by J. R. Ward
Just shove it to the back of his head and close the door.
Things were going to get back to normal.
It was all going to be fine, goddamn it.
*
He was magnificent, as always.
As Mary arched beneath Rhage's thrusting body, she wasn't fooling herself--she knew the sex was just a temporary diversion from what had to be some kind of big issue for him. But sometimes you had to give the person the space they needed . . . or in this case, the sex.
Because, dear Lord, she sensed this was somehow significant to him in a different way than usual. Her mate always wanted her in an erotic way, but this seemed . . . well, for one thing, his powerful hips were capable of driving her across the bathroom floor, but instead they were gently thrusting into her. And also, he appeared to be not so much holding back as holding on, his arms wrapping under her torso so she was lifted off the rug, his body riding hers with a rocking rhythm that was all the more vivid for its poignant restraint.
"I love you," he said in her ear.
"I love you, too--"
Her next orgasm cut off her voice, jerking her up so that her breasts hit the wall of his chest. God, he was so beautiful as he kept going on top of her, the rhythm of his penetrations stretching out the pulsing shocks that kicked through her sex until he was the only thing she knew in the universe, until the past and future disappeared, until all the clutter in her mind and around her heart disintegrated.
For some reason, the silence of those nattering criticisms, the retreat of that incessant worry, the disappearance of the crushing, nightly crucible of wondering if she were doing her job right--and sometimes knowing for sure that she was not--brought tears to her eyes.
Anxiety over Rhage aside, she hadn't known how tightly she had been wound. How heavy the burden had become. How preoccupied she always was.
"I'm sorry," she choked out.
Instantly, Rhage froze.
"What?"
His eyes were strangely horrified as he shifted and looked down at her. And she smiled as she brushed away her tears.
"I'm just so . . . grateful for you," she whispered.
Rhage seemed to shake himself. "I--well, I feel the same way."
"Finish? Inside of me?" She arched up against him. "I want to feel you come."
Rhage dropped his head into her neck and began moving once more. "Oh, God, Mary . . . Mary . . ."
Two strokes later he was orgasming, his incredible body tightening up, his erection kicking deeply within her and teeing off another release.
He didn't stop. Not for the longest time. Which was something that vampire males had the ability to do. He just kept orgasming, filling her to overflowing--and still he continued until the releases came so closely together, they became a single pulsing rush.
When he was done, he fell still and drooped, but then he buttressed his weight on his elbows so she could breathe.
God, he was so huge.
She was used to his size to some degree, but as she opened her eyes, all she could see was just part of his shoulder. Everything else was blocked by his bulk.
Stroking his biceps, she said quietly, "Will you please tell me what's wrong?"
Rhage pushed himself back a little farther so he could meet her in the eye.
"You look so sad." She traced his brows. The sorrowful cast to his perfect mouth. The bruises on his jaw. "It's always better if you talk to someone."
After a long moment, he opened his mouth--
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Out in the bedroom, the unmistakable impact of a Brother pounding on the door was not muffled in the slightest.
Rhage twisted around and shouted, "Yeah?"
V's voice carried through into the loo. "We got a meeting. Now."
"Roger that. Coming."
Rhage turned back and kissed her. "I'd better go."
His withdrawal was quick, and his eyes stayed ducked as he helped her up off the rug and over to the shower.
"I wish I were getting in there with you," he said as he cranked on the hot water.
No, she thought, as he wouldn't look at her. You actually don't.
"Rhage, I know you have to go. But you're scaring me."
As he moved her under the spray, he took her face in his hands and stared her dead in the eye. "You don't have anything to worry about. Not now and not ever--at least not about me. I love you til forever and back, and nothing else matters as long as that is true."
Mary took a deep breath. "Okay. All right."
"I'll return soon as the meeting's over. And we can get some food. Watch a movie. You know, do that thing . . . what do the humans call it?"
Mary laughed a little. "Netflix and chill."
"Right. We're going to Netflix and chill."
