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 been through for her.
Mary held his head in place, pushing down. "Take your time. Really, everything's okay."
As she squeezed his palm, his shoulders eased up and he moved closer to her, shifting his body around. She parted her legs so that he could settle between them, his chest resting on her thigh, his broad back dwarfing her. She ran her hand through his blond hair, its thick, smooth waves sinking in between her fingers.
And all of a sudden, the whole thing wasn't that weird.
Even though she could feel the pulls he was taking on Layla's vein, Rhage's body against her own was familiar, and the rubbing on her wrist told her he was thinking of her while he was feeding. She looked over at Layla. The woman was watching him, but the concentration on her face was clinical.
Mary remembered what he'd said about the drinking: that if he bit her, she would feel his pleasure. Clearly there was none being exchanged between him and the Chosen. Both of their bodies were still, calm. Not in the throes of any kind of passion.
Layla's eyes shifted up and she smiled. "He's doing well. Just another minute or so."
Then it was done. Rhage lifted his head slightly and turned to Mary's body, easing into the cradle of her hips, putting his arms around her. He rested his face on her thigh, and though she couldn't see his expression, his muscles were slack, his breathing deep and even.
She glanced at Layla's wrist. There were two puncture wounds and a red blush, only a little trickle of blood.
"He'll need a little time to collect himself," Layla said as she licked herself and then rolled down her sleeve. She got to her feet.
Mary rubbed Rhage's back while looking at the woman. "Thank you."
"You are so very welcome."
"Will you come again when he needs you?"
"The two of you would want me? Me, specifically?"
Mary steeled herself against the woman's thrill. "Yes, I, ah, I think we would."
Layla absolutely glowed, her eyes alive with happiness.
"Mistress, it would be my honor." She bowed. "He knows how to summon me. Call upon me at any time."
The woman left the room with a spring in her step.
As the door shut, Mary bent down and kissed Rhage's shoulder. He stirred. Lifted his head a little. Then he rubbed his mouth with his palm, as if he didn't want her to see any blood that might be on him.
When he looked up at her, his eyelids were low, his bright teal gaze a little fuzzy.
"Hi," she said, stroking his hair back.
He smiled that special smile of his, the one that made him look like an angel. "Hi."
She touched his lower lip with her thumb. "Did she taste good?" When he hesitated, she said, "Be honest with me."
"She did. But I would rather it have been you, and I thought of you the entire time. I imagined it was you."
Mary leaned down and licked his mouth. As his eyes flared in surprise, she slid her tongue inside of him and caught a hint of the lingering flavor, a sweet red wine.
"Good," she murmured against his lips. "I want you to think of me when you do that."
He put his hands on the sides of her neck, his thumbs right over her veins. "Always."
His mouth found hers and she grabbed onto his shoulders, urging him closer. As he pulled up the bottom of her sweater, she lifted her arms so he could get it off her and then let herself fall back on the bed. He took off her pants and her panties and then did away with his own clothes.