The Beast

by J. R. Ward

  "What the hell?" she muttered as she looked at what had tripped her.

  It was not a footprint. A giant footprint. Nope.

  "Are you okay?" Bill put out a hand--then got distracted by what she'd noticed. "What is that?"

  "I'm fine, and no clue." She stood up by herself and brushed her slacks off. "Is it just me or does this feel like a grown up episode of Scooby Doo?"

  Bill took his cell out and snapped a couple of pictures with the help of his flash. When he checked what had been captured, he cursed. "No, we definitely have to come back during the day."

  Jo got down on her haunches and examined the sunken pattern in the ground with the flashlight in her phone. The imprint was deeper and smudged on one side, as if whatever had made it had been pushing off in mid-run.

  Bill shook his head. "Does your buddy--Dougie, I think you said that was his name--have resources?"

  She glanced up. "You mean, could he have paid to set this all up?" When the reporter nodded, she had to laugh. "He can barely fund his pot-related munchies. No, he didn't do this, and as far as I'm aware, he doesn't know anyone who could."

  "Maybe this was made by a four-wheeler." Bill lowered himself down, too. "Skidding out."

  Not even close, she thought.

  "But what about the roof?" Jo nodded at the topless four walls. "It wasn't blown off by the wind--there was a little rain recently, but nothing even close to a tornado. And as for an explosion? Nothing is charred and there's no smell of smoke, which you'd expect to find if it had been a bomb."

  Bill regarded her steadily. "When you grow up, do you want to be an investigative reporter?"

  "I'm twenty-six. By all accounts, I have grown up." Although rooming with Dougie and his ilk might disprove that notion a little. "I really think we should--"

  As she stopped talking, Bill looked around. "What?"

  Jo searched the shadows, her heart beginning to pound. "Listen . . . I think we need to go. I really . . . really think we need to leave."

  *

  "Where . . . did my house go?"

  As Bitty asked the question from the back of the GTO, Mary leaned forward in her seat--not that the shift of position did anything to change the vacant lot she was staring at.

  "Are we in the right place?"Mary got out of the car and held her seat forward so Bitty could join her. "Is there any chance . . ."

  Rhage shook his head as he looked across the roof. "GPS says this is the right address."

  Shoot, Mary thought.

  "There's the ivy bed." The girl burrowed into her coat. "That mahmen planted. And the apple tree. And . . ."

  The house must have been condemned and torn down at some point, Mary decided, because there was nothing left over, no piles of splintered wood, no chimney's cinder blocks, just saplings and weeds growing in its place. The outline of the driveway, such as it was, had survived, but it would not for much longer with the encroaching vegetation.

  As she and Bitty walked forward, Rhage stayed a couple of paces behind them, his looming presence a source of comfort, at least for Mary.

  And then she stopped and let Bitty keep going on her own.

  Under the moonlight, the girl picked her way around the lot, pausing every couple of minutes to regard the barren landscape.

  Rhage's big hand came to rest on Mary's shoulder and she leaned into his body, feeling the warmth of him. It was hard not to measure the vacant, uninhabited property as evidence of the girl's losses.

  "I remember the house," Rhage said softly. "Bad condition. Junk in the yard with a broken-down car."

  "What did you guys do with the father's body?" Mary blurted. "It's never occurred to me to ask."

  "He wasn't, shall we say, in good condition when we left."

  "The sun?"

  "Yeah. We just left him. The priority was getting Bitty and her mom out. When we came back the following night, there was a scorch mark on the grass. That was it." Rhage cursed under his breath. "I'm telling you, that male was a madman. He was ready to kill anything, anybody who got in his way."

  "Her X-rays prove it." As Rhage glanced over, Mary shook her head. "A lot of broken bones--not that she went to Havers when they occurred. Havers said that because she was a pretrans, the healing places still show up until she reaches her maturity. He said . . . they're everywhere."

  A subtle growling made her look up. Rhage's upper lip had peeled off his fangs, and his expression was all about protective aggression.

  "I want to kill that motherfucker all over again."

