• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 1534 0

his throat and sticks out his hand. Then he withdraws it and wipes his palm vigorously on the seat of his jeans. He puts the hand out again and introduces himself as Butch O’Neal. She considers the palm he’s offered her but takes a step back. He drops his hand and just keeps staring at her. What are you looking at, she asks, bringing the lapels of her gown closer. She wonders if maybe he senses she’s a vampire and is disgusted by her. A flush hits his cheeks and he laughs awkwardly. He apologizes and says she’s probably sick of men laying eyes on her. She shakes her head. No males ever look at me, she murmurs. To herself, she thinks that this was one of the hardest parts of being Wrath’s shellan. No males and few females would even meet her in the eye for fear of what Wrath might do. God, if they’d all only known how little she’d been wanted.

The human takes a step closer. I can’t imagine the men don’t stare, he says. He smiles at her and his eyes, they’re so warm, she thinks. She’s heard so many stories about humans. How they hate her race, would burn her kind at the stake if they could. This one doesn’t seem violent, though, at least not towards her. What’s your name, he asks. She tells him and then he wants to know if she lives in the house. She shakes her head.

Butch cannot take his eyes away from her. He knows he’s behaving like a perfect ass but he really wants to reach out and touch her, just to make sure she’s real. Would you mind—he shuts his mouth. What, she prompts. May I touch your hair, he whispers. She seems shocked and then a look of determination crosses her face. She takes a step towards him and he loves the way she smells. Like clean air. She tilts her head down and one long lock of her hair falls forward. Butch takes the silken strands between his fingers. Soft, he thinks. So soft.

Marissa closes her eyes as his hand grows a little bolder. She feels the touch of his fingertips on her cheek and instinctively she turns her face into his palm. Her body starts to feel warm and time seems to slow. She’s confused by the change in herself, a little frightened of the attention of this male. But she likes it. She likes the way he’s looking at her.

Back at his home, Havers has spent the night pacing in the garden. He knows how to take Wrath out of his sister’s life but the method goes against his principles and his commitment to his race as a healer. Unsure, he goes up to her bedroom. When he finds she’s gone again, he makes up his mind. He dematerializes and projects himself to a retched part of the city. Dressed in his expensive clothes, he looks totally out of place among the leather and chain set downtown. He begins to pace the streets and alleys.

With Beth sleeping soundly, Wrath leaves her to go talk with the brothers. When he pushes open the painting and steps into the drawing room, he sees Butch and Marissa standing close together. Wrath is astounded at the attraction he senses between them. It’s on both sides. Before he can say anything, Rhage comes in from the dining room, a dagger in his hand. He’s heading for Butch, having obviously seen the same thing Wrath has and believing that Marissa is still Wrath’s shellan. Wrath’s commanding voice pulls Rhage, Butch and Marissa up short. Wrath notes with approval the way Butch instinctively protects Marissa with his body. Rhage smiles and tosses the dagger over to Wrath, obviously assuming Wrath wants to kill the human. Relax, Rhage, Wrath mutters. And leave us.

Butch looks up at the bigger man, thinking about Beth and now also worried about the blonde woman behind him. He feels a movement and realizes that Marissa is actually putting herself between him and the drug dealer. As if she could protect him. Butch starts to protest when Marissa speaks sharply in a language he doesn’t recognize. She and the dealer talk for a moment and then the dealer actually smiles. He walks over and kisses Marissa on the cheek. And then with a quick movement, the dealer reaches around her body and grabs Butch around the neck. From behind his sunglasses, the man’s shooting