J. Ward - Lover Eternal

She looked around for a robe. "I'd better go tell Butch and V it's safe to leave."

"I'll do it." He went over to the bedroom door and stuck his head out.

As he spoke with the men, she looked at the tattoo on his back. She could have sworn it was smiling at her.

God, she was nuts. She really was.

She hopped up on the bed and pulled the blankets over herself.

Rhage shut the door and leaned back against it. He still looked tense, in spite of the release he'd had. "After all that… are you finally afraid of me?"

"No."

"Aren't you afraid of… it?"

She held her arms out. "Come here. I want to hold you. You look like you've got a case of the rattles."

He approached the bed slowly, as if he didn't want her to feel stalked or something. She motioned with her hands, urging him to hurry up.

Rhage lay down beside her, but didn't reach for her.

After a heartbeat she went for him, wrapping her body around his, running her hands over him. When she brushed against his side, catching the edge of the dragon's tail, Rhage flinched and shifted.

He didn't want her anywhere near the tattoo, she thought.

"Roll over," she said. "Onto your stomach."

When he shook his head, she pushed at his shoulders. It was like trying to move a grand piano.

"Roll over, damn it. Come on, Rhage."

He complied with no grace whatsoever, cursing and flopping onto his belly.

She ran her hand right down his spine, right over the dragon.

Rhage's muscles contracted in random order. No, not random. They were the parts of his body that corresponded to where she was touching the tattoo.

How extraordinary.

She stroked his back some more, feeling as if the ink were rising up to meet her palm like a cat.

"Are you ever going to want to be with me again?" Rhage said stiffly. He turned his face to the side so he could see her. Except he didn't look up.

She lingered on the beast's mouth, tracing the line of its lips with her fingertip. Rhage's own set parted as if he were feeling her touch.

"Why wouldn't I want to be with you?"

"That was a little weird, wasn't it?"

She laughed. "Weird? I'm sleeping in a mansion full of vampires. I've fallen in love with a—"

Mary stopped. Oh, God . What had just come out of her mouth?

Rhage pushed his upper body off the bed, twisting his chest around so he could look at her. "What did you just say?"

She hadn't meant for it to happen, she thought. The falling or the telling.

But she would take neither of them back.

"I'm not sure," she murmured, taking in the brute strength of his shoulders and arms. "But I think it was something along the lines of 'I love you'. Yeah, that was it. I, ah, I love you."

Now, that was lame. She could do a hell of a lot better.

Mary grabbed his face, planted a good hard one on his mouth, and looked him straight in the eye.

"I love you, Rhage. I love you something fierce."

Those heavy arms wrapped around her and he buried his head in her neck. "I didn't think you ever would."

"Am I that hardheaded?"

"No. I'm that undeserving."

Mary pulled back and glared at him. "I don't want to hear you say that again. You are the very best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Even with the beast?"

Beast? Sure, she'd sensed something else was in him. But a beast? Still, Rhage was looking so worried, she humored him.

"Yeah, even with him as well. Only can we do it without all the metal next time? I'm very confident that you won't hurt me."

"Yeah, I think we can lose the chains."

Mary urged him back into the crook of her neck and found herself focusing on the Madonna and Child across the room.

"You are the oddest miracle," she whispered to him, looking at the picture.

"What?" he said into her throat.

"Nothing." She kissed the top of his blond head and went back to staring at the Madonna.

Bella took a deep breath and smelled dirt. God, her head hurt. And her knees were killing her. They were jammed against something hard. And cold.

Her eyes flew open. Darkness. Blackness. Blindness.

She tried to lift a hand, but her elbow ran into a bumpy wall. There was another wall at her back and in front of her and to the sides. She banged around in the small space, panicking. Opening her mouth until it gaped, she found she couldn't breathe. There was no air, only the smell of damp earth, clogging… nose… she—

Screamed.

And something above her moved. Light blinded her as she looked up.

"Ready to come out?" a man's voice said softly.

It all came back: the race for her house across the meadow, the fight with the lesser , the blacking out.

With a quick jerk she was lifted by a chest harness from what she realized was a pipe in the ground. As she looked around in terror, she had no idea where she was. The room was not large and the walls were unfinished. There were no windows, just two skylights in the low ceiling, which were both covered with black cloth. Three bald lightbulbs hung from wires. The place smelled sweet, a combination of fresh pine boards and the lesser's baby-powder scent.

When she saw a stainless-steel table and dozens of knives and hammers, she trembled so badly she started to cough.

"Don't worry about all that," the lesser said. "That's not for you as long as you behave."

His hands burrowed into her hair and fanned it out over her shoulders. "You're going to take a shower now, and you're going to wash this. You're going to wash this for me."

He reached over and picked up a bundle of clothes. As he pressed them into her arms, she realized they were her own.

"If you're good, you get to put these on. But not until we get you clean." He pushed her toward an open door, just as a cell phone started to ring. "Into the shower. Now ."

Too disoriented and petrified to argue, she stumbled into an unfinished bathroom that had no toilet. Like a drone, she shut herself in and turned the water on with hands that shook. When she pivoted around, she saw the lesser had opened the door and was watching her.

He put his hand over the bottom of the cell phone. "Take off the clothes. Now."

She glanced over at the knives. Bile rose in her throat as she stripped. When she was finished, she covered herself with her hands and shivered.

The lesser hung up and put the phone down. "You do not hide from me. Drop your arms."

She backed up, shaking her head numbly.

"Drop them."

"Please, don't—"

He took two steps forward and slapped her across the face, sending her into the wall. Then he grabbed her.

"Look at me. Look at me ." His eyes glittered with excitement as she met his stare. "God, it is so good to have you back."

He put his arms around her, holding her close. The sweet smell of him overwhelmed her.

Butch was one hell of an escort, Mary thought as they departed the Saint Francis oncology suite. Wearing a black wool coat, a 1940s-style hat, and a terrific pair of aviator sunglasses, he looked like a very chic hit man.

Which was not deceiving. She knew he was armed to the teeth, because Rhage had inspected the man's weapons before he'd let the two of them out of the house.

"You need anything before we go back?" Butch asked when they were outside.

"No, thanks. Let's head home."

The afternoon had been grueling and inconclusive. Dr. Delia Croce was still conferring with her partners and had ordered Mary to have an MRI as well as another physical. More blood had been drawn also because the team wanted to recheck a couple of liver functions.

God, she hated that she was going to have to come back tomorrow and had yet another night of not knowing to go through. As she and Butch went over to the open lot and got into the Mercedes, she was that horrible combination of wired and tired. What she really needed to do was go to bed, but she was so anxious, sleep was not in her future.