The Beast

THIRTY-FOUR

The last thing Mary did before she left for the day was go to her office and check Facebook on her computer.

Like if she fired the URL up on something other than her phone, the search would give her a different result.

“Okay, let’s do this,” she muttered as she signed on.

As the machine came to life, she got a front-and-center of the closed, vampires-only group she was looking for—because it had been the last thing she’d been on before she’d gone downstairs to wait for Rhage earlier in the evening.

Hitting refresh, she waited for the Internet connection to show her any new posts, and ended up tilting her head back and looking at the ceiling. Bitty was moving around in her attic room, and Mary fought the urge to go and try to talk to her. But no, it was time to go home, and the girl was tired. Also, Mary had an almost superstitious notion that for once, the pair of them had parted on a relatively optimistic note: Bitty was ready for ice cream after nightfall tomorrow, and Mary was hanging on to that one fleeting smile in the back of the GTO as if it were a lifeline in the ocean.

“Okay, what have we got,” she whispered as she focused on the screen.

Nope. Nothing. There were probably only five hundred males and females in the group—mostly females—and the few new posts she saw covered conventional topics that even to human eyes would seem entirely normal.

No one had responded to her query about Bitty’s uncle.

She was disappointed, but that was kind of crazy. The logical part of her knew there was no one out there for the girl, but hearing Bitty talk with such desperation about a hypothetical relative? It made you want a miracle to happen.

Shutting everything down, she got her purse and her coat and went out, pausing at the base of the attic stairs.

“Good day, Bitty girl.”

About twenty minutes later, she was driving up the mhis-covered hill of the compound, going at a slow pace because she didn’t want to go off the lane or hit a deer—

“Shit!”

Slamming on the brakes, she yanked the steering wheel to the right, just as Qhuinn’s Hummer nearly T-boned her.

The SUV skidded to a halt and all kinds of fighters jumped out and rushed toward her like the Volvo was on fire.

“Mary!”

“Maaaaary!”

Butch ripped her door open. “Mary! Motherfucker!”

She had to laugh at the expression on the cop’s face. And on Blay’s. And John Matthew’s. And Qhuinn’s.

Putting her hands up, she said, “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay. Honestly.”

“I’m calling Doc Jane—”

“Butch. Seriously.” She undid her seat belt and shoved the Bostonian out of the way. “See? And the air bag didn’t even deploy. Although I’m getting a little flinchy with all these close encounters. I nearly hit a lesser the other night.”

That shut all four of them up. And then they just stood there, staring at her as if they were going to synchronize-vomit.

“Boys, you didn’t even hit me. I’m fine.” She nodded at the dirt path they’d been on. “I didn’t even know that was there—where are you coming from?”

“Nowhere.” Butch took her elbow and started to try to help her around to the passenger side. “I’ll drive you the rest of the way—”

“No.” She dug her heels in and nailed him with some serious eye-to-eye. “Butch. There is nothing wrong with me. I want all four of you to take a deep breath—and maybe put your heads between your knees so you don’t faint. Close calls happen, we both reacted in time, so let’s move along—or I’m going to call Fritz and have all of your bedrooms painted pink. Right after he puts potpourri on your bureaus, and Elsa and Anna pictures up on your walls.”

“She means business,” Blay said with no small measure of respect.

“Hell, yeah,” Qhuinn muttered. “Man, no wonder you can stand being mated to Rhage. He gets out of line, you just whip him right back into shape, don’t you.”

We’re just worried, John Matthew signed. And we really don’t want to tell your hubs that we hurt you. That’s all.

She went over and hugged John. “I know. And I’m sorry if I’m a little bitchy. It’s been a long couple of nights. Come on, let’s go eat.”

Back behind the wheel of the station wagon, she started up the hill, going the same slow speed as before. The Hummer stayed a DMV-worthy six car lengths behind her—and she was very aware of the fighters watching her every move.

Because all four of them were pressed up against the SUV’s front windshield, clustered like a bunch of mother hens worried about an errant chick.

They sure filled her rearview mirror with love, though.

Which was never, ever a bad thing.

After they all pulled up in front of the mansion and picked their normal spots in the line up of cars—hers by Manny’s Porsche, theirs over by V’s new thingamajiggy, whatever it was—she got out with her bag and was prepared to fend off a bunch of how-’bout-a-quick-physical suggestions from the leather-bound peanut gallery.

And what do you know, the pack of four came at her in formation.

Putting up her hands, she said calmly and reasonably, “I can’t die, remember? Also, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m up and around, speaking in complete sentences—even smiling. See?” She pointed to her mouth. “So how about Last Meal before you all fall over?”

There was a chorus of baritone fines and whatevers, and then John Matthew put his arm around her shoulders, gave her a quick hug and everybody strode up to the vestibule.

Fritz opened the inner door for them. “Greetings! How fare thee all?”

As the butler bowed, and everyone filed in, Mary had to pause. She had walked into the foyer how many times in the last however long, but it had been a while since she’d actually looked at the three-story-high ceiling with its mural of majestic fighters on their warhorses . . . or paused to appreciate the malachite-and-marble columns with their ornate headers and footers . . . or taken a second to listen to the layers of conversation as members of the house came down to gather in the dining room.

