by J. R. Ward
She shooed them from the foyer like they weren’t hard-nosed badasses. The only guy who stayed was the one with the brush cut.
He was calmer now as he looked at Rhage. “This is going to have repercussions, my brother.”
Rhage’s face hardened and they broke into their secret language.
The black-haired woman came up to Mary, all the while stroking the cat’s throat. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m Beth, by the way. And this is Boo.”
Mary took a deep breath, instinctively trusting this lone feminine outpost in what was a jungle of testosterone.
“Mary. Mary Luce.”
Beth offered her the petting hand and smiled.
More fangs.
Mary felt the floor underneath her shift.
“I think she’s going over,” Beth shouted while reaching forward. “Rhage!”
Strong arms came around her waist as her knees buckled.
The last thing she heard before blacking out was Rhage saying, “I’m taking her up to my room.”
As Rhage laid Mary out on his bed, he willed on a soft light. Oh, God, what had he done, bringing her to the compound?
When she stirred and opened her eyes, he said, “You’re safe here.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’ll make it safe for you, how about that?”
“Now I believe you.” She smiled a little. “Sorry about going over like I did. I’m not usually a fainter.”
“It’s perfectly understandable. Look, I have to go meet with my brothers. You see that steel lock on the door? I’m the only one who has a key, so you’ll be secure here.”
“Those guys were not happy to see me.”
“That’s their problem.” He brushed her hair back, tucking it behind both her ears. He wanted to kiss her, but stood up instead.
She looked so right in his big bed, nestled in the mountain of pillows he insisted on sleeping with. He wanted her there tomorrow and the day after and…
This wasn’t a mistake, he thought. This was right where she belonged.
“Rhage, why are you doing all this for me? I mean, you don’t really owe me anything, and you hardly know me.”
Because you’re mine, he thought.
Keeping that little ditty to himself, he bent down and stroked her cheek with his forefinger. “This won’t take long.”
“Rhage—”
“Just let me take care of you. And don’t worry about a thing.”
He shut the door behind him and turned the lock before going down the hall. The brothers were waiting at the head of the stairs, Wrath at the front of the group. The king looked grim, black eyebrows buried behind his sunglasses.
“Where do you want to do this?” Rhage asked.
“My study.”
After they’d filed into the formal room, Wrath went behind the desk and sat down. Tohr followed him, standing behind him and to his right. Phury and Z settled against a silk-covered wall. Vishous sat in one of the wing chairs next to the fireplace and lit up a hand-rolled.
Wrath shook his head. “Rhage, man, we got serious problems here. You violated a direct order. Twice. Then you drag a human into this house, which you know is forbidden—”
“She’s in danger—”
Wrath slammed his fist into the desk, making the whole thing jump off the floor. “You really don’t want to interrupt me right now.”
Rhage worked his molars, grinding, biting. He forced the words of respect he usually offered freely. “I meant no offense, my lord.”
“As I was saying, you disobeyed Tohr, and compounded the offense by showing up with a human. What the hell are you thinking? I mean, shit, you’re not an idiot, in spite of how you’re behaving. She’s from the other world, so she’s rank exposure for us. And you have to know her memories are both long-term and traumatic by now. She is permanently compromised.”
Rhage felt a growl condense in his chest and he just couldn’t suck it back. The sound permeated the room like an odor. “She will not be killed over this.”
“Yeah, see, that’s not your call. You made it mine when you brought her onto our turf.”
Rhage barred his fangs. “Then I’ll leave. I’ll leave with her.”
Wrath’s brows popped up over his wraparounds. “Now’s not the time for threats, my brother.”
“Threats? I’m dead fucking serious!” He calmed himself down by rubbing his face and trying to breathe. “Look, last night the two of us were jumped by multiple lessers. She got jacked and I left at least one of those slayers alive while trying to save her. She lost her purse in the process, and if any of those lessers survived, you know they’ve picked up the damn thing. Even if I wipe her memories clean, her house is not secure and I’m not going to let her be taken out by the Society. If she and I can’t stay here, and the only way I can protect her is by disappearing with her, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
Wrath frowned. “You realize you’re choosing a female over the Brotherhood.”
Rhage exhaled. Jesus. He hadn’t expected the situation to come down to that. But he guessed it had.
Unable to stay in place, he went over to one of the windows that ran from floor to ceiling. Looking outside, he saw the terraced gardens, the swimming pool, the vast rolling lawn. But he didn’t focus on the manicured landscape. What he saw was the protection the compound offered.
Security lights illuminated the vista. Cameras mounted in trees recorded every passing moment. Motion sensors monitored each colorful leaf that fell to the ground. And if anyone tried to surmount that wall, they’d do a meet-and-greet with 240 volts of good night, Gracie.
This was the safest environment for Mary. Bar none.
“She’s not just any female to me,” he murmured. “I would have her as my shellan, if I could.”
Someone cursed while several others inhaled sharply.
“You don’t even know her,” Tohr pointed out. “And she’s a human.”
“So.”
Wrath’s voice was low, insistent. “Rhage, man, don’t pull out of the Brotherhood over this. We need you. The race needs you.”
