by J. R. Ward
"Oh. That's okay, then. When do I see you again?"
"Anytime you like. I'll always be right around the next turn for you." He stretched an arm back and brushed her face with his hand. "And we're going to have to watch The Godfather. Parts one and two. Not three."
"What's all that?" she asked as he opened his door and got out.
"Only the best movies ever made. Be good."
Mary was already out and coming around the front of the car, and they met at the grille between the headlights, embracing each other for a second.
"I love you," he said as he gave her a quick kiss.
"Me, too. Tell them I'm coming home?"
As he met Mary's eyes, he put himself in Qhuinn's position--times one billion. Then he shook himself back into focus.
"I will." He took her face in his hands and kissed her again. "Drive safely?"
"Always."
With a nod, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath--and then he was out of there, traveling in a rush of molecules over the human neighborhoods . . . and then across the farmland . . . and going farther, to the foothills that turned into the mountains.
He re-formed at the front entrance of the mansion, shoving his way into the vestibule, putting his face into the security camera.
As he waited for someone to open up, his heart was pounding for all kinds of reasons. But mostly because of the way Bitty had stared at him.
Funny how you could be transformed by someone.
The door broke open and Fritz was on the other side, looking worried. "Sire, how good to see you. All are going down to the training center. We are in the midst of preparing victuals in the event any can eat."
Rhage had a strange impulse to hug the doggen--and he might have followed up on it except Fritz would have passed out from the breach of protocol.
"Thank you. You're so on it. That means everything."
Rhage strode fast and hard over the mosaic depiction of an apple tree in bloom--and he was almost to the hidden door under the grand staircase when he stopped and looked back.
"Fritz?"
The butler skidded to a halt in the archway of the dining room. "Yes, sire?"
"I know this is god-awful timing. But I need you to buy something for me. Right away."
The ancient butler bowed so low his jowls nearly hit the polished floor. "It would be a relief to do something for anybody. One feels so helpless."
*
Behind the wheel of the GTO, Mary felt like time had run backward--that somehow she and Bitty had gotten stuck in a warp where they were back nights ago, heading for the clinic across the river.
And it was not just because of Layla and what was happening at home. In the rear seat, the girl had retreated into herself, her eyes fixed on the window beside her, her face a mask of composure that was all the more alarming because Mary had learned exactly how engaged and cheerful she could be.
"Bitty?"
"Mmm?" came the response.
"Talk to me. I know there's something going on--and yes, I could beat around the bush or pretend I haven't noticed, but I think we're beyond that. I hope we're beyond that."
It was a long while before the girl answered.
"When we left the restaurant," Bitty said. "Did you see the human mahmen and daughter?"
"Yes." Mary took a deep breath. "I saw them."
As the silence resumed, Mary glanced into the rearview. "Did that make you think of your mahmen?"
All the girl did was nod.
Mary waited. And waited. "Do you miss her?"
That was what did it. All at once, Bitty began to cry, great sobs racking her little body. And Mary pulled over. She had to.
Thank God they were in a good part of town, and in a section where there were lots of bakeries and stationery stores and locally owned pet shops. Which meant plenty of parallel-parking spots right on the road that were empty.
Putting the GTO in neutral and pulling the hand brake, Mary twisted all the way around until her knees were tucked into her chest.
Reaching out a hand, she tried to touch Bitty, but the girl shrank away.
"Oh, sweetheart--I know you miss her--"
The girl wheeled back, tears streaming down her face. "But I don't! I don't miss her at all! How can I not miss her!"
As Bitty covered her eyes with her palms and sobbed, Mary let her be even though it killed her. And sure enough, after an agonizing wait, the girl started talking.
"I didn't get that! What that human and her mahmen had! I didn't get . . . bets and laughing. . . . I didn't get going out to dinner or a friendly pick-up in a car by my father!" When she sniffed and wiped her cheeks with the heels of her fists, Mary fished in her bag and took out a pack of Kleenex. Bitty took the package and then seemed to forget she had it. "My mother was scared--and hurt and running for cover! And then she was pregnant and then she got sick and--she died! And I don't miss her!"
