"Ah, Bella, I think our ride is here." Mary let the curtain fall back into place. "Either that or a third-world dictator is lost in Caldwell."
John headed for the window. Wow, he signed. Check out that Mercedes. Those blackened windows look bulletproof.
The three of them left Bella's house and walked over to the sedan. A little old man, dressed in black livery, got out of the driver's side and came around to greet them. Incongruously, he was a cheery sort, all smiles. With the loose skin on his face, his long earlobes, and all those jowls, he looked like he was melting, though his radiant happiness suggested disintegration was a fine state to be in.
"I am Fritz," he said, bowing low. "Please allow me to drive you."
He opened the rear door and Bella slid inside first. John was next, and when Mary was settled back against the seat, Fritz closed the door. A second later they were on the road.
As the Mercedes glided along, Mary tried to see where they were going, except the windows were too dark. She assumed they were headed north, but who knew?
"Where is this place, Bella?" she asked.
"It's not far." But the woman didn't sound all that confident. In fact, she'd been on edge since Mary and John had shown up.
"Do you know where we're being taken?"
"Oh, sure." The woman smiled and looked at John. "We're going to meet some of the most amazing males you've ever seen."
Mary's instincts knocked around in her chest, sending all kinds of tread-carefully signals. God, she wished she'd taken her own car.
Twenty minutes later, the Mercedes slowed to a stop. Inched forward. Stopped again. This happened at regular intervals a number of times. Then Fritz put down his window and spoke into some kind of intercom. They cruised along a little farther, then came to a stop. The engine was turned off.
Mary reached for the door. It was locked.
America's Most Wanted, here we come, she thought. She could just imagine their pictures on the TV, victims of violent crime.
But the driver let them out immediately, still with that smile on his face. "Won't you follow me?"
As Mary got out, she looked around. They were in some kind of underground parking lot, except there were no other cars. Just two small buses, like the kind you took around an airport.
They stuck close to Fritz and went through a pair of thick metal doors that opened into a maze of fluorescent-lit corridors. Thank God the guy seemed to know where he was going. There were branches splitting off in all directions with no rational plan, as if the place had been designed to get people lost and keep them that way.
Except someone would always know where you were, she thought. Every ten yards there was a pod set into the ceiling. She'd seen them before in malls, and the hospital had them, too. Surveillance cameras.
Finally they were shown into a small room with a two-sided mirror, a metal table, and five metal chairs. A small camera was mounted in the corner opposite the door. It was exactly like a police interrogation room, or what one must be like according to the sets on NYPD Blue.
"You will not have to wait long," Fritz said with a little bow. As he ducked out, the door eased shut of its own volition.
Mary went over and tried the handle, surprised to find it released easily. Then again, whoever was in charge here clearly didn't have to worry about losing track of their visitors.
She looked over at Bella. "You mind telling me what this place is?"
"It's a facility."
"A facility."
"You know, for training."
Yeah, but for what kind of training? "Are these folks of yours with the government or something?"
"Oh, no. No."
John signed, This doesn't look like a martial-arts academy.
Yeah, no kidding.
"What did he say?" Bella asked.
"He's as curious as I am."
Mary turned back to the door, opened it, and stuck her head out into the hall. When she heard a rhythmic sound, she stepped from the room, but didn't wander.
Footsteps. No, a shuffling. What the¡ª
A tall blond man dressed in a black muscle shirt and leather pants lurched around a corner. He was unsteady on his bare feet, with one hand on the wall and his eyes focused downward. He seemed to be watching the floor carefully, as if he were relying on his depth perception to balance himself.
He looked drunk or maybe sick, but... good lord, he was beautiful. In fact, his face was so dazzling she had to blink a couple of times. Perfectly square jaw. Full lips. High cheekbones. Broad forehead. Hair was thick and wavy, lighter in the front, darker in the back where it was cut short.
And his body was just as spectacular as his head. Big-boned.
Thickly muscled. No fat. His skin was golden even under the fluorescent lights.
Suddenly he looked at her. His eyes were an electric teal blue, so bright, so vivid, they were almost neon. And they stared right through her.
