by J. R. Ward
"Bella was, for them, a lucky mistake, and they came back tonight to finish the job by getting Mary. V, I want you to run this car's plates, okay?" Butch eyed the sky. Light snow flurries were coming down. "With this shit falling, the integrity of the outdoor scenes is disintegrating, but I think we know what we can from the exteriors. Let me go through the SUV while you boys clean up the bodies of those lessers. I don't need to tell you to take anything you can off them, wallets, BlackBerrys, cell phones. Give it all to V when he comes back so he can take the stuff to the Pit. And stay out of both houses until I clear the scenes."
As the brothers got to work, Butch went through the Explorer with a fine-toothed comb. By the time he was finished, the vampires had finished poofing the lessers.
"SUV's clean as a whistle, but it's registered to a guy named Ustead." He handed the registration card to Phury. "Probably a false identity, but would one of you boys check out the address anyway? I'm heading back to Bella's to finish up there."
Tohr checked his watch. "We'll check this Ustead's place out, then go do our civilian sweeps. Unless you need help?"
"No, it's better if I go it alone."
The brother paused. "What about some cover, cop? Because the lessers might show up again. None of the ones here got away, but when those boys don't check in, some of their buddies could come back for a look-see."
"I can handle myself." He took out his gun and checked it. "But I spent my clip. Can I borrow another?"
Phury held out a Beretta. "Take this and start fresh."
And Tohr wouldn't leave until Butch accepted one of his docks as well.
Tucking one gun into his holster and keeping the other in his hand, Butch took off across the meadow at a jog. His body was primed and pumped, and he covered the distance in no time at all, barely breaking a sweat. As he ran, his mind was sharp as the night air, churning over lists of things to follow up on and theories about where Bella might have been taken.
As he ran up to the back of the farmhouse, he caught a flash of movement inside. He flattened against the wall next to the broken French door and eased the Beretta's safety off. From inside the kitchen there was the sound of crunching glass, like popcorn on a stove. Someone was walking around. Someone big.
Butch waited until whoever it was got closer; then he jumped into the doorway, aiming the gun at chest level.
"It's just me, cop," Z muttered.
Butch swung the muzzle to the ceiling. "Christ, I could have shot you."
But Z didn't seem to care that he'd almost been plugged. He just leaned down and fished around some dish shards with his fingertip.
Butch took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. He wasn't going to ask Zsadist to leave. There was no point in getting into an argument with him, and besides, the brother was acting totally weird, kind of like he was in a stupor. The dead calm in him was eerie as hell.
Z picked something off the floor.
"What is it?" Butch asked.
"Nothing."
"Try not to disturb the scene, okay?"
As Butch looked around, he cursed to himself. He wanted his old partner from the force, Jose. He wanted his whole Homicide team. He wanted his CSI folks back in the lab.
He allowed himself a couple seconds of black frustration and then got to work. Starting at the busted French doors, he was prepared to go through every inch of the house, even if it took him until dawn.
Mary brought out another round of Alka-Seltzer from the bathroom. Rhage was lying on their bed, breathing slowly, more than a little green around the gills.
After he drank the stuff, he looked up at her. His face tensed and his eyes grew leery, worried.
"Mary… I wish you hadn't seen all that."
"Shh. Just rest for a little while, okay? There's time to talk later."
She got undressed and slid in next to him. The moment she was between the sheets, he curled himself around her, his big body a living blanket.
Lying next to him, all safe and secure, made her think of Bella.
Mary's chest constricted and her eyes squeezed shut. If she believed in God at all, she would have prayed right now. Instead she just hoped as hard as she could.
Sleep came eventually. Until hours later, when Rhage let out a mighty yell.
"Mary! Mary, run! "
He began flailing around with his arms. With a lunge, she dove between them, putting herself against his chest, holding him down, talking to him. When his hands still scrambled, she captured them and put his palms to her face.
"I'm okay. I'm right here."
