The Beast

by J. R. Ward

  "Hundred rooms or so. It's tight quarters, but we manage to make it work."

  Rhage's hand flapped around the door until he hit the handle and opened things up. As he stood up, he tightened the blanket wrapped around his waist and nearly tripped on the curb.

  Mary turned the engine off, and pulled the emergency brake. When she glanced back at Bitty, the girl was just staring up at the great stone expanse. Cradled in her arms, right against her chest, were her mother's ashes in that urn.

  This was not a restart, Mary reflected.

  This was not even a reset, an erase . . . or a replacement of everything that had been hard, brutal, and poor with shiny, sparkly fresh stuff. It wasn't Christmas. It wasn't happy-birthday, surprise-it's-a-puppy, confetti-and-balloon-and-frosting time.

  This was another chapter. One that was going to be so much more stable and emotionally supportive, but was still going to have its own ups and downs, its challenges and triumphs, frustrations and happiness.

  "Bitty?" she said. "You don't have to do this."

  The girl turned and smiled. "Which one is my room?"

  Mary laughed and got out. "Rhage, I'll get the suitcases."

  "The hell you will." His blind eyes rolled around. "Where are they?"

  "Fine, let me just get them and bring them over. And tuck that blanket in again, will you? I don't want you flashing everyone as we make our grand entrance."

  Bitty stepped up next to Rhage and held the urn close. "Wow. It's even bigger than it looks."

  "Wait'll you get inside."

  Popping the trunk, Mary got out Annalye's suitcase first, and she couldn't help herself: She looked at the sky, trying to picture the female staring down from above, watching over all this and hopefully approving.

  I'll take good care of her, Mary vowed. I promise.

  "Let's go," she said as Rhage shut the car door next to him.

  "Suitcases?"

  "Right here, big boy." As she turned them over to his very capable hands, they kissed. "How 'bout I take your arm to help you navigate?"

  "I can help, too," Bitty said, grabbing onto Rhage's other elbow.

  Mary had to blink back tears as Rhage's bare chest expanded to five times its natural size. His pride at having his two females with him as he walked up to the King's residence was the stuff of legend: Even blind and no doubt a little sore, it was plain to see that he was in heaven.

  And then they were in the vestibule and Mary was putting her face in the security camera.

  "Get ready," Mary murmured to Bitty. "It's a big space--"

  The door opened wide and the butler started to smile, only to freeze when he saw Bitty.

  "It's Fritz!" the girl exclaimed. "It's Fritz! Hi! I'm Bitty!"

  Okay, cue the melting. If that old butler had been any more entranced with the girl, his entire face would have dripped off his skull and landed on the marble floor.

  Raiders of the Lost Ark, indeed.

  The doggen bowed low. "Mistress. And sire. And . . . mistress."

  Bitty looked around Rhage's heft. "Am I a mistress?"

  Mary nodded and whispered, "You'll get used to it. I did."

  The three of them walked into the grand foyer, and the first thing they saw was Lassiter on the couch in the billiards room. He was clicking the remote at the T.V. and swearing.

  "I don't care about football! ESPN my ass! Whatever--where the hell's Who's the Boss?"

  "Lassiter!"

  At the sound of his name, the angel looked out over the pool tables to where they all stood. And oh, how he smiled, that gentle, kind expression more associated with angels than the stuff he usually put out to the world. Rising to his feet, he came over, and, yes, Mary was really glad he was dressed in something normal, just jeans and a black Hanes T-shirt, his blond-and-black hair all over his shoulders.

  With him, you never knew.

  Getting down on his haunches, he extended his hand. "How did you know who I am, Bitty?"

  The girl shook what was offered to her and pointed up at Rhage. "He told me all about you. All about everyone--wait, how did you know my name? Did he tell you about me?"

  Lassiter looked up at the three of them and brushed the little girl's cheek. "My little one, I have seen this moment since I first met your new mahmen and father--"

  "No," Mary cut in. "Don't call me mahmen. That's Annalye's title. I'm not mahmen, just Mary. I'm not looking to take anyone's place."

  "You have the strangest eyes," Bitty whispered. "They're beautiful."

