The Black Dagger Brotherhood (18 page)

Read The Black Dagger Brotherhood Online

Authors: J. R. Ward

Personal Qs (answered by Rhage):
J.R.'s Interview with Rhage
 
The afternoon following my interview with Wrath in that stream, I left Rehvenge's safe house around five. I was glad I'd spent the night. Wrath and Beth and Phury and Cormia, along with the Chosen, were a great group to hang out with, and after hours of chatting I'd slept like a rock—proving that as usual the king was right: My other interviews with the Brothers were going to be better because I wasn't half-dead from travel.
The car ride down through the Adirondacks to Caldwell was lovely. The Northway is one of my favorite highways, cutting as it does through the mountains I spent my summers in while growing up. With the leaves just past their autumnal peak, the jagged ridges on either side of the two lanes I drove were still awash in red and gold and green, the colors glowing like jewels as the sun set.
While I went along in my rental car, I thought how different the Brothers were compared to three autumns ago when their stories all started. I mean . . . so many losses and gains. So many ups and downs. I remembered that first meeting in
Dark Lover
, when they were in Darius's living room right after his death . . . and then pictured them coming out of the woods to reclaim Phury as their own at the end of
Lover Enshrined.
Lot of changes, both good and bad.
I meet Fritz in the parking lot of a Marriott in Albany. He's there with the Mercedes, and after locking up my rented Ford Escape, I get into the S550's backseat and the butler drives south for at least an hour. He's very chatty, and I love the sound of his voice: slightly accented, like Marissa's, and with the chirpy cadence of a Mozart concerto.
I know we're getting close when he puts up the divider and we talk through the car's voice-activated speaker system.
When we eventually pull up in front of the mansion, night is starting to fall, and I'm glad for the courtyard's lighting so I can see everything as he puts down the divider. He parks between Beth's Audi and Z's iron gray 911 Carrera 4S. On the other side of the Porsche there's a black Hummer I don't recognize with no chrome on it whatsoever—even the hubs are black. Without Fritz telling me, I know it has to be Qhuinn's. It is a total spank ride, and no doubt useful for the fighting, but man, what a damn shame the thing leaves a carbon footprint like a T. rex.
Fritz confirms my unspoken conclusion about who owns it, and as I pass by, I see that the SUV has a dent in its brand-new hood . . . a dent the size of a body. A quick sniff and I smell something sweet as baby powder. This reminds me that the “boys” are now soldiers, and I get a little nostalgic for no good reason.
Fritz lets me into the mansion, takes my coat, and reports on everyone's whereabouts—or at least where they were when he left to pick me up: Mary is over at the Pit with V and Marissa, working on a database for Safe Place. Butch, Qhuinn, and Blay are at the pistol range in the training center. John is in Tohr's room sitting with the Brother. Rhage is upstairs, lying flat on his back next to a twelve-pack of Alka-Seltzer.
Ah, the beast.
The butler asks who I want to see first, and I ask whether he thinks Rhage would be up for talking. Fritz nods and informs me that Hollywood's been looking forward to the distraction—so we head upstairs.
When I get to Rhage's door, Fritz leaves and I do my own knocking.
Rhage:
(muffled) Yeah?
 
J.R.:
It's me.
 
Rhage:
Oh, thank God. Come in.
 
I open the door and the bedroom is so dark, the stretch of light that slices in from the hall is consumed by a hungry blackness. Before I step forward, though, candles flare on the bureau and a table next to the bed.
Rhage:
Can't have you tripping over things.
 
J.R.:
Thank you . . .
 
Man, Rhage doesn't look good. He is indeed flat on his back, and there's a lot of Alka-Seltzer next to him. He's naked, but there's a sheet pulled up to his waist, and as I look at him I'm reminded that he's the biggest of the Brothers in terms of heft. He's positively huge, even on a bed that seems big as an Olympic pool. But he is not well. His lids are down over his Bahama blue eyes, his mouth is slightly open, his belly distended as if he's swallowed a weather balloon.
J.R.:
So the beast came out, huh.
 
Rhage:
Yeah . . . last night right before dawn. (He groans as he tries to turn over.)
 
J.R.:
Are you sure you want to do this right now?
 
Rhage:
Yup. I'm dying for distraction, and I can't watch TV. Hey, could you get me some more Alka-Seltzer? Mary hit me with six before she left about half an hour ago, but they don't seem to last long.
 
J.R.:
Absolutely.
 
I'm relieved to do something to help him, and I head over to where four boxes of the stuff are lined up next to a pitcher of water and a glass. I fill the glass, crack open three foil packets, and drop the chalky disks in.
J.R.:
(watching the plop-plop, fizz-fizz go to work) Maybe you should take something stronger?
 
Rhage:
Doc Jane tried me out on some Prilosec. Didn't help as much.
 