"Oh, thank God… Mary." He stroked her cheeks. "I can't see very well."
In the candlelight, she looked down into his unfocused eyes.
"How long does the recovery take?" she asked.
"Day or two." He frowned and then stretched his legs. "Actually, I'm not as stiff as I usually am. Stomach's a mess, but the aches aren't bad at all. After I change—"
He stopped, jaw going rigid. Then he loosened his hold on her as if he didn't want her to feel trapped.
"Don't worry," she murmured. "I'm not afraid of you even though I know what's in you."
"Hell, Mary… I didn't want you to ever see it." He shook his head. "It's just so awful. The whole thing is awful."
"I'm not so sure about that. I went right up to it, actually. The beast. I was as close as you and I are now."
Rhage's eyes shut "Shit, Mary, you shouldn't have done that."
"Yeah, well, either I did or the creature would have eaten V and Zsadist. Literally. But don't worry, your beast and I get along just fine."
"Don't do that again."
"The hell I won't. You can't control it. The brothers can't handle it. But that thing listens to me. Like it or not, the two of you need me."
"But isn't it… ugly?"
"No. Not to me." She pressed a kiss to his chest. "It's fearsome and terrifying and powerful and awe-inspiring. And if anyone ever tried to get at me, that thing would wipe out a neighborhood. How could a girl not be charmed? Besides, after seeing those lessers in action, I'm grateful for it. I feel safe. Between you and the dragon, I don't have to worry."
When she looked up at him with a smile, Rhage was blinking rapidly.
"Oh, Rhage… it's okay. Don't be—"
"I thought if you knew what it looked like," he said hoarsely, "you wouldn't be able to see me anymore. All you'd remember is some horrible monster."
She kissed him and wiped a tear off his face. "It's a part of you, not all of you or all of what you are. And I love you. With it or without it."
He gathered her close and tucked her head into his neck. When he let out a deep sigh, she said, "Were you born with it?"
"No. It's a punishment."
"For what?"
"I killed a bird."
Mary glanced at him, thinking that seemed a little extreme.
Rhage smoothed her hair back. "I did a lot more than that, but killing a bird was what finally tipped the scales."
"Will you tell me?"
He paused for a long while. "When I was young, right after my transition, I was… uncontrollable. I had all this energy and strength and I was stupid with how I used it. Not mean, just… dumb. Showing off. Picking fights. And I, ah, I slept with a lot of females, females who I shouldn't have taken because they were the shellans of other males. I never did it to piss off their hellrens, but I took what they offered. I took… everything I was offered. I drank, I smoked opium, fell into laudanum… I'm glad you didn't know me then.
"That went on for twenty, thirty years. I was a disaster waiting for a coastline, and sure enough I met a female. I wanted her, but she was coy, and the more she teased me, the more I was determined to have her. It wasn't until I was inducted into the Brotherhood that she came around. Weapons turned her on. Warriors turned her on. She only wanted to be with brothers. One night I took her out into the forest and showed her my daggers and my guns. She was playing with my rifle. God, I can remember the look of it in h
er hands, it was one of those flintlock ones they were making in the early eighteen hundreds."
1800s? Good God, how old was he? Mary wondered.
"Anyway, it went off in her hand and I heard something hit the ground. It was a barn owl. One of those lovely white barn owls. I can still see the red stain as its blood seeped onto its feathers. When I picked up the bird and felt its light weight in my hands, I realized that carelessness was a form of cruelty. See, I'd always told myself that because I meant no harm, anything that happened wasn't my fault. At that moment, though, I knew I was wrong. If I hadn't given the female my gun, the bird wouldn't have been shot. I was responsible even though I didn't pull the trigger."
