Butch walked into One Eye feeling like someone had pulled the stoppers out of a number of his internal organs. Marissa had refused to see him, and though he wasn't surprised, it still hurt like a bitch.

So it was time for some Scotch therapy.

After sidestepping a drunken bouncer, a knot of floozies, and a pair of arm wrestlers, Butch found the troika's regular table. Rhage was in the far corner behind it, up against the wall with a brunette. V was nowhere in sight, but a glass filled with Grey Goose and a knotted drink stirrer were in front of a chair.

Butch was two shots in and not feeling much better when Vishous came out from the back. His shirt was untucked and wrinkled at the bottom, and right on his heels was a black-haired woman. V waved her off when he saw Butch.

"Hey, cop," the brother said as he sat down.

Butch tipped his shot glass. "What's doing?"

"How¡ª"

"No go."

"Aw, hell, man. I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

V's phone went off and he cocked it open. The vampire said two words, put the thing back in his pocket, and reached for his coat.

"That was Wrath. We've got to be back at the house in a half hour."

Butch thought about sitting and drinking alone. That plan had bad idea written all over it. "You want to poof it or ride back with me?"

"We got time to drive."

Butch tossed the Escalade's keys across the table. "Bring the car around. I'll grab Hollywood."

He got up and headed for the dark corner. Rhage's trench coat was flared out around the brunette's body. God only knew how far things had gone underneath.

"Rhage, buddy. We gotta bounce."

The vampire lifted his head, all tight lips and narrowed eyes.

Butch held his hands up. "I'm not cock-blocking for kicks and giggles. The mother ship called."

With a curse, Rhage stepped back. The brunette's clothes were disarranged and she was panting, but they hadn't gotten to showtime yet. Hollywood's leathers were all where they should be.

As Rhage retreated, the woman grabbed at him as if realizing the orgasm of her life was about to walk out the door. With a smooth movement, he passed his hand in front of her face and she froze. Then she looked down at herself as if trying to figure out how she'd come to be so aroused.

Rhage turned away with a glower, but by the time he and Butch were outside, he was shaking his head ruefully.

"Cop, listen, I'm sorry if I gave you the evil eye back there. I get a little... focused."

Butch clapped him on the shoulder. "No problem."

"Hey, how did your female¡ª"

"Not a chance."

"Damn, Butch. That rots."

They piled into the Escalade and headed north, following

Route 22 deeper into the countryside. They were going at quite a clip, Trick Daddy's Thug Matrimony thumping like a jackhammer, when V hit the brakes. In a clearing, back about a hundred yards from the road, there was something hanging from a tree.

No, someone was in the process of hanging something from a tree. With an audience of pale-haired, black-clothed tough guys watching.

"Lessers," V muttered, easing off onto the shoulder.

Before they came to a full stop, Rhage exploded out of the car, running flat-out toward the group.

Vishous looked across the front seat. "Cop, you might want to stay¡ª"

"Fuck you, V."

"You armed with one of mine?"

"No, I'm going out there naked." Butch grabbed a Glock out from under the seat, flipping off the semi's safety as he and Vishous jumped to the ground.

Butch had seen only two lessers before, and they freaked him out. They looked like men, they moved and talked like men, but they weren't alive. One look in their eyes and you knew the slayers were empty vessels, the soul gone somewhere else. And they stank to high heaven.

But then again, he never could stand the smell of baby powder.

Out in the clearing, the lessers assumed attack positions and reached into their jackets as Rhage covered the yards of meadow grass like a freight train. He fell upon the group in some kind of suicidal surge, no weapon drawn.

Jesus, the guy was nuts. At least one of those slayers had taken out a handgun.

Butch leveled the Glock and tracked the action, but couldn't get a clean shot. And then he realized he didn't need to play back-up.

Rhage handled the lessers by himself, all animal strength and reflexes. He was ripping some kind of martial-arts hybrid, his trench coat flaring out behind him as he kicked heads and punched torsos. He was deadly beautiful in the moonlight, his face twisted into a snarl, his big body pummeling the tar out of those lessers.

A holler lit off to the right and Butch wheeled around. V had taken down a lesser who'd tried to run, and the brother was all over the damn thing like white on rice.

Leaving the Fight Club stuff to the vampires, Butch headed over to the tree. Strung up from a thick branch was the body of another lesser. The thing had been worked over but good.

