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.
Mary lay in the hospital bed and tried to smile at Butch, who was sitting in a chair in the corner with his hat and sunglasses on. He'd come as soon as Rhage had left, to guard her and keep her safe until nightfall.
"You don't have to be social," Butch said softly, as if he knew she was struggling to be polite. "You just do your thing."
She nodded and looked out the window. The IV in her arm wasn't bad; it didn't hurt or anything. Then again, she was so numb they could have hammered nails into her veins and she probably wouldn't have felt a thing.
Holy hell. The end had finally come. The inescapable reality of dying was finally upon her. No outs this time. Nothing to be done, no battle to be waged. Death was no longer an abstract concept, but a very real, impending event.
She felt no peace. No acceptance. All she had was rage.
She didn't want to go. Didn't want to leave the man she loved. Didn't want to give up the messy chaos of life.
Just stop this, she thought. Someone just stop this.
She closed her eyes.
As everything went dark, she saw Rhage's face. And in her mind she touched his cheek with her hand and felt the warmth of his skin, the strong bones underneath. Words started marching through her head, coming from someplace she didn't recognize, going nowhere, she supposed.
Don't make me go. Don't make me leave him. Please
God, just let me stay here with him and love him a little longer. I promise not to waste the moments. I'll hold him and never let him go God, please. Just stop this
Mary started to cry as she realized she was praying, praying with everything she had, throwing her heart open, begging. As she called out to something she didn't even believe in, an odd revelation came to her in the midst of the desperation.
So this was why her mother had believed. Cissy hadn't wanted to get off the carnival ride, hadn't wanted the carousel to stop turning, hadn't wanted to leave Mary. The impending separation from love, more than the ending of life, had kept all that faith alive. It was the hope of having a little more time to love that had made her mother hold crosses, and look to the faces of statues, and cast words up into the air.
And why had those prayers focused heavenward? Well, it kind of made sense, didn't it? Even when there were no more options for the body, the heart's wishes find a way out, and as with all warmth, love rises. Besides, the will to fly was in the nature of the soul, so its home had to be up above. And gifts did come from the sky, like spring rain and summer breezes and fall sun and winter snow.
Mary opened her eyes. After blinking her vision clear, she focused on the dawn's nascent glow behind the city's nest of buildings.
Please God.
Let me stay here with him.
Don't make me go away.
CHAPTER 49
Rhage raced into the house, whipping off his trench coat as he pounded through the foyer and up the stairs. Inside their room he ditched his watch and changed into a white silk shirt and pants. After grabbing a lacquered box from the top shelf of the closet, he went to the center of the bedroom and got down on his knees. He opened the box, took out a string of marble-sized black pearls, and put the necklace on.
He sat back on his heels, laid his hands palm up on his thighs, and closed his eyes.
Slowing down his breathing, he sank into the position until his bones, not his muscles, held him in place. He swept his mind clean as best he could and then waited, begging to be seen by the only thing that might save Mary.
The pearls warmed against his skin.
When he opened his eyes he was in a brilliant courtyard of white marble. The fountain here was working splendidly, the water sparkling as it went up into the air and came down into the basin. A white tree with white blossoms was in the corner, the songbirds trilling on its branches the only splashes of color in the place.
"To what do I owe this pleasure," the Scribe Virgin said from behind him. "You have surely not come about your beast. There is quite some time left on that, as I recall."
Rhage remained on his knees, his head bowed, his tongue tied. He found that he didn't know where to begin.
"Such silence," the Scribe Virgin murmured. "Unusual for you."
"I would choose my words carefully."
"Wise, warrior. Very wise. Given what you have come here for."
"You know?"
"No questions," she snapped. "Truly, I am getting tired of having to remind the Brotherhood of this. Perhaps when you return you will recall such etiquette to the others."
"My apologies."
The edge of her black robes came into his vision. "Lift your head, warrior. Look at me."
He took a deep breath and complied.
"You are in such pain," she said softly. "I can feel your burden."
"My heart bleeds."