He cleared his throat. "The owl was such an innocent thing. So fragile and small compared to me as it bled and died. I felt… wretched, and I was thinking about where to bury it, when the Scribe Virgin came to me. She was livid. Livid. She loves birds to begin with, and the barn owl is her sacred symbol, but of course the death was only part of it. She took the body from my palms and breathed life back into the bird, sending it off into the night sky. The relief when that bird flew away was tremendous. I felt as if the slate had been wiped clean. I was free, cleansed. But then the Scribe Virgin turned on me. She cursed me, and since then, anytime I get out of control, the beast comes out. In a way, it's really the perfect punishment. It's taught me to regulate my energy, my moods. It's taught me to respect the consequences of all my actions. Helped me understand the power in my body in a way I never would have otherwise."
He laughed a little. "The Scribe Virgin hates me, but she did me one hell of a favor. Anyway… that's the awful why of it. I killed a bird and got the beast. Simple and complicated by turns, right?"
Rhage's chest expanded as he took in a great breath. She could feel his remorse as clearly as if it were her own.
"By turns. Indeed," she murmured, stroking his shoulder.
"The good news is that in another ninety-one years or so, it's over." He frowned, as if considering the prospect, "The beast will be gone."
Funny, he looked a little worried.
"You'll miss it, won't you?" she said.
"No. No, I… It'll be a relief. Really."
Except that frown stayed in place.
CHAPTER 48
Around nine the next morning, Rhage stretched in bed and was surprised to feel like himself. He'd never recovered so fast before and had a feeling it was because he hadn't fought the change. Maybe that was the trick. Just go with it.
Mary came out of the bathroom with a load of towels in her arms and headed into the closet to drop them down the chute. She looked tired, grim. Which made sense. They'd spent a lot of the morning talking about Bella, and though he'd done his best to reassure her, they both knew the situation was bad.
And then there was another reason for her to be worried.
"I want to come to the doctor's with you today," he said.
She came back out into the room. "You're awake."
"Yeah. And I want to come with you."
As she walked over to him, she had that tight look she got whenever she was going to argue.
He jumped the gun on the most obvious objection. "Switch the appointment to late in the day. Sun goes down by five thirty now."
"Rhage—"
Anxiety made his voice hard. "Do it."
She put her hands on her hips. "I don't appreciate your pushing me around."
"Let me rephrase myself. Change the appointment, please." But he didn't ease up on his tone in the slightest When she got the news, whatever it was, he was going to be by her side.
She reached for the phone, all the while cursing under her breath. When she hung up, she seemed surprised. "Ah, Dr. Delia Croce will see me… us… tonight at six."
"Good. And I'm sorry about being such a hard-ass. I just have to be with you when you hear. I need to be a part of this as much as I can."
She shook her head and bent down to pick a shirt up from the floor. "You are the sweetest thug I've ever known."
As he watched her body move, he felt himself harden.
Inside, the beast shifted as well, but there was a curious calm to the sensation. It was no big rush of energy, just a slow burn, as if the creature were content to share his body, not take it over. A communion, not a domination.
Probably because the thing knew that the only way to be with Mary was through Rhage's form.
She kept going around the room, tidying up. "What are you looking at?"
"You."
Sweeping her hair back, she laughed. "So your sight's returning."
"Among other things. Come here, Mary. I want to kiss you."
"Oh, sure. Make up for being a bully by plying me with your body."
"I'll use any asset I've got."
He threw the sheets and duvet off himself and swept his hand down his chest, over his stomach. Lower. Her eyes widened when he took his heavy erection in his palm. As he stroked himself, the scent of her arousal bloomed like a bouquet in the room.
"Come over here, Mary." He twisted his hips. "I'm not sure I'm doing this right. It feels so much better when you touch me."
"You are incorrigible."
"Just looking for some instruction."
"Like you need that," she muttered, taking off her sweater.
They made love in an unhurried, glorious way. But when he held her afterward, he couldn't go to sleep. Neither could she.
That night Mary tried to breathe normally as they took the elevator up to the hospital's sixth floor. Saint Francis was quieter in the evening, but still teeming with people.