“Then it looks like she’s staying here, doesn’t it.” When Wrath muttered something vile, Rhage turned to him. “If Beth were in danger, would you let anything stand in your way of protecting her? Even the Brotherhood?”
Wrath rose from the chair and came around the desk in a full stalk. He stopped when they were chest-to-chest.
“My Beth has nothing to do with the choices you’ve made or the situation you’ve put all of us in. Contact with humans is to be limited and on their territory only, you know that. And no one lives in this house except brothers and their shellans, if they have them.”
“What about Butch?”
“He’s the sole exception. And he’s only allowed because V dreams of him.”
“But Mary won’t be here for forever.”
“How you figure that? You think the Society’s going to give up? You think humans will suddenly become tolerant as a race? Get real.”
Rhage dropped his voice, but not his eyes. “She’s sick, Wrath. She’s got cancer. I want to take care of her, and not just because of this lesser nightmare.”
There was a long silence.
“Shit, you’ve bonded with her.” Wrath put a hand through his long hair. “For God’s sake…You just met her, my brother.”
“And how long did it take you to mark Beth as your own? Twenty-four hours? Oh, right, you waited two days. Yeah, good thing you gave it some time.”
Wrath let out a short laugh. “You gotta keep bringing my shellan into it, don’t you?”
“Look, my lord, Mary is…different to me. I’m not going to pretend I understand why. All I know is, she’s a pounding in my chest that I can’t ignore…hell, that I don’t want to ignore. So the idea of leaving her at the mercy of the Society is simply not an option. When it comes to her, every protective instinct I have goes into overdrive and I can’t push that shit aside. E
ven for the Brotherhood.”
Rhage fell silent and minutes passed. Hours. Or maybe it was just a couple of heartbeats.
“If I allow her to stay here,” Wrath said, “it’s only because you see her as your mate and only if she can keep her yap shut. And we still have to deal with the fact that you violated those orders from Tohr. I can’t let that go. I’ve got to bring it to the Scribe Virgin.”
Rhage sagged in relief. “I’ll accept any repercussions.”
“So be it.” Wrath went back to the desk and sat down. “We’ve got some other things to talk about, my brothers. Tohr, you’re up.”
Tohrment came forward.
“Bad news. We heard from a civilian family. Male, ten years out of his transition, disappeared last night from the downtown area. I’ve sent a blast e-mail to the community informing everyone that they should use extra caution when going out and that anyone who’s missing needs to be reported to us immediately. Also, Butch and I have been talking. The cop’s got a good head on his shoulders. Any of you have a problem if I bring him in on a little of our business?” When there were a number of shaking heads, Tohr focused on Rhage. “Now tell us what happened last night in the park.”
After Rhage left, and when she felt steady enough to stand, Mary slid off the bed and checked the door. It was locked and solid, so she felt fairly safe. When she saw a light switch to the left, she hit it, illuminating the room.
Holy…house of Windsor.
Silk drapery hung from the windows in swaths of red and gold. Satin and velvet adorned a huge antique Jacobean bed, the posts of which must have been made out of whole oak trunks. There was an Aubusson rug on the floor, oil paintings on the walls—
Good lord, was that Madonna and Child really a Rubens?
But it wasn’t all Sotheby’s stuff. There was a plasma-screen TV, enough stereo equipment to carry off a Super Bowl half-time show, a NASA-worthy computer. And an Xbox on the floor.
She wandered over to the bookshelves, where leather-bound volumes in foreign languages stood straight and proud. She scanned the titles with appreciation until she ran into a collection of DVDs.
Oh, the humanity.
The Austin Powers boxed set. Aliens and Alien. Jaws. All three Naked Guns. Godzilla. Godzilla. Godzilla… wait, the rest of this whole shelf was Godzilla. She went one lower. Friday the 13th, Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street. Well, at least he hadn’t bothered with the sequels to those. Caddy-shack. The Evil Dead boxed set.
It was a wonder Rhage hadn’t blinded himself with all that pop culture.
Mary went into the bathroom and flipped on the lights. A Jacuzzi the size of her living room was set into the marble floor.
Now that’s a true thing of beauty, she thought.
She heard the door open and was relieved when Rhage called her name.
“I’m in here checking out your tub.” She walked back to the bedroom. “What happened?”
“Everything’s cool.”
You sure about that? she wanted to ask. Because he was tense and preoccupied as he went into a walk-in closet.
“Don’t worry, you can stay here.”
“But…?”
“No buts.”
“Rhage, what’s going on?”
“I need to go out with my brothers tonight.” He came back without his suit coat on and led her over to the bed, pulling her down next to him as he sat. “The doggen, our servants, know you’re here. They’re incredibly loyal and friendly, nothing to be scared of. Fritz, who runs this house, will be bringing you up some food in a little bit. If you need anything, just ask him. I’ll be back at dawn.”
“Am I going to be locked in here until then?”
He shook his head and stood up.
“You’re free to move around the house. No one will touch you.” He took a piece of paper out of a leather box and wrote on it. “Here’s my cell number. You call me if you need me and I can be back in a moment.”
