion didn't work, did it?"
"Do not try to change the subject!" He glared at her. "God, I never thought it would come to this. I never thought you would hide from me."
"I have hidden nothing!"
"You told me you had broken the covenant."
"I did."
"You lie."
"Havers, listen to me-"
"No longer!" He did not meet her eyes as he opened the door. "You are all I have left, Marissa. Do not ask me to politely sit aside and play witness your destruction."
"Havers!"
The door slammed.
With grim determination, she ran out to the hall. "Havers!"
He was already at the head of the stairs, and he refused to look back at her. His hand slashed violently in the air behind him, as if he were dismissing her.
She went back to her room and sat down at her dressing table. It was a long while before she could take a full breath.
Havers's anger was understandable, but frightening because of its intensity and rarity. She'd never seen her brother in such a state. It was clear there would be no reasoning with him until he calmed down.
Tomorrow she would talk with him. She would explain everything, even the new male she had met.
She looked at herself in the mirror and thought of how the human had touched her. She brought her hand up, feeling again the sensation of him sucking her finger. She wanted more of him.
Her fangs elongated slightly.
What would his blood taste like?
After settling Beth in her father's bed, Wrath went to his chamber and dressed himself in a white shirt and long, baggy white pants. He grabbed a string of enormous black pearls out of an ebony box and knelt on the floor next to his bed, settling back on his heels. He put the necklace on, laid his hands palms-up on his thighs, and closed his eyes.
As he marshaled his breath, his senses came alive. He could hear Beth shifting in the bed across the hall, sighing as she burrowed into the pillows. The rest of the house was fairly quiet, only subtle vibrations coming down to him. As some of the brothers were crashing in the upstairs bedrooms, male feet were moving around.
He was willing to bet Butch and V were still talking baseball.
Wrath had to smile. That human was a trip. One of the most aggressive men he'd ever come across.
And as for Marissa liking the cop? Well, they'd all just have to see where that went. Having any kind of relationship with someone of the other species was dangerous. Sure, the brothers slept with a lot of human women, but those were one night only, so the memories were easy to erase. Once emotions got involved, and time passed, it was harder to do a good scrub job on the human brain. Things lingered. Surfaced later. Got people into trouble.
Hell, maybe Marissa was just going to play with the guy and then suck him dry. Which was fine. But until either she killed him or took him for her own, Wrath was going to watch the situation carefully.
Wrath harnessed his thoughts and started to chant in the old language, using the sounds to wipe out his cognitive processes. He was rusty at first, tripping over words. The last time he'd said the prayers, he'd been nineteen or twenty years old. Memories of his father sitting next to him and telling him what to say were a seductive diversion, but he forced his mind to be blank.
The pearls began to warm against his chest.
And then he found himself in a courtyard. The Italianate architecture was white; the marble fountain, the marble columns, the marble floor, all had a pale glow to them. The only splash of color came from a flock of songbirds sitting in a white tree.
He stopped praying and got to his feet.