J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [276]
For the most part.
“Yeah. I’ll hang with you boys.”
V’s eyes flared as if he’d made the offer to be polite and hadn’t expected a yes. “Okay. Good deal. We’re leaving in fifteen. I need a shower.”
“Me, too.” He wanted to get the lesser blood off him.
As he walked through the mansion’s vestibule and into the foyer, Fritz came out of the dining room.
The butler bowed deeply. “Good evening, sire. Your guest is here.”
“Guest?”
“The Chosen’s Directrix. She indicated you had called upon her.”
Shit. He’d forgotten he’d put the request in, and it wasn’t like he needed their services anymore. If Mary wasn’t in his life, he didn’t require any special feeding arrangements. He was free to go suck and fuck whoever he wanted. Oh, joy.
God, the idea of being with anyone but Mary made him shrivel in his pants.
“Sire? Are you receiving?”
He was about to say no, but then figured that was not a smooth move. Considering his past history with the Scribe Virgin, it wasn’t wise to offend her special class of females.
“Tell her I’ll be with her in a few minutes.”
He jogged upstairs to his room, turned the shower on to warm up, and then called V. The brother didn’t seem surprised he was bailing on the trip to the bar.
Too bad it wasn’t for the reason Vishous obviously assumed.
Mary came awake because she heard talk drifting up from the foyer. It was Rhage’s voice. She’d recognize that deep rumble anywhere.
Slipping from the bed, she went to the gap she’d left in the door.
Rhage was coming up the stairs. His hair was damp, as if he’d just taken a shower, and he was dressed in a loose black shirt and baggy black pants. She was about to step into the hall when she saw he was not alone. The woman with him was tall and had a long blond braid of hair down her back. She was dressed in a filmy white gown, and together they looked like some kind of Goth wedding pair, he in all that black, she draped in that gossamer fabric. When they got to the head of the stairs, the woman paused, as if she didn’t know which way to turn. Rhage put his hand under her elbow and looked down at her solicitously, as if she were so fragile, she might crack a bone just getting to the second floor.
Mary watched them go into his room. The door shut behind them.
She went back over to the bed and got in it. Images came crashing down on her head. Rhage all over her body with his mouth and his hands. Rhage thanking her for feeding him. Rhage looking at her while he told her he loved her.
Yeah, he loved her all right. So much so that he was doing another woman across the hall.
The instant the thought streaked through her mind, she knew she was being unreasonable. She’d pushed him away. He’d taken the hint. She had no right to blame him for having sex with someone else.
She’d gotten exactly what she’d asked for.
He was letting her go.
Chapter Thirty-four
The following evening, just before nightfall, Rhage went to the gym as a matter of public service. When he finished with the weights, he got on the treadmill and started running. The first five miles flew by. By mile six, he’d polished off his water. When mile nine arrived, the ass-kicking started.
He increased the incline and fell back into his stride. His thighs were screaming, clenching, burning. His lungs were on fire. His feet and knees were aching.
Grabbing the shirt he’d taken off and hung on the console, he used the thing to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. He figured he was dehydrated as shit by now, but he wasn’t getting off for water. He had every intention of going until he fell over.
To keep up the bruising pace, he lost himself in the music pounding through the speakers. Marilyn Manson, Nine Inch Nails, Nirvana. The stuff was loud enough to drown out the hum of the treadmill, the songs screeching through the weight room, vile, aggressive, deranged. Same as his frame of mind.