J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [322]
God. He’d been prepared for one hell of fight. And a whole lot of suffering, particularly on her part. But never death. And not so fast.
They only had a matter of months. Springtime. Maybe summer.
Rhage materialized in the courtyard of the main house and headed for the Pit. He couldn’t bear to go back to his and Mary’s room by himself. Not yet.
Except as he stood in front of Butch and V’s door, he didn’t knock. Instead he looked over his shoulder at the facade of the main house and thought of Mary feeding the birds. He pictured her there, on the steps, that lovely smile on her face, the sunshine in her hair.
Sweet Jesus. What was he going to do without her?
He thought of the strength and resolve in her eyes after he’d fed from another female in front of her. Of the way she loved him even though she’d seen the beast. Of her quiet, shattering beauty and her laugh and her gunmetal gray eyes.
Mostly he thought of her the night she’d torn out of Bella’s, running out into the coldness on her bare feet, running out into his arms, telling him that she wasn’t okay…. Finally turning to him for help.
He felt something on his face.
Aw, fuck. Was he crying?
Yup.
And he didn’t care that he was going soft.
He looked down at the pebbles in the driveway and was struck by the absurd thought that they were very white in the floodlights. And so was the stuccoed retaining wall that ran around the courtyard. And so was the fountain in the center that had been drained for winter—
He froze. Then his eyes peeled open.
He slowly pivoted toward the mansion, lifting his head up to the window of their room.
Purpose galvanized him and carried him into the vestibule at a dead run.
Mary lay in the hospital bed and tried to smile at Butch, who was sitting in a chair in the corner with his hat and sunglasses on. He’d come as soon as Rhage had left, to guard her and keep her safe until nightfall.
“You don’t have to be social,” Butch said softly, as if he knew she was struggling to be polite. “You just do your thing.”
She nodded and looked out the window. The IV in her arm wasn’t bad; it didn’t hurt or anything. Then again, she was so numb they could have hammered nails into her veins and she probably wouldn’t have felt a thing.
Holy hell. The end had finally come. The inescapable reality of dying was finally upon her. No outs this time. Nothing to be done, no battle to be waged. Death was no longer an abstract concept, but a very real, impending event.
She felt no peace. No acceptance. All she had was…rage.
She didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to leave the man she loved. Didn’t want to give up the messy chaos of life.
Just stop this, she thought. Someone…just stop this.
She closed her eyes.
As everything went dark, she saw Rhage’s face. And in her mind she touched his cheek with her hand and felt the warmth of his skin, the strong bones underneath. Words started marching through her head, coming from someplace she didn’t recognize, going…nowhere, she supposed.
Don’t make me go. Don’t make me leave him. Please…
God, just let me stay here with him and love him a little longer. I promise not to waste the moments. I’ll hold him and never let him go…. God, please. Just stop this….
Mary started to cry as she realized she was praying, praying with everything she had, throwing her heart open, begging. As she called out to something she didn’t even believe in, an odd revelation came to her in the midst of the desperation.
So this was why her mother had believed. Cissy hadn’t wanted to get off the carnival ride, hadn’t wanted the carousel to stop turning, hadn’t wanted to leave…Mary. The impending separation from love, more than the ending of life, had kept all that faith alive. It was the hope of having a little more time to love that had made her mother hold crosses,