He kissed her even though it got his face wet, and then he backed off and shut the glass door. On his way out, he threw his sweats on again, but kept his feet bare.
She watched him go. And thought it was amazing how someone could reassure you . . . while at the same time make things worse.
What the hell was going on with him?
When she was finished with her shower, she toweled off, brushed the tangles out of her wet hair, and got dressed in a set of yoga pants and a big black cashmere sweater that nearly came down to her knees. She'd bought the thing for Rhage as they'd headed into the previous winter, and she'd even gotten it in his favorite non-color after a longstanding failure at trying to diversify his wardrobe. He hadn't been able to wear it very often, though, because he'd always overheated with it on.
The weave smelled like him, however.
And as she left their room, she felt as though he were with her--and man, did she need that tonight.
Pausing in front of the King's study, she listened to the deep male voices on the other side of the closed doors.
Down below in the foyer, she could hear doggen talking. The floor polisher. The tinkling of crystal, as if the sconces were being taken apart to be cleaned in the sink again.
Without making a sound, she padded across the thick red-and-gold runner, heading for the Hall of Statues. But she didn't go down that corridor, with its Greco-Roman masterpieces in marble and all its bedrooms. No, she was headed for the next floor up.
The door to the mansion's third level was not locked, but it wasn't open, either, and she felt a little like she was trespassing as she opened the way to the stairs and went upward. On the top landing, across from Trez's and iAm's rooms, was the vaulted steel door to the First Family's suite, and she hit its bell, standing with her face in the security camera.
Moments later, there was a series of clunks as the bars moved free of their holds, and then the heavy panel opened wide. Beth was on the other side, L.W. on her hip, her hair in a braid over her shoulder, those old blue jeans and bright blue fleece the very definition of homey. What was not cozy in the slightest? The incredible glimmer of the gemstones set into all the walls beyond.
Mary had never been in the private quarters before. Few had, other than Fritz, who insisted on doing the cleaning up there himself. But Mary had heard that the entire suite was studded with precious jewels from the Old Country's treasury--and clearly that was true.
"Hey, there." The Queen smiled even as L.W. grabbed onto some hair over her ear and yanked. "Okay, ow. Let's try something else for biceps curls, shall we?"
As Beth untangled that fat little fist, Mary said grimly, "I need you to tell me what happened with Rhage. And don't pretend you don't know what it is."
Beth's eyes closed briefly. "Mary, it's not my place--"
"If the roles were reversed, you would want to know. And I would tell you if you asked me to--because that's what family does for one another. Especially when someone is hurting."
The Queen exhaled a curse. Then she stepped aside and nodded at the sparkling suite. "Come on in. We need to do this in private."
TWENTY-TWO
Usually Rhage had something in his mouth during meetings with the King.
Tootsie Pops were his favorite, but in a pinch, he'd rock a pack of Starburst, or maybe a thing of Chips Ahoy!--the old-school ones in the blue bag, crunchy, not chewy and no nuts. His stomach wasn't up to handling anything like that, though--and not because of the beast shit.
But at least his vision was even better than it had been after V had hit him.
As the shutters came down for the day, he took up res in the corner by the double doors while his brothers settled in their usual places around the room: Butch and V on one of the spindly French sofas, the pair of them settling into nearly identical, ankle-over-knee poses; Z against the wall in the best defensible position with Phury right next to him; John, Blay and Qhuinn grouped together by the fire. Rehvenge, meanwhile, was in front of Wrath's ornate desk, the leader of the symphaths being one of the King's closest advisers, and Tohr was sitting at Wrath's dagger hand due to his position as head of the Brotherhood, a first lieutenant in all things.
Lassiter wasn't around, and Rhage guessed the fallen angel was watching T.V. somewhere. And Payne, who had taken to attending these sorts of things? She was probably watching Xcor.
'Cuz God knew the female could handle herself, and any male on the planet.