  Mary gave Bitty as much time as she needed, staying a distance away with Rhage until the girl wandered over.

  "I guess my things are gone." Bitty shrugged in that big old parka. "I didn't have a lot of them."

  "I'm really sorry, Bitty."

  "I was hoping . . ." The girl glanced back at where the house had been. "I was hoping that I could bring some of my old clothes and books to my uncle's. I don't want to be a burden on him. I don't want to get sent away."

  Rhage made a small coughing sound. "So I'll go out and buy you what you want. Anything you need to take with you, I got it."

  Mary shook her head. "I don't think--"

  "It's okay," Bitty cut in. "Maybe I can get a job. You know, when I go to live with him."

  You're nine, Mary thought. Damn it.

  "How about we head back?" Mary offered. "It's cold."

  "You sure you're ready to go?" Rhage asked. "We can stay if you like."

  "No." Bitty shrugged again. "There's nothing for me here."

  They returned to the GTO, resettling into their various seats, the warmth in the car a balm to cold cheeks and noses.

  As Rhage turned them around, the headlights swept over the lot, and Mary thought to herself . . . at some point, this kid was going to get good news. The Scribe Virgin talked about balance all the time, right? So statistically, Bitty was really, totally frickin' overdue.

  "I just have to wait until my uncle comes," the girl said as they drove off. "He's going to give me a home."

  Mary closed her eyes. And kind of felt like banging her head into Rhage's dashboard.

  And as if he were reading her mind, Rhage reached across and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. Mary squeezed back.

  "So lemme ask you something there, Bitty girl," he said. "Do you like ice cream?"

  "I guess I do. I've had some before."

  "Tomorrow night, you got any plans? We could go out after First Meal, before the human shops close up?"

  On impulse, because she was desperate to keep any line of communication open, Mary twisted around. "Would you like to do that, Bitty? It could be fun."

  When there was a long pause, Mary eased back in her seat and tried to think of another option.

  In the quiet, Rhage filled in, "Safe Place has my Mary's cell phone number. If your uncle comes while we're out, they can call her right away and get you. And we can pick a place that's close, like, no more than five minutes' drive." Rhage glanced in the mirror. "I mean, you take baths, right?"

  "I'm sorry?" the girl said.

  "Like, if you were in the bath and he happened to come, someone would knock on your door, and you'd have to get dry and get dressed and all that jazz. And that would take five minutes, right? So it's just the same. Well, except in one case you need soap and a bath mat, and in the other you get sprinkles and a boatload of hot fudge. If you go that way. Personally, I like to mix and match--I prefer to get a couple of milk shakes, a banana split . . . a sundae or two. Then I top it off with a mocha chip in a cone. I don't know why. I guess that's like the dinner mint at the end of a meal to me. Know what I mean?"

  Mary had to turn around again. Bitty was looking forward, her brows super-high, her little face the picture of surprise.

  "He's not kidding," Mary murmured. "Even if you're not into the ice cream, watching him eat all that is something to see. So what do you say?"

  "They have your number?" the girl asked.

  "Absolutely they do. It's a re
quirement for all staff members. And I keep my phone with me and turned on at all times, even when I'm sleeping--and certainly when I go out into the world."

  "And if you're worried about something being missed"--Rhage held up his own phone--"I'll give them my number, too. And my brother Vishous made sure we have the best reception and service in the city. No dead zones. Unless you're around Lassiter, and that's more of a mental thing than anything about cellular networks."

  "Um . . . Lassiter?" Bitty said.

  Rhage nodded. "Yeah, he's this pain in the ass--oh, shit--I mean, sorry, I shouldn't say ass around you, should I? Or shit. And all those other bad words." He poked himself in the head. "I gotta remember that, gotta remember that. Anyway, Lassiter's a fallen angel who we've somehow gotten stuck with. He's like gum on the bottom of your shoe. 'Cept he doesn't smell like strawberries, he hogs the T.V. remote, and on a regular basis, you think to yourself, Is that really the best the Creator could do with an immortal? The guy has the worst taste in television--I mean, the only saving grace is that he isn't addicted to Bonanza . . . have you ever watched twelve straight hours of Saved by the Bell? Okay, fine, it was probably only seven, and it wasn't like I couldn't have left--my God, I tell you, though, it's a wonder I escaped with my ability to put my pants on one leg at a time still intact. . . ."