"For this human female of yours."
He nodded. "I would ask that you save her, if it would not offend."
The Scribe Virgin turned away from him. Then she floated over the marble, taking a slow turn around the courtyard.
He had no idea what she was thinking. Or whether she was even considering what he'd requested. For all he knew she was out for a little exercise. Or about to walk away from him.
"That I would not do, warrior," she said as she read his mind. "In spite of our differences, I would not desert you in that manner. Tell me somethingwhat if saving your female meant you would never be free of the beast? What if having her live meant you must remain in your curse until you go unto the Fade?"
"I would happily keep it within me."
"You hate it."
"I love her."
"Well, well. Clearly you do."
Hope fired in his chest. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if they had struck a deal, if Mary could live now. But he wasn't going to risk tipping the balance of the negotiation by pissing the Scribe Virgin off with another question.
She smoothed her way over to him. "You have changed quite a bit since we had our last private meeting in that forest. And I believe this is the first selfless thing you have ever done."
He exhaled, a sweet relief singing in his veins. "There is nothing I would not do for her, nothing I would not sacrifice."
"Fortunate for you, in a way," the Scribe Virgin murmured. "Because in addition to keeping the beast within you, I require you to give up your Mary."
Rhage jerked, convinced he hadn't heard right.
"Yes, warrior. You understand me perfectly."
A death chill went through him, stealing his breath.
"Here is what I offer you," she said. "I can take her out of the continuum of her fate, making her whole and healthy. She will grow no older, she will never be ill, she will decide when she wishes to go unto the Fade. And I will give her the choice to accept the gift. However, as I present the proposal, she will not know of you, and whether or not she consents, you and your world will be ever unknown to her. Likewise, she will not be known by any of those whom she has met, lessers included. You will be the only one who remembers her. And if ever you approach her, she will die. Immediately."
Rhage swayed and fell forward, catching himself with his hands. It was a long time before he could squeeze any words from his throat.
"You truly hate me."
A mild electrical shock went through him, and he realized the Scribe Virgin had touched him on the shoulder.
"No, warrior. I love you, my child. The punishment of the beast was to teach you to control yourself, to learn your limits, to focus inward."
He lifted his eyes to her, not caring what she saw in them: hatred, pain, the urge to lash out.
His voice trembled. "You are taking my life from me."
"That is the point," she said in an impossibly gentle tone. "It is yin and yang, warrior. Your life, metaphorically, for hers, in fact. Balance must be kept, sacrifices must be made if gifts are given. If I am to save the human for you, there must be a profound pledge on your part. Yin and yang."
He put his head down.
And screamed. Screamed until the blood rushed into his face and stung. Until his eyes watered and all but popped out of his skull. Until his voice cracked and faded into hoarseness.
When he was finished, he focused his eyes. The Scribe Virgin was kneeling in front of him, her robes spilling out all around her, a pool of black on the white marble.
"Warrior, I would spare you this if I could."
God, he almost believed that. Her voice was so hollow.
"Do it," he said roughly. "Give her the choice. I would rather she live long and happily without knowing me than die now."
"So be it."
"But I beg of you let me say good-bye. One last goodbye."
The Scribe Virgin shook her head.
Pain ripped through him, slicing him until he wouldn't have been surprised to find his body bleeding.
"I beg"
"It is now or not."
Rhage shuddered. Closed his eyes. Felt death come to him as surely as if his heart had stopped beating.
"Then it is now," he whispered.
CHAPTER 50
Butch's first stop when he got home from the hospital was the mansion's upstairs study. He had no idea why Rhage had called and told him to leave Mary's room. His impulse had been to argue with the brother, but the sound of the guy's voice had been freaky, so he'd left it alone.
The Brotherhood was waiting in Wrath's room, all grim and focused. And they were waiting for him. As Butch stared at them all, he felt as if he were about to make a report to the department, and after a couple months of sitting on his ass, it was good to be back on the job.
Though he was damn sorry his skills were needed.