When I turn to him, he lifts his head and I put the glass to his lips. As he drinks slowly, I feel guilty about noticing how gorgeous he is. He truly is the most beautiful male anything I've ever seen . . . you almost want to touch his face to make sure it's real and not some artist's rendering of the absolute standard of masculine splendor. He has Mount Everest cheekbones and a jaw that's straight as an I beam and lips that are full and soft. His hair is blond with curls that go this way and that way on the pillow, and he smells amazing.
As I take the empty glass away from his mouth, Rhage opens his eyes. And I am reminded that his brilliant teal stare is even more of a knockout than his bone structure.
Rhage:
(laughs quietly) You are blushing.
 
J.R.:
No, I'm not.
 
Rhage:
(singing along to the tune of na-na-na-na-na-naaaaa) You are blushing. You are blushing.
 
J.R.:
How is it possible I want to strike you while you're down?
 
Rhage:
(grins) Aw, you say the sweetest things.
 
J.R.:
(laughing because you just have to, he's that endearing) Wait, I thought your vision was off afterward?
 
Rhage:
It is, but your cheeks are THAT red. But really, enough about you, let's talk about me. (bats his mile-long lashes) Come on, what do you want to know? What burning questions do I get to answer?
 
J.R.:
(laughing again) You're the only Brother who likes to get interviewed.
 
Rhage:
Glad to know I've managed to distinguish myself from that ratty bunch of fools.
 
J.R.:
What happened? (sits down on edge of bed)
 
Rhage:
I followed the lead on another lesser “persuasion” house, and let's just say I found what I was looking for and then some.
 
J.R.:
(swallowing) Were there a lot of them?
 
Rhage:
Meh. Enough. There was some lead exchanged, and one of the bullets landed somewhere I didn't appreciate.
 
J.R.:
Where were you hit?
 
Rhage:
(sweeps sheet off his legs, revealing a bandage around his thigh) Me and the beast get along much better now, and he doesn't like me getting plugged. (laughs) But Qhuinn, John Matthew, and Blay came as backup—like they did for me and Z last week. Man . . . (laughs) that threesome was a little surprised at my alter ego.
 
J.R.:
What did the boys think of the beast?
 
Rhage:
When I came back as me, I woke up with them standing around my head, looking like they'd been victims of a hit-and-run. They were white as boxer shorts and about as solid. (laughs) Guess the beast took care of the squadron of slayers who'd been called in as reinforcements. (rubs tummy) Must have been quite a number of them.
 
J.R.:
So you still have to recover afterward. (Rhage shoots me a well-DUH expression and rubs his stomach again.) Okay, silly question. Is it easier now for you? Dealing with the beast, that is?
 
Rhage:
Well . . . yes and no. I don't fight it anymore when it comes out, and that seems to decrease the owie time afterward. But I still have to go through this to some extent—especially if there's been, how do we say, a snack. The good thing is, I don't worry so much about the damn thing turning my brothers or the boys into a Happy Meal. It's weird . . . ever since Mary's come along, the beast is tuning in to people. I don't know if that makes any sense. It's like, when he bonded with her, it made him capable of seeing folks as friend or foe instead of everyone being food, you know?
 
J.R.:
That's a relief.
 
Rhage:
Man, I used to spend all my time worrying about that shit. So yeah, it's better on a lot of fronts. I mean, for real? I'd still be way out of it at this point, you know, doing the recovery thing hard-core. Now? I'll be up and around in another three hours or so. Still will have the indigestion, but those god-awful body aches don't last nearly as long. (shakes his head) Have to say, though, even if it were still really tough to deal with . . . wouldn't matter to me.
 
J.R.:
No?
 
Rhage:
Got me my Mary. So even if the beast split me apart to get out, as long as I could put myself back together enough to be with her, it's fine for me.
 
J.R.:
That's beautiful.
 
Rhage:
So is she.
 
J.R.:
Speaking of couple stuff . . . I've heard that you and she . . .
 
Rhage:
Have baby on the brain? (laughs) Yeah, we do. Go fig. Thing is, it's not clear to me how to work it. There may be an opportunity, but we'll see. We're still just talking about it.
 
J.R.:
(not wanting to press) Well, I think you two would be great parents.
 
Rhage:
You know, I do too. There are some issues that we need to work out. Between you and me . . . Mary is . . .
 
J.R.:
What?
 
Rhage:
(shaking head) No, it's private. Anyway, if it happens, it would be great, and if not, I'm not missing anything because I have her. I mean, shit, look at Tohr.
 
J.R.:
He's really not doing well, is he.
 
Rhage:
No, he's not. And to be honest, it's fucking with all of our heads. Thing is, you can't help but put yourself in his position, because he's your brother and you're feeling where he's at and you don't want him hurting so bad. And you can't help but think about yourself. Me without Mary . . . (Eyes close, mouth narrows.) Yeah, what else were you going to ask me.

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