Wrath checked the video monitor that was mounted on the wall.
When he saw Beth in the cop's arms, he stopped breathing. He threw open the front door and grabbed for her body as the man rushed inside.
This is it, he thought. She was in the transition.
The cop was vibrating with anger as Beth's weight was transferred between them. "You goddamn son of a bitch. How can you do this to her?"
Wrath didn't bother responding. Cradling Beth in his arms, he strode quickly through the knot of brothers. He could feel their astonishment, but he wasn't about to stop and explain.
"Nobody kills the human but me," he barked. "And he does not leave this house until I come back."
Wrath sped into the drawing room. Pushed the painting aside. Ran down the stairs as fast as he could go.
Time was of the essence.
Butch watched the drug dealer disappear with Beth. Her head bounced as they rushed away, her hair a silken flag trailing behind them.
For a moment, he was utterly immobilized, caught between wanting to scream and needing to cry.
The waste. The horrible waste.
Then he heard the door shut and lock behind him. And realized he was surrounded by five of the meanest, biggest bastards he'd ever seen.
A hand landed on his shoulder like an anvil. "How'd you like to stay for dinner?"
Butch looked up. The guy was wearing a baseball cap and had some kind of marking¡ªwas that a tattoo, on his face?
"How'd you like to be dinner?" said another one, who looked like some kind of model.
Anger returned to Butch, thickening his muscles, strengthening his bones.
He jacked up his pants.
These boys wanna play? he thought. Fine. We'll fucking dance.
To show he wasn't afraid, he met each of them in the eye. The two who'd spoken. A relatively normal-looking one who was hanging back. Another guy with an outrageous mane of hair, the kind of stuff women would pay hundreds for at some ritzy salon.
And then the last man.
When he saw Beth in the cop's arms, he stopped breathing. He threw open the front door and grabbed for her body as the man rushed inside.
This is it, he thought. She was in the transition.
The cop was vibrating with anger as Beth's weight was transferred between them. "You goddamn son of a bitch. How can you do this to her?"
Wrath didn't bother responding. Cradling Beth in his arms, he strode quickly through the knot of brothers. He could feel their astonishment, but he wasn't about to stop and explain.
"Nobody kills the human but me," he barked. "And he does not leave this house until I come back."
Wrath sped into the drawing room. Pushed the painting aside. Ran down the stairs as fast as he could go.
Time was of the essence.
Butch watched the drug dealer disappear with Beth. Her head bounced as they rushed away, her hair a silken flag trailing behind them.
For a moment, he was utterly immobilized, caught between wanting to scream and needing to cry.
The waste. The horrible waste.
Then he heard the door shut and lock behind him. And realized he was surrounded by five of the meanest, biggest bastards he'd ever seen.
A hand landed on his shoulder like an anvil. "How'd you like to stay for dinner?"
Butch looked up. The guy was wearing a baseball cap and had some kind of marking¡ªwas that a tattoo, on his face?
"How'd you like to be dinner?" said another one, who looked like some kind of model.
Anger returned to Butch, thickening his muscles, strengthening his bones.
He jacked up his pants.
These boys wanna play? he thought. Fine. We'll fucking dance.
To show he wasn't afraid, he met each of them in the eye. The two who'd spoken. A relatively normal-looking one who was hanging back. Another guy with an outrageous mane of hair, the kind of stuff women would pay hundreds for at some ritzy salon.
And then the last man.
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