"Where's Rhage?" Wrath asked. "Someone go get him."
Phury disappeared. When he came back he left the door open. "My man's in the shower. He'll be right with us."
Wrath looked across his desk at Butch. "So what do we know?"
"Not much, although I'm encouraged by one thing. Some of Bella's clothes were gone. She was a neat type, so I could tell it was just jeans and nightgowns, not the kind of stuff she might have taken to a dry cleaners or something. It gives me hope they might want her alive for a while." Butch heard the door shut behind him and figured Rhage had come in.
"Anyway, both sites, Mary's and Bella's, were pretty clean, although I'm going to do one more sweep"
Butch realized nobody was listening to him. He turned around.
A ghost had walked into the room. A ghost who looked a lot like Rhage.
The brother was dressed in white and had some kind of scarf wrapped around his throat. There were white binds on both his wrists, too. All his drinking points, Butch thought.
"When did she go unto the Fade?" Wrath asked.
Rhage just shook his head and went over to one of the windows. He stared out of it even though the shutters were down and he couldn't see anything.
Butch, who was floored by the death that had apparently come so fast, didn't know whether to continue or not. He glanced at Wrath, who shook his head and then got to his feet.
"Rhage? My brother? What can we do for you?"
Rhage looked over his shoulder. He stared at each one of the males in the room, ending on Wrath. "I can't go out tonight."
"Of course not. And we will stay in and mourn with you."
"No," Rhage said sharply. "Bella's out there. Find her. Don't let her go."
"But is there anything we can do for you?"
"I can't I find that I can't concentrate. On anything. I can't really" Rhage's eyes drifted to Zsadist. "How do you live with it? All the anger. The pain. The"
Z shifted uneasily and stared at the floor.
Rhage turned his back to the group.
The silence in the room stretched out.
And then with a slow, halting walk, Zsadist went over to Rhage. When he was standing next to the brother, he didn't say a word, didn't lift a hand, didn't make a sound. He just crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulder into Rhage's.
Rhage jerked as if surprised. The two men looked at each other. And then both stared out the obscured window.
"Continue," Rhage commanded in a dead voice.
Wrath sat back down behind the desk. And Butch started to speak again.
By eight o'clock that night, Zsadist was finished at Bella's.
He poured the last bucket of suds out in the kitchen sink and then put the container and the mop away in the closet next to the garage door.
Her house was now clean and everything was back where it needed to be. When she came home, all she would see was a whole lot of normal.
He fingered the small chain with little diamonds in it that was at his throat. He'd found the thing on the floor the night before, and after he'd fixed the broken link he'd put it on. It barely went around his neck.
He scanned the kitchen one more time and then took the stairs down to her bedroom. He'd refolded her clothes neatly. Slid the dresser drawers back in place. Lined up her perfume bottles again on the vanity. Vacuumed.
Now he opened her closet and touched her blouses and sweaters and dresses. He leaned in and breathed deeply. He could smell her, and the scent made his chest burn.
Those fucking bastards were going to bleed for her. He was going to tear them apart with his bare hands until their black blood ran over him like a waterfall.
With vengeance throbbing in his veins, he went over to her bed and sat down. Moving slowly, as if he might crash the frame, he lay back and put his head on her pillows. There was a spiral-bound book on top of the duvet and he picked it up. Her handwriting filled the pages.
He was illiterate, so he couldn't understand the words, but they were beautifully composed, her penmanship curling into a lovely pattern over the paper.
On a random page, he caught the one word that he could read.
Zsadist.
She'd written his name. He flipped through the journal, looking closely. She'd written his name a lot recently. He cringed as he imagined the content.
Closing the book, he returned it to the precise spot it had been in. Then he glanced to the right. There was a hair ribbon on the bed stand, as if she'd whipped the thing off before getting into bed. He picked it up and wound the black satin through his fingers.
Butch appeared at the base of the stairs.
Z shot up off the bed as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. Which, of course, he had been. He shouldn't be all over Bella's private space.