Mary sank back just the same and thought the lack of response wasn't a surprise. Men like him didn't notice women like her. It was a fact of nature.
She should just go back into the room. There was no sense in watching him not acknowledge her as he passed. Trouble was, the closer he got, the more mesmerized she became.
God, he really was... beautiful.
Rhage felt like holy hell as he weaved down the corridor. Every time the beast came out of him and his vision headed off for a little vacation, his eyes took their own sweet time in getting back to work. The body didn't want to play, either, his legs and arms hanging like heavy weights off his torso, not exactly useless, but damn close.
And his stomach was still off. The very idea of food made him nauseous.
But he'd had it with being stuck in his room. Twelve hours flat on his back was enough wasted time. He was determined to get to the training center's gym, hop on a recumbent bike, and loosen himself up a little¡ª
He stopped, tensing. He couldn't see much, but he knew for sure he was not alone in the hall. Whoever it was stood close beside him, to his left. And it was a stranger.
He spun around and yanked the figure out of a doorway, grabbing it by the throat, forcing the body into the opposite wall. Too late he realized it was a female, and the high-pitched gasp shamed him. He quickly eased up on his grip, but he did not let go.
The slender neck under his palm was warm, soft. Her pulse was frantic, blood racing through the veins that came up from her heart. He leaned down and drew a breath through his nose. Only to jerk back.
Jesus Christ, she was a human. And she was sick, maybe dying.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "How did you get in here?"
There was no answer, just quick breathing. She was utterly terrified of him, the smell of her fear like wood smoke in his nose.
He softened his voice. "I'm not going to hurt you. But you don't belong here, and I want to know who you are."
Her throat undulated under his hand, as if she were swallowing "My name... my name is Mary. I'm here with a friend."
Rhage stopped breathing. His heart skipped a beat and then slowed.
"Say that again," he whispered.
"Ah, my name is Mary Luce. I'm a friend of Bella's... We came here with a boy, with John Matthew. We were invited."
Rhage shivered, a balmy rush blooming out all over his skin. The musical lilt of her voice, the rhythm of her speech, the sound of her words, it all spread through him, calming him, comforting him. Chaining him sweetly.
He closed his eyes. "Say something else."
"What?" she asked, baffled.
"Talk. Talk to me. I want to hear your voice again."
She was silent, and he was about to demand that she speak when she said, "You don't look well. Do you need a doctor?"
He found himself swaying. The words didn't matter. It was her sound: low, soft, a quiet brushing in his ears. He felt as if he were being stroked on the inside of his skin.
"More," he said, twisting his palm around to the front of her neck so he could feel the vibrations in her throat better.
"Could you... could you please let go of me?"
"No." He brought his other arm up. She was wearing some kind of fleece, and he moved the collar aside, putting his hand on her shoulder so she couldn't get away from him. "Talk."
She started to struggle. "You're crowding me."
"I know. Talk."
"Oh, for God's sake, what do you want me to say?"
Even exasperated, her voice was beautiful. "Anything."
"Fine. Get your hand off my throat and let me go or I'm going to knee you where it counts."
He laughed. Then sank his lower body into her, trapping her with his thighs and hips. She stiffened against him, but he got an ample feel of her. She was built lean, though there was no doubt she was a female. Her breasts hit his chest, her hips cushioned his, her stomach was soft.
"Keep talking," he said in her ear. God, she smelled good. Clean. Fresh. Like lemon.
When she pushed against him, he leaned his full weight into her. Her breath came out in a rush.
"Please," he murmured.
Her chest moved against his as if she were inhaling. "I... er, I have nothing to say. Except get off of me."
He smiled, careful to keep his mouth closed. There was no sense showing off his fangs, especially if she didn't know what he was.
"So say that."
"What?"
"Nothing. Say nothing. Over and over and over again. Do it."
She bristled, the scent of fear replaced by a sharp spice, like fresh, pungent mint from a garden. She was annoyed now.
"Say it," he commanded, needing to feel more of what she did to him.
"Fine. Nothing. Nothing." Abruptly she laughed, and the sound shot right through to his spine, burning him. "Nothing, nothing. No-thing. No-thing. Noooooothing. There, is that good enough for you? Will you let me go now?"