Butch loosened the rope and lowered the body, checking over his shoulder because the smacks and grunts of fighting were suddenly louder. Three more lessers had joined the fray, but he wasn't worried about his boys.

He knelt down to the slayer in front of him and started going through its pockets. He was pulling out a wallet when a gun went off with an awful popping sound. Rhage hit the ground. Flat on his back.

Butch didn't think twice. He shifted into firing position and aimed at the lesser who was about to plow another slug into Rhage. The dock's trigger never got pulled. From out of nowhere, there was a brilliant flash of white, like a nuke had gone off. Night turned to day as everything in the clearing was illuminated: the autumnal trees, the fighting, the flat space.

As the brilliance receded, someone came running at Butch. When he recognized V, he lowered the gun.

"Cop! Get in the fucking car!" The vampire was hauling ass, legs pumping like he was about to get served.

"What about Rhage¡ª"

Butch didn't get the rest of the sentence out. V hit him like a piledriver, doing a grab and drag that ended only when they were both in the Escalade and the doors were shut.

Butch turned on the brother. "We're not leaving Rhage out there!"

A mighty roar split the night, and Butch slowly turned his head.

In the clearing he saw a creature. Some eight feet tall, it was built along the lines of a dragon, with teeth like a T- rex and a slashing pair of front claws. The thing flickered in the moonlight, its powerful body and tail covered with iridescent purple and lime-green scales.

"What the hell is that?" Butch whispered, fumbling to make sure the door was locked.

"Rhage in a really bad mood."

The monster let loose another howl and went after the lessers as though they were toys. And it... Good Lord. There wasn't going to be anything left of the slayers. Not even bones.

Butch felt himself beginning to hyperventilate.

Dimly, he heard the sound of a lighter being teed off, and he glanced across the seat. V's face caught and held the flare of yellow as he lit a hand-rolled with shaky hands. When the brother exhaled, the tang of Turkish tobacco filled the air.

"Since when has he..." Butch turned back to the creature feature playing in the clearing. And totally lost his train of thought.

"Rhage pissed off the Scribe Virgin, so she cursed him. Gave him two hundred years of hell. Anytime he gets too worked up, presto-change-o. Pain can set it off. Anger. Physical frustration, if you feel me."

Butch cocked an eyebrow. And to think he'd gotten between that guy and a woman he wanted. Never pulling that kind of stupidity again.

As the carnage continued, Butch began to feel as if he were watching the Sci-Fi Channel with the sound on mute. Man, this kind of violence was out of even his league. In all his years as a homicide detective, he'd seen plenty of dead bodies, some of which had been hard-core gruesome. But he'd never witnessed a slaughter in live action before, and oddly, the shock of it removed the experience from reality.

Thank God.

Although he had to admit the beast was a smooth mover. The way it spun that lesser up into the air and caught the slayer with its...

"Does it happen often?" he asked.

"Often enough. That's why he goes for the sex. Keeps him calm. I'll tell you this, you don't screw around with the beast. It doesn't know who's a friend and who's lunch. All we can do is wait around until Rhage comes back and then take care of him."

Something bounced on the hood of the Escalade with a bang. Oh, God, was that a head? No, a boot. Maybe the creature didn't like the taste of rubber.

"Take care of him?" Butch murmured.

"How'd you like it if every bone in your body was broken? He goes through a change when that thing comes out, and as it leaves, he gets nailed again."

In short order, the clearing was empty of lessers. With another deafening roar, the beast wheeled around as if looking for more to consume. Finding no other slayers, its eyes focused on the Escalade.

"Can it get into the car?" Butch asked.

"If it really wants to. Fortunately, it can't be very hungry."

"Yeah, well... what if it's got room for Jell-o," Butch muttered.

The beast shook its head, black mane tossing in the moonlight. Then it howled and charged at them, running on two legs. The pounding of its stride called thunder and tremors out of the earth.

Butch checked the door lock one more time. Then thought about being a pansy and maybe hitting the floor.

The creature stopped right next to the SUV and fell into a crouch. It was close enough so its breath fogged Butch's window on the exhale, and up close, the thing was hideous. White narrowed eyes. Snarling jowls. And the full set of fangs in its gaping mouth was right out of a fever nightmare. Black blood ran down its chest like crude oil.

