by J. R. Ward
Not about to get pulled into that mental tailspin, she picked up a towel and dried off with a good scrub. There was no time to change out of her blue jeans and sweater. And nothing else she really wanted to wear, at any rate.
As she came out, Rhage was taking off his watch.
"You want me to hold that?" she asked, remembering the last time she'd babysat the Rolex.
He walked over and pressed the heavy weight into her palm. "Kiss me."
She got up on her tiptoes as he leaned down. Their mouths met for a moment.
"Come on." He took her hand and led her out into the hall. When she looked confused, he said, "I don't want to do it in our bedroom. That's our space."
He took her around the balcony to another guest room. When he opened the door, they went inside together.
Mary smelled roses first and then saw the woman in the corner. Her lush body was draped in a white wraparound gown, and her strawberry-blond hair was coiled up on her head. With the low, wide neckline of the dress and the chignon, her neck was as exposed as possible.
She smiled and bowed, speaking in that unfamiliar language.
"No," Rhage said. "In English. We do this in English."
"Of course, warrior." The woman's voice was high and pure, like a songbird's call. Her eyes, pale green and lovely, lingered on Rhage's face. "I am pleased to serve you."
Mary shifted, trying to quell the urge to defend her turf. Serve him?
"What is your name, Chosen?" Rhage asked.
"I am Layla." She bowed again. As she righted herself, her eyes traveled up Rhage's body.
"This is Mary." He put his arm around her shoulders. "She is my…"
"Girlfriend," Mary said sharply.
Rhage's mouth twitched. "She is my mate."
"Of course, warrior." The woman bowed again, this time toward Mary. When she lifted her face, she smiled warmly. "Mistress, it is my pleasure to serve you as well."
Fine, good, Mary thought. Then how about dragging your skinny ass out of here and making sure your replacement is an ugly, two-toothed gorgon in a muumuu.
"Where would you like me?" Layla asked.
Rhage glanced around the room before focusing on the luxurious canopy bed. "There."
Mary hid her wince. Oh, that was so not her first choice.
Layla went over as told, that silky dress swirling behind her. She sat down on the satin duvet, but when she shifted her legs up, Rhage shook his head.
"No. Stay sitting."
Layla frowned, but didn't argue. She smiled again as he took a step forward.
"Come on," he said, pulling on Mary's hand.
"This is close enough."
He kissed her and went over to the woman, sinking to his knees in front of her. When her hands went to her gown as if she were going to undo it, Rhage stopped her.
"I drink from the wrist," he said. "And you are not to touch me."
Dismay played over Layla's features, widening her eyes. This time, when she inclined her head, it seemed out of shame, not deference. "I have been properly cleansed for your use. You may inspect me, should you wish."
Mary clamped a hand over her mouth. That this woman saw herself as nothing more than an object to be handled was appalling.
Rhage shook his head, clearly uncomfortable with the answer, too.
"Do you wish for another of us?" Layla said softly.
"I don't want any of this," he muttered.
"But why did you call upon the Chosen if you had no intention of availing yourself?"
"I didn't think it would be this difficult."
"Difficult?" Layla's voice deepened. "I beg your pardon, but I fail to see how I have inconvenienced you."
"It's not that, and I mean no offense. My Mary… she's human, and I cannot drink from her."
"So she will join us only in the pleasures of the bed. It will be my honor to administer to her there."
"Ah, yeah, that's not… She's not here to… Ah, the three of us are not going to—" Good lord, Rhage was blushing. "Mary is here because I will have no other female, but I must feed, do you understand?" Rhage cursed and got to his feet. "This isn't going to work. I don't feel right about this."
Layla's eyes flashed. "You say you must feed, but you are unable to take her vein. I am here. I am willing. It would please me to give to you what you need. Why should you feel uncomfortable? Or perhaps you want to wait longer? Until the hunger consumes you and the danger is upon your mate?"
Rhage shoved his hand into his hair. Grabbed a chunk. Pulled at it.
