The Beast

THIRTEEN

When Mary woke up, she hadn’t a clue what time it was. Lifting her head off Rhage’s bare pectoral, she looked around and was surprised to find that both of them had fallen asleep with the recovery room’s overhead lights on.

Shoot, she hadn’t replugged all the machines. After Rhage’s little orgasmic interlude, he’d refused to stop holding her, and she must have passed out against his warm, muscled body. Clearly, Ehlena had figured things out, though—the monitors themselves had been removed. And yes, her hellren was still very much alive, his chest rising and falling evenly, that wonderful ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump of his heart a true testament to his health.

Closing her eyes, she winced as she thought back to the bullet wound, the blood he had been coughing up, that horrible—

“Hey, beautiful one.”

As he spoke, she jerked her head up. His half-lidded, blue, blue eyes were so arresting, she wanted to stare into them forever.

“Hi,” she whispered.

Moving her hand over, she stroked his cheek, feeling the growth of his blond beard. “You need a shave.”

“Do I?”

“It’s sexy, actually.”

“Then I’m throwing out all my razors. Quick, help me to our bathroom so I can do it now.”

She chuckled, then got serious. “How’s your eyesight?”

“What eyesight.”

“Still blind?”

He made a hrrumph sound. “Like it matters? You’re here and I can hear you just fine. I can feel you, too.” Rhage’s big, broad palm rubbed her shoulder. “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s go up to our rooms, and after we cancel my subscription to the Dollar Shave Club, we can hit the Jacuzzi. After a bath and a half, we can get in bed and see what comes up. I owe you at least one good ride, remember—and then there’s the vig. Ohhhh, that vig—I have a lot to make up for.”

Mary laughed a little.

“What,” he said with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

Pushing herself up from him, she cracked her back on a stretch. Shoved her hair away from her face. Pulled the collar of her shirt into place so it wasn’t choking her.

“That bad, huh.”

With a grunt of pain, he grabbed for the control buttons, and made the mattress angle higher so he could sit up more properly.

“Talk to me.”

As she moved down to the foot of the bed and tried to find the words, Rhage recoiled. “Whoa. Are you—why are you crying?”

“Jeez, am I?” A quick pass of her palms across her cheeks and she found wetness. “Wow. Yeah, sorry about that.”

“What’s going on? Do I need to kill something for you?”

It was the bonded male’s first response to anything that upset their shellan, and before she could help herself, she whispered, “The death’s already happened, actually.”

“Huh?”

For some reason, she thought back to that night, over two years ago, when Rhage, V and Butch had gone and killed a murderous hellren so that Bitty and Annalye could live.

“Bitty’s mom died last night.”

“Ohhhh, shit.” Rhage sat all the way forward on his own, like he was half a mind to jump out of bed even though there was nowhere to go, no attack to defend her from. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“You were kinda busy dying at the time—”

“You should have told me. Jesus, I made you jerk me off—”

“Stop it. I loved that. We needed that.”

As his handsome face grew unbearably tight, and he crossed his arms over his chest like he was pissed at himself, she arched up and kissed him on the mouth. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Caring about her, too.”

“How can I not. What can I do to help?”

Mary sat back and blurted, “I’ve missed you.”

Rhage patted the air between them like he was looking to touch her and she put her face into his hands, letting him feel her cheeks and her jaw, the sides of her throat.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he said in a low tone. “We’ve been . . . kind of parallel lately. Not apart, but parallel.”

“I’m sorry. I know. I’ve been wrapped up in everything at Safe Place and that really isn’t fair—”

“Stop it. You don’t ever need to apologize to me for loving your job or wanting to be all-in on what you do. I’m the last person who’ll ever not get that. You’re amazing there, an incredible person who helps everybody—”

Mary dropped her eyes, even though technically there was no stare for her to evade. “Not always. God, not always.”

“Tell me. Mary, I don’t mean to be demanding . . . but you really gotta talk to me.”

As she remembered everything that had happened, her eyes teared up again. “I, ah . . . I got the call at my desk that things weren’t going well with Annalye and I took Bitty out to Havers’s. I really thought . . . well, when my mom passed, I was with her, and that was important to me—especially later, you know? I mean, when I think of her, and I miss her . . . there’s a certain solace that comes with knowing that she wasn’t alone when she died. That . . . that she had been with me at the start of my life, and I had been with her at the end of hers.” Mary took a shuddering breath. “I mean, Bitty’s young . . . there are so many years ahead for her to grapple with it all, you know? And what’s been important to me as an adult, kind of seemed like something that would be important to her later. Anyway . . . I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“What did?”

Mary covered her face with her palms as the memory sliced through her consciousness like a knife. “When Bitty . . . oh, God, when Bitty took her mom’s hand, the female died right then and there. Bitty thought she was responsible. It was . . . awful. Not at all what I wanted for either one of them.”

I killed her! I killed her!

“Maybe her mahmen was waiting for her.”

