The Beast

EIGHT

It was a helluva way to come back from the dead.

As Rhage tossed his cookies all over the place, his brain was nothing but scrambled eggs—

Okay, not a good idea to think of eggs in any form.

Round number two of the abdominal evacs took over his body, contorting him from head to foot, and as he let his guts do the talking, he heard V’s dry voice overhead.

“Not my night,” the Brother muttered. “So not my night with the barfing.”

Huh? Rhage thought, before letting it go. All he really cared about, aside from the fact that he could now breathe and speak again, was his Mary. Sticking his arm out, he went in search of contact with her again—and she grabbed his palm right away, clasping him, holding on, both soothing him and giving him energy.

The instant the connection was made, his confusion started to ebb.

No, that wasn’t exactly right. He had no idea how he’d managed to go from standing in front of the door to the Fade, faced with a choice that he was stunned to be confronted by even though he’d been aware that he’d been dying . . . to somehow slamming back into his own body and hearing his Mary’s most perfect voice clear as day, without the radio static of fear and pain.

None of that mystery had been cleared up—but he just didn’t give a fuck. As long as his Mary was with him? The rest was shit he could—

“Hurt?” he blurted. “Anyone hurt?”

Had the beast—

“Everyone is fine,” she told him.

“I’m sorry about being sick.” God, the post-party visual blackout was awful—but he’d take it over a dirt nap any night and twice on Sundays as the humans would say. “I’m sorry—”

“Rhage, we need to get you into the RV. And no, I’m not going to leave you—Jane’s just going to check your vitals and then we have to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

Oh, right. They were at the campus, in the battlefield, no doubt sitting ducks—

With an explosion of memory, everything came back to him. The argument with V . . . the bum’s rush out into the field . . .

The bullet through his heart.

With his free hand, he slapped against his chest, fumbling around to find a hole, feeling for blood—and finding that though there was a wash of sticky wetness down his torso . . . there was no discernible wound.

Just a strange patch in the center that seemed to glow with the heat of a banked fire.

And that was when the itching started. Beginning with the area over his heart, it shifted around in a solid patch, tracing over his ribs on one side, tickling under his arm, moving to the center of his back.

It was the beast, getting back into position. But why?

Yeah, file that one at the end of a very long line of huh-whats?

“Mary,” he said into his blindness. “Mary . . . ?”

“It’s all right—let’s just get out of here together, and when we’re safe, I’ll explain everything—or at least tell you what I know.”

Over the next hour, his shellan made good on that promise—but when did she ever let anyone down? She stayed beside him every inch of the way, from when he was hefted onto a gurney and given a bumpy ride over to Manny’s RV . . . from the rough evac off the overgrown campus to the smooth glide of the paved roads to the highway . . . from the stop-and-go of the gate system that protected the Brotherhood’s training center . . . to the at-last arrival and processing into his recovery room at the clinic.

The trip exhausted him—then again, he spent most of it throwing up lesser parts and choking on their foul-tasting black blood. And it was funny: Usually, he suffered through this aftermath part pissed off and ready for the suffering to be over. Tonight? He was so fucking grateful to be alive he didn’t care that he had the world’s worst stomach flu/food poisoning/seasickness thing going on.

You’re going to fucking die tonight!

Damn it, Vishous was always right. Except Rhage had somehow beaten the prediction and come back from the Fade: For some reason, by some miracle, he was back—and he didn’t think it was because the Scribe Virgin had done him a solid. She had already made a lottery-win deposit in his existential account when she’d saved his Mary, and besides, for the past couple of years, the Mother of the Race had been as out of touch as that kooky old relative you’d just as soon have backed off anyway, thank you very much.

So had his brother been wrong? The short answer to that was yup, considering Rhage was currently lying in a hospital bed instead of on some cloud up in the sky.

But why?

“Here,” his Mary said. “I’ve got what you need.”

True on so many levels, he thought as he turned his head toward the sound of her voice. When a series of bubbles tickled his nose, he shuddered in relief.

Plop-plop, fizz-fizz, fuck, yeah.

“Thank you,” he mumbled—because he was afraid that if he tried to enunciate things too much he was going to start hurling again.

He drank everything that was in the glass and sagged back against the pillow—and then the sound of Mary putting the empty down and the feel of her weight on the mattress made him tear up for some stupid reason.

“I saw the Fade,” he said quietly.

“Did you?” She seemed to shudder, the bed transmitting a subtle tremor from where she sat. “It’s really scary to hear that. What was it like?”

He frowned. “White. Everything was white, but there was no light source. It was weird.”

“I would have found you, you know.” She took a deep breath. “If you hadn’t come back, I would . . . I don’t know how, but I would have found you.”