  "Thank you." The angel inclined his head. "I'm always here, Bitty. You need something, you come find me, and it's yours. I think you'll find that true about a lot of the folks here."

  The girl nodded as Lassiter rose up. And then Rhage put down one of the suitcases and the males clapped each other's shoulders, Lassiter with better coordination because he could see.

  "Listen, Bitty," Mary said as the angel went back to the remote, "I have an idea for rooms for all of us, but we didn't know you were coming tonight. So if it's okay, you'll stay in the guest suite right next to ours? If you need us, we'll be--"

  Cue the water fight.

  Up on the second-floor balcony, behind the gold-leaf balustrade, John Matthew and Qhuinn came racing out of the hall of statues, Qhuinn in the lead, John Matthew pumping off rounds of Poland Spring. Without warning, Qhuinn hopped over the balcony into a free fall of twenty or thirty feet, dematerializing at just the right moment before he went fried-egg all over the mosaic floor.

  John was right behind him, sliding down the balustrade on one butt cheek, laughing mutely.

  The two stopped as soon as they saw Bitty.

  "Qhuinn!" she exclaimed. "With the blue and the green eyes!"

  The Brother looked gob-smacked at the little girl, even as he came over and towered above her. "Yeah, that's my name, who--oh, my God! Rhage and Mary! Your little girl! It worked out!"

  Mary got a bear hug. A huge bear hug. A gigantic, bone-crushing bear hug from the new father. And then John Matthew was signing.

  "You're John Matthew!" Bitty stared at his fingers. "What is he saying--wait, what?" Then she looked up at the humongous fighter and said, "You need to teach me that. If I'm going to live here, you need to teach me that."

  Well, that puddled John Matthew. Yup. To the point where his fingers didn't seem to work--the ASL equivalent to someone stuttering.

  And jeez, Bitty was amazing, so outgoing and friendly--and courageous considering all she had been through.

  Mary rubbed the center of her chest. Yes, she thought, she was getting a real live dose of maternal pride here--and it was better than a million glasses of wine. No hangover, either.

  "Are you blind again?" Qhuinn asked his Brother.

  "Yeah, I tried to eat some humans."

  "Tried? That beast of yours on a diet?"

  They were all laughing when someone came out from under the staircase. Instantly, the chatter stopped, as if people were worried about who it was.

  Zsadist was dressed in his fighting gear, black leather coating his body in a second skin, weapons strapped on his chest, his thighs, under his arms--

  In spite of the way he looked, Bitty broke away and went right over to the scarred male, her well-washed, handmade dress frothing under that ugly black coat of hers.

  Z did a stop-short just as everyone else had--kind of like he'd seen a ghost. And then he looked around in what seemed to be confusion.

  "You're Zsadist," Bitty piped up. "You have a young--may I meet her? I should like very much to meet her, please."

  In response, Zsadist moved extra slowly, lowering himself down to her level. And then he just stared at her for a time, as if she were some wild creature that had unexpectedly proven to be tame.

  "Her name is Nalla," he said roughly. "My daughter is much younger than you. She would like to have a big sister, if you'd like to teach her things."

  "Oh, yes. I would."

  "What's that in your arms, little one?"

&nbs
p; Bitty looked down, and Mary held her breath. "This is my mahmen. She passed. That's why Mary and Rhage are fostering me. I hope I get to stay here, though. I like them a lot."

  Just like that. The explanation was simple, and heartbreaking . . . and had all the adults blinking back tears.

  Zsadist inclined his head low, his yellow eyes glowing. "My condolences for your loss. And welcome to our home--which you should now call yours, too."

  Bitty leaned her head to the side and regarded the Brother. "I like you. You're nice."

  *

  Hours later, after they got Bitty settled next door, Rhage and Mary headed into their room.

  He was still blind as hell, but Rhage didn't care how many times he stubbed his toe or clipped something on a door jamb, Bitty was under the same roof as he and Mary were, so all was hella right in his world. And, man, had she blown everyone away.

  Even though she was this little thing in this huge, grand mansion with all these people she'd never met in her life? She had gone up and called everyone by name, introducing herself and smiling and laughing. She had kept her mother's urn with her the entire time, and somehow that had seemed apt, not ghoulish or morbid.