Everything seemed over-the-top luxe, and multi-factorial loud, and altogether wonderful, from Z and Bella descending the grand staircase with Nalla to Wrath and George walking across the mosaic floor with Tohr to John Matthew and Xhex wrapped in each other’s arms.

Heading into Last Meal, she thought back to what Rhage had told Bitty about the people here, his wonderful, purposely laughable, verbally scribbled caricatures of the very real blessings this family had.

Then she pictured him and Bitty leaning over the engine of his car, him taking the time to explain all kinds of things to her, not one bit of this-is-just-for-boys tinting anything, his face open, his eyes kind.

He had been amazing with the girl—

“Mary mine,” came a whisper in her ear.

As she jumped and turned to Rhage, she didn’t think for a second.

She put her arms around him, pulled him down . . .

. . . and kissed the ever-loving crap out of him.

Okay, yeah, WOWOWOWOWOWOWOW.

As Mary licked her way into Rhage’s mouth, his mind went blank in the best possible way—especially when he reached for her and brought her body close to his, curling his greater height and weight around her. His shellan’s lips were soft and warm, and her tongue slipped and slid against his, and her breasts, even though her coat, seemed to be brushing naked against his chest.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she said into his mouth.

He resumed the kissing while he eyed the staircase. Yeah, so steep, so long—and their bedroom? Shit, it was like, five hundred miles away. More like five thousand.

“C’mere,” he groaned.

He ended up shuffling her backward, his hands desperate to get under those clothes of hers—but he couldn’t risk that kind of contact. He felt her bare skin? He was liable to take her right there on the mosaic floor.

The pantry was located just off the kitchen and it was about as luxurious and comfortable as a laundry room—with the tragic lack of a washer or dryer that you could put the female you were in love with on and have her at hip height with her thighs spread wide. There were, however, two benes: One, there was a lock on the inside, as if Darius had known what kind of alternate spice might get thrown around among the cans of peaches and jars of pickles; and two, there was a shallow counter four feet above the floor with a good two and a half feet of surface depth that went all the way around the room.

Ostensibly, the thing was there to accommodate the banks of drawers that were under the stacks of shelves.

At the moment? It was the closest thing to Maytag Rhage could get.

“Oh, God, I need you,” Mary said as he slammed the door shut, manually turned the dead bolt, and popped her up off the floor.

As she grabbed the bottom of his muscle shirt and yanked it over his head, the thing got caught on his nose, nearly shearing his nostrils off. But like he gave a fuck? And then her shaking hands were clawing at the zipper on his leathers.

“I need you in me, hurry—I need you.”

“Oh, fuck, Mary, you have me—” The second her hand came into contact with his cock, he arched back and shouted something. Her name? Something about the Scribe Virgin? F-bomb? Again, who the fuck cared. “Let me get you—”

Next thing he knew, she was off the shelf, at his hips, and pushing him back until he slammed into the opposite side of things so hard cans of soup bounced down and rolled across the floor like they feared for their lives.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaary—”

That mouth of hers sucked his erection in deep, and though the warm, wet hold and suction were out-of-this-world erotic, what was even hotter? The sense that she was so fucking desperate for him, she couldn’t wait for him to get his pants down and hers off.

She was so damn hungry and greedy to have him she didn’t want to waste time.

She had to have him.

The bonded male inside of Rhage howled in satisfaction, and the beast surged in a good way under his skin—and oh, yeah, he orgasmed.

God, did he fucking orgasm. And as Mary milked him until he sagged, and then sat back and licked her lips, he felt some part of himself return—a part that had been gone for a while, but that he hadn’t really been aware of missing.

She still wanted him. Still needed him. And there was something about that connection that filled him out in a way he’d been previously deflated.

And it was time to return the favor. With a growl, he launched himself at her, taking her down to the hardwood, kissing her and tasting himself as he tore off her slacks, shoved his leathers to mid-thigh, and got her to straddle him while he rolled over onto his back.

Mary sat down hard on his cock and both of them cried out. Then she leaned forward, propped her hands next to his head, and began pumping her pelvis, his erection going in and out of her sex, their bodies slapping together, Rhage’s eyes latching onto her as she stared back at him with a combination of fierce determination and utter adoration.

She still had her coat on. The thing was flapping around her, and though he would have loved to see her breasts and her neck, her stomach, her sex, he was too caught up to be any kind of coordinated with his hands and his thoughts.

It was just really fucking awesome to be wanted like this. Ridden like this. Taken like this.

They came at the same time, their hips racking and thrashing, until he somehow ended up rolling her over and mounting her from on top. Thank fuck for that jacket of hers and the cushioning it offered, as it turned out. Grabbing onto one of her ankles, he cranked her leg to her shoulders and went in deep, hingeing his pelvis freely as he banged her across the bare floor of the pantry until they got crammed in the corner. With a growl, he arched up, held on to the lip of the counter, and got even more leverage.

And the sex just kept going.

And going.

And going . . .