Layla crossed her legs, the gown splitting open to her thigh. She was a picture, sitting on that lush bed, so proper and yet so incredibly sexual.
"Have the traditions faded from your mind, warrior? I know it has been a long time, but how can you feel unsettled about my attending you? It is one of my duties, and I find great honor in it." Layla shook her head. "Or shall I say, I used to. We used to. The Chosen have suffered these centuries. None of the Brotherhood call upon us anymore, we are unwanted, unused. When you finally reached out, we were so pleased."
"I'm sorry." Rhage glanced at Mary. "But I cannot—"
"It is her that you worry about most, is it not?" Layla murmured. "You worry what she will think if she sees you at my wrist."
"She is not used to our ways."
The woman held her hand out. "Mistress, come sit with me so he can look upon you while he drinks, so he can feel your touch and smell you, so that you will be a part of this. Otherwise he will refuse me, and then where will the two of you be?" When there was only silence and Mary stayed put, the woman motioned impatiently. "Surely you realize he will not drink otherwise. You must do this for him."
"So this is it," Tohrment said as he parked the Rover in front of a sleek, modern house.
They were in a section of town John was unfamiliar with, where the houses were set back from the street and far away from each other. There were lots of black iron gates and rolling lawns, and the trees weren't just maples and oaks, but fancy kinds, the names of which he didn't know.
John closed his eyes, wishing he weren't wearing a shirt that had a missing button. Maybe if he kept his arm around his stomach, Tohrment's wife wouldn't notice.
God… what if they had kids? Who'd make fun of him…
Do you have children? John signed without thinking.
"What's that, son?"
John fumbled in his pockets for some folded-up sheets of paper. When he found his Bic, he wrote quickly and turned the paper around.
Tohrment went very still and looked up at his house, that hard face tensing as if he were afraid of what was inside.
"We might have a child. In a little over a year. My Wellsie's pregnant, but our females have a very difficult time in childbirth." Tohrment shook his head, lips growing tight. "As you get older, you'll learn to fear pregnancy. It's a goddamn shellan robber. Frankly, I'd rather have no kids than lose her." The man cleared his throat. "Anyway, let's head in. We'll eat, and then I'll take you on a full tour of the training center."
Tohrment hit the garage door opener and got out. While John tugged the suitcase from the backseat, the man took the ten-speed out of the rear. They walked into the garage and Tohrment flipped on the lights.
"I'm going to leave your bike here against the wall, okay?"
John nodded and looked around. There was a Volvo station wagon and… a 1960's-era Corvette Sting Ray convertible.
John could only stare.
Tohrment laughed softly. "Why don't you go over and say hello to her?"
John dropped his suitcase and walked up to the Vette in a daze of love. He reached out, wanting to stroke the smooth metal, but then took his hand back.
"No, touch her. She likes the attention."
Oh, the car was beautiful. A shiny, metallic ice blue. And the top was down so he could see inside. The white seats were gorgeous. The steering wheel gleamed. The dashboard was all dials. He was willing to bet it sounded like thunder when the engine was started. Probably smel
led like fresh oil when you put the heater on.
He glanced up at Tohrment, thinking his eyes were going pop. He wished he could talk, just to tell the man how special the car was.
"Yeah, she's a looker, isn't she? Restored her myself. I'm about to put her up on blocks for the winter, but maybe we'll take her to the center tonight, how about that? It's chilly, but we can pile on the coats."
John beamed. And kept on grinning as the man's heavy arm came around his thin shoulders.
"Let's feed you, son."
Tohrment picked up the suitcase and they headed for the door John's bike was next to. As they walked into the house, the smell of Mexican food wafted, spicy and rich.
John's nose was thrilled. His stomach rolled. Holy hell, he wasn't going to be able to eat any of that kind of stuff. What if Tohrment's wife got upset…?
A stunning redhead stepped into their paths. She was easily six feet tall, had skin as fine as white china, and was wearing a loose yellow dress. Her hair was just incredible, a flowing river of waves falling from the crown of her head way down her back.