Mary turned off the engine, opened her door and got into the back. She was careful to lock them both in the dark car, and as she settled beside the girl, the ambient light helped her see the anguish and the horror on Bitty's face.
"How can I not miss her?" The girl was shaking. "I loved her--and I should miss her. . . ."
Mary reached out, and it was relief to pull Bitty over and hug her close. Stroking her hair, she murmured soft words as Bitty wept.
It was impossible not to tear up herself.
And it was hard not to whisper platitudes like, "It's going to be all right," or, "You're okay," because she wanted to do something, anything to ease the girl. But the truth was, what Bitty had been exposed to growing up was not all right, and kids and people from those environments were not okay for a very, very long time, if ever at all.
"I've got you," was all she could say. Over and over again.
It seemed like years until Bitty took a shuddering breath and sat back. And when she fumbled with the tissue packet, Mary took the thing from her and broke the seal, teasing out a Kleenex. And another.
After Bitty blew her nose and collapsed against the seat, Mary unclipped the girl's seat belt to give her a little more room.
"I didn't know your mother all that well," Mary said. "But I'm very sure, if she could have had those kinds of loving, normal moments with you, she would have taken them in a heartbeat. Violence is all-pervasive when it's in the home. You can't get away from it unless you leave, and sometimes you can't leave so it colors everything. Do you think maybe it's more that you don't miss the suffering the two of you went through? That you don't miss the fear and hurt?"
Bitty sniffled. "Am I a bad daughter? Am I . . . bad?"
"No. God, no. Not at all."
"I did love her. A lot."
"Of course you did. And I'll bet if you think about it, you'll realize you still do."
"I was so scared all the time she was sick." Bitty fiddled with the tissues. "I didn't know what was going to happen to her and I was worried really about myself a lot of the time. Is that bad?"
"No. That's normal. That's called survival." Mary tucked a piece of hair behind Bitty's ear. "When you're young and you can't take care of yourself, you worry about those kinds of things. Heck, when you're older and you can take care of yourself, that's also what you worry about."
Bitty accepted another tissue, putting it on her knee and smoothing it flat.
"When my mom died?" Mary said. "I was angry at her."
The girl looked up in surprise. "Really?"
"Yup. I was bitterly angry. I mean, she had suffered and I had been there by her side for a number of years as she had slowly declined. She hadn't volunteered for any of it. She hadn't asked to get sick. But I resented the fact that my friends didn't have to nurse their parents. That my buddies were free to go out and drink and party and have a good time--be young and unattached, unburdened. Meanwhile I had to worry about tidying up the house, buying groceries, making meals--and then as the disease progressed, cleaning her up, bathing her, getting coverage when the nurses could
n't come in because of bad weather. And then she died." Mary took a deep breath and shook her head. "All I could think of after they took her body away was . . . great, now I have to plan the funeral, deal with the bank account stuff and the will, clean out her clothes. That's when I really lost it. I just broke down and cried, because I felt like the worst daughter in the history of the world."
"But you weren't?"
"No. I was human. I am human. And grief is a complex thing. They say there are stages of it. Have you ever heard of that?" When Bitty shook her head, Mary continued. "Denial, bargaining, anger, depression, acceptance. And all that's largely what people go through. But there are so many other things mixed into it as well. Unresolved issues. Exhaustion. Sometimes there is relief, and that can come with a lot of guilt. My best piece of advice? As someone who has not only walked this road, but also helped other folks through it? Let your thoughts and feelings come when they do--and don't judge them. I can guarantee that you are not the only person who has had thoughts they didn't like or emotions that felt wrong. Also, if you talk about what's going on for you, it is absolutely possible to move through the pain, fear and confusion to what's on the other side."
"And what is that?"
