him feel bad for Marissa. She and her brother had been tight, so getting turned out by him must have been a truly nasty surprise.
"Master?"
Butch looked up. "Hey, Fritz."
"I have what you asked for." The doggen bowed low and held out a black velvet bag. "I believe it matches your specifications, but if it does not, I can find another."
"I'm sure it's perfect." Butch took the heavy satchel, split it open at the mouth, and poured the contents into his Page 167
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hand. The solid gold cross was three inches long and two inches wide, thick as a finger. Suspended at the end of a long, gold chain, it was exactly what he'd wanted and he put it around his neck with satisfaction.
The substantial weight was just as he'd hoped it would be, a tangible protection.
"Master, how is it?"
Butch smiled up at the doggen's wrinkled face while unbuttoning his shirt and dropping the necklace inside.
He felt the cross slide down his skin until it lay right over his heart. "Like I said, perfect."
Fritz beamed, bowed, and took off, just as the grandfather clock started chiming down at the other end of the corridor. Once, twice... six times.
The bedroom door in front of him swung open.
Marissa appeared before him as an apparition. After so many hours of thinking about her, his eyes were momentarily snowed, seeing her not as real but as a figment of his desperation, her dress ether not cloth, her hair a glorious golden aura, her face a haunting well of beauty. As he stared up at her, his heart transformed her into an icon from his Catholic childhood, the Madonna of salvation and love... and him her unworthy servant.
He dragged himself off the floor, his spine cracking as it supported his weight. "Marissa."
Ah, shit, his emotions were all right there in his rusted-out voice, the pain, the sadness, the regret.
She held her hand up. "I meant what I said in that message last night. I loved being with you. Every moment.
That wasn't why you had to leave and I wish I could have explained myself better at the time. Butch, we need to talk."
"Yeah, I know. But do you mind if we go down the hall for this?" Because he had no intention of having an audience, and no matter what she said, he figured she'd prefer not to be in a bedroom alone with him. She was tense as hell.
When she nodded, they headed to the sitting room at the end of the corridor, and on the way, he was stunned by how weak she was. She moved slowly, as if she couldn't feel her legs, and she was terribly pale, nearly transparent from a lack of energy.
Once inside the peach and yellow room, she went over to the windows, away from him.
Her words were thin as breath as she spoke. "Butch, I don't know how to say this..."
"I know what's doing."
"You do?"
"Yes." He started toward her, arms out. "Don't you know I would do anything-"
"Don't come any closer." She stepped back. "You've got to stay away from me."
He dropped his hands. "You need to feed, don't you?"
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Her eyes widened. "How did you-"
"It's all right, baby." He smiled a little. "It's very all right. I talked with V."
"So you know what I've got to do? And you don't... mind?"
He shook his head. "I'm fine with it. More than fine."
"Oh, thank the Scribe Virgin." She lurched over to a sofa and sat down as if her knees had buckled. "I was so afraid you'd be offended. It'll be hard on me as well, but it's the only safe way. And I can't wait any longer. It has to be tonight."
When she patted the couch seat, he went over with relief and sat beside her, taking her hands in his. God, she was so cold.
"I'm really ready for this," he said, with thick anticipation. Man, he was suddenly dying to head back to her bedroom. "Let's go."
A curious expression crossed her face. "You want to watch?"
He stopped breathing. "Watch?"
"I, ah... I'm not sure that's a good idea."
As her words hit him, Butch became aware of a sinking feeling in his gut. Like someone had popped the stoppers on a number of his internal organs. "What are you talking about, watch?"
"When I'm with the male who lets me take his vein."
Abruptly, Marissa recoiled, giving him a good idea of what the expression on his face must be like.
Yeah, or maybe she