over to the Alpine and cranked up MIMS's Music Is My Savior.
As the rap pounded, he thought about how before, he'd used the shit to drown out the thoughts of
others. Now that his visions had dried up and that whole mind-reading thing had gone poof!? He
used the bass beats to keep him from hearing his roommate making love.
V rubbed his face. He really had to get out of here. For a while he'd tried to get them to move
out, but Marissa maintained that the Pit was «cozy» and that she liked living in it. Which had to
be a lie. Half the living room was eaten up by the foosball table, ESPN was on mute twenty-
four/seven, and hard-core rap was always playing. The refrigerator was a demilitarized zone
marked with decaying casualties from Taco Hell and Arby's. Grey Goose and Lagavulin were the
only drinks in the house. Reading material was limited to Sports Illustrated and… well, back
issues of Sports Illustrated.
So, yeah, not a whole lot of duck-and-bunny-adorable going down. The place was part frat
house, part locker room. With decor by Derek Jeter.
As for Butch? When V had suggested a little U-Haul action to the guy, the cop had shot a level
stare across the couch, shook his head once, and gone into kitchen for more Lagavulin.
V refused to think they stayed because they were worried about him or some shit. The very idea
made him mental.
He got to his feet. If there was going to be a separation, he was going to have to be the one who
initiated it. The trouble was, not having Butch around all the time was… unthinkable. Better the
torture he had now than an exile.
He checked his watch and figured he might as well hit the underground tunnel and head over to
the big house. Even though the rest of the Black Dagger Brotherhood lived in that rock-faced
monster of a mansion next door, there were plenty of extra rooms. Maybe he should just try one
on for size. For a couple of days.
The thought made his stomach churn.
On his way to the door, he caught the bonding scent wafting from Butch and Marissa's bedroom.
As he thought about what was happening, his blood heated even as shame made his skin go
Popsicle.
With a curse, he walked over to his leather jacket and took out a cell phone. As he dialed, his
chest was warm as a meat locker, but at least he felt as if he was doing something about this
obsession of his.
When the female voice answered, V sliced through her husky hello. «Sundown. Tonight. You
know what to wear, and your hair will be off your neck. What do you say to me?»
The reply was a purr of submission. «Yes, my lheage.»
V hung up and tossed the cell phone on the desk, watching as it bounced and came to rest against
one of his four keyboards. The submissive he'd chosen for tonight liked things especially hard-
core. And he was going to deliver.
Fuck, he truly was a pervert. Down to the marrow. A confirmed, unrepentant sexual deviant…
who was somehow famous within the race for what he was.
Man, it was absurd, but then, the tastes and motivations of females had always been bizarre. And
his fancy reputation was no more significant to him than his subs were. All that mattered was
that he had volunteers for what he needed sexually. What was said about him, what the females
needed to believe about him, was just oral masturbation for mouths that needed to be otherwise
occupied.
As he went down into the tunnel and headed for the mansion, he was thoroughly bitched. Thanks
to that stupid rotation schedule the Brotherhood was on, he wasn't allowed in the field tonight,
and he hated that. He'd much rather be hunting and killing the undead slayers who went after the
race than be parked on his ass.
But there were ways to burn off a case of the eye-splitting frustrates.
That was what restraints and willing bodies were made for.
Phury walked into the mansion's industrial-sized kitchen and froze the way you did when
confronted with an accidental injury of the bloody variety: The soles of his feet got stuck to the
floor, his breath stopped, his heart skipped then scrambled.
Before he could back out through the butler's door, he got caught.
Bella, his twin's shellan, looked up and smiled. «Hi.»
«Hello.» Leave. Now.
God, she smelled good.
She waved the knife in her hand over the roasted turkey she was working on. «Would you like
me to make you a sandwich, too?»
«What?» he said like an idiot.
«A sandwich.» She pointed the blade at the bread loaf and the almost
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