"You want to tell me what the hell is happening here?"
"Bella's gone into her needing," V said, throwing down his napkin. "Christ. How long before nightfall?"
Phury checked his watch. "Almost two hours."
"We'll be a mess by then. Tell me you have some red smoke."
"Yeah, plenty."
"Butch, do yourself a favor and get off the property fast. The Pit is not going to be far enough away from her. I didn't think humans would respond, but since you are, you'd better go before you get sucked in."
Another assault hit them, and Z collapsed back against the chair, his hips surging involuntarily. He heard the groans of the others and realized they were in deep shit. No matter how civilized they pretended to be, males couldn't help but respond to a female in her fertile time, and their sexual urges would increase as the needing progressed and strengthened.
If it weren't daylight they could have saved themselves by getting away. But they were trapped in the compound, and by the time it was dark enough for them to get out, it would be too late. After prolonged exposure, males would instinctually resist leaving the female's vicinity. No matter what their brains told them, their bodies would fight the call to get away, and if they did depart from her, they would suffer withdrawal pangs that were worse than their cravings. Wrath and Rhage had outlets for their response, but the rest of the Brothers were in trouble. Their only hope was to numb themselves out.
And Bella... Oh, God... She was going to hurt more than all of them combined.
V rose from the table, steadying himself on the back of his chair. "Come on, Phury. We need to start smoking up. Now. Z, you're going to her, right?"
Zsadist shut his eyes.
"Z? Z, you're going to serve her - right?"
John looked up from the kitchen table as the phone rang. Sal and Regin, the family's doggen, were out getting groceries. He picked up the call.
"John, that you?" It was Tohr on the downstairs line.
John whistled and took another bite of his white rice and ginger sauce.
"Listen, school's canceled for today. I'm calling all the families now."
John lowered his fork and whistled an ascending note.
"There's a... complication at the compound. But we should be back on tomorrow or the night after. We'll see how things go. In light of this, we've moved up your appointment at Havers's. Butch is going to come get you right now, okay?"
John whistled twice, in little short puffs.
"Good... he's a human, but he's cool. I trust him." The doorbell rang. "That's probably him - yeah, that's Butch. I can see him on the video monitor. Listen, John... about this therapist business. If it creeps you out, you don't have to go back, okay? I won't let anyone make you."
John sighed into the phone and thought. Thank you.
Tohr laughed softly. "Yeah, I'm not much for the emotive crap either妗?ch! Wellsie, what the hell?"
There was a rapid conversation in the Old Language.
"Anyway," Tohr said into the phone. "You text-message me when it's done, okay?"
John whistled twice, hung up, and put his dish and fork into the washer.
Therapist... training... Neither one was something to look forward to, but all things being equal, he'd take whatever shrink he was going to see over Lash any day. Hell, at least the appointment with the doc wouldn't last more than sixty minutes. Lash he had to deal with for hours.
On the way out he picked up his jacket and his notebook. As he opened the door the big human on the front stoop smiled down at him.
"Hey, J-man. I'm Butch. Butch O'Neal. Your taxi."
Whoa. This Butch O'Neal was... well, the man was dressed like a GQ model, for one thing. Under a black cashmere coat he had on a fancy pin-striped suit, an awesome red tie, a bright white shirt. His dark hair was pushed off his forehead in a casual, finger-brushed way that totally rocked out.
And his shoes... wow. Gucci, really Gucci... black leather, red-and-green band, shiny gold stuff.
Funny, he wasn't handsome, not in a Mr. Perfect kind of way, at least. The guy had a nose that had clearly been busted once or three times, and his hazel eyes were too shrewd and too exhausted to be classified as attractive. But he was like a cocked gun: He had a steely intelligence and a dangerous power about him that you respected. Because the combination was a flat-out killer, literally.