As always, Wrath was the focal point of it all, sitting in the ornate throne his father had used, the Brother's black wraparound sunglasses surveying the room even though he was blind, his hand resting on the boxy head of his golden retriever service dog.
Qhuinn was doing the talking this morning, however.
"--have two people down there getting care, Layla and my brother. Neither of them is in any shape to defend themselves if he gets free, and Doc Jane, Manny and Ehlena are medical people, not fighters."
"With all due respect, Xcor's seriously guarded," Butch said. "Twenty-four-seven."
"If Marissa were carrying your kid, would that be good enough?"
The cop opened his mouth. Then shut it and nodded. "Yeah. Too right."
Qhuinn crossed his arms over his chest. "Personally, I don't give a fuck if he's in a Hannibal Lecter, I don't want him anywhere near that clinic."
As the Brother went quiet, Wrath asked, "What's Xcor's condition now?"
Vishous stroked his goatee. "Still in a coma. Vital signs aren't strong, but they're not slipping. No movement on his right side. I'm thinking stroke."
"But you don't know for sure?"
"Not without dragging his ass to Havers's for a CAT scan. But I don't want to move him across town just to figure out what I'm pretty damn confident of already--and yes, both Jane and Manny agree with my conclusion."
"Any idea how long the coma's liable to last?"
"Nope. He could be waking up now. Or be under for a month. Or go the persistent vegetative state route. There's really no telling. And if he does wake up? Depending on the severity of the stroke, he could be cognitively impaired. Physically fucked. Or completely normal. Or somewhere in between the extremes."
"Goddamn it," Tohr muttered.
Wrath leaned to the side and picked George up off the ground, resettling the dog in his lap. As a cloud of blond fur tufted into the air, the King picked a piece out of his mouth before speaking.
"Qhuinn's right. We can't keep him there, especially if the new trainees are coming in. For one thing, you assholes are going to need the gun range, but more to the point, we sure as shit don't want any of those little fuckers waking up dead at the end of class because our door prize woke up and got out of its cage. The question is, where do we take him? I want him close enough so we can have immediate back-up, but we gotta get him off this property."
There was a bunch of discussion, not all of which Rhage tracked. The truth was, as critical as the issue about Xcor was, the biggest part of his brain was back in that bathroom with his Mary as he deliberately reminded himself how good she felt under him, how amazing her moans were, how much he loved being inside of her.
Nothing was lost between them, or gone from their sex life, if they couldn't reproduce. Nothing.
Really.
"--of Bastards have to be searching all over downtown," somebody said. "Looking for a body or a burn mark."
Vishous cut in. "I have two cell phones that I took off of him. One had a garden-variety password and I got into it no problem--there was nothing except details about drug deals and we all know that's over with. The other unit went dead on me as soon as I cracked its code, and I'm guessing that was Xcor's--clearly, the Bastards have some rudimentary security precautions in place."
"Will you be able to get the cell working again?" Wrath asked.
"Depends on how bad the fry job is and I still need to make that assessment. I may be able to extract some data, but it could be a while."
"The Band of Bastards will not rest until they find Xcor," someone muttered.
Tohr's voice was a growl. "So let me give them his body."
"Not yet, my brother." Wrath glanced over at the guy. "And you know that."
"But if he's brain-dead, there's nothing to interrogate--"
Wrath talked over the male. "I want everyone downtown for the next three nights. Xcor's disappearance will flush the Bastards out of hiding. We got one of them. I want them all."
"We also better keep sweeping for slayers," somebody muttered. "Just because we won last night doesn't mean the war's over."
"The Omega will make more," Wrath agreed. "That's for shit sure."
Butch spoke up. "When it comes to the lessers, though . . . I think we're focusing on the symptom, not the disease. We need to take the Omega out. I mean, that's the Dhestroyer prophecy, right? I'm supposed to be the one who does it, but I couldn't have absorbed all those down-and-outers at the campus. No fucking way."
V gave his BFFL's shoulder a squeeze. "You do enough."
