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She pushed away from him and stood up, her eyes going to the windows and the glowing city. She wondered where Butch was and what he was doing, then looked back over at Rehv and wanted to know why in the hell she wasn’t attracted to him. He was beautiful in the ways of a warrior—potent, thick-blooded, strong…especially now, with his massive body sprawled on the sable-covered couch, his legs spread in blatant sexual invitation.

“I wish I wanted you, Rehv.”

He laughed dryly. “Funny, I know just what you mean.”

V pushed out through the mansion’s vestibule and stood in the courtyard. In the lee of the looming stone manse, he cast his mind out into the night, radar looking for a signal.

“You do not go in alone,” Rhage snarled at his ear. “You find the place they’re keeping him and you call us.”

When V didn’t reply, he was grabbed by the back of the neck and shaken like a rag doll. In spite of the fact that he was a jacked six-foot-six.

Rhage’s face pushed into his, all no-fooling-around. “Vishous. You hear me?”

“Yeah, whatever.” He shoved the male off him, only to become very aware that they were not alone. The rest of the Brotherhood was waiting, armed and angry, a cannon ready to be fired. Except…in the midst of all their aggression, they were looking over at him with worry. As the concern drove him nuts, he turned away.

V marshaled his mind and sifted through the night, trying to find the small echo of himself inside Butch. Penetrating the darkness, he searched across fields and mountains and frozen lakes and rushing streams…out…out…out—

Oh, God.

Butch was alive. Barely. And he was…north and east. Twelve, maybe fifteen miles away.

As V took out his Glock, an iron hand grabbed his arm. Rhage was back with a hard-on. “You do not take those lessers on alone.”

“I got it.”

“Swear to me,” Rhage snapped. Like he knew damn well V was thinking of rushing whoever held Butch and only calling for cleanup.

Except this was personal, not just about the war between the vampires and the Lessening Society. Those undead bastards had taken his—well, he didn’t know what Butch was to him specifically. But it ran deeper than anything he’d felt in a long time.

“Vishous—”

“I’ll call you when I’m good and fucking ready.” V dematerialized free of his brother’s hold.

Traveling in a loose scramble of molecules, he misted out into Caldwell’s rural farmland to a grove of woods beyond a pond that was still frozen. He triangulated his reappearance about a hundred yards away from the signal he got from Butch, coming together crouched and ready for a fight.

Which was a good plan because, holy hell, he could feel lessers everywhere—

V frowned and held his breath. Moving slowly, he turned in a semicircle, searching with his eyes and his ears, not his instincts. There were no slayers around. There was nothing around. Not even a shack or a hunting lodge—

Abruptly, he shuddered. No, there was something in these woods, all right—a big-ass something, a condensed mark of malevolence, an evil that made him twitchy.

The Omega.

As he swiveled his head toward the dreadful concentration, a cold blast of wind nailed him in the face, like Mother Nature was urging him in the opposite direction.

Tough shit. He had to get his roommate out of here.

V ran toward what he could sense of Butch, his shitkickers punching through the crusty snow. Up ahead, the full moon shone brightly at the margin of a cloudless sky, but the presence of evil was so vivid V could have followed the way blindfolded. And shit, Butch was close to that blackness.

Fifty yards later, V saw the coyotes. They were circling something on the ground, growling not as if they were hungry but as if the pack was being threatened.

And whatever had captured their interest was of such magnitude they didn’t even notice V’s approach. To break them up, he pointed his gun overhead and let off a couple of rounds. The coyotes scattered and—

V skidded to a halt. As he looked at what was on the ground, he couldn’t swallow. Which was fine, because