J. Ward - Lover Eternal

1800s? Good God, how old was he? Mary wondered.

"Anyway, it went off in her hand and I heard something hit the ground. It was a barn owl. One of those lovely white barn owls. I can still see the red stain as its blood seeped onto its feathers. When I picked up the bird and felt its light weight in my hands, I realized that carelessness was a form of cruelty. See, I'd always told myself that because I meant no harm, anything that happened wasn't my fault. At that moment, though, I knew I was wrong. If I hadn't given the female my gun, the bird wouldn't have been shot. I was responsible even though I didn't pull the trigger."

He cleared his throat. "The owl was such an innocent thing. So fragile and small compared to me as it bled and died. I felt… wretched, and I was thinking about where to bury it, when the Scribe Virgin came to me. She was livid. Livid . She loves birds to begin with, and the barn owl is her sacred symbol, but of course the death was only part of it. She took the body from my palms and breathed life back into the bird, sending it off into the night sky. The relief when that bird flew away was tremendous. I felt as if the slate had been wiped clean. I was free, cleansed. But then the Scribe Virgin turned on me. She cursed me, and since then, anytime I get out of control, the beast comes out. In a way, it's really the perfect punishment. It's taught me to regulate my energy, my moods. It's taught me to respect the consequences of all my actions. Helped me understand the power in my body in a way I never would have otherwise."

He laughed a little. "The Scribe Virgin hates me, but she did me one hell of a favor. Anyway… that's the awful why of it. I killed a bird and got the beast. Simple and complicated by turns, right?"

Rhage's chest expanded as he took in a great breath. She could feel his remorse as clearly as if it were her own.

"By turns. Indeed," she murmured, stroking his shoulder.

"The good news is that in another ninety-one years or so, it's over." He frowned, as if considering the prospect, "The beast will be gone."

Funny, he looked a little worried.

"You'll miss it, won't you?" she said.

"No. No, I… It'll be a relief. Really."

Except that frown stayed in place.

Around nine the next morning, Rhage stretched in bed and was surprised to feel like himself. He'd never recovered so fast before and had a feeling it was because he hadn't fought the change. Maybe that was the trick. Just go with it.

Mary came out of the bathroom with a load of towels in her arms and headed into the closet to drop them down the chute. She looked tired, grim. Which made sense. They'd spent a lot of the morning talking about Bella, and though he'd done his best to reassure her, they both knew the situation was bad.

And then there was another reason for her to be worried.

"I want to come to the doctor's with you today," he said.

She came back out into the room. "You're awake."

"Yeah. And I want to come with you."

As she walked over to him, she had that tight look she got whenever she was going to argue.

He jumped the gun on the most obvious objection. "Switch the appointment to late in the day. Sun goes down by five thirty now."

"Rhage—"

Anxiety made his voice hard. "Do it."

She put her hands on her hips. "I don't appreciate your pushing me around."

"Let me rephrase myself. Change the appointment, please." But he didn't ease up on his tone in the slightest When she got the news, whatever it was, he was going to be by her side.

She reached for the phone, all the while cursing under her breath. When she hung up, she seemed surprised. "Ah, Dr. Delia Croce will see me… us… tonight at six."

"Good. And I'm sorry about being such a hard-ass. I just have to be with you when you hear. I need to be a part of this as much as I can."

She shook her head and bent down to pick a shirt up from the floor. "You are the sweetest thug I've ever known."

As he watched her body move, he felt himself harden.

Inside, the beast shifted as well, but there was a curious calm to the sensation. It was no big rush of energy, just a slow burn, as if the creature were content to share his body, not take it over. A communion, not a domination.

Probably because the thing knew that the only way to be with Mary was through Rhage's form.

She kept going around the room, tidying up. "What are you looking at?"

"You."

Sweeping her hair back, she laughed. "So your sight's returning."

"Among other things. Come here, Mary. I want to kiss you."

"Oh, sure. Make up for being a bully by plying me with your body."

"I'll use any asset I've got."

He threw the sheets and duvet off himself and swept his hand down his chest, over his stomach. Lower. Her eyes widened when he took his heavy erection in his palm. As he stroked himself, the scent of her arousal bloomed like a bouquet in the room.

"Come over here, Mary." He twisted his hips. "I'm not sure I'm doing this right. It feels so much better when you touch me."

"You are incorrigible."

"Just looking for some instruction."

"Like you need that," she muttered, taking off her sweater.

They made love in an unhurried, glorious way. But when he held her afterward, he couldn't go to sleep. Neither could she.

That night Mary tried to breathe normally as they took the elevator up to the hospital's sixth floor. Saint Francis was quieter in the evening, but still teeming with people.

The receptionist let them in and then left, pulling a cherry-red coat on as she locked the door behind her. Five minutes later Dr. Delia Croce entered the waiting room.

The woman almost managed to hide her double take at Rhage. Even though he was dressed like a civilian, in slacks and a black knit turtleneck, that leather trench coat was still something to see falling from those broad shoulders.

Well, and Rhage was… Rhage. Unbearably beautiful.

The doctor smiled. "Ah, hi, Mary, would you come down to my office? Or will it be the two of you?"

"Both of us. This is Rhage. My—"

"Mate," he said loud and clearly.

Dr. Delia Croce's eyebrows shot up, and Mary had to smile in spite of all the tension in her body.

The three of them went down the hall, past the doors of the exam rooms and the scales in the little alcoves and the computer stations. There was no small talk. No chatty, how's-the-weather, gee-the-holidays-are-coming-up-fast kind of stuff. The doctor knew Mary hated social chatter.

Something Rhage had picked up on at TGI Friday's on their first date.

God, that felt like years ago, Mary thought. And who could have foreseen they'd end up here together?

Dr. Delia Croce's office was cluttered with neat piles of papers and files and books. Diplomas from Smith and Har-ard hung on the wall, but the thing that Mary had always found most reassuring was the line of thriving African violets on the windowsill.

She and Rhage sat down as the doctor went behind her desk.

Before the woman was in her chair, Mary said, "So what are you giving me, and how much can I handle?"

Dr. Delia Croce looked up over the medical records and the pens and the binder clips and the phone on her desk.

"I spoke with my colleagues here as well as two other specialists. We've reviewed your records and the results from yesterday's—"

"I'm sure you have. Now tell me where we are."

The other woman took off her glasses and inhaled deeply. "I think you should get your affairs in order, Mary. There's nothing we can do for you."

At four thirty in the morning, Rhage left the hospital in an absolute daze. He'd never expected to go home without Mary.

She'd been admitted for a blood transfusion, and because evidently those night fevers and the exhaustion were also tied to the beginnings of pancreatitis. If things improved she'd be released the next morning, but no one was making any commitments.