The exhale he released lasted a lifetime for him. “God, I needed to hear that.”

“Did you think otherwise?”

“No. Well, except for wondering if it was possible. You must have thought the same or you wouldn’t have worked so hard to save me.”

There was a quiet moment. “Yes,” she whispered. “I did want to save you.”

“And I’m glad it worked.” Really, he was. Honest. “I, ah . . .”

“You know that I love you so much, Rhage.”

“Why does that sound like a confession?” He forced a laugh. “I’m just kidding.”

“I really hate death.”

Okay, something was up. And not just about him. She sounded strangely . . . defeated, which was not the affect of a female who had dragged her hellren’s sorry ass back from death’s door.

Like, literally.

Rhage fumbled around to find her hands, and when he took hold of them, they trembled. “What else happened tonight? And don’t say nothing. I can sense your emotion.”

He couldn’t smell it, though. There was too much lesser in his nose and in his digestive tract. You want to talk about fucking GERD?

“It’s not as important as you.” She shifted up and kissed him on the mouth. “Nothing is as important as you.”

Where are you? he wondered to himself. My Mary . . . where have you gone?

“God, I’m tired,” he said into the silence between them.

“Do you want me to leave you so you can sleep?”

“No.” Rhage squeezed her hands and felt like he was trying to tether her to him. “Not ever.”

In the quiet of the hospital room, Mary found herself studying Rhage’s face as if she were trying to re-memorize the features that she knew darn well were indelibly marked in her brain. Then again, she wasn’t actually dwelling on all that ungodly beauty. She was looking for some courage inside herself. Or something.

You’d think, given her profession, she’d be better in a moment like this.

Tell him, she thought. Tell him about Bitty and her mother, and the fact that you fucked up on your job and you feel like a failure.

The trouble was, all that confession-oriented blabber seemed so selfish considering he’d died only about an hour ago: It was like running up to someone who’d been in a bad car accident and wanting to explain to them how your night had sucked, too, because you’d gotten a speeding ticket and a flat tire.

“I would have absolutely come and found you somehow.” As she repeated the words she’d already spoken, she knew he’d hit the nail on the head—because she did feel like she had something to confess. “Really. I would have.”

Great, now she was sick to her stomach.

Except God, how could she possibly tell him that she’d fought so hard to save him not because of them and their relationship, or even his Brothers and the tragedy his loss would have been to the whole household, but because of someone else entirely? Even if that someone else and all her problems were an arguably noble cause? Even if that third party was a child newly orphaned in the world?

It just seemed like such a betrayal of the two of them and their life together. When you found true love, when you’d been granted that gift, you didn’t make life-and-death decisions based on anybody else’s situations or problems. Unless it was your child, of course—and heaven knew that she and Rhage would never, ever have any children.

Okay, ouch. That hurt.

“What hurts?” Rhage asked.

“Sorry. Nothing. I’m sorry—it’s just been a long night.”

“I know the feeling.” He released her hands and stretched his enormous arms wide, the muscles carving out of his skin and throwing sharp shadows. “Come lay down. Let me feel like a male instead of a slab of meat—I wanna hold you.”

“You do not have to ask twice.”

Stretching out next to him on the bed, she put her head on his chest, right over his sternum, and took a deep breath. As the dark spice of his bonding scent bloomed in the air, she closed her eyes and tried to release all the chaotic recriminations that were tripping and falling around the inside of her skull, circus clowns that she found no amusement in whatsoever.

Fortunately, the contact with Rhage’s skin, his body heat, his vital presence was like a Valium without the side effects. Tension slowly left her and those bastards with the rubber noses, the bad wigs and the dumb-ass floppy shoes faded into the background.

No doubt they would be back. But she couldn’t worry about that right now.

“It’s beating so strongly again,” she murmured. “I love the sound of your heart.”

Loved also the steady rise and fall of his powerful chest.

And what do you know . . . the sight of all that smooth, hair-less skin over all those thick, heavy muscles wasn’t bad, either.

“You’re so big,” she said as she stretched her arm out and didn’t even make it around his torso.

The chuckle that rumbled through him was a little forced. But he followed it up with, “Yeah? Tell me how big I am.”

“You’re very, very big.”

“Just my chest? Or are you thinking of . . . other places?”

She knew that low drawl well . . . was utterly aware of where her mate had gone in his head—and sure enough, as she looked even further down his blanket-covered body, every inch of him was clearly still in working order, near-death experience or not.

Particularly a certain twelve inches. Give or take.

Her eyes went to the door and she wished the thing were locked. There were so many medical people around—okay, only three. But when you were interested in a little privacy, that was three too many.

