His gaze went cold, soulless. And his voice lost all intonation. "You want me? Fine. You can fucking have me."
Zsadist lunged at her. He took her down to the floor, rolled her over onto her stomach, and dragged her hands behind her back. The marble was cold against her face as his knees jack-knifed her legs apart. There was a ripping sound. Her thong.
She went numb. Her thoughts couldn't keep up with the pace of his actions, and neither could her emotions. But her body knew what it wanted. Angry or not, she would take him in.
The weight of him left her briefly, and she heard the sound of a zipper. Then he was lying on her with nothing between his tremendous erection and her core. But he didn't thrust He just panted as he froze in place, his breath a loud rush in her ear, so loud… Was he sobbing?
His head dropped down onto her nape. Then he rolled off her, covering her up as he left her body. Lying on his back, he put his arms across his face.
"Oh, God," he moaned, "… Bella."
She wanted to reach out to him, but he was so tense she didn't dare. With an uneasy lurch she got to her feet and stared down at him. Zsadist's pants were around his thighs, his sex no longer erect.
Jesus, his body was in rough shape. His stomach was hollow. His hip bones jutted out of his skin. He must indeed only drink from humans, she thought. And not eat much at all.
She focused on the tattooed bands covering his wrist and neck. And the scars.
Ruined. Not broken.
Although she was ashamed to admit it now, the darkness in him had been the largest part of his allure. It was such an anomaly, a contrast to what she'd known from life. It had made him dangerous. Exciting. Sexy. But that was a fantasy. This was real.
He suffered. And there was nothing sexy or thrilling about that. She picked up a towel and went over to him, laying it gently across his exposed flesh. He jumped and then clutched it to himself. As he looked up at her, the whites of his eyes were bloodshot, but he wasn't crying. Maybe she'd been mistaken about the sobbing.
"Please… leave me," he said.
"I wish—"
"Go. Now. No wishing, no hoping. No nothing. Just leave. And don't ever come near me again. Swear it.
Swear it
."
"I… I promise."
Bella hurried out through his bedroom. When she was down the hall far enough, she paused and finger-combed her hair, trying to smooth it down. She could feel the thong up around her waist and left it there. She had no place to put the thing if she took it off.
Downstairs the party was still in full swing, and she felt out of place, drained. She went over to Mary, said her goodbyes, and looked around for a
doggen
to take her home.
But then Zsadist came into the room. He'd changed into white nylon workout clothes and had a black bag in his hand. Without looking at her at all, he walked up behind Phury, who was a couple feet away.
When Phury turned around and saw the bag, he recoiled.
"No, Z. I don't want—"
"Either you do it, brother, or I'll find someone else who will."
Zsadist held out the bag.
Phury stared at it. When he took the thing, his hand shook. The two of them left together.
Chapter Forty-one
Mary put the empty platter down next to the sink and handed Rhage a tray so they could gather empties together. Now that the party was over, everyone was helping clean up.
As they went out into the foyer, she said, "I'm so glad Wellsie and Tohr have taken John in. And I would have loved to see him tonight, but I'm happy to know he's in good hands."
'Tohr told me the poor kid can't get out of bed, he's so exhausted. All he's been doing is sleeping and eating. Hey, by the way, I think you're right. Phury kind of digs Bella. He spent a lot of time looking her over. I've never seen him do that before."
"But after what you said about—"
As they passed the grand staircase, a hidden door underneath it opened.
Zsadist came out. His face was battered, his workout shirt shredded. There was blood on him.
"Oh, shit," Rhage muttered.
The brother passed them, glassy black eyes not tracking. His small smile of satisfaction seemed totally out of context, like he'd had a good meal or maybe some sex instead of getting the holy hell beaten out of him. He went upstairs slowly, one leg not bending right.
"I had better go clean up Phury." Rhage gave the tray to Mary and kissed her lightly. "I might be a while."
"Why would Phury… Oh… God."
"Only because he was forced to. That's the only reason, Mary."
"Well… take as long as you need."
But before he reached the passageway, Phury came out wearing exercise gear. He looked as spent as Zsadist was, except he didn't have a mark on him. No, that wasn't right. His knuckles were bruised and cracked. And there were smudges of blood on his chest.
"Hey, man," Rhage said.
Phury looked around and seemed startled to find himself where he was.
Rhage stepped in front of him. "My brother?"
Shell-shocked eyes focused. "Hey."
"You want to go upstairs? Hang out a little?"
"Oh, yeah, no. I'm fine." His eyes skipped to Mary. Glanced away. "I, ah, I'm fine. Yeah. Really. Party's ended, I guess?"
Rhage took the bag. Phury's pale pink shirt was sticking out of it, caught in the zipper.
"Come on, let's go up together."
"You should stay with your female."
"She understands. We go together, my brother."
