John stepped behind a dented mailbox, trying to get real inconspicuous, but the black Range Rover skidded to a stop in front of him. Darkened windows. Serious chrome rims. And G-Unit was banging inside, the rap music thumping loud enough to be heard around the block.
John grabbed his suitcase and headed for his building. Even if he ran into the pale man, it would be safer inside the lobby than anywhere near the drug dealer who sported that Rover. He was hustling for the door when the music fell silent.
"You ready, son?"
John turned at the sound of Tohrment's voice. The man was coming around the hood of the car, and in the shadows he was all menace, a hulking figure that sane folks ran from.
"Son? You good to go?"
As Tohrment stepped into the weak light of a streetlamp, John's eyes latched onto the man's face. God, he'd forgotten how frightening the guy looked with that military-cut hair and that hard jaw.
Maybe this was a bad idea, John thought. A choice made out of fear of one thing that only got him deeper into another kind of trouble. He didn't even know where he was going. And kids like him could end up in the river after they got into a car like that. With a man like this.
As if he sensed John's indecision, Tohrment leaned back against the Rover and crossed his feet at the ankles.
"I don't want you to feel forced, son. But I'll tell you, my
shellan's
cooked up a good meal, and I'm hungry. Maybe you come, you eat with us, you see the house. You can check us out. And we can even leave your stuff here. How's that sound?"
The voice was quiet, even. Nonthreatening. But would the guy really pull out the badass if he wanted to get John in the car?
A cell phone went off. Tohrment reached inside his leather jacket and flipped it open.
"Yeah. Hey, no, I'm right here with him." A small smile broke the line of the man's lips. "We're thinking it over. Yeah, I'll tell him. Uh-huh. Okay. I will. Yeah, I'll do that, too. Wellsie, I… I know. Look, I didn't mean to leave it out—I won't do it again. I promise. No… Yes, I really… Uh-huh. I'm sorry,
leelan
."
It was the wife, John thought. And she was giving this tough guy a tongue-lashing. And the man was taking it.
"Okay. I love you. Bye." Tohrment flipped the phone closed and put it in his pocket. When he focused on John again, he clearly respected his wife enough not to roll his eyes and make some macho, shithead comment about pesky women. "Wellsie says she's really looking forward to meeting you. She's hoping you'll stay with us."
Well… okay, then.
Listening to his instincts, which told him Tohrment represented safety regardless of what he looked like, John humped his luggage over to the car.
"This all you have?"
John flushed and nodded.
"You got nothing to be embarrassed about, son," Tohrment said softly. "Not when you're with me."
The man reached out and took the suitcase like it weighed nothing, swinging it casually into the backseat.
As Tohrment went to the driver's side, John realized he'd forgotten the bike. He tapped on the Rover's hood to get the man's attention; then he pointed to the building and held up his index finger.
"You need a minute?"
John nodded and shot upstairs to his apartment. He had his bike, and was leaving the keys on the counter, when he paused and looked around. The reality of getting away from the studio made him recognize the squalor of the place. But still, it had been his for a short while, the best he could afford with what little he had. On impulse, he took a pen out of his back pocket, opened one of the flimsy cabinets, and wrote his name and the date on the wall inside.
Then he led his bike out into the hall, shut the door, and moved quickly down the stairwell.
Chapter Thirty-six
"Mary? Mary, wake up. She's here." Mary felt her shoulder get nudged, and when she opened her eyes Rhage was staring down at her. He'd changed into some kind of white outfit, long-sleeved with loose pants.
She sat up, trying to pull it together. "Can I have a minute?"
"Absolutely."
She went into the bathroom and rinsed off her face. With cold water dripping from her chin, she stared at her reflection. Her lover was about to drink blood. In front of her.
And that wasn't even the weirdest part. She felt inadequate because what was feeding him wasn't hers.
Not about to get pulled into that mental tailspin, she picked up a towel and dried off with a good scrub. There was no time to change out of her blue jeans and sweater. And nothing else she really wanted to wear, at any rate.
As she came out, Rhage was taking off his watch.
"You want me to hold that?" she asked, remembering the last time she'd babysat the Rolex.
He walked over and pressed the heavy weight into her palm. "Kiss me."
She got up on her tiptoes as he leaned down. Their mouths met for a moment.
"Come on." He took her hand and led her out into the hall. When she looked confused, he said, "I don't want to do it in our bedroom. That's our space."
He took her around the balcony to another guest room. When he opened the door, they went inside together.
Mary smelled roses first and then saw the woman in the corner. Her lush body was draped in a white wraparound gown, and her strawberry-blond hair was coiled up on her head. With the low, wide neckline of the dress and the chignon, her neck was as exposed as possible.
She smiled and bowed, speaking in that unfamiliar language.
"No," Rhage said. "In English. We do this in English."