“You got a transporter hiding somewhere around here?”
Rhage looked at her and disappeared.
Not as in left-the-room-really-fast disappeared. But poof! disappeared.
Mary leaped off the bed, holding in a shout of alarm with her hand.
Rhage’s arms came around her from behind. “In a moment.”
She grabbed on to his wrists, squeezing the bones to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.
“That’s a hell of trick.” Her voice was thin. “What else do you have under your hat?”
“I can turn things on and off.” The room plunged into darkness. “I can light candles.” Two of them flared on his dresser. “And I’m handy with locks and stuff.”
She heard the latch on the door click back and forth, and then the closet opened and shut.
“Oh, and I can do something really great with my tongue and a cherry stem.”
He dropped a kiss on the side of her neck and headed into the bathroom. The door shut and she heard the shower come on.
Mary stayed frozen in place, her mind skipping like a needle on an LP record. Eyeing the DVD collection, she decided there was something to be said for escapism. Especially when a person had had too much weirdness, too many reorientations to reality, too much…everything.
When Rhage came out a while later, shaved, smelling of soap, a towel around his hips, she was propped up on the bed, Austin Powers Goldmember on the TV.
“Hey, this is a classic.” He smiled and watched the screen.
She forgot all about the movie as she looked at those wide shoulders, the muscles of his arms, the towel following the form of his ass. And the tattoo. That twisting, fierce creature with the white eyes.
“‘Twins, Basil, twins,’” Rhage said with perfect timing and intonation.
He winked at her and went into the closet.
Against her better instincts, she followed after him, and leaned on one of the jambs, trying to look casual. Rhage’s back was to her as he pulled on a pair of black leather pants, commando. The tattoo moved with him as he did up the fly.
A soft sigh escaped her mouth. What a man. Vampire. Whatever.
He glanced over his shoulder. “You okay?”
Actually, she was feeling hot all over.
“Mary?”
“I’m fine and dandy.” Dropping her eyes, she took consuming interest in the collection of shoes lined up on the floor. “Actually I’m going to self-medicate with your movie collection until I’m in a culture coma.”
As he bent down to put his socks on, her eyes latched back onto his skin. All that bare, smooth, golden—
“About the sleeping arrangements,” he said. “I’ll just crash on the floor.”
But she wanted to be in that big bed with him, she thought.
“Don’t be silly, Rhage. We’re both adults. And that thing is wide enough to sleep six.”
He hesitated. “All right. I promise not to snore.”
And how about not keeping your hands to yourself, either?
He pulled on a black short-sleeved shirt and pushed his feet into a pair of shitkickers. Then he paused, eyeing a floor-to-ceiling metal cabinet that was set into the closet wall.
“Mary, why don’t you go back outside? I need a minute. Okay?”
She flushed and turned away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to invade your privacy—”
He took her hand. “It’s not that. You just might not like what you see next.”
As if there was much left that could shock her after today?
“Go ahead,” she murmured. “Do…whatever.”
Rhage stroked her wrist with his thumb then opened the metal cabinet. He took out an empty black leather chest holster and put it on across his shoulders, securing it under his pecs. A wide belt was next, like the kind cops wore, but as with the holster, there was nothing in it.
He looked at her. And then brought out the weapons.
Two long, black-bladed daggers, which he sheathed at his chest, handles down. A shiny handgun that he checked for bullets wit
h fast, sure movements before anchoring it at his hip. Flashing martial-arts stars and matte-black ammunition clips that he tucked into the belt. Another, smaller knife he hid somewhere.
He took his black leather trench coat off a hanger and swung it on, patting the pockets. He pulled out another handgun from the weapons cabinet and assessed it quickly before burying it in the leather folds. He put a few more throwing stars in the coat’s pockets. Added another dagger.
When he faced her, she backed away.
“Mary, don’t look at me like I’m a stranger. It’s still me under all this.”
She didn’t stop until she hit the bed. “You are a stranger,” she whispered.
His face tightened and his voice grew flat. “I’ll be back before dawn.”
He left without any hesitation.
Mary didn’t know how long she sat and stared at the carpet. But when she looked up, she went over and grabbed the phone.
Chapter Twenty-four
Bella popped open her oven, took a peek at dinner, and gave up the fight.
What a mess.
She grabbed a pair of pot holders and extracted the meat loaf. The poor thing had cowered away from the sides of the pan, blackened on top, and developed drying cracks. It was inedible, better suited to the construction supply trade than to a dinner plate. A few dozen more of these and some mortar and she’d have that wall she wanted around her terrace.
As she shut the oven door with her hip, she could have sworn the high-end Viking stove was glaring at her. The animosity was mutual. When her brother had done over the farmhouse for her, he’d gotten her the best of everything, because that was the only way Rehvenge did things. The fact that she’d preferred the old-fashioned kitchen and the squeaky doors and the gentle aging of the place hadn’t mattered. And God help her if she’d kicked up a fuss about the security measures. The only way Rehvenge had permitted her to move out was if he made her home fireproof, bulletproof, and impregnable as a museum.