"I don't know." Butch settled back on his heels, terrified that she would bolt. Not that he'd blame her. "But Vishous helps me. In the way he healed me with his hand before."
"How many times have you done... whatever to them?"
"Three. Including the one tonight."
Her eyes squeezed shut. "And when did you first do it?"
"About two weeks ago."
"So none of you know the long-term effects, do you?"
"But I'm okay-"
Marissa burst up from the chair and walked out from behind the desk, her eyes on the floor, her arms wrapped around herself. When she stopped in front of Wrath, it was to glare at him. "And you want to use him?"
"This is about the race's very survival."
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"What about his?"
Butch got to his feet. "I want to be used, Marissa."
She looked over at him with hard eyes. "May I remind you, you almost died from the Omega's contamination?"
"That was different."
"Was it? If you're talking about putting more and more of that evil in your system again, exactly how is it different?"
"I told you, V helps me process it. It doesn't stay with me." He got no reply to that. She just stood stock-still in the middle of the room, so self-contained he didn't know how to reach her. "Marissa... we're talking about purpose. My purpose."
"Funny, you told me in bed this morning that I was your life."
"You are. But this is different."
"Ah, yes, everything is different when you want it to be." She shook her head. "You couldn't save your sister, but now... now you have a shot at saving thousands of vampires. Your hero complex must be thrilled."
Butch bit down hard, jaw flexing. "That is a cheap shot."
"But true." Abruptly, she grew weary. "You know, I am really sick and tired of violence. And fighting. And people getting hurt. And you told me you weren't going to get involved with this war."
"I was human then-"
"Oh, please-"
"Marissa, you've seen what those lessers can do. You've been at your brother's clinic when the bodies have been brought in. How can I not fight?"
"But you're not just talking about hand-to-hand combat. You're taking it to a whole different level. Consuming slayers. How can you be sure you won't turn into one?"
From out of nowhere, fear sliced through him, and as her eyes narrowed on his face, he knew he didn't hide the anxiety fast enough.
She shook her head. "You're worried about that, too, aren't you? You're not certain you won't turn into one of them."
"Not true. I won't lose myself. I know it."
"Oh, really. Then why are you holding on to your cross like that, Butch?"
He glanced down. Shit, his hand was locked on the crucifix so tight his knuckles were white and his shirt was all bunched up. He forced himself to drop his arm.
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Wrath's voice cut in. "We need him, Marissa. The race needs him."
"What about his safety?" She let out a sob, but then quickly smothered it. "I'm sorry, but I-I can't smile and say Go get 'em. I spent days under quarantine watching him-" She wheeled toward Butch. "Watching you nearly die. It almost killed me. And the thing is, back then it wasn't your choice, but this... this is a choice, Butch."
She had a point. But he couldn't back down. He was what he was, and he had to believe he was strong enough not to fall into the darkness. "I don't want to be a kept pet, Marissa. I want a purpose-"
"You have a pur-"
"-and that purpose is not going to be sitting at home waiting for you to get back from your life. I'm a man, not a piece of furniture." When she just stared at him, he said, "I can't sit on my hands when I know there's something I can do to help the race-my race." He went over to her. "Marissa-"
"I can't... I can't do this." She put her hands out of his reach and backed up. "I've seen you almost die too many times. I won't... I can't do this, Butch. I can't live like that. I'm sorry, but you're on your own. I will not sit back and watch you destroy yourself."
She turned and walked out of the Pit.
* * *
Up at the main house, John waited in the library, feeling like he was about to jump out of his skin. As the clock chimed, he looked down at his little chest and the tie that was hanging off of his