Mary wiped her eyes and dropped her arms in defeat. “That’s what I tell myself. Not that it really helps—”

“Mary, when I was shot on that field and dying, I was waiting for you to come to me. It was the only thing I held on to. When you love someone and you’re leaving, you wait for your person to come—and it takes a lot of energy, a lot of focus. I’m telling you, Mary, I was waiting for you because I wanted to make my peace with you, but I couldn’t hold on for much longer—and although we lucked out and you saved my life, the reality was that I prolonged my suffering just to have that moment with you.”

“Oh, God, seriously . . . seeing you suffering like that—it was one of the worst moments of my life—”

As if he were determined to keep her on track, Rhage talked over her. “You need to tell Bitty that, okay? Tell her that her mother died at that moment because Bitty’s voice was what she needed to hear before she went to the Fade. She needed to know that her daughter was all right before she left—and I guarantee you, Mary, if you said one word in that room, Annalye knew that you were there with her young, too. And that meant Bitty was going to be safe. Annalye left because she knew it was okay to go.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Mary murmured. “You have such a good way of putting it. I wish you could say that to her.”

“Maybe I can someday. Hell, name the date and time and I’m there.”

As Rhage stared across at her, he seemed focused on her even though he couldn’t see—and actually, Mary was very sure, in this moment, that nothing else in the world existed for him but her and her problems. Add onto that his ridiculous masculine beauty and that sex drive and the big heart?

“How on earth did I ever get to end up with you?” she whispered. “I won the lottery.”

Her hellren reached for her and brought her in close again, tucking her under his chin. “Oh, no, Mary. It’s the other way around. Trust me.”

As Rhage felt the tension in his shellan’s body ease, he rubbed her back in slow circles . . . and felt like throwing up.

Not because of the whole beast thing.

“So I know we’re still twelve hours away from nightfall,” she said, “but I’d like to go into work this evening? Just a little while though, and only if you’re—”

“Oh, God, yeah. Bitty needs you.” Wonder if there were any Alka Seltzers left? “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Nope. Not at all. “Hell, yeah—I’ve done this recovery thing how many times? I’m just going to hang down here and sleep it off.” Because if he wasn’t conscious, he wasn’t going to feel like this, right? “And actually, on second thought, you don’t need me to tell Bitty anything. You have even better ways of putting things.”

“I used to believe that.”

“No.” He looked down at where the sound of her voice was coming from and took one of her hands in his with urgency. “Mary, you can’t second-guess yourself. Listen, you go to war in your own way, and the worst thing a soldier can do is have his confidence fried before he hits the field. Not everything is going to end up in victory, but you’ve got to start it all off, every time, knowing that your training and your instincts are sound. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t hurt Bitty on purpose. You certainly are not responsible for her mahmen choosing that moment to go unto the Fade—and in fact, there’s a lot of evidence to suggest the female left because she felt like her young was in good hands. You need to believe all of that—otherwise, you’re going to get stuck in a neutral that isn’t going to help anybody.”

“Lord, you are always so right.”

Meh. Not even close. But like he was going to bring all his wrongs up now, when she had real problems to deal with, with that little girl? He was a selfish prick, but he wasn’t that much of a douche bag.

Fucking hell, he couldn’t believe he’d put his shellan through what he had . . . he couldn’t live with himself knowing that he’d made Mary essentially watch him fucking die last night—and all for no good fucking reason.

All because he hadn’t listened to Vishous.

Actually, no, he thought. It was even worse than that. In fact, he had heard every word the brother had said and had gone out to fight anyway, fully aware of what was waiting for him on the field of combat if the guy was right.

Guess that was the definition of suicidal, wasn’t it.

Which meant that he was . . .

Oh, fuck.

As Rhage’s head began to implode with a reality that was only now dawning on him, Mary continued talking in a slow, considered way about what she was going to do for the little girl, what staff consults she needed to have, and then there was something about an uncle somewhere . . . and Rhage just let the conversation of hers go on its one-sided way.

In all truth, he was infinitely grateful she felt better and more connected to him. That shit mattered. Unfortunately, he was back to being far away from her again, the inside part of him floating off even as his body stayed where it was.

What the hell was wrong with him? He had everything he wanted in life—and she was in his arms at this very moment. He’d had a death scare and come through it. There was so much to live for, fight for, love for.

So why would he do something like that? Why would he run out into an all-but-guaranteed casket? And why was the distance from her back?

Well, there was one explanation. Something that tied everything up with a big, fat, psychotic bow.

He’d often wondered whether he was crazy. Like, intrinsically so.

His emotions had always been so extreme, jumping from mania to anger, that he’d sometimes worried that one day he was going to spiral off on the top end of one of those pendulum swings, never to return to sanity again. Maybe that had finally happened. And if it had? The last thing Mary needed after what had gone on last night was to learn that he was clinically insane.

Because, shit, why else would he feel so damn weird in his own skin?

Damn it, it was like he’d won the lottery only to find out he was allergic to the cash or some shit.

“Rhage?”

He shook himself. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do you want me to get you some food?”

“Nah. I’m still full.” He retucked her in against him. “I could use a whole lot more of this, though.”

Mary snuggled up close, stretching her arm around his shoulders as far as it would go. “You got it.”

I tried to kill myself last night, he said to her in his head. And I have no idea why.

Yup. It was official.

He’d lost his mind.