J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [541]
Except…tonight as he looked at his equipment, his perversions made him feel dirty. Maybe because he never came here unless he was ready to use what he had, so he’d never given the place a look-see when his head was clear.
His cell phone’s ring startled him. As he glanced at the number, he numbed out. Havers. “Is he dead?”
Havers’s voice was all professional-doctor sensitive. Which was the tip-off that Butch was hanging by a spider’s thread. “He coded, sire. He pulled the IV out and his vitals dipped. We brought him back, but I don’t know how long he can keep going.”
“Can you restrain him?”
“I did. But I want you to be prepared. He’s just a human—”
“No, he is not.”
“Oh…of course, sire, but I didn’t mean it like—”
“Shit. Look, I’m coming back. I want to be with him.”
“I would prefer you didn’t. He gets agitated whenever anyone’s in the room and that doesn’t help things. Right now he’s as stable as I can make him and as comfortable as possible.”
“I don’t want him dying alone.”
There was a pause. “Sire, we all die alone. Even if you were in the room with him, he would still leave unto the Fade…alone. He needs to be kept calm so his body can decide whether it’s going to revive. We’re doing everything we can for him.”
V put a hand over his eyes. In a small voice that he didn’t recognize, he said, “I don’t…I don’t want to lose him. I, ah…yeah, don’t know what I would do if he—” V coughed a little. “Fuck.”
“I shall care for him as mine own. Give him a day to try and stabilize.”
“Nightfall tomorrow, then. And you will call me if his condition gets worse.”
V hung up the phone and found himself staring at one of the lit candlewicks. Over its black wax torso, the captured little head of light weaved in the currents of the room.
The flame got him thinking. The bright yellow of it was…well, it was kind of like the color of blond hair, wasn’t it.
He whipped out his cell, deciding that Havers was wrong about the no-visitors thing. It just depended on who the visitor was.
As he dialed, he resented the only option he had. And knew that what he was doing probably wasn’t fair. Probably would cause a helluva lot of trouble, too. But when your best friend was doing the tombstone two-step with the Reaper, you kind of didn’t give a shit about a lot of things.
“Mistress?”
Marissa looked up from her brother’s desk. The seating chart for the Princeps dinner was in front of her, but she couldn’t concentrate. All that searching of the clinic and the house and she’d come up with nothing. Meanwhile, her senses were screaming that something was wrong.
She forced a smile for the doggen in the doorway. “Yes, Karolyn?”
The servant bowed. “A call for you. On line one.”
“Thank you.” The doggen inclined her head and left as Marissa picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“He’s in the room down by your brother’s lab.”
“Vishous?” She jumped to her feet. “What—?”
“Go through the door marked HOUSEKEEPING. There’s a panel to the right that you push open. Make sure you put on a hazmat suit before you go in to see him—”
Butch…dear God, Butch. “What—”
“Do you hear me? Put the suit on and keep it on.”
“What ha—”
“Car accident. Go. Now. He’s dying.”
Marissa dropped the phone and ran from Havers’s study, nearly mowing down Karolyn out in the hall.
“Mistress! What’s wrong?”
Marissa shot through the dining room, punched open the butler’s door, and stumbled into the kitchen. As she made the corner to the back stairs, she lost one of her high heels, so she kicked off the other and kept going in her stocking feet. At the bottom of the steps, she entered the security code to the rear entrance of the clinic and burst into the ER’s waiting room.
Nurses called out her name, but she ignored them as she raced for the lab’s corridor. Tearing past Havers’s laboratory, she found the door marked HOUSEKEEPING and slammed it open.
As she panted, she looked around at…nothing. Just mops and empty buckets and smocks. But Vishous had