thousand different directions: They had entered a vast space.
A hand on his shoulder told him when to halt.
The chanting stopped as if unplugged, the sounds ricocheting for a while, then floating away.
He was taken by the arm and led forward.
At his side, Vishous said in a low voice, 'Stairs.'
Butch stumbled a little, then took the steps. When he got to a plateau, he was positioned by V, his body put… wherever it needed to be. As he settled into his stance, he had the sense he was right in front of something big, his toes up against what seemed to be a wall.
In the silence that followed, a bead of sweat dripped off his nose and landed right between his feet on the glossy floor.
V squeezed his shoulder as if in reassurance. Then stepped away.
'Who proposes this male?' the Scribe Virgin demanded.
'I, Vishous, son of the Black Dagger warrior known as the Bloodletter, do.'
'Who rejects this male?' There was quiet. Thank God.
Now the Scribe Virgin's voice took on epic proportions, filling the space around them and every inch between Butch's ears until all he knew was the sound of the words she spoke. 'On the basis of testimony from Wrath son of Wrath, and upon the proposal by Vishous, son of the Black Dagger warrior known as the Bloodletter, I find this male before me, Butch O'Neal, descended of Wrath son of Wrath, an appropriate nomination unto the Black Dagger Brotherhood. As it is within my power and discretion to do so, and as it is suitable for the protection of the race, I have waived the requirement of the maternal line in this case. You may begin.'
Wrath spoke. 'Turn him. Unveil him.'
Butch was repositioned so he faced out, and Vishous removed the black robe. Then the brother slipped the gold cross around so it hung down Butch's back, and walked away.
'Lift thine eyes,' Wrath ordered.
Butch's breath sucked in as he looked up.
He was standing on a black marble dais, staring out at a subterranean cave lit by hundreds of black candles. In front of him there was an altar made of a huge stone lintel balanced on two squat posts… on top of which was an ancient skull. Beyond that, lined up before him, was the Brotherhood in all their glory, five males whose faces were solemn and whose bodies were strong.
Wrath broke ranks and came up to stand at the altar. 'Step back against the wall and hold on to the pegs.'
Butch did as he was told, feeling smooth, cool stone against his shoulders and his ass as his hands fell onto two sturdy grips.
Wrath brought up his hand and it was… shit, it was covered by an antique silver glove that sported barbs at the knuckles. Inside the fist he was making was the handle of a black dagger.
Extending his arm, the king scored himself down the wrist and held the wound over the skull, the dome of which had a silver cup mounted in it. What flowed from Wrath's vein was caught and held, a glossy red pool that caught the candlelight.
'My flesh,' Wrath said. Then he licked his wound closed, put the blade down, and approached Butch.
Butch swallowed hard.
Wrath clapped his palm on Butch's jaw, shoved his head back and bit him in the neck, hard. Butch's whole body spasmed and he gritted his teeth to keep from yelling out, his hands squeezing at the pegs until his wrists felt like they were going to snap. Then Wrath stepped back and wiped his mouth.
He smiled fiercely. 'Your flesh.'
The king curled up a fist within the silver glove, hauled back his arm, and nailed Butch in the chest. The barbs sunk into his skin as air exploded out of his lungs, the raw sound leaping and bounding throughout the cave.
As he caught his breath, Rhage came up and took the glove. The brother performed the ritual just as Wrath had: cutting his wrist, holding it over the skull, speaking the same two words. After he sealed up his wound, he approached Butch. The next two words were mouthed and then Rhage's hard-core fangs were piercing Butch's throat, the bite positioned below Wrath's. Rhage's punch was fast and solid, right where Wrath had thrown his, on the left pec.
Next it was Phury. Followed by Zsadist.
By the time they were done, Butch's neck felt so loose he was convinced his head was going to roll off his shoulders and bounce down the steps. And he was dizzy from the poundings on his chest, blood running down his stomach onto his thigh from the wound.
Then it was V's turn.
Vishous came up onto the dais, his eyes down. He accepted the silver glove from Z and slipped it over the black leather he already wore on his hand. Then he scored himself with a quick flash of the black blade and stared at the skull as his blood dripped down into the basin, joining the others'.
'My flesh,' he whispered.
He seemed to hesitate before turning to Butch. Then he pivoted and their eyes met. As candlelight flickered over V's hard face and got caught in his diamond irises, Butch felt his breath get tight: At that moment, his roommate looked as powerful as a god… and maybe even as beautiful.
Vishous stepped in close and slid his hand from Butch's shoulder to the back of his neck. 'Your flesh,' V breathed. Then he paused, as if asking for something.
Without thinking, Butch tilted his chin up, aware that he was offering himself, aware that he… oh, fuck. He stopped his thoughts, completely weirded out by the vibe that had sprung up from God only knew where.
In slow motion Vishous's dark head dropped down and there was a silken brush as his goatee moved against Butch's throat. With delicious precision, V's fangs pressed against the vein that ran up from Butch's heart, then slowly, inexorably, punched through skin. Their chests merged.
Butch closed his eyes and absorbed the feel of it all, the warmth of their bodies so close, the way V's hair felt soft on his jaw, the slide of a powerful male arm as it slipped around his waist. On their own accord, Butch's hands left the pegs and came to rest on V's hips, squeezing that hard flesh, bringing them together from head to foot. A tremor went through one of them. Or maybe… shit, it was more like they both shuddered.
And then it was done. Over with. Never to happen again.
Neither of them looked at the other as V broke away… and the parting was complete and irrevocable. A path that would not be walked. Ever.
V's hand snapped back and then connected with Butch's chest, the impact harder than all the others, even Rhage's. As Butch choked from the force of the punch, Vishous turned away and rejoined the Brotherhood's lineup.
After a moment, Wrath walked forward to the altar and picked up the skull, lifting it high, presenting it to the brothers. 'This is the first of us. Hail to him, the warrior who birthed the Brotherhood.'
As the brothers let out a war cry that filled the cave, Wrath turned to Butch.
'Drink and join us.'
Butch went for it with gusto, grabbing the skull, tilting his head back, pouring the blood right down his throat. The brothers chanted as he drank, their voices getting louder and louder, ringing out. He tasted each one of them. The raw power and majesty of Wrath. The vast strength of Rhage. The burning, protective loyalty of Phury. The cold savagery of Zsadist. The sharp cunning of Vishous.
The skull was taken from his hands and he was pushed back against the wall.
Wrath's lips lifted darkly. 'Better hold on to those pegs.'
Butch gripped them just as a wave of churning energy slammed into him. He bit down to keep from letting out a howl and was dimly aware of the brothers growling in approval. As the roar increased, his body began to buck against the pegs like he'd front-loaded his nose with a kilo of blow. Then everything whacked out on him, every neuron in his brain firing, every blood vessel and capillary filling. With heart pounding, head swimming, body straining, he—
Butch woke up on the altar, naked and curled on his side. There was a burning sensation on his chest, and when he put his hand to it, he felt something grainy. Salt?
As he blinked and looked around, he realized he was in front of a black marble wall etched with what must