"Of course, warrior." The woman's voice was high and pure, like a songbird's call. Her eyes, pale green and lovely, lingered on Rhage's face. "I am pleased to serve you."
Mary shifted, trying to quell the urge to defend her turf.
Serve him
?
"What is your name, Chosen?" Rhage asked.
"I am Layla." She bowed again. As she righted herself, her eyes traveled up Rhage's body.
"This is Mary." He put his arm around her shoulders. "She is my…"
"Girlfriend," Mary said sharply.
Rhage's mouth twitched. "She is my mate."
"Of course, warrior." The woman bowed again, this time toward Mary. When she lifted her face, she smiled warmly. "Mistress, it is my pleasure to serve you as well."
Fine, good
, Mary thought.
Then how about dragging your skinny ass out of here and making sure your replacement is an ugly, two-toothed gorgon in a muumuu
.
"Where would you like me?" Layla asked. Rhage glanced around the room before focusing on the luxurious canopy bed. "There."
Mary hid her wince. Oh, that was so not her first choice.
Layla went over as told, that silky dress swirling behind her. She sat down on the satin duvet, but when she shifted her legs up, Rhage shook his head.
"No. Stay sitting."
Layla frowned, but didn't argue. She smiled again as he took a step forward.
"Come on," he said, pulling on Mary's hand.
"This is close enough."
He kissed her and went over to the woman, sinking to his knees in front of her. When her hands went to her gown as if she were going to undo it, Rhage stopped her.
"I drink from the wrist," he said. "And you are not to touch me."
Dismay played over Layla's features, widening her eyes. This time, when she inclined her head, it seemed out of shame, not deference. "I have been properly cleansed for your use. You may inspect me, should you wish."
Mary clamped a hand over her mouth. That this woman saw herself as nothing more than an object to be handled was appalling.
Rhage shook his head, clearly uncomfortable with the answer, too.
"Do you wish for another of us?" Layla said softly.
"I don't want any of this," he muttered.
"But why did you call upon the Chosen if you had no intention of availing yourself?"
"I didn't think it would be this difficult."
"Difficult?" Layla's voice deepened. "I beg your pardon, but I fail to see how I have inconvenienced you."
"It's not that, and I mean no offense. My Mary… she's human, and I cannot drink from her."
"So she will join us only in the pleasures of the bed. It will be my honor to administer to her there."
"Ah, yeah, that's not… She's not here to… Ah, the three of us are not going to—" Good lord, Rhage was blushing. "Mary is here because I will have no other female, but I must feed, do you understand?" Rhage cursed and got to his feet. "This isn't going to work. I don't feel right about this."
Layla's eyes flashed. "You say you must feed, but you are unable to take her vein. I am here. I am willing. It would please me to give to you what you need. Why should you feel uncomfortable? Or perhaps you want to wait longer? Until the hunger consumes you and the danger is upon your mate?" Rhage shoved his hand into his hair. Grabbed a chunk. Pulled at it.
Layla crossed her legs, the gown splitting open to her thigh. She was a picture, sitting on that lush bed, so proper and yet so incredibly sexual.
"Have the traditions faded from your mind, warrior? I know it has been a long time, but how can you feel unsettled about my attending you? It is one of my duties, and I find great honor in it." Layla shook her head. "Or shall I say, I used to.
We
used to. The Chosen have suffered these centuries. None of the Brotherhood call upon us anymore, we are unwanted, unused. When you finally reached out, we were so pleased."
"I'm sorry." Rhage glanced at Mary. "But I cannot—"
"It is her that you worry about most, is it not?" Layla murmured. "You worry what she will think if she sees you at my wrist."
"She is not used to our ways."
The woman held her hand out. "Mistress, come sit with me so he can look upon you while he drinks, so he can feel your touch and smell you, so that you will be a part of this. Otherwise he will refuse me, and then where will the two of you be?" When there was only silence and Mary stayed put, the woman motioned impatiently. "Surely you realize he will not drink otherwise. You must do this for him."
* * *
"So this is it," Tohrment said as he parked the Rover in front of a sleek, modern house.
They were in a section of town John was unfamiliar with, where the houses were set back from the street and far away from each other. There were lots of black iron gates and rolling lawns, and the trees weren't just maples and oaks, but fancy kinds, the names of which he didn't know.
John closed his eyes, wishing he weren't wearing a shirt that had a missing button. Maybe if he kept his arm around his stomach, Tohrment's wife wouldn't notice.
God… what if they had kids? Who'd make fun of him…
Do you have children
? John signed without thinking.
"What's that, son?"
John fumbled in his pockets for some folded-up sheets of paper. When he found his Bic, he wrote quickly and turned the paper around.
Tohrment went very still and looked up at his house, that hard face tensing as if he were afraid of what was inside.