John put an arm around his middle, hiding the buttonhole.
"How's my hellren?" the woman said, lifting her mouth for Tohrment's kiss.
"I'm good, leelan. Wellsie, this is John Matthew. John, this is my shellan."
"Welcome, John." She offered her hand. "I'm so happy you'll be staying with us."
John shook her palm and quickly put his arm back in place.
"Come on, boys. Dinner's ready."
The kitchen was all cherry cupboards, granite counter-tops, and glossy black appliances. A round glass-and-iron table set with three places was in a windowed alcove. Everything looked brand-new.
"You two go sit," Wellsie said." I'll bring the food."
He looked to the sink. It was white porcelain with a graceful brass faucet rising up high.
"You want to wash your hands?" she said. "Go right ahead."
There was a bar of soap in a little dish, and he was careful to clean everywhere, even under his fingernails. After he and Tohrment sat down, Wellsie came over with plates and bowls heaping with food. Enchiladas. Quesadillas. She went back for more.
"Now, that's what I'm talking about," Tohrment said as he served himself, piling his plate high. "Wellsie, this looks fantastic."
John eyed the display. There was nothing he could stomach on the table. Maybe he could just tell them he ate earlier…
Wellsie put a bowl down in front of him. It was filled with white rice that had some kind of pale sauce on it. The aroma was delicate, but appealing.
"This will ease your stomach. It's got ginger in it," she said. "And the sauce is high in fat, which will help you put on some weight. For your dessert, I've made banana pudding. It goes down easy and has lots of calories in it."
John stared at the food. She knew. She knew exactly what he couldn't eat. And what he could.
The bowl in front of him got blurry. He blinked quickly. Then frantically.
Squeezing his mouth shut, he tightened his hands in his lap until his knuckles cracked. He was not going to cry like a child. He refused to disgrace himself like that.
Wellsie's voice was quiet. "Tohr? You want to give us a minute?"
There was the sound of a chair moving back, and then John felt a solid hand on his shoulder. The weight lifted and heavy footfalls sounded out of the room.
"You can let go now. He's gone."
John closed his eyes and sagged, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Wellsie pulled a chair over to him. With slow, sweeping motions, she rubbed his back.
He felt so blessed that Tohrment had come and found him just in the nick of time. That this house he was going to stay in was so nice and clean. That Wellsie had made him something special, something his stomach could tolerate.
That they'd both let him have his pride.
John felt himself get pulled to one side and then he was being hugged. Rocked.
Parched, he soaked up the kindness.
A little later he lifted his head and felt a napkin get put in his hand. He wiped his face, threw his shoulders back, and looked at Wellsie.
She smiled. "Better?"
He nodded.
"I'm going to go get Tohr, okay?"
John nodded again and picked up a fork. When he tried the rice, he moaned. It didn't have much of a taste, but when it hit his stomach, instead of spasms he felt a wonderful loosening in his gut. It was as if the stuff had been specifically calibrated for what his digestive system needed.
He couldn't bear to look up as Tohrment and Wellsie sat back down, and he was relieved when they started talking about normal stuff. Errands. Friends. Plans.
He finished all the rice and looked over at the stove, wondering if there was more. Before he could ask, Wellsie took his bowl and brought it back refilled. He ate three servings. And some of the banana pudding. By the time he put his spoon down, he realized it was the first time in his life he'd ever been full.
He took a deep breath, leaned back in the chair, and closed his eyes, listening to the deep tones of Tohrment's voice and Wellsie's dulcet replies.
It was like a lullaby, he thought. Especially as they slipped into a language he didn't recognize.
"John?" Tohrment said.
He tried to sit up, but was so sleepy all he could do was open his eyes.
"How about I take you to your room so you can crash. We'll go to the center in a couple of days, okay? Give you a little time to adjust."
John nodded, thinking he didn't feel up to much more than a really good night's sleep.
Still, he carried his dish to the sink, rinsed it out, and put it in the dishwasher. When he went back to the table to help clear, Wellsie shook her head.
