V swirled the vodka around. Swallowed it. "Just a dream."
"Bullshit. I've lived with you for nine months, buddy. You're stone quiet if you sleep at all."
"Whatever."
Butch dropped his towel, pulled on a pair of black boxers and took a starched white button-down out of the closet. "You should let Wrath know what's doing."
"How about we don't go there."
Butch put on the shirt, buttoned it up, then snapped the pinstriped pants off their hanger. "All I'm saying-"
"Can it, cop."
"God, you're a tight-lipped bastard. Look, I'm here if you want to talk, okay?"
"Don't hold your breath. But... 'predate it." V cleared his throat, "By the way, I borrowed one of your shirts last night."
"That's cool. It's you whoring my socks that pisses me off."
"Didn't want to see your girl in fighting clothes. Which is all I got."
"She said you'd talked to her. I think you make her nervous."
V said something that sounded like "I should."
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Butch looked over. "What did you say?"
"Nothing." V shot up off the bed and headed for the door. "Listen, I'm going to go hang at my other place tonight. Being here by myself when everyone's on the job makes me bat shit. You need me, come find me at the penthouse."
"V." As his roommate stopped and looked back, Butch said, "Thanks."
"For what?"
Butch lifted his forearm. "You know."
V shrugged. "Figured you'd feel better being around her that way."
John walked through the underground tunnel, his footsteps an echoing drumroll that made him feel how alone he was as nothing else could.
Well, alone except for his anger. That was with him always now, close as his own skin, coating him like his skin, too. Man, he couldn't wait for class to start tonight so he could let some of it out. He was twitching, overactivated, restless.
But maybe some of that was because, as he headed for the main house, he couldn't help remembering the first time he'd come this way with Tohr. He'd been so nervous then, and having the male next to him had been reassuring.
Happy fucking anniversary, John thought.
Three months ago tonight was when it had all gone down. Three months ago tonight, Wellsie's murder and Sarelle's murder and Tohr's disappearance had been dealt like bad-news Tarot cards. Bang. Bang. Bang.
And the aftermath had been a special kind of hell. For a couple of weeks following the tragedies, John had assumed Tohr would come back. He'd waited, hoped, prayed. But... nothing. No communication, no phone calls, no... nothing.
Tohr was dead. Had to be.
As John came up to the shallow set of stairs that led into the mansion, he could not bear to go through the hidden door into the foyer. He so wasn't interested in eating. Didn't want to see anyone. Didn't want to sit at the table. But sure as hell, Zsadist would come after him. The Brother had totally dragged him to the big house for meals the last couple of days. Which was embarrassing and pissed them both off.
John forced himself to go up the steps and into the mansion. To him, the foyer's blinding splash of color was an affront to the senses, no longer a feast for the eyes, and he headed for the dining room with his stare locked on the floor. When he walked under the grand arch, he saw that the table was set but not yet occupied. And he smelled roast lamb-Wrath's absolute favorite meal.
John's stomach rumbled with starvation, but he wasn't falling for it. Lately, however hungry he was, the instant he put food in his gut, even the kind specially made for a pre-trans, he got cramps. And he was supposed to eat more for the change? Yeah, right.
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When he heard light, rushing footfalls, he turned his head. Someone was racing along the second-floor balcony.
Then laughter drifted down from above. Glorious feminine laughter.
He leaned out the archway and glanced at the grand staircase.
Bella appeared on the landing above, breathless, smiling, a black satin robe gathered in her hands. As she slowed at the head of the stairs, she looked over her shoulder, her thick dark hair swinging like a mane.
The pounding that came next was heavy and distant, growing louder until it was like boulders hitting the ground. Obviously, it was what she was waiting for. She let out a laugh, yanked her robe up even higher, and started down the stairs, bare feet skirting