The receptionist let them in and then left, pulling a cherry-red coat on as she locked the door behind her. Five minutes later Dr. Delia Croce entered the waiting room.
The woman almost managed to hide her double take at Rhage. Even though he was dressed like a civilian, in slacks and a black knit turtleneck, that leather trench coat was still something to see falling from those broad shoulders.
Well, and Rhage was… Rhage. Unbearably beautiful.
The doctor smiled. "Ah, hi, Mary, would you come down to my office? Or will it be the two of you?"
"Both of us. This is Rhage. My—"
"Mate," he said loud and clearly.
Dr. Delia Croce's eyebrows shot up, and Mary had to smile in spite of all the tension in her body.
The three of them went down the hall, past the doors of the exam rooms and the scales in the little alcoves and the computer stations. There was no small talk. No chatty, how's-the-weather, gee-the-holidays-are-coming-up-fast kind of stuff. The doctor knew Mary hated social chatter.
Something Rhage had picked up on at TGI Friday's on their first date.
God, that felt like years ago, Mary thought. And who could have foreseen they'd end up here together?
Dr. Delia Croce's office was cluttered with neat piles of papers and files and books. Diplomas from Smith and Har-ard hung on the wall, but the thing that Mary had always found most reassuring was the line of thriving African violets on the windowsill.
She and Rhage sat down as the doctor went behind her desk.
Before the woman was in her chair, Mary said, "So what are you giving me, and how much can I handle?"
Dr. Delia Croce looked up over the medical records and the pens and the binder clips and the phone on her desk.
"I spoke with my colleagues here as well as two other specialists. We've reviewed your records and the results from yesterday's—"
"I'm sure you have. Now tell me where we are."
The other woman took off her glasses and inhaled deeply. "I think you should get your affairs in order, Mary. There's nothing we can do for you."
At four thirty in the morning, Rhage left the hospital in an absolute daze. He'd never expected to go home without Mary.
She'd been admitted for a blood transfusion, and because evidently those night fevers and the exhaustion were also tied to the beginnings of pancreatitis. If things improved she'd be released
the next morning, but no one was making any commitments.
The cancer was strong: Its presence had multiplied even in the short time between when she'd had her quarterly checkup a week ago and when the blood test had been taken the day before. And Dr. Delia Croce and the specialists all agreed: Because of the treatments Mary had already been through, they couldn't give her any more chemo. Her liver was shot and just couldn't handle the chemical load.
God. He'd been prepared for one hell of fight. And a whole lot of suffering, particularly on her part. But never death. And not so fast.
They only had a matter of months. Springtime. Maybe summer.
Rhage materialized in the courtyard of the main house and headed for the Pit. He couldn't bear to go back to his and Mary's room by himself. Not yet.
Except as he stood in front of Butch and V's door, he didn't knock. Instead he looked over his shoulder at the façade of the main house and thought of Mary feeding the birds. He pictured her there, on the steps, that lovely smile on her face, the sunshine in her hair.
Sweet Jesus. What was he going to do without her?
He thought of the strength and resolve in her eyes after he'd fed from another female in front of her. Of the way she loved him even though she'd seen the beast. Of her quiet, shattering beauty and her laugh and her gunmetal gray eyes.
Mostly he thought of her the night she'd torn out of Bella's, running out into the coldness on her bare feet, running out into his arms, telling him that she wasn't okay… Finally turning to him for help.
He felt something on his face.
Aw, fuck. Was he crying?
Yup.
And he didn't care that he was going soft.
He looked down at the pebbles in the driveway and was struck by the absurd thought that they were very white in the floodlights. And so was the stuccoed retaining wall that ran around the courtyard. And so was the fountain in the center that had been drained for winter—
He froze. Then his eyes peeled open.
He slowly pivoted toward the mansion, lifting his head up to the window of their room.
Purpose galvanized him and carried him into the vestibule at a dead run.