"No, I'll take care of this. You go with Tohr."
John got out his pen and paper. When he was finished writing, he turned the words to face Wellsie.
She laughed. "You are very welcome. And yes, I'll show you how to make it."
John nodded. And then narrowed his eyes.
Wellsie was smiling so widely that he saw some of her teeth. Two in the front were very long.
She closed her lips, as if catching herself. "Just go to sleep, John, and don't worry about anything. There'll be plenty of time to think tomorrow."
He looked over at Tohrment, whose face was remote.
And that was when he knew. Knew without being told. He'd always been aware that he was different, and finally he was going to know why: These two lovely people were going to tell him what he was.
John thought of his dreams. Of the biting and the blood.
He had a feeling they weren't his imagination.
They were his memories.
CHAPTER 37
Mary stared at the Chosen's outstretched hand and then looked at Rhage. His face was grim, his body tense.
"Will you not help him?" Layla asked.
Taking a deep breath, Mary went forward and placed her palm against the one extended toward her.
Layla tugged her down and smiled a little. "I know you are nervous, but worry not, it will be over quickly. Then I will go and it will just be you and him. You can hold each other and banish me from your thoughts."
"How can you stand to be… used like this?" Mary said.
Layla frowned. "I am providing what is needed, not being used. And how can I not give to the Brotherhood? They protect us so that we may live. They give us our daughters so that our traditions may continue… or at least, they used to. Of late our numbers dwindle, because the brothers no longer come to us. We are in desperate need of children, but by law we may breed only with members of the Brotherhood." She glanced up at Rhage. "That is why I was selected tonight. I am close to my needing, and we had hoped that you would take me."
"I will not lie with you," Rhage said softly.
"I know. And still I will serve you."
Mary closed her eyes, imagining the kind of child Rhage could give a woman. As her hand found her
flat stomach, she tried to picture growing swollen and heavy. The joy would be overwhelming; she was quite sure. Because the pain of knowing that would never happen was tremendous.
"So, warrior, what will you do? Will you take what I am pleased to give? Or will you run the risk of hurting your mate?"
As Rhage hesitated, Mary realized the only solution they had was right in front of him. He needed to do this.
"Drink," she commanded him.
He met her eyes. "Mary?"
"I want you to feed. Now."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
There was a heartbeat of frozen silence. Then he dropped to the floor in front of Layla again. As he leaned forward, the woman lifted her sleeve and laid her arm down on her thigh. The veins on the inside of her wrist were pale blue underneath white skin.
Rhage reached for Mary's hand as he opened his mouth. His fangs elongated, growing three times as long as usual. With a slight hissing sound, he bent down and put his mouth on Layla. The woman jerked and then relaxed.
Rhage's thumb stroked over Mary's wrist, his hand warm against hers. She couldn't see exactly what he was doing, but the subtle movement of his head suggested sucking. When he squeezed her palm, she returned the gesture weakly. The whole experience was too foreign, and he was right: There was a shocking intimacy to it.
"Stroke him," Layla whispered. "He's about to stop, and it's too soon. He hasn't taken enough."
Numbly, Mary reached out and put her free hand on his head. "It's all right. I'm fine."
When Rhage made a movement to sit back, as if he knew she was lying, she thought of everything he was willing to go through for her, everything he'd been through for her.
Mary held his head in place, pushing down. "Take your time. Really, everything's okay."
As she squeezed his palm, his shoulders eased up and he moved closer to her, shifting his body around. She parted her legs so that he could settle between them, his chest resting on her thigh, his broad back dwarfing her. She ran her hand through his blond hair, its thick, smooth waves sinking in between her fingers.
And all of a sudden, the whole thing wasn't that weird.
Even though she could feel the pulls he was taking on Layla's vein, Rhage's body against her own was familiar, and the rubbing on her wrist told her he was thinking of her while he was feeding. She looked over at Layla. The woman was watching him, but the concentration on her face was clinical.