  Her mahmen was very much a part of her and always would be--and, oh, his Mary was being so respectful of that.

  Like his female could make him love her more? Jesus.

  "I can't believe we have a kid," he was saying as his shellan took him into the bathroom and loaded up his brush with toothpaste. "We are parents. We have . . . a kid."

  "And I'm sorry, I may already be biased, but how fantastic is she? Did you see Wrath? He's in love with her. I think he wants L.W. to marry her."

  "Well, she's strong. She's smart. Who wouldn't want to--"

  From out of nowhere, a snarl twitched his upper lip, and a growl percolated up out of his chest--while at the same time, the beast surged around his back looking for a way out.

  And all that got worse as he pictured some male standing next to his Bitty with all kinds of bright fucking ideas in his--

  "Rhage. Stop it. She's going to probably want to date someone at some point--"

  "Over his fucking dead body anyone is touching my daughter--"

  "Rhage, okay, three-part yoga breath." She petted his shoulder like she was soothing a lion. "It's perfectly normal for little girls to grow up and want to get mated to--"

  "Nope. She's not dating. Ever."

  Mary started laughing. "You know, this would truly be funny if I didn't worry that you weren't slightly serious."

  "I'm totally fucking serious."

  "Here we go already." Mary sighed. "I swear, Bella and I are going to have to get you and Zsadist into a support group."

  "Yes!" he announced. "My brother will know exactly how this is. Solidarity among fathers--"

  Mary cut off his rant by shoving a boatload of Crest toothpaste into his piehole. "Shut up and brush, honey. We'll talk about this after her transition. In, like, twelve to fifteen years."

  "Bdjgaehu hasdpi knjidhgil."

  "What was that?"

  "Not gonna change a fucking thing."

  But he was a good boy and worked his chompers over. Then he and Mary took a shower . . . where all kinds of other things happened--

  ALL OF WHICH REMINDED HIM EXACTLY WHY THERE WAS GOING TO BE NO DATING, LIKE, EVER.

  When they were finally lying in their big ornate bed together, he positioned his beloved next to him and let out an exhale that lasted a century and a half.

  "Are the lights off?" he asked after a moment.

  "Mmm-hmmm."

  He kissed her head. "Why do all the best things happen when I'm blind? I met you when I was blind. Now . . . she's here, and I'm blind."

  "Must be your version of a lucky horseshoe."

  Rhage stared up at the nothingness over their heads as Mary yawned so hard her jaw cracked.

  Just before he was about to go to sleep, his lids popped back open.

  "Mary?"

  "Hmm-mmm."

  "Thank you," he whispered.

  "For what?"

  "For making me a father."

  Mary lifted her head up out of the crook of his arm. "What are you--I didn't do that."

  "You most certainly gave us our family." Damn it, he wished he could see her. Instead, he had to make do with his memory of her beautiful face--good thing he'd spent a lot of time staring at his shellan.

  "You absolutely made me a father--I was dying on that battlefield, and you saved me. If you hadn't done that, we never would have gotten Bitty, because we would have been up in the Fade, and she would have been down here, alone. You made this happen. And it isn't just about me almost passing. You hung in with Bitty from the moment she lost her birth father, through the death of her brother and then of her mother. You worked with her in the aftermath, helping her come out of her shell. And then when we decided to try to do this, you set up the procedure and made sure it was done right. You coached me with my interview. You focused on Bitty. You . . . you made this happen, my Mary. You birthed my daughter, maybe not out of the womb, but certainly out of circumstance--you made me a father. And that is the greatest gift any female can ever give her male. So . . . thank you. For our family."

  The sweet scent of his shellan's tears wafted, and he found her face in the darkness, bringing her mouth to his. The kiss he gave her was chaste and reverent, an expression of his gratitude.

  "You have quite a way of putting things, you know that," she said in a rough voice.

  "Just being honest. That's all I'm doing."

  When Mary resettled on his chest, Rhage closed his eyes. "I love you, my Mary Madonna."

  "And you're always going to be my prince with shining fangs."

  "Really?"

  "Mmm-hmm. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You and Bitty."