  It was right about then when it happened. And Mary would have missed it if she hadn't by some stroke of luck picked that moment to turn around again and check to see if Bitty was still listening.

  The little girl smiled.

  It wasn't some big grin, and she didn't laugh exactly, but the sides of her mouth definitely, totally lifted.

  "Will you tell me more?" Bitty asked when Rhage stopped to take a breath. "About the other people you live with?"

  "Sure. Absolutely. So my boss, the King? Your King? He has a golden retriever named George that helps him around. Wrath's blind--but he always knows where you are in the room. He's got crazy senses, that one. He likes lamb, and even though he'd deny it, he seems determined to always finish his vegetables. Like, at meals, you look over--well, see his plates have to all be arranged with the meat, the carbs, and the vegetables in the same place--'cuz, you know, he can't see. Anyway, I can tell he hates those damn veggies, but he eats 'em. Ever since he had his son, L.W. Little Wrath, you know. The kid's how old now?" Rhage looked over. "Mary, can you remember?"

  But Mary wasn't really listening to specifics. She was leaning back against the headrest and letting Rhage's prattle of their lives wash over her.

  It was the first time in . . . months that she felt relaxed.

  "Mary?"

  Turning her head to him, she smiled.

  I love you so much, she mouthed in the lights of the dash.

  Rhage's chest inflated twelve times its normal size, and his I'm-the-man expression was so bright on his beautiful face, it was a wonder the entire zip code didn't light up from it.

  "Anyway," he continued as he brought the back of her hand up to his mouth for a kiss. "We have a cat named Boo. He came with Wrath's shellan, Beth, your Queen. And then one of our doctors has a retired racehorse? And I don't want to think about Vishous owning any gerbils. But I'm not going there, and no, I will absolutely not explain that one. . . ."

  Mary found herself closing her eyes as she let the stories and his baritone voice wash over her. For some reason, she remembered a different ride in this car, one very early on in their relationship . . . one where they had put the windows down and blared "Dream Weaver," and she had stuck her head out the window and felt the wind in her face and her hair as they had roared down the road.

  It was nice to know, even after all this time, that he still had the ability to carry her away.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Assail rematerialized at the rear of his mansion, back by the garage. And one after the other, his cousins followed suit, appearing beside him.

  "Fates, it is a good job you both remain ambulatory." He approached the kitchen entrance to his home, and entered in a code by the door. As the lock released, he glanced over his shoulder. "I feel quite certain that you are in need of hydration."

  All he got back was a mumbled response from Evale--which was a surprise as he was typically the silent one. However, an evening of fucking seemed to have reversed their personalities, draining all conversation out of Ehric, and leaving Evale to be the one who spoke.

  Rather amusing, really.

  Inside, he removed his coat and tuxedo jacket. They did not have to. Evidently, fully re-clothing had required greater stores of energy than they had had; their outerwear was draped over their forearms, their shirts barely buttoned to the sternum, their white ties stuffed into the pockets of their slacks.

  "Food," Evale said. "We require sustenance over that inconsolably small meal."

  "Evale, you have the oddest vocabulary."

  "Sit, Ehric. I shall endive to service you prior to our retirement."

  Assail rolled his eyes. "Endive is a vegetable. 'Endeavor' is the word for which you search. And it is serve. Unless you wish to refer to your previous 'endives' this eve?"

  Leaving the pair of them to do whate'er they would calorically speaking, Assail proceeded onward to his office. As he took a seat behind his desk, he adjusted his cocaine levels first, and then fired up his computer whilst he placed a call upon his cellular device.

  The Brother Vishous answered with, "It's official. I do talk to you more than I talk to my mother. Don't get excited, though, I can't stand her."

  "With your warm personality and pleasant demeanor, I cannot fathom any kind of estrangement in your life."

  "You don't have to jerk me off with the compliments."