"A measure of peace." Mary shrugged. "Again, I wish I could tell you that the pain goes away--it doesn't. But it does get better. I think of my mom still, and yes, sometimes it stings. I think it always will--and honestly? I don't want that grief to disappear completely. Grief . . . is a sacred way of honoring those we love. My grief is my heart working, it's my love for her and that's a beautiful thing."
Bitty patted the tissue on her knee. "I didn't love my father."
"I don't blame you."
"And sometimes I got frustrated that my mother didn't leave him."
"How could you not have?"
Bitty took a deep breath and exhaled long and slow. "Is that all right? Is all this . . . all right?"
Mary leaned and took both the girl's hands. "It is one hundred percent, absolutely, positively okay. I promise."
"You would tell me if it wasn't?"
Mary's eyes didn't waver. "I swear on the life of my husband. And what's more? I completely understand where you're coming from. I get it, Bitty. I totally get it."
FIFTY-SEVEN
Assail had no clue where they were. As Vishous drove the BMW like a bat out of hell through the streets of Caldwell, and then out into farmland, Assail paid little attention to what they were passing by. All he cared about was measuring the breathing of the slave.
"Stay with me," he whispered.
Before he knew what he was doing, he had reached out and taken the male's cold hand. Rubbing it between his palms, he tried to will some of his body heat, his life force, into what lay so motionless beside him.
God, he hated those chains.
When he finally looked up out of the windows--because he was losing his mind with worry and wondering why the trip was taking so long--he frowned. All around, a fog had rolled in--or rather, visibility had decreased as if there were a mist in the air, even though the telltale pale cloudiness was absent from the landscape.
"You're going to be safe here," Assail heard himself say as they came up to the first of the training center's gates. "They shall endeavor to care for you here."
After all the stop and go, they arrived at the last leg of the trip, a descent that took them underground. And then they were in a parking structure as fortified and large as any in the municipality of Caldwell.
Vishous pulled directly up to a steel door. "I've called ahead."
Assail frowned, wondering when the Brother had gotten on the phone. He hadn't noticed. "How do we get him--"
He didn't have to finish the sentence. That portal burst open, and a gurney appeared along with the female called Doc Jane and another Brother pushing it forth. Assail recognized the fighter--it was the stocky one with the odd, human name. Also known as the Dhestroyer.
The healer already had blood on her loose blue shirt.
As Vishous bolted out from behind the wheel, he talked as he ran about and opened the rear door. "Male, unknown age. Unknown vitals. Malnourished. Unknown psychological and physical trauma."
Assail stumbled to his feet and raced around to help extricate the male who was shaking with fear once again. "Let me!" he barked. "He does not know you!"
Although in truth, the slave knew Assail no better. He did, however, have the advantage of having extricated the imprisoned.
"Here now," he said to the male. "I shan't leave you."
Assail reached in and picked the slave up, pivoting and laying him out upon the gurney. Immediately, the healer further covered his nakedness, and the dignity that afforded the patient made Assail have to blink quickly a number of times.
"Hi, my name is Jane," the healer said, staring directly into those terrified eyes. "I'm going to take care of you. No one is going to hurt you here. You're safe, and we're not going to let any harm come to you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
The slave looked at Assail in a panic.
"It's okay," Assail said. "They are good people."
"What's your name?" the healer was saying as she put her stethoscope into her ears. "I'm sorry, what was that?"
"M-m-markcus."
"Markcus. That's a good name." She smiled. "I'd like to listen to your heart, if that's okay? And I'd like to run an IV into your arm so we can get some fluids into you. Would that be all right?"
Markcus looked at Assail again.
"It's all right," Assail said. "They're going to make you feel better. I promise."
Things moved so fast after that. An IV was started, assessments were made, and then they were on the move, entering the sophisticated facility with its medical rooms and its provisions--and all sorts of people.
Indeed, the entire Brotherhood seemed to be milling about.