Phury's shoulders sank into his torso. "Yeah, okay. Yeah, I don't… I'd rather not be by myself right now."
When Rhage finally got back to his and Mary's room he knew she'd be asleep, so he closed the door silently.
There was a candle burning on the nightstand, and in the glow he saw that the bed was a mess. Mary had pushed the comforter off and scattered the pillows around. She was lying on her back, a lovely cream nightgown twisted around her waist, riding up on her thighs.
He'd never seen the silk before, knew that she'd worn it because she'd wanted tonight to be special. The sight of her cranked him up, and even though the vibration made him burn, he knelt by her side of the bed. He needed to be close to her.
He didn't know how Phury kept going, especially on nights like this. The brother's one and only love had wanted to bleed, had demanded pain and punishment. So Phury had done what he'd been asked to do, accepting the transfer of misery. Z was no doubt sleeping it off. Phury would be rattling around in his own skin for days.
He was such a good male, loyal, strong, devoted to Z. But working off the guilt over all mat had happened to Zsadist was killing him.
God, how could anyone deal with beating the one they loved because that was what the person wanted?
"You smell good," Mary murmured, curling onto her side and looking at him. "Like a Starbucks."
"It's the red smoke. Phury lit up something fierce, but I don't blame him." Rhage took her hand and frowned. "You have another fever."
"It just broke. I feel much better." She kissed his wrist. "How's Phury?"
"A mess."
"Does Zsadist make him do that a lot?"
"No. I don't know what set it off tonight."
"I'm so sorry for both of them. But mostly for Phury."
He smiled at her, loving her for the way she cared about his brothers.
Mary sat up slowly, shifting her legs around so they hung off the bed. Her nightgown had a lace bodice, and through the pattern he could see her breasts. His thighs tightened and he closed his eyes.
It was hell. Wanting to be with her. Being scared of what his body would do. And he wasn't even thinking just about sex. He needed to hold her.
Her hands rose to his face. When her thumb brushed over his mouth, his lips opened of their own accord, a subversive invitation she accepted. She bent down and kissed him, her tongue penetrating, taking what he knew he should not be offering.
"Hmm. You taste good."
He'd smoked some with Phury, knowing he was coming back to her, hoping that the relaxant might take him down a little. He couldn't handle a repeat of what had happened in the billiard room.
"I want you, Rhage." She shifted, opening her legs, pulling his body against her.
Swirling energy condensed along his spine and radiated outward, punching into his hands and feet, making his nails sing with pain and his hair tingle.
He leaned back. "Listen, Mary…"
She smiled and swept the nightgown over her head, tossing it so the thing fell to the floor in a swirl. Her naked skin in the candlelight tangled him up. He couldn't move.
"Love me, Rhage." She took his hands and put them to her breasts. Even as he told himself not to touch her, he cupped the swells, thumbs smoothing over her nipples. She arched her back. "Oh, yes. Like that."
He went for her neck, licking up her vein. He wanted to drink from her so badly, especially as she held his head in place as if that was what she wanted, too. It wasn't that he needed to feed. He wanted her in his body, in his blood. He wanted to be sustained by her, live off of her. He wished she could do the same with him.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled back, trying to take him down on the mattress. God help him, he let her. She was under him now, smelling of the arousal she had for him.
Rhage closed his eyes. He couldn't deny her. He couldn't stop the rush inside of him. Trapped between the two, he kissed her and prayed.
Something wasn't right, Mary thought
Rhage was staying out of reach. When she wanted to take his shirt off, he didn't let her get to the buttons. When she tried to touch his erection, he moved his hips away. Even as he suckled her breasts and swept his hand between her legs, it was as if he were making love to her from a distance.
"Rhage…" Her voice broke as she felt his lips on her navel. "Rhage, what's wrong?"
His big hands parted her legs wide, his mouth going to the inside of her thigh. He nipped at her, his fangs teasing, never hurting.
"Rhage, stop for a minute…"
He put his mouth on her sex, pulling her between his lips, sucking, moving back and forth, savoring. She bowed off the bed at the sight of his blond head dipped low, his bunched shoulders under her knees, her legs so pale and thin against the massive backdrop of him.
She was going to be totally lost in another second.
Grabbing a hunk of his hair, she yanked him away from her. His teal blue eyes shimmered with sexual power as he breathed through open, glossy lips. Deliberately he took the lower one between his teeth and sucked on it. Then his tongue did a long, slow lick of the upper one.
She closed her eyes, swelling, melting.
"What's the problem?" she croaked.
"Wasn't aware there was one." He brushed her core with his knuckles, rubbing sensitive skin. "You don't like this?"
"Of course I do."
His thumb started going in circles. "So let me get back to what I was doing."
Before he could drop his head and put that tongue on her again, she clamped her legs shut around his hand as best she could.