"We might have a child. In a little over a year. My Wellsie's pregnant, but our females have a very difficult time in childbirth." Tohrment shook his head, lips growing tight. "As you get older, you'll learn to fear pregnancy. It's a goddamn
shellan
robber. Frankly, I'd rather have no kids than lose her." The man cleared his throat. "Anyway, let's head in. We'll eat, and then I'll take you on a full tour of the training center."
Tohrment hit the garage door opener and got out. While John tugged the suitcase from the backseat, the man took the ten-speed out of the rear. They walked into the garage and Tohrment flipped on the lights.
"I'm going to leave your bike here against the wall, okay?"
John nodded and looked around. There was a Volvo station wagon and… a 1960's-era Corvette Sting Ray convertible.
John could only stare.
Tohrment laughed softly. "Why don't you go over and say hello to her?"
John dropped his suitcase and walked up to the Vette in a daze of love. He reached out, wanting to stroke the smooth metal, but then took his hand back.
"No, touch her. She likes the attention."
Oh, the car was beautiful. A shiny, metallic ice blue. And the top was down so he could see inside. The white seats were gorgeous. The steering wheel gleamed. The dashboard was all dials. He was willing to bet it sounded like thunder when the engine was started. Probably smelled like fresh oil when you put the heater on.
He glanced up at Tohrment, thinking his eyes were going pop. He wished he could talk, just to tell the man how special the car was.
"Yeah, she's a looker, isn't she? Restored her myself. I'm about to put her up on blocks for the winter, but maybe we'll take her to the center tonight, how about that? It's chilly, but we can pile on the coats."
John beamed. And kept on grinning as the man's heavy arm came around his thin shoulders.
"Let's feed you, son."
Tohrment picked up the suitcase and they headed for the door John's bike was next to. As they walked into the house, the smell of Mexican food wafted, spicy and rich.
John's nose was thrilled. His stomach rolled. Holy hell, he wasn't going to be able to eat any of that kind of stuff. What if Tohrment's wife got upset… ?
A stunning redhead stepped into their paths. She was easily six feet tall, had skin as fine as white china, and was wearing a loose yellow dress. Her hair was just incredible, a flowing river of waves falling from the crown of her head way down her back.
John put an arm around his middle, hiding the buttonhole.
"How's my
hellren
?" the woman said, lifting her mouth for Tohrment's kiss.
"I'm good,
leelan
. Wellsie, this is John Matthew. John, this is my
shellan
." "Welcome, John." She offered her hand. "I'm so happy you'll be staying with us."
John shook her palm and quickly put his arm back in place.
"Come on, boys. Dinner's ready."
The kitchen was all cherry cupboards, granite counter-tops, and glossy black appliances. A round glass-and-iron table set with three places was in a windowed alcove. Everything looked brand-new.
"You two go sit," Wellsie said." I'll bring the food."
He looked to the sink. It was white porcelain with a graceful brass faucet rising up high.
"You want to wash your hands?" she said. "Go right ahead."
There was a bar of soap in a little dish, and he was careful to clean everywhere, even under his fingernails. After he and Tohrment sat down, Wellsie came over with plates and bowls heaping with food. Enchiladas. Quesadillas. She went back for more.
"Now, that's what I'm talking about," Tohrment said as he served himself, piling his plate high. "Wellsie, this looks fantastic."
John eyed the display. There was nothing he could stomach on the table. Maybe he could just tell them he ate earlier…
Wellsie put a bowl down in front of him. It was filled with white rice mat had some kind of pale sauce on it. The aroma was delicate, but appealing.
'This will ease your stomach. It's got ginger in it," she said. "And the sauce is high in fat, which will help you put on some weight. For your dessert, I've made banana pudding. It goes down easy and has lots of calories in it."
John stared at the food. She knew. She knew exactly what he couldn't eat. And what he could.
The bowl in front of him got blurry. He blinked quickly. Then frantically.
Squeezing his mouth shut, he tightened his hands in his lap until his knuckles cracked. He was
not
going to cry like a child. He refused to disgrace himself like that.
Wellsie's voice was quiet. "Tohr? You want to give us a minute?"
There was the sound of a chair moving back, and then John felt a solid hand on his shoulder. The weight lifted and heavy footfalls sounded out of the room.
"You can let go now. He's gone."
John closed his eyes and sagged, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Wellsie pulled a chair over to him. With slow, sweeping motions, she rubbed his back.
He felt so blessed that Tohrment had come and found him just in the nick of time. That this house he was going to stay in was so nice and clean. That Wellsie had made him something special, something his stomach could tolerate.
That they'd both let him have his pride.
John felt himself get pulled to one side and then he was being hugged. Rocked.
Parched, he soaked up the kindness.
