J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [266]
Without another word, Mary went into the bathroom. She stayed in the shower for so long her fingers wrinkled and the steam in the air grew thick as cream. When she got out, she dressed in the same clothes she’d had on, because she’d neglected to bring new ones in with her. She opened the door to the bedroom quietly.
Zsadist was sitting on the bed, his broad shoulders caved in, his arms wrapped around his waist. Bent over Rhage’s sleeping body, he was curled down as close as possible without their actually touching. As he rocked himself back and forth, there was a faint, lilting song in the air.
The vampire was chanting, his voice rising and falling, skipping octaves, soaring high, falling low. Beautiful. Utterly beautiful. And Rhage was relaxed, resting peacefully in a way he hadn’t before.
She quickly crossed the room and went out in the hall, leaving the men alone.
Chapter Thirty-one
Rhage came awake sometime the following afternoon. The first thing he did was reach out blindly for Mary, but he stopped himself, not wanting the burn to kick in. He didn’t feel strong enough to fight it.
Opening his eyes, he turned his head. She was there beside him in the bed, asleep on her stomach.
God, once again she’d taken care of him when he’d needed it. She’d been unflinching. Strong. Willing to face off against his brothers.
Love filled his heart, swelling it so much his breath stopped.
He put his hand to his chest and felt the bandages she’d put on him. Working carefully, he removed them one by one. The wounds looked good. They’d closed and no longer hurt. By tomorrow they would be nothing more than pink streaks, and the day after, they would be gone.
He thought about the stress his body had been under lately. The change. The surges around Mary. The sun exposure. The whipping. He was going to need to drink soon, and he wanted to do it before the hunger kicked in.
Feeding was something he was scrupulous about. Most of the brothers stretched out the hunger for as long as they could stand it, just because they didn’t want to bother with the intimacy. He knew better than that. The last thing he needed was the beast with a case of bloodlust—
Wait a minute.
Rhage took a deep breath. There was the most amazing…emptiness in him. No background buzzing. No itchy drive. No burning. And this was even though he was lying right next to Mary.
It was…only him in his body. Just himself. The Scribe Virgin’s curse was gone.
But of course, he thought. She’d taken it from him temporarily so he could make it through the rythe without changing. And she was obviously giving him a respite so he could heal, too. He wondered how much longer the reprieve was going to last.
Rhage exhaled slowly, air easing out of his nose. As he sank into his skin, he reveled in the perfection of peace. The heavenly silence. The great roaring absence.
It had been a century.
Good God, he wanted to cry.
In case he did and Mary woke up, he put his hands over his eyes.
Did other people know how lucky they were to find moments like this? Moments of resounding quiet? He hadn’t appreciated them before the curse, hadn’t even noticed. Hell, if he’d been blessed with one, he’d probably just rolled over to go back to sleep.
“How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?”
At the sound of Mary’s voice, he braced himself for a blast of energy. Nothing like that came. All he felt was a warm glow in his chest. Love unfettered with the chaos of his curse.
He rubbed his face and looked at her. Adored her so intensely in the quiet darkness that he was afraid of her.
“I need to be with you, Mary. Right now. I have to be inside of you.”
“Then kiss me.”
He pulled her body against him. She was wearing only a T-shirt, and he slid his hands underneath, spanning her lower back. He was already hard for her, ready to take her, but with nothing to fight down, stroking her was an exquisite pleasure.
“I need to love you,” he said, throwing all