  "That's so sweet." He sighed again. "Jeez, I feel sorry for Bits, though."

  Mary lifted her head again. "Why?"

  "BECAUSE SHE IS NEVER DATING--"

  "Rhage, seriously. You gotta give that a rest. . . ."

  SEVENTY-TWO

  Sitting in the back of I've Bean, Jo looked up as Bill came over to the table. "We have to stop meeting like this."

  The reporter laughed as he sat down with his latte. "So, good news."

  "You found the restaurant Julio was talking about downtown?"

  "No, you got the online-editor position. They're going to call you in about an hour and officially offer it. They wouldn't tell me what the salary is, but it has to be in the low thirties."

  Jo pumped her fist. "Yes. Yes. That is awesome--I can start right after I finish my notice period at Bryant's."

  "Do you know he called me?"

  "What?"

  Bill unwrapped another one of his scarves and draped it over the back of his chair. "Yeah. I think he's obsessed with you. He wanted to know whether or not we were dating."

  "You're married."

  "I pointed this out to him. P.S., Lydia wants to invite you over for dinner Saturday night. My cousin's coming. Troy, you remember him."

  "Tell her I'd love to. What can I bring?"

  "Just yourself and not Dougie."

  "Done."

  There was a slight pause, something she didn't associate with the guy who had somehow become her older brother over the last week or so.

  "What is it?" she said.

  Bill looked around the crowded coffee shop like he was in search of a familiar face in the crowd. More likely, he was picking out words in his head.

  "Employment is good," she prompted. "Dinner is good. Soooooo . . ."

  "I don't want you to get pissed at me, but I looked into your adoption."

  Jo's heart stopped. Then started thumping. "What did you . . . what did you find? And you had no right to do that, yada, yada, yada."

  If he'd asked her, she would have said no. But considering he'd clearly found something?

  Bill reached into the pocket of his corduroy coat and took out a sheaf of pa
pers that was folded length-wise. "Your birth mother was a nurse. Up in Boston. She left the hospital there when she found out she was pregnant. Back then, in the seventies, single mothers weren't viewed the same, and she had a son that she gave up for adoption. She stayed, continued to work in various places. Fifteen years later, she gets pregnant again, by the same guy. She never married him, though. Not from what I saw. It was definitely the same man, though, according to diary entries that were copied and put into the file. This time, with you, she moved away, came here, settled in Caldwell. When she had you, she didn't make it, unfortunately. It was a high-risk pregnancy because she was older by that time. She never disclosed who your father was, however, and there were no next of kin who came forward to claim you."

  Jo sat back in the chair and felt all the noise and the people around her disappear. Brother? And her mother had died . . .

  "I wonder if she would have kept me," she said quietly.

  "Your father--your adoptive one, that is--had asked a lawyer to keep his eyes out for possible babies at St. Francis here in town. As soon as your birth mom died, he paid to claim you and it was done."

  "And that's that."

  "Not exactly." Bill took a deep breath. "I found your brother. Kind of."

  The reporter put a black-and-white photograph down on the table. It was of a dark-haired man she didn't recognize. Who was about forty years old.

  "His name is Dr. Manuel Manello. He was the chief of surgery at St. Francis. But he went off the grid over a year ago, and no one's really seen him since."

  With a shaking hand, Jo picked up the picture, searching the features, finding some that, yes, were like her own. "We both ended up in the same place . . ."

  "Caldwell has a way of bringing people together."

  "We have the same-shaped eyes."

  "Yes, you do."

  "They look hazel, don't you think? Or maybe they're brown eyes."

  "I can't tell."

  "May I keep this?"

  "Please. And I'm sorry I stuck my nose in where it arguably didn't belong. But I just started digging and couldn't stop. I wasn't sure what I'd find, so I didn't say anything."

  "It's okay," she said without looking up. "And thank you. I . . . I always wondered what my blood looked like."

  "We can try to find him, you know?"

  Now she lifted her eyes. "You think?"

  "Sure. We're investigative reporters, right? Even if he's left Caldwell, there must be some way of locating him. It's extremely hard in modern life to go completely blank. Too many electronic records, you know."