But at least Butch didn't seem any more comfortable than he was at their meeting.
"What the hell are you doing here, cop?"
"I wanted to look at the scene again. But I see you're handy with a paper towel."
Zsadist glared across the room. "Why do you care about all this? What's the abduction of one of our females to you?"
"It matters."
"In our world. Not yours."
The cop frowned. " 'Scuse me, Z, but given your reputation, what's all this to you?"
"Just doing my job."
"Yeah, right. Then why are you marking time on her bed? Why'd you spend hours cleaning up her house? And why are you holding that ribbon so tight your knuckles are white?"
Z looked down at his hand and slowly released his grip. Then he pegged the human with a stare.
"Don't fuck with me, cop. You won't like what comes back at you."
Butch cursed. "Look, I just want to help find her, Z. I gotta It means something to me, okay? I don't like women getting brutalized. I got some nasty personal history with this kind of shit."
Zsadist pushed the strip of satin into his pocket and circled the human, closing in on him. Butch sank into a defensive position, waiting for the attack.
Z stopped dead in front of the guy. "The lessers have probably killed her already, haven't they?"
"Maybe."
"Probably."
Z leaned forward and took a deep breath. He could smell no fear coming out of the human even though his big body was tense and ready to fight. This was good. The cop was going to need some balls if he really wanted to play in the Brotherhood's sandbox of hell.
"Tell me something," Z muttered. "Will you help me slaughter the lessers that took her? You got the stomach for that, cop? Because straight up, I'm going to go crazy over this."
Butch's hazel eyes narrowed. "They take from you, they take from me."
"I'm nothing to you."
"You're wrong about that. The Brotherhood's been good to me, and I stick with my boys, you feel me?"
Z measured the male. The aura Butch threw off was all business. Down-to-the-blood business.
"I don't do gratitude," Z said.
"I know."
Z braced himself and extended his hand. He felt the need to seal the pact between them, even though he was going to hate the sensation. Luckily, though, the human's grip was gentle. Like he knew how hard the contact was for Z to handle.
"We go after them together," the cop said as they dropped their arms.
Z nodded. And the two of them headed upstairs.
CHAPTER 51
Mary waved as the big Mercedes eased to a stop in front of the hospital. She jogged over at such a clip that Fritz was just getting out of the driver's side as she jumped into the car.
"Thanks, Fritz! Listen, I've called Rhage six times and he's not answering his cell. Is everything okay?"
"All is well. I saw your sire this afternoon."
She beamed at the doggen. "Good! And as it's eight o'clock, it's still early for him to have gone out."
Fritz put the car in drive and gently eased into traffic. "Is there anything you require"
She reached across the seat, threw her arms around the little old man, and kissed him on the cheek. "Take me home fast, Fritz. Faster than you've ever gone before. Break every traffic law."
"Madam?"
"You heard me. As fast as you can!"
Fritz was all flustered from the attention, but he recovered quickly and punched the gas.
Mary put her seat belt on and then popped the visor down and looked at herself in the little lighted mirror. Her hands were shaking as she put them to her cheeks, and giggles broke out of her mouth, especially as the car careened around a corner and she was thrown against the door.
When sirens sounded, she laughed even harder.
"I beg your pardon, madam." The doggen glanced over at her. "But I must evade the police and this might get rather bumpy."
"Blow their doors off, Fritz."
The doggen flipped something and all the lights in and outside the car were extinguished. Then the Mercedes let out a roar that reminded her of that ride in the GTO with Rhage through the mountains.
Well, except they'd had headlights then.
She grabbed on to the seat-belt strap and shouted over the din of squealing tires, "Tell me you have perfect night vision or something!"
Fritz smiled at her calmly, as if they were just chatting it up in the kitchen. "Oh, yes, madam. Perfect."
With a jerk to the left he swerved around a minivan and then shot down an alley. Slamming on the brakes to avoid hitting a pedestrian, he nailed the gas pedal to the floor again as soon as he had a clear path down the narrow street. Darting out the other side, he cut off a taxi, dodged a bus. Even made an SUV the size of the QE II think twice before pulling out in front of him.