"No."
She fought against him again, creating a delicious friction between their bodies. And he knew the moment when her anxiety and irritation turned to something hot. He smelled her arousal, a lovely sweetening in the air, and his body answered her call.
He got hard as a diamond.
"Talk to me, Mary." He moved his hips in a slow circle against her, rubbing his erection on her belly, increasing his ache and her heat.
After a moment the tension eased out of her, softening her against the thrust of his muscles and his arousal. Her hands flattened on his waist. And then slowly slid around to the small of his back, as if she were unsure why she was responding to him the way she was.
He arched against her, to show his approval and encourage her to touch more of him. When her palms moved up his spine, he growled low in his throat and dropped his head down so his ear was closer to her mouth. He wanted to give her another word to say, something like luscious or whisper or strawberry.
Hell, antidisestablishmentarianism would do it.
The effect she had on him was druglike, a tantalizing combination of sexual need and profound ease. Like he was having an orgasm and falling into a peaceful sleep at the same time. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before.
A chill shot through him, sucking the warmth out of his body.
He snapped his head back as he thought about what Vishous had said to him.
"Are you a virgin?" Rhage demanded.
The stiffness in her body returned, like cement setting solid. She shoved hard against him, moving him not one inch.
"I beg your pardon. What kind of question is that?"
Anxiety tightened his hand on her shoulder. "Have you ever been taken by a male? Answer the question."
Her lovely voice turned high, frightened. "Yes. Yes, I've had... a lover."
Disappointment loosened his grip. But relief was right on its heels.
All things considered, he wasn't sure he needed to meet his destiny this ten minutes.
Besides, even if she wasn't his fate, this human female was extraordinary... something special.
Something he had to have.
Mary took a deep breath as the hold on her throat relaxed.
Be careful what you ask for, she thought, remembering how she'd wanted a man to be enthralled by her.
God, this was so not what she'd expected the experience to be like. She was utterly overwhelmed. By the male body pressing into her. By the promise of sex seeming out of him. By the lethal power he could wield if he decided to squeeze her neck again.
"Tell me where you live," the man said.
When she didn't answer, he undulated his hips, that massive erection moving, circling, pressing into her stomach.
Mary shut her eyes. And tried not to wonder what it would feel like if he were inside of her while he was doing that.
His head came down and his lips brushed the side of her neck. Nuzzled her. "Where do you live?"
She felt a soft, moist stroke. God, his tongue. Running up her throat.
"You're going to tell me eventually," he murmured. "But take your time. I'm not in a big hurry right now."
His hips left her briefly, returning as his thigh pushed between her legs and brushed against her core. The hand at the base of her neck swept down to her sternum, coming to rest between her breasts.
"Your heart is beating fast, Mary."
"Th-that's because I'm frightened."
"Fear isn't the only thing you're feeling. Why don't you check out what your hands are up to?"
Shoot. They were high on his biceps. And they were gripping him, pulling him closer. Her nails were digging into his skin.
When she let go of him, he frowned. "I like the way that feels. Don't stop."
The door opened behind them.
"Mary? Are you oka¡ªOh... my God." Bella's words trailed off.
Mary braced herself as the man twisted his torso and looked at Bella. His eyes squinted, flicked up and down, and then came back to Mary.
"Your friend's worried about you," he said softly. "You can tell her she shouldn't be."
Mary tried to get loose and wasn't surprised when he mastered the jerky movements easily.
"I have an idea," she muttered. "Why don't you let me go, and then I won't have to reassure her?"
A dry male voice cut through the hall. "Rhage, that female wasn't brought here for your pleasure, and this isn't One Eye, my brother. No sex in the hall."
Mary tried to turn her head, but the hand between her breasts slid up her throat and took her chin, stopping her. Teal blue eyes bored into hers.
"I'm going to ignore them both. If you do the same, we can make them disappear."
"Rhage, let her go." A sharp torrent of words followed, spoken in a language she didn't understand.
While the tirade went on, the blond's brilliant gaze stayed on her, his thumb running gently back and forth along her jaw. He was lazy, affectionate, but when he replied to the other man, his voice was hard and aggressive, as powerful as his body. Another series of words came back, this time less combative. Like the other guy was trying to reason with him.
