Lover Revealed

'Nice. We going airborne here?'

Butch and Marissa came in behind V. And they were holding hands.

John stepped to the side and just took it all in: Wrath falling deep into conversation with Beth while V and Butch and Marissa started talking among themselves and Phury and Z headed out.

Chaos. Movement. Purpose. This was the monarchy, the Brotherhood at work. And John felt privileged to be in the room… for however short a time he had left before they kicked his sorry ass to the curb.

Hoping maybe they'd forget he was around, he looked for a place to sit and eyed Tohr's chair. Keeping on the sidelines, he walked over and lowered himself into the faded, torn leather. From here he could see everything: the top of Wrath's desk and whatever was on it, the door where people came and went, every corner of the room.

John curled his legs under him and tilted forward, listening in as Beth and Wrath talked about the Princeps Council. Wow. They worked really great together. She was giving him excellent advice and the king was taking it.

As Wrath nodded at something she'd said, his long black hair slipped over his shoulder and fell onto the desk. He pushed it back, then eased to the side and opened a drawer, pulling out a spiral-bound steno pad and a pen. Without looking, he held them out behind him, right in front of John.

John took the gift with shaking hands.

'Well, leelan, that's what you get when you deal with the glymera. A whole lot of crap.' Wrath shook his head and then looked up at V and Butch and Marissa. 'So what's up, you three?'

John dimly heard words exchanged, but he was too humbled to focus. God, maybe the Brothers weren't kicking him out… maybe.

He tuned in again to hear Marissa say, 'They have nowhere to go, so they're staying in the house I just rented. But, Wrath, they need long-term assistance and I fear there are others out there just like them—females with no one to help them, either because their mates were taken by the lessers or died of natural causes or, God forbid, their males are abusers. I wish there was some kind of program—'

'Yeah, we definitely need one. Along with about eight thousand other things.' Wrath rubbed his eyes under his wraparounds, then looked back at Marissa. 'Okay, I'm putting you in charge of this. Find out what the humans do for their kind. Figure out what we need for the race. Tell me what you require for money and staffing and facilities. Then go out and do it.'

Marissa's mouth fell open. 'My lord?'

Beth nodded. 'That's a fabulous idea. And you know, Mary used to work with social services when she was a volunteer at the Suicide Prevention Hotline. You could start with her. I think she's really familiar with DSS.'

'I… yes… I'll do that.' Marissa looked at Butch and in response, the guy smiled, a slow, very male expression of respect. 'Yes, I… I'll do it. I…' The female crossed the room in a daze, only to stop, at the door. 'Wait, my lord? I've never done anything like this before. I mean, I've worked at the clinic, but—'

'You're going to handle it just fine, Marissa. And, as a friend of mine told me once, you're going to ask for help when you need some. Got it?'

'Uh… yes, thank you.'

'Lot of work ahead of you.'

'Yes…' She curtsied, even though she was wearing pants.

Wrath smiled a little, then looked at Butch, who was going after his female. 'Yo, cop, you and V and I are getting together tonight. It's a go. Be back here in an hour.'

Butch seemed to pale. But then he nodded and took off with Vishous in tow.

As Wrath refocused on his shellan, John quickly scribbled something on the pad and held it out to Beth. After she read it aloud for the king, Wrath inclined his head.

'You go right ahead, son. And yeah, I know you're sorry. Apology accepted. But you sleep up here from now on. Don't care if it's in that chair or in a bed down the hall, you sleep here now.' As John nodded, the king said, 'And one more thing. Every night at four a.m. you're taking a walk with Zsadist.'

John blew a whistle in an ascending note.

'Why? Because I said so. Every night. Otherwise, you're out of the training program and you're out of here. Dig? Whistle twice if you understand me and agree to this.'

John did as he asked.

Then he awkwardly signed thank you. And left.

Chapter Thirty-three

Forty-five minutes later, Butch stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching Marissa with Mary and John. The three were bent over a diagram explaining New York State's interlocking human services agencies, Mary was taking the case study approach to teaching Marissa how it all worked, and John had volunteered to be the case.

Jesus, the kid had had it rough. Born in the bathroom of a bus station. Picked up by a janitor and taken to the Catholic orphanage. Then housed with foster parents who didn't give a shit after Our Lady downscaled its program. And it got worse: Quitting school at sixteen. Running away from the system. Living in squalor while he supported himself as a busboy downtown. He was lucky to be alive.

And Marissa was clearly going to help kids like him.

As the discussion continued, Butch noticed that her voice changed. Deepened. Grew more direct. Her eyes sharpened and her questions got even sharper. She was, he realized, incredibly smart, and she was going to be good at this.

God, he loved her. And he wanted desperately to be what she needed. What she deserved.

As if on cue, he heard footsteps and smelled V's Turkish tobacco. 'Wrath is waiting, cop.'

Butch stared at his woman for a moment longer. 'Let's do it.'

Marissa looked up. 'Butch? I would love to get your thoughts on a police force.' She tapped the diagram. 'I can see a lot of scenarios where we are going to need law enforcement intervention. Wrath is going to need to consider starting up some kind of civil guard.'

'Anything you want, baby.' His eyes memorized her face. 'Just give me a few, okay?'

Marissa nodded, smiled in a distracted way, and went back to her work.

Unable to resist, he walked over and touched her shoulder. When she glanced up, he kissed her on the mouth and whispered, 'I love you.'

As her eyes flared, he kissed her again and turned away. Man, he hoped like hell this ancestor regression turned up something other than a shitload of Irish whitebread.

He and Vishous walked upstairs to the study and found the frilly French room empty except for Wrath… who was standing in front of the fire, one thick arm on the mantel. The king looked like he had brain strain as he stared into the flames.

'My lord?' V said. 'This still a good time?'

'Yeah.' Wrath motioned them in, his black diamond ring flashing on his middle finger. 'Shut the doors.'

'You mind if I get a little muscle?' V nodded down the hall. 'I want Rhage in here holding the cop.'

'Fine.' As Vishous left, Wrath stared at Butch with such intensity, his eyes were like torches burning behind his wraparounds. 'I didn't expect the Scribe Virgin to let us do this.'

'I'm glad she is.' Way glad.

'You understand what you're signing on for here? This is going to hurt like a bitch and you could end up a vegetable on the other side.'

'V's done the full disclosure. I'm good.'

'Check you out,' Wrath murmured with approval. 'You're so tight about this.'

'What are my choices if I want to know? None. So getting all up in my head is not going to help.'

The double doors clicked shut and Butch looked across the study. Rhage had damp hair and was wearing beat-to-shit blue jeans, a black fleece, and no shoes or socks. Absurdly, Butch noticed that even the guy's feet were gorgeous. Yeah, no hairy-knuckled, nasty-nail action for Hollywood. Bastard was head-to-toe perfection.