The beast lifted its muscled forelegs.

Jesus, those claws were like daggers. Made Freddie Krueger's set of fun and games look like pipe cleaners.

But Rhage was in there. Somewhere.

Butch put his hand to the window, as if he could reach the brother.

The creature cocked its head, white eyes blinking. Abruptly it heaved a great breath, and then the massive body started to shake. A high, piercing cry came out of its throat, cracking through the night. There was another flash of brilliance. And then Rhage was lying naked on the ground.

Butch threw open the car door and knelt by his friend.

Rhage shook uncontrollably on the dirt and grass, his skin clammy, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth moving slowly. There was black blood all over his face, in his hair, down his chest. His stomach was horribly distended. And there was a small hole in his shoulder where the bullet had hit him.

Butch yanked off his jacket and put it over the vampire. Leaning down, he tried to catch the words that were being mumbled. "What was that?"

"Hurt? You... V?'

"Nah, we're doing good."

Rhage seemed to relax a little. "Take me home... Please... get me home."

"Don't you worry about a thing. We're gonna take care of you."

O moved fast across the clearing, heading away from the slaughter, running low to the ground. His truck was parked down the road, about a mile away. He figured he had another three to four minutes before he got to it, and so far nothing was chasing him.

He'd taken off the instant that flash of light had ripped through the clearing, knowing damn well that nothing good came after a sparkler like that. He'd figured it was either nerve gas or the precursor to one fuck of an explosion, but then he'd heard a roar. As he'd looked over his shoulder, he'd stopped dead. Something had been doing a number on his fellow lessen, picking them off like flies.

A creature. From out of nowhere.

He hadn't watched for long, and as he ran now, O glanced back once again to make sure he wasn't being followed. The path behind was still clear, and up ahead he saw the truck. When he got to it, he threw himself inside, cranked the engine over, and hit the gas.

First order of business was to separate from the scene. A massacre like that was going to attract attention, either because of what it looked and sounded like while it was happening or because of what was left when it was over. Second was to reconnoiter. Mr. X was going to be split-personality pissed at this. O's squadron of primes was gone, and the other lessers that he'd invited to watch E's discipline were dead, too. Six slayers in little over a half hour.

And goddamn it, he didn't know much about the monster who'd done the damage. They'd been hanging E's body in the tree when the Escalade had pulled over to the side of the road. A blond warrior had gotten out, so big, so fast, he was obviously a member of the Brotherhood. There had been another male with him, also incredibly lethal, as well as a human, although Christ only knew what that guy had been doing with the two brothers.

The fight had gone on for about eight or nine minutes. O had taken on the blond, had punched him a number of times with no measurable effect on the vampire's stamina or strength. The two of them had been deep in hand-to-hand when one of the other lessers had fired a gun. O had ducked and rolled, nearly getting shot himself. When he'd looked up, the vampire was clutching his shoulder and falling backward.

O had lunged for him, wanting to have the kill, but as he sprang forward, the lesser with the gun had tried to get at the vampire himself. The idiot had tripped on O's leg and knocked both of them to the ground. Then that light had gone off and the monster had appeared. Was it possible that the thing had come out of the blond warrior somehow? Man, what a secret weapon that would be.

O pictured the warrior, recalling every aspect of the male from his eyes to his face to the clothes he wore and the way he moved. Having a good description of the fair-haired brother was critical for use in the Society's interrogations. Specific questions posed to captives were more likely to lead to good answers.

And information on the brothers was what they were looking for. After decades of just knocking off civilians, the lessers were now targeting the Brotherhood specifically. Without those warriors, the vampire race would be completely vulnerable, and the slayers could finally finish their job eradicating the species.

O pulled into the parking lot of the local laser-tag place, thinking that the only good thing about the evening had been when he'd killed E slowly. Taking out his irritation on the slayer's body had been like drinking a cool beer on a hot summer day. Satisfying. Calming.

But what had happened afterward had put him right back on edge.

O flipped open his phone and hit speed dial. There was no reason to wait until he got home to make a report. Mr. X's reaction was going to be worse if he thought the news had been delayed.

"We've had a situation," he said when the call was answered.

Five minutes later he hung up, turned the truck around, and headed back to the rural part of town.

Mr. X had demanded an audience. At his private cabin in the woods.