As Rhage rolled his hips, that telltale thickening under the covers got a stroke that made him bite his lower lip, and Mary felt her body respond with a flush of heat. God, she hated the strange distance that had cropped up between them, that subtle disconnect she had been sensing for a while now: Somehow, even though their love hadn’t diminished, they seemed to have been losing touch with each other . . . in spite of the fact that they said their ILYs at all the right times, and slept in the same bed, and didn’t imagine being anywhere else with anybody else.

Although come to think of it, when was the last time they’d taken a night off, either one of them? Rhage had been so busy with the war and the attacks on Wrath and his throne—and ever since Bitty and her mother had come to Safe Place, Mary had had a professional preoccupation going that hadn’t left her even when she’d been technically off the clock. Hell, worrying about Bitty and Annalye had stuck with her even while she’d been asleep.

In fact, she dreamed of the little girl almost every day now.

Too long, Mary thought. It had been way too long since she and Rhage had focused on each other properly.

So, yes, even though it was a Band-Aid that would no doubt be temporary, and in spite of the public place they were in, and yup, without regard to the fact that Rhage had been dead earlier . . . Mary sneaked her hand under the sheets and moved her palm slowly down her mate’s ribbed stomach.

Rhage hissed and groaned, his pelvis rolling again, his arms straightening so that he could grip the bed rails. “Mary . . . I want you. . . .”

“My pleasure.”

His arousal was thick and long, and as she circled it, the velvet feel of him and the sounds he made in the back of his throat and the way his bonding scent flared even further were exactly the kind of up-close they needed. This was all about the two of them; nothing else was welcome—not her job, not his, not her worries, not his stress. In that respect, sex was like the best Swiffer in the world, taking away the dust and fallout from Normal Life that had dulled their connection, leaving the love they had for each other as sparkling-fresh as ever.

“Mount me,” Rhage demanded. “Get naked and get up on me.”

Mary glanced at the medical equipment that was all around his bed and wanted to curse. Talk about blips on a screen. “What about your machines? Things are starting to get really excited.”

“Weeeeeeeeeeeell, that’s ’cuz I’m starting to get really excited.”

“If they go up too much—”

Right on cue, the heart monitor’s alarm started going off shrilly. And just as Mary ripped her hand out from under, Ehlena came racing into the room.

“It’s fine,” Rhage said to the nurse with a laugh. “I’m fine—trust me.”

“I’ll just check things out—” Except then Ehlena stopped. And smiled. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Rhage had the colossal nerve to lie back like a lion about to get fed. He even winked in Mary’s general direction. “So you think maybe we can unplug me for a little bit?”

Ehlena chuckled and shook her head as she reset the machine. “Not a chance. Not until you’ve had a some more time stabilizing under your belt.”

Rhage leaned into Mary and whispered, “I want you back under my belt. That’s what I need.”

The nurse headed for the door. “I’m right down in the OR if you need me. We’re about to operate.”

Rhage frowned. “On who?”

“There were a couple of injuries. Nothing serious, though, don’t worry. Be good, you two, ’kay?”

“Thanks, Ehlena.” Mary gave the other female a wave. “You’re the best.”

As the door eased shut, Rhage dropped his voice. “Unplug me.”

“What?”

“Either you do it or I do it—but I need you, now.”

When Mary didn’t make a move, Rhage started blindly for the machines, knocking into a computer on a stand that looked like it cost more than a house.

“Rhage!” Mary started laughing as she gathered his hands and pulled them back. “Come on—”

Next thing she knew, he’d lifted her up and over his hips, settling her right on top of his erection. And yup, as soon as her weight appeared to register, that beep-beep-beep thing started speeding up again.

“You can hook me back up as soon as it’s done,” he informed her. “And even though it’ll be a sacrifice, if you only want to give me a handjob, I’ll settle for waiting for you till a little later. But I’ve come close to death once already tonight—don’t make your hellren die from the wanting.”

Mary had to smile at him. “You slay me.”

“And you could lay me? Please?”

She shook her head in spite of the fact that he couldn’t see her. “You just don’t take no for an answer, do you.”

“When it comes to you?” Rhage grew serious, his Bahama blue eyes staring blindly at her, his beautiful face growing grim. “You are both my strength and my weakness, Mary mine. So what do you say? You want to make my whole night? And may I remind you . . . I died in your arms earlier.”

Mary burst out laughing, and as she fell forward onto him, she ducked her head into his neck. “I love you so much.”

“Ahhhh, now that’s what I like to hear.” Big hands stroked over her back. “So what’s it going to be, Mary mine?”