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Butch was two shots in and not feeling much better when Vishous came out from the back. His shirt was untucked and wrinkled at the bottom, and right on his heels was a black-haired woman. V waved her off when he saw Butch.

“Hey, cop,” the brother said as he sat down.

Butch tipped his shot glass. “What’s doing?”

“How—”

“No go.”

“Aw, hell, man. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

V’s phone went off and he cocked it open. The vampire said two words, put the thing back in his pocket, and reached for his coat.

“That was Wrath. We’ve got to be back at the house in a half hour.”

Butch thought about sitting and drinking alone. That plan had bad idea written all over it. “You want to poof it or ride back with me?”

“We got time to drive.”

Butch tossed the Escalade’s keys across the table. “Bring the car around. I’ll grab Hollywood.”

He got up and headed for the dark corner. Rhage’s trench coat was flared out around the brunette’s body. God only knew how far things had gone underneath.

“Rhage, buddy. We gotta bounce.”

The vampire lifted his head, all tight lips and narrowed eyes.

Butch held his hands up. “I’m not cock-blocking for kicks and giggles. The mother ship called.”

With a curse, Rhage stepped back. The brunette’s clothes were disarranged and she was panting, but they hadn’t gotten to showtime yet. Hollywood’s leathers were all where they should be.

As Rhage retreated, the woman grabbed at him as if realizing the orgasm of her life was about to walk out the door. With a smooth movement, he passed his hand in front of her face and she froze. Then she looked down at herself as if trying to figure out how she’d come to be so aroused.

Rhage turned away with a glower, but by the time he and Butch were outside, he was shaking his head ruefully.

“Cop, listen, I’m sorry if I gave you the evil eye back there. I get a little…focused.”

Butch clapped him on the shoulder. “No problem.”

“Hey, how did your female—”

“Not a chance.”

“Damn, Butch. That rots.”

They piled into the Escalade and headed north, following Route 22 deeper into the countryside. They were going at quite a clip, Trick Daddy’s Thug Matrimony thumping like a jackhammer, when V hit the brakes. In a clearing, back about a hundred yards from the road, there was something hanging from a tree.

No, someone was in the process of hanging something from a tree. With an audience of pale-haired, black-clothed tough guys watching.

“Lessers,” V muttered, easing off onto the shoulder.

Before they came to a full stop, Rhage exploded out of the car, running flat-out toward the group.

Vishous looked across the front seat. “Cop, you might want to stay—”

“Fuck you, V.”

“You armed with one of mine?”

“No, I’m going out there naked.” Butch grabbed a Glock out from under the seat, flipping off the semi’s safety as he and Vishous jumped to the ground.

Butch had seen only two lessers before, and they freaked him out. They looked like men, they moved and talked like men, but they weren’t alive. One look in their eyes and you knew the slayers were empty vessels, the soul gone somewhere else. And they stank to high heaven.

But then again, he never could stand the smell of baby powder.

Out in the clearing, the lessers assumed attack positions and reached into their jackets as Rhage covered the yards of meadow grass like a freight train. He fell upon the group in some kind of suicidal surge, no weapon drawn.

Jesus, the guy was nuts. At least one of those slayers had taken out a handgun.

Butch leveled the Glock and tracked the action, but couldn’t get a clean shot. And then he realized he didn’t need to play back-up.

Rhage handled the lessers by himself, all animal strength and reflexes. He was ripping some kind of martial-arts hybrid, his trench coat flaring out behind him as he kicked heads and punched torsos. He was deadly beautiful in the moonlight, his face twisted into a snarl, his big body pummeling the tar out of those lessers.

A holler lit off to the right and Butch wheeled around. V had taken