  "Speaking of such, may I just say that Naasha is a rather pneumatic little female with a taste for exhibition and an all-access policy that does not refer to her hellren's venerable landholdings." After all, when he had tried to leave the dungeon and do a little exploring, she had sent a naked female after him--within moments. "My cousins are happy, if exhausted males, going into daybreak."

  "So apart from the fucking, what do you know?"

  "Throe is ensconced in the household. He has a room and her affection. He stated to me that he is estranged from Xcor and the Band of Bastards, ne'er to return unto their questionable fold." He had to sniff as his nose ran. "There is something worrisome about that male. I do not trust him."

  "When do you go back?"

  "She has invited me unto her hellren's epic birthnight celebration. Has the invitation come through to Wrath the now?" He sniffed again, and brushed at the base of his nostrils. "I believe she is intending to present such soon, if it has not already arrived."

  There was a shhhh-cht and an exhale, as if the Brother were lighting up something. "Not yet. But we'll be waiting. He has no intention of going, but members of the Brotherhood will be there for sure."

  "As shall my cousins and I." Assail frowned as something occurred to him. "Pardon me for going a bit off topic, but please allow me to inquire about your armaments."

  There was a long pause. And then the Brother's voice, which was already low, bottomed out completely. "What do you want to know."

  "Are you in need of any?"

  "Why."

  "I have contacts with my black market suppliers that could facilitate such purchases."

  "Now you want to be an arms dealer? Have your ambitions always pointed you toward lofty pursuits?"

  "There is naught lofty about graves, is there? At any rate, consider the offer extended. They contacted me for further business and I declined their kind and generous offer with respect to certain powders and potions. But it did get me thinking that there could still be some exchange of money for goods that Wrath would permit me to engineer."

  Vishous laughed in a deep purr. "Always looking for an angle. And will you stop with the coke? You've been sniffing through this conversation like a human in a hayfield."

  "I remain loyal to you and your King," Assail concluded. "Contact me as you
wish. If I hear anything further or have any further contact with her before next week, I shall call you immediately."

  "You do that, true."

  Assail ended the call and--

  Recoiling, he looked down at the back of his hand. There was a streak of bright red blood across the flesh . . . and droplets upon the white of his starched formal shirt.

  Getting to his feet, he went into the nearest bathroom out in the hall and flipped on the light.

  "Damn it . . ."

  His nose was leaking all over the place.

  After cranking the water on, he took a hand towel that he had washed and folded the day before and put the thing under the cool rush. Then he wiped away the blood that was streaming out of his nostrils before applying the cold compress in a pinch and tilting his head back.

  He was rather some time with that, all the while standing before the mirror and brushing at the stains on the fine cotton of his shirt. OxiClean, he decided. He would start there, as blood had protein in it. Then he would resort to bleach before throwing the fucking thing out if he had to.

  When the exsanguination had been extinguished, he took the towel with him and proceeded to the kitchen.

  Whereupon he found his patent-leather shoes faltering.

  It was the smell in the air. Rich and spicy, yet delicate as well, the combination of spices exotic to his Old Country palate called out to his stomach, making the thing growl.

  Portuguese food. Which had been prepared by an authentic, loving, if slightly belligerent, hand.

  He closed his eyes. Marisol's grandmother had prepared he and his cousins many foods prior to her departure and those two had clearly availed themselves of said carefully packaged and frozen entree packs.

  "Would you care to join us?" Evale said as he waited at the microwave. "Or are you just going to stand there in a lure."

  Assail shook himself. "I believe the word you are thinking of is leer."

  "Have you seen your face?" the male asked as there was a bing! After popping open the front, he carried a heaping plate of his own to the table. "Hardly welcoming are you."

  "Which is the definition of 'leer.' And you should not eat that."

  "Why ever not?" Ehric asked as he took his first bite. "Ahhh, 'tis masterful."

  "Indeed," his twin agreed. "Mercilessly so."

  "Also not the word you want." Assail held off explaining that they should not eat the food because then it all would be gone and the only tie he had left to his Marisol would be-- "I shall retire for the day the now."