J. Ward - Dark Lover

"I will still protect you," he'd vowed.

"No, you won't. I'm no longer your concern. Not that I've ever been."

And then she'd left, the fresh scent of the ocean lingering a moment before dissipating.

Wrath rubbed his eyes. He was determined to make it up to her somehow. He wasn't sure exactly how he'd pull that off, considering the hell she'd been put through. But he wasn't prepared to have her drift off into the ether thinking that she'd been utterly nothing to him. Or that he'd found her in some way unclean.

He'd never loved her, true. But he hadn't wanted to hurt her, which was why he'd told her to leave him so often. If she pulled out, if she made it clear she didn't want him, she would still be able to hold her head up in the catty aristocratic circle she was from. In her class, a shellan who was rejected by her mate was perceived as damaged goods.

Now that she had left him, she'd be spared any ignominy. And he had a feeling that when word got out, no one would be surprised.

Funny, he'd never really considered how he and Marissa would part, perhaps because after all these centuries, he'd assumed they never would. But he'd certainly never expected it to be because he was forming some kind of attachment to another female.

And that was what was happening. With Beth. After marking her last night as he had, he couldn't pretend he wasn't getting emotionally tied to her.

He cursed out loud, knowing enough about male vampire behavior and psychology to realize he was in trouble. Hell, they were both in trouble now.

A bonded male was a dangerous thing.

Especially when he was going to have to leave his female.

And give her into the keeping of another.

Trying to push the implications out of his mind, Wrath reached for the phone and dialed upstairs, thinking he needed something to eat. When there was no answer, he assumed Fritz must have gone to the store to buy food.

Good thing. Wrath had asked the brothers to come later in the evening, and they liked to eat big. It was time to recon-noiter, catch up with their investigations.

The need to avenge Darius burned.

And the closer Wrath got to Beth, the hotter the fire.

Butch walked out of the captain's office. His holster felt too light without his gun in it. Wallet was too flat without his badge. It was like being naked.

"What happened?" Jose asked.

"I'm taking a vacation."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Butch started down the hall. "Did the NYPD have anything on that suspect?"

Jose grabbed his arm and pulled him into an interrogation room. "What happened?"

"I'm suspended without pay, pending the conclusion of an internal investigation. Which we both know is going to find that I acted with inappropriate force."

Jose buried a hand in his hair. "I told you to back off those suspects, man."

"That Riddle guy deserved worse."

"Not the point."

"Funny, that's what the captain said."

Butch walked over to the two-way mirror and looked at himself. God, he was getting old. Or maybe he was just tired of the only job he'd ever wanted to do.

Police brutality. Screw that. He was a protector of the innocent, not some self-impressed skull-cracker who got off on being a tough guy. The trouble was, there were just too many rules favoring criminals. The victims whose lives were shattered by violence should be half so lucky.

"I don't belong here anyway," he said softly.

"What?"

There was just no place for men like him in the world anymore, he thought.

Butch turned around. "So. The NYPD. What did we find out?"

Jose stared at him for a long time. "Suspended from the force, huh?"

"At least until they officially can me."

Jose put his hands on his hips and looked down, shaking his head as if he were remonstrating with his shoes. But he answered.

" Nada . It's like he came out of nowhere."

Butch cursed. "Those stars. I know you can get them on the Web, but they can be bought locally, right?"

"Yeah, through martial-arts academies."

"We've got a couple of those in town."

Jose nodded slowly.

Butch took his keys out of his pocket. "I'll see ya."

"Hold up-we already sent someone out to ask around. Both academies said they don't remember anyone buying them who fit the suspect's description."

"Thanks for the tip." Butch started for the door.

"Detective. Yo, O'Neal ." Jose grabbed Butch's forearm. "Damn it, will you stop for a minute?"

Butch glared over his shoulder. "Is this where you warn me to stay out of police business? 'Cause you might as well save the speech."

"Christ, Butch, I'm not your enemy." Jose's dark brown eyes were penetrating. "The boys and I are behind you. As far as we're concerned, you do what you need to do, and you've never been wrong. Anyone you've knocked around has deserved it. But maybe you've just been lucky, you know? What if you'd hurt someone who wasn't-"

"Cut the preacher routine. I'm not interested." He clamped his hand on the doorknob.

Jose squeezed hard. "You're off the force, O'Neal. And going half-cocked into an investigation you've been removed from won't bring Janie back."

Butch expelled his breath like he'd been punched. "You want to kick me in the nuts now, too?"

Jose removed his hand, looking as if he were throwing in the towel. "I'm sorry. But you gotta know that getting deeper in the weeds is only going to screw you. It's not going to help your sister. It's never helped her."

Butch slowly shook his head. "Shit. I know that."

"You sure?"

Yeah, he was. He'd really liked hurting Billy Riddle, and that was about vengeance for what had been done to Beth. It had nothing to do with bringing his sister back to life. Janie was gone. And she'd been gone for a long, long time.

Still, Josh's sad eyes made him feel like he had a terminal illness.

"It's gonna be fine," he found himself saying. Although he didn't really believe it.

"Just don't… don't push your luck out there, Detective."

Butch threw open the door. "Pushing's all I know how to do, Jose."

Mr. X leaned back in his office chair, thinking about the night ahead. He was ready to try again, even though the downtown area was hot right now, what with the car bombing and the discovery of the whore's body. Trolling for vampires in the vicinity of Screamer's was going to be risky, but the risk of being caught added to the challenge.

Even more to the point, however, if you wanted to catch a shark, you didn't fish in freshwater. He had to go to where the vampires were.

Anticipation shot through him.

He'd been brushing up on his torture techniques. And this morning, before leaving for the academy, he'd visited the workspace he'd set up in his barn. His tools were gathered and gleaming: a dentist's drill set; knives of various sizes; a ball-peen hammer and a chisel; a Sawzall.

A melon bailer. For the eyes.

The trick was, of course, walking that fine line between pain and death. Pain you could stretch out for hours, days. Death was the ultimate off switch.

There was a knock at the door.

"Enter," he said.

It was the receptionist, the jacked woman who had arms big as a man's and no breasts to speak of. Her contradictions never ceased to amaze him. In spite of the fact that a raging case of penis envy caused her to take steroids and pump iron like a gorilla, she insisted on wearing makeup. And doing her hair. In her cropped T-shirt and leggings, she looked like a bad drag queen.

She disgusted him.

You should always know who you are , he thought. And who you aren't .

"A guy's here to speak with you." Her voice was about an octave and a half too low. "O'Neal, I think that's the name. Acts like a cop, but didn't pop a badge."