"Obviously not--how long's it been now? And their numbers are lower, but there was still a shitload coming after us on that campus."
"My mother is so goddamn useless," V bitched as he lit up. "We've been fighting the Lessening Society for centuries and centuries. Even with the prophecy, I've seen no indication that we can eradicate them--"
"I know where we can put Xcor," Rhage cut in.
As all the eyes in the room focused on him, he shrugged. "Don't freak out. But the solution is clear."
*
Down in the training center, Layla recognized the feeling that had plagued her since the night before.
As she sat on the edge of her hospital bed, she knew exactly what the ringing sense of destination meant, the burn in the center of her chest, the nagging, unrelenting itch.
It just made no sense.
So she had to be misinterpreting things. Maybe this was yet another pregnancy symptom and it just felt like the other thing?
Well, one way or the other, she was going to find out, she thought as she shifted off the mattress and shuffled over to the door. Her most recent twelve-hour wait had passed so it was time to stretch her legs once again--and with no Brothers babysitting her and Qhuinn and Blay in a meeting, she was going to use her relative freedom to the fullest.
Stepping into the corridor, she looked around. There was nobody outside her room. No sounds from the clinic. And the gym and weight room way down the hall both seemed quiet as well.
Ostensibly, there was no one around at all. And that went for Brothers, servants and medical staff. So really . . . how was it possible that she was sensing Xcor's presence down here?
That Bastard couldn't possibly be in the Brotherhood compound. He was the enemy, for godsakes--which meant if he had infiltrated the property, there would be an attack going on, all hell breaking loose, the Brothers at arms.
Instead? A whole lot of nada, as Qhuinn would have said.
This had to be some pregnancy-related strangeness--
No, she thought. He was here. She sensed him in her own blood--which was what happened if you fed someone: an echo of yourself was in them and it was kind of like catching your reflection in a mirror across a distance.
You couldn'
t mistake it for something else. Any more than you wouldn't recognize your own image.
Picking up the front of her Lanz nightgown--out of habit, rather than necessity because of her big belly--she waddled over the bare floor of the corridor in her slippers, going by the newly constructed ladies' bathroom, the males' locker room, the weight room.
Nothing particularly registered in any of them. But when she got past the gym to the entrance of the pool, she stopped.
Straight ahead. It felt as though he were straight ahead--
"Hey, girl, what are you doing?"
Layla wheeled around. "Qhuinn, hello."
The sire of her young strode up to her, his eyes roaming around her face, her belly. "Are you okay? What are you doing all the way back here?"
"I just . . . it's my stroll time."
"Well, you don't need to be over here." Qhuinn took her by the elbow, steered her around and led her away. "In fact, maybe we should move you back to the mansion for a little while."
"What--why?"
"It's homier there."
In less than a minute, she was back at the door to her room. And she wasn't stupid. He'd been the biggest supporter of her staying down here in the clinic, because it was better for her and the young, safer. Now he was changing his mind?
Heart pounding, head spinning, she knew damn well her instincts weren't lying. Xcor was here somewhere in the training center. Had they captured him in the field? Had he been injured and they'd brought him in as they had that soldier of his?
Qhuinn leaned forward to open her door. "Anyway, I'll just talk to Doc Jane about--"
"Talk to me about what?"
"Speak of the devil," Qhuinn said smoothly as he turned around.
V's mate was coming out of the utility room, a stack of surgical scrubs in her arms. "Look, don't tell Fritz about this, 'kay? But doing laundry clears my head, and sometimes you just need to chill."
Qhuinn smiled for a split second. "I actually came down to see you. I was thinking that Layla might enjoy a visit back to her regular room."
Doc Jane frowned. "At the house?"
"It's so damned clinical down here."
"Ah, yeah, that's the point, Qhuinn." Doc Jane shifted her load, but not her forest green stare. "I know that we've had quite a period of smooth sailing with the pregnancy, and I hope this trend continues. But we can't take any chances, and every night that passes, we're getting closer, not further away, to the big moment--"
