“Yo, cop. We're heading for Screamer's. You wanna come?" Butch looked up at the doorway. Vishous was in the hall with Rhage and Phury behind him. The vampires had expectant looks on their faces, like they honestly wanted to hang with him. Butch found himself grinning like the new kid who didn't have to sit alone at lunch after all.”

“Tohrment spoke. "Bella's brother called. He's tabled the sehelusion request and asked that she stay here for a couple of days."Z jacked his head up. "Why?""He didn't give a reason-" Tohr's eye's narrowed on Z's face. "Oh... my God.""What the fuck are you looking at?"Phury pointed to the antique mirror hanging on the wall next to the double doors. "See for yourself."Zsadist marched across the room, ready to give them all hell. Bella was what mattered-His mouth went lax at his reflection. With a shaky hand he reached out to the eyes in the old-fashioned leaded glass. His irises were no longer black. They were yellow. Just like his twin's."Phury?" he said softly. "Phury... what happened to me?"As the male came up behind him, his brother's face appeared right beside Z's. And then Wrath's dark reflection showed up in the mirror, all long hair and sunglasses. Then Rhage's star-fallen beauty. And Vishous's Sox cap. And Tohrment's brush cut. And Butch's busted nose.One by one they reached out and touched him, their big hands gently on his shoulders."Welcome back, my brother," Phury whispered.Zsadist stared at the males who were behind him. And the oddest thought that if he were to let himself go limp and fall backward... they would catch him.”

“Rhage's hand landed on Butch's shoulder. "Besides, you don't look a thing like him. I mean...hello? You're this beefy Irish boy. He's like...bus exhaust or some shit.”

“You're getting into some kind of shape, cop."Aw, come on, now." Butch grinned. "Don't let that shower we took go to your head."Rhage fired a towel at the male. "Just pointing out your beer gut's gone."It was a Scotch pot. And I don't miss it.”

“Jesus Christ. . . he was not Omega's son. Was he?"No." V said. "You are not. He just wants to believe you are. And he wants you to think you are. But that doesn't make it true."There was a long silence. Then Rhage's hand landed on Butch's shoulder. "Besides, you don't look a thing like him. I mean. . . hello? You are this beefy Irish white boy. He's like. . . bus exhaust or some shit."Butch glanced over at Hollywood. "You're sick, you know that?""Yeah, but you love me, right? Come on, I know you feel me.”

“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—was that a tattoo, on his face? “How’d you like to be dinner?” said another one, who looked like some kind of model.”