The old guy was an artist behind the wheel.
Okay, an artist in a Jackson Pollock kind of way, sure, but amazing nonetheless.
And then he shot into a parking spot. Right on the main drag. Just like that.
The chorus of sirens got so loud she had to yell. "Fritz, they're going to"
Two police cars sped right by them.
"One more moment, madam."
Another cop car went flying down the street.
Fritz eased out and continued at a brisk pace.
"Nice trick, Fritz."
"With no offense to you, madam, human minds are rather easily manipulated."
As they sped along, she laughed and fidgeted and tapped her fingers on the armrest. The trip seemed to take forever.
When they got to the compound's first set of double gates, she was practically vibrating, she was so excited. And the moment they pulled up in front of the house, she bolted from the car, not even bothering to shut the door.
"Thanks, Fritz!" she called out over her shoulder.
"You're welcome, madam!" he shouted back.
She burst through the vestibule and bounded up the grand staircase. As she took the corner at the top, going at a dead run, her purse swung out and clipped a lamp. She doubled back and righted the thing before it crashed.
She was laughing out loud as she burst into their bedroom
Mary careened to a halt.
In the center of the room Rhage was naked and kneeling in a trance on some kind of black slab. He had white binds tied around his neck and wrists. And there was blood dripping onto the rug, though she couldn't see where it was coming from.
His face looked as if he'd aged decades since she'd seen him.
"Rhage?"
His eyes slowly opened. They were opaque, dull. He blinked at her and frowned.
"Rhage? Rhage, what's going on?"
Her voice seemed to snap him to attention.
"What are you" He stopped. Then shook his head as if he were trying to clear a vision. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm cured! I'm a miracle!"
As she ran to him, he leaped out of the way, holding his hands up and glancing around frantically. "Get out! She'll kill you! She'll take it all back! Oh, God, get away from me!"
Mary stopped dead. "What are you talking about?"
"You took the gift, didn't you!"
"How do you how do you know about that weird dream?'
"Did you take the gift!"
Jesus. Rhage had lost it completely. Shaking, naked, he was bleeding from his shins and white as limestone.
"Calm down, Rhage." Boy, this was so not how she'd pictured this conversation going. "I don't know about any gift. But listen to this! I fell asleep while I was getting another MRI and something happened to the machine. It exploded or something, I guess, I don't know, they said there was some flash of light. Anyway, when they took me back upstairs, they drew some blood and everything was perfect. Perfect! I'm clean! No one has any idea what happened. It's like the leukemia just disappeared and my liver fixed itself. They're calling me a medical miracle!"
Happiness poured through her. Until Rhage grabbed her hands and squeezed so hard he hurt her.
"You need to leave. Now. You can't know me. You have to go. Don't ever come back here again."
"What?"
He started pushing her out of the room, and then dragged her when she resisted.
"What are you doing? Rhage, I don't"
"You have to go!"
"Warrior, you can stop now."
The wry female voice halted them both.
Mary looked over his shoulder. A small figure covered in black was in the corner of the room, light glowing from underneath the flowing robe.
"My dream," Mary whispered. "You were the woman in my dream."
Rhage's arms crushed her as they went around her body, and then he thrust her away from him.
"I did not not go to her, Scribe Virgin. I swear, I didn't"
"Be at ease, warrior. I know you kept the bargain." The small figure floated over to them, not walking, just moving through the room. "And all is well. You just left out one small detail about the situation, something I did not know until I approached her."
"What?"
"You failed to tell me she could no longer bear children."
Rhage looked at Mary. "I didn't know."
Mary nodded and wrapped her arms around herself. "It's true. I'm infertile. From the treatments."
The black robes shifted. "Come here, female. I will touch you now."
Mary stepped forward in a daze as a glowing hand appeared from the silk. The meeting of their palms resulted in a warm electrification.
