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“Wrath—”

“Is a nice guy, but he ain’t my king. So he can lay down on this.”

“He just wants to protect you.”

“Tell him I don’t need the favor.”

V let off a foul-sounding line or two in the Old Language, then muttered, “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“One last deet, cop. Marissa’s a guest of the Brotherhood’s. If she doesn’t want to see you, we’re going to haul your ass out, true?”

“If she doesn’t want to see me, I’ll leave on my own. I swear.”

Chapter Seventeen

When Marissa heard a knock on the door, she cracked her eyes open and checked the clock. Ten in the morning and she hadn’t slept at all. God, she was exhausted.

But maybe it was Fritz with a report on her things. “Yes?”

The door opened to reveal a big dark shadow with a baseball hat.

She sat up, keeping the covers to her bare breasts. “Butch?”

“Hi.” He removed the cap from his head, crushing it in one hand, scrubbing his hair around with the other.

She willed a candle to light. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah…I wanted to make sure you were okay in person. Plus your phone…” His eyebrows lifted as if he’d caught sight of the cord she’d ripped out of the wall. “Um, yeah…your phone isn’t working. Mind if I come in for a minute?”

As she took a deep breath, all she smelled was him, the scent going in her nose and blooming all over her body.

Bastard, she thought. Irresistible bastard.

“Marissa, I won’t crowd you, I promise. And I know you’re pissed off. But can we just talk?”

“Fine,” she said, shaking her head. “But don’t think we’re going to solve anything.”

As he stepped forward, it dawned on her that this was a bad idea. If he wanted to talk, she should meet him downstairs. After all, he was very male. And she was very naked. And they were now…yup, shut in a bedroom together.

Good planning. Excellent work. Maybe she should jump out a window next.

Butch leaned back against the door he’d closed. “First, are you all right here?”

“Yes, I am.” God, this was awkward. “Butch—”

“I’m sorry I got all Humphrey Bogart, big man on you.” His bruised face assumed a wince. “It’s not that I don’t think you can take care of yourself. I’m absolutely scared shitless of myself and I can’t handle the idea of you getting hurt.”

Marissa stared at him. See, this was simply awful. This humble apology stuff was liable to get through to her if he kept it up. “Butch—”

“Wait, please—just hear me out. Hear me out and then I’ll leave.” He inhaled slowly, his big chest expanding under his fine black coat. “Keeping you away from me seems like the only way to make sure you’re safe. But that’s about me being dangerous, not you being weak. I know you don’t need to be sheltered or have some kind of caretaker.”

In the long silence that followed, she measured him. “So prove it, Butch. Tell me what really happened to you. There was no car accident, was there?”

He rubbed his eyes. “I got jacked by some lessers.” As she gasped, he said quickly, “It was no big deal. Honestly—”

She put her hand up. “Stop. Give me all of it or none of it. I don’t want half-truths. It demeans us both.”

He cursed. Did some more eye scrubbing.

“Butch, talk or get out.”

“Okay…okay.” His hazel stare lifted to her face. “As far as we can figure, I was interrogated for twelve hours.”

She gripped the sheets hard enough to numb out her fingers. “Interrogated…how?”

“I don’t remember much, but based on the damage, I’d say pretty standard stuff.”

“Standard…stuff?”

“Electroshock, bare-knuckle punches, under-the-fingernails shit.” As he stopped, she was very certain the list continued.

A wash of bile bubbled up her throat. “Oh…God…”

“Don’t think about it. It’s over. Done with.”

Sweet Virgin in the Fade, how could he say that?

“Why—” She cleared her throat. And thought that she’d wanted the whole story so she damn well better show him she could handle it. “Why were you quarantined, then?”

“They put something in me.” He untucked his silk button-down and flashed his black abdominal scar. “V found me left for dead in the woods and took out whatever it was, but now