The chains got everyone's attention, the whole of the variable crowd in the corridor turning toward the sound of clinking as the healer rushed them along and those links of metal skipped on the floor.
"What the hell?" someone said.
"Oh, God . . ." came another voice.
The fighters split down the middle, parting to let them through. Except for one member of the Brotherhood.
It was the Brother Zsadist. And as he saw the male on the gurney, he turned so white that it was as if he had died suddenly even as he remained standing in the center of the wide hallway.
The Brother Phury stepped up to him and spoke in a low tone. Then he hesitantly touched his brother on the arm.
"Let them pass," Phury said. "Let them take care of him."
When Z finally moved aside, Assail followed along as they ended up in an examination room with a large chandelier in the center, and glass-fronted cabinets all around the edges.
Vishous held him back to the periphery. "Let them work. And tell me what the fuck happened?"
Assail was aware that his lips began to move and he was speaking, but he had no clue what he was saying.
Something must have made sense--and been accurate--because Vishous said, "I swear, she deserves to die if she did this."
Doc Jane turned to Vishous. "Can you help with these chains?"
"On it."
Vishous stepped forward, removing the black leather glove on his hand. Reaching out, he clasped one of the lengths--and a brilliant glow gathered in his palm, heating the links, disintegrating them such that the weight fell free to the floor with a clank.
Assail rubbed his face as the Brother went around to each of the four points, releasing so much of the weight. The bands around the wrists and ankles stayed in place, but at least the heavy links were off.
When Vishous came back over, Assail said in a low tone, "Is he going to live?"
The Brother shook his head. "I have no idea."
FIFTY-EIGHT
Qhuinn stood in the corner of the operating room, his eyes locked on Layla as Manny performed yet another internal exam on her, the male duc
ked in between her spread thighs, a sheet covering what was going on to preserve her privacy.
"It's too soon . . ." Qhuinn shook head and tried to keep his voice down. "It's too soon--this isn't supposed to be happening now. Why is this--it's not supposed to be happening. Jesus, this is too early. What the fuck--the ultrasound said it was okay."
Not happening, his brain insisted. This had to be some kind of a dream.
Yup, any minute, he was going to wake up and find Blay next to him in their bedroom--and he was going to take that deep, relieved breath you got to suck in when you realized that the bogeyman who'd been terrorizing you was in fact nothing but a figment of your imagination. Or maybe a backed-up chili dog.
"Wake up," he muttered. "Wake up now. Wake the fuck up. . . ."
Blay was, in fact, beside him. But they were not horizontal, and they sure as fuck were not back up at the big house in their suite of rooms. His male was, however, supporting the shit out of him: the only thing keeping him standing was Blay's strong arm was around his waist.
Manny retracted his hand from under the sheet and snapped off his bright blue glove. Then he got up and motioned for Qhuinn and Blay to come over to the bedside.
The fact that Layla was still conscious was testimony to how strong a female she was, but oh, God, she was pale. And there was so much blood, filling the pan under her bottom, scenting the air like a stain in the oxygen molecules themselves.
Manny put his hand on Layla's shoulder and addressed her. "The bleeding is slowing. That's good news. But now both of them are showing signs of fetal distress, with the boy's heart rate beginning to fluctuate as well. Moreover, I remain particularly worried about the little girl, what with her being the smaller of the two of them. I strongly recommend that we do a Cesarean section--"
"But it's too soon!" Layla looked at Qhuinn in a panic. "It's too soon--"
Manny took the female's hand. "Layla, you've got to listen to me. The babies are struggling--but more to the point, you are not going to make it unless we get them out."
"I don't care about me! You said that the bleeding is stopping--"
"It's slowing. But we're running out of time and I need you as strong as possible when I put you under."
"I don't care what you do to me! You need to keep them inside--"
Layla hitched a breath as another contraction hit her, and Qhuinn rubbed his face. Then he motioned for Manny to step away with him.