The woman's voice was low and strong. "I regret that your ability to bring forward life has been taken from you. The joy of my creation sustains me always, and I take great sorrow that you will never hold flesh of your flesh in your arms, that you will not see your own eyes staring at you from the face of another, that you will never mix the essential nature of yourself with the male you love. What you have lost is enough of a sacrifice. To take the warrior from you as well that is too much. As I told you, I give you life eternal until you decide to go unto the Fade of your own volition. And I have a feeling that choice shall be made when it is this warrior's turn to leave the earth."
Mary's hand was released. And all the joy she'd felt drained out of her. She wanted to cry.
"Oh, hell," she said. "I'm still dreaming, aren't I? This is all just a dream. I should have known..."
Low, feminine laughter came out of the robes. "Go to your warrior, female. Feel the warmth of his body and know this is real."
Mary turned. Rhage was staring at the figure in disbelief as well.
She stepped up to him, wrapped her arms around him, heard his heart beating in his chest.
The black figure disappeared, and Rhage started speaking in the Old Language, words falling from his mouth so fast she couldn't have understood them even if they'd been in English.
Prayers, she thoughthe was praying.
When he finally stopped, he looked down at her. "Let me kiss you, Mary."
"Wait, will you please tell me what just happened? And who she is?"
"Later. I can't I'm not thinking clearly right now. Actually, I'd better go lie down for a minute. I feel like I'm going to faint, and I don't want to fall on you."
She threw his heavy arm over her shoulder and grabbed him around the waist. When he leaned on her, she grunted from the weight.
As soon as Rhage was lying down flat, he tore off the white sashes at his wrists and neck. It was then that she saw that sparkles were mixed with the blood on his shins. She eyed the black slab. There were chips on it, like glass. Or diamonds? God, he'd been kneeling on them. No wonder he'd been cut raw.
"What were you doing?" she asked.
"Mourning."
"Why?"
"Later." He pulled her down on top of him and held her hard.
Feeling his body under hers, she wondered whether it was possible for miracles to actually happen. And not as in the I've-just-had-some-really-good-luck kind, but the mystical, incomprehensible variety. She thought of the doctors racing around with her blood work and her charts. Felt the shock of electricity going through her arm and into her chest as the black-robed figure had touched her.
And she thought about the desperate prayers she'd thrown to the sky.
Yes, Mary decided. Miracles did actually happen in the world.
She started laughing and crying at the same time and drank in Rhage's soothing response to the outburst.
A little later she said, "Only my mother could have believed this."
"Believed what?"
"My mother was a good Catholic. She had faith in God and salvation and eternal life." She kissed his neck. "So she would have believed in all this instantly. And she would have been convinced the mother of God had been under those black robes just now."
"Actually, that was the Scribe Virgin. Who's a lot of things, but not Jesus's mom. At least, not as far as our lexicon goes."
She lifted her head. "You know, my mother always told me I'd be saved whether I believed in God or not. She was convinced I couldn't get away from the Grace because of what she named me. She used say that every time someone called out for me or wrote my name or thought about me, I was protected."
"Your name?"
"Mary. She named me after the Virgin Mary."
Rhage's breath caught. And then he laughed softly.
"What's so funny?"
His eyes were a bright, shining teal blue. "Just that V well, Vishous is never wrong. Oh, Mary, my beautiful virgin, will you let me love you for as long as I live? And when I go unto the Fade, will you come with me?"
"Yes." She stroked his cheek. "But does it bother you that I can't have your children?"
"Not in the slightest. I have you, that's all that matters."
"You know," she murmured, "there's always adoption. Do vampires ever adopt?"
"Just ask Tohrment and Wellsie. I can already tell they think of John as their own." Rhage smiled. "You want a baby, I'll get you one. And you know, I might be okay as a dad."
"I think you'll be more than okay."
When she bent down to kiss him, he stopped her. "Ah, there's just one other thing."
"What?"
"Well, we're stuck with the beast. I kind of bargained with the Scribe Virgin"
Mary pulled back. "You bargained?"