Abruptly the blond let her go and stepped back. The absence of his warm, heavy body was a curious shock.
"See you later, Mary." He brushed her cheek with his forefinger and then turned from her.
Feeling weak in the knees, she sagged against the wall as he staggered away, steadying himself by throwing his arm out to the side.
God, when he'd had her at his mercy, she'd forgotten he was ill.
"Where's the boy?" the other male voice demanded.
Mary looked to her left. The guy was big and dressed in black leather, with a military haircut and a shrewd pair of navy-blue eyes.
A soldier, she thought, somehow put at ease by him.
"The boy?" he prompted.
"John's in there," Bella replied.
"Then let's get to it."
The man opened the door and leaned against it so she and Bella had to squeeze past him. He paid no attention to them as they went by, but stared at John instead. John looked right back at him, eyes narrowed as if he were trying to place the soldier.
When they were all sitting at the table, the man nodded to Bella. "You were the one who called."
"Yes. And this is Mary Luce. And John. John Matthew."
"I'm Tohrment." He refocused on John. "How you doing, son?"
John signed, and Mary had to clear her throat before translating. "He says, 'Fine, sir. How are you?' "
"I'm all right." The man smiled a little and then glanced at Bella. "I want you to wait in the hall. I'll talk to you after I speak with him."
Bella hesitated.
"That isn't a request," he said in a level voice.
After Bella left, the guy turned his chair toward John, leaned back in it, and kicked his long legs out. "So tell me, son, where did you grow up?"
John moved his hands, and Mary said, "Here in town. First in an orphanage, then with a couple sets of foster parents."
"You know anything about your mom or dad?"
John shook his head.
"Bella told me you had a bracelet with some designs on it. Would you show it to me?"
John pulled up his sleeve and extended his arm. The man's hand engulfed the boy's wrist.
"That's real nice, son. You make it?"
John nodded.
"And where'd you get the idea for the design?"
John extracted himself from the soldier's grip and started to sign. When he stopped, Mary said, "He dreams of the pattern."
"Yeah? Mind if I ask what your dreams are like?" The man returned to his casual pose in the chair, but his eyes were narrow.
Screw martial-arts training, Mary thought. This wasn't about some karate lessons. This was an interrogation.
As John hesitated, she wanted to grab the kid and march out, but she had a feeling the boy would fight her. He was utterly absorbed by the man, intense and intent.
"It's all right, son. Whatever it is, it's okay."
John lifted his hands, and Mary spoke as he signed.
"Er... he's in a dark place. Kneeling in front of an altar. Behind it, he sees writing on the wall, hundreds of lines of writing in black stone¡ªJohn, wait, slow down. I can't translate when you go so fast." Mary concentrated on the boy's hands. "He says in the dream he keeps going over and touching a strip of writing that looks like this."
The man frowned.
When John looked down, as if embarrassed, the soldier said, "Don't you worry, son, we're cool. Is there anything else you can think of about yourself that strikes you as odd? Things that maybe make you different from other folks?"
Mary shifted in her chair, really uncomfortable with the way things were going. John was clearly going to answer any question put to him, but for God's sake, they didn't know who this man was. And Bella, though she'd made the introduction, had been obviously uncomfortable.
Mary lifted her hands, about to sign a warning to John, when the kid unbuttoned his shirt. He opened one side, flashing a circular scar above his left pectoral.
The man leaned forward, studied the marking, and then moved back. "Where did you get that?"
The boy's hands flew around in front of him.
"He says he was born with it."
"Is there anything else?" the man asked.
John glanced over at Mary. He took a deep breath and signed, I dream of blood. Of fangs. Of... biting.
Mary felt her eyes widen before she could stop herself.
John looked at her anxiously. Don't worry, Mary. I'm not a sicko or anything. I was terrified when the dreams first came to me, and it's not like I can control what my brain does, you know.
"Yeah, I know," she said, reaching out and squeezing his hand.
"What did he say?" the man asked.
"That last part was meant for me."
She inhaled deeply. And went back to translating.