A little later he lifted his head and felt a napkin get put in his hand. He wiped his face, threw his shoulders back, and looked at Wellsie.
She smiled. "Better?"
He nodded.
"I'm going to go get Tohr, okay?"
John nodded again and picked up a fork. When he tried the rice, he moaned. It didn't have much of a taste, but when it hit his stomach, instead of spasms he felt a wonderful loosening in his gut. It was as if the stuff had been specifically calibrated for what his digestive system needed.
He couldn't bear to look up as Tohrment and Wellsie sat back down, and he was relieved when they started talking about normal stuff. Errands. Friends. Plans.
He finished all the rice and looked over at the stove, wondering if there was more. Before he could ask, Wellsie took his bowl and brought it back refilled. He ate three servings. And some of the banana pudding. By the time he put his spoon down, he realized it was the first time in his life he'd ever been full.
He took a deep breath, leaned back in the chair, and closed his eyes, listening to the deep tones of Tohrment's voice and Wellsie's dulcet replies.
It was like a lullaby, he thought. Especially as they slipped into a language he didn't recognize.
"John?" Tohrment said.
He tried to sit up, but was so sleepy all he could do was open his eyes.
"How about I take you to your room so you can crash. We'll go to the center in a couple of days, okay? Give you a little time to adjust."
John nodded, thinking he didn't feel up to much more than a really good night's sleep.
Still, he carried his dish to the sink, rinsed it out, and put it in the dishwasher. When he went back to the table to help clear, Wellsie shook her head.
"No, I'll take care of this. You go with Tohr."
John got out his pen and paper. When he was finished writing, he turned the words to face Wellsie.
She laughed. "You are very welcome. And yes, I'll show you how to make it." John nodded. And then narrowed his eyes.
Wellsie was smiling so widely that he saw some of her teeth. Two in the front were very long.
She closed her lips, as if catching herself. "Just go to sleep, John, and don't worry about anything. There'll be plenty of time to think tomorrow."
He looked over at Tohrment, whose face was remote.
And that was when he knew. Knew without being told. He'd always been aware that he was different, and finally he was going to know why: These two lovely people were going to tell him what he was.
John thought of his dreams. Of the biting and the blood.
He had a feeling they weren't his imagination. They were his memories.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Mary stared at the Chosen's outstretched hand and then looked at Rhage. His face was grim, his body tense.
"Will you not help him?" Layla asked.
Taking a deep breath, Mary went forward and placed her palm against the one extended toward her.
Layla tugged her down and smiled a little. "I know you are nervous, but worry not, it will be over quickly. Then I will go and it will just be you and him. You can hold each other and banish me from your thoughts."
"How can you stand to be… used like this?" Mary said.
Layla frowned. "I am providing what is needed, not being used. And how can I not give to the Brotherhood? They protect us so that we may live. They give us our daughters so that our traditions may continue… or at least, they used to. Of late our numbers dwindle, because the brothers no longer come to us. We are in desperate need of children, but by law we may breed only with members of the Brotherhood." She glanced up at Rhage. "That is why I was selected tonight. I am close to my needing, and we had hoped that you would take me."
"I will not lie with you," Rhage said softly.
"I know. And still I will serve you." Mary closed her eyes, imagining the kind of child Rhage could give a woman. As her hand found her flat stomach, she tried to picture growing swollen and heavy. The joy would be overwhelming; she was quite sure. Because the pain of knowing that would never happen was tremendous.
"So, warrior, what will you do? Will you take what I am pleased to give? Or will you run the risk of hurting your mate?"
As Rhage hesitated, Mary realized the only solution they had was right in front of him. He needed to do this.
"Drink," she commanded him.
He met her eyes. "Mary?"
"I want you to feed. Now."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
There was a heartbeat of frozen silence. Then he dropped to the floor in front of Layla again. As he leaned forward, the woman lifted her sleeve and laid her arm down on her thigh. The veins on the inside of her wrist were pale blue underneath white skin.
Rhage reached for Mary's hand as he opened his mouth. His fangs elongated, growing three times as long as usual. With a slight hissing sound, he bent down and put his mouth on Layla. The woman jerked and then relaxed.
Rhage's thumb stroked over Mary's wrist, his hand warm against hers. She couldn't see exactly what he was doing, but the subtle movement of his head suggested sucking. When he squeezed her palm, she returned the gesture weakly. The whole experience was too foreign, and he was right: There was a shocking intimacy to it.
"Stroke him," Layla whispered. "He's about to stop, and it's too soon. He hasn't taken enough."
Numbly, Mary reached out and put her free hand on his head. "It's all right. I'm fine."
When Rhage made a movement to sit back, as if he knew she was lying, she thought of everything he was willing to go through for her, everything he'd