J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [327]
The old guy was an artist behind the wheel.
Okay, an artist in a Jackson Pollock kind of way, sure, but amazing nonetheless.
And then he shot into a parking spot. Right on the main drag. Just like that.
The chorus of sirens got so loud she had to yell. “Fritz, they’re going to—”
Two police cars sped right by them.
“One more moment, madam.”
Another cop car went flying down the street.
Fritz eased out and continued at a brisk pace.
“Nice trick, Fritz.”
“With no offense to you, madam, human minds are rather easily manipulated.”
As they sped along, she laughed and fidgeted and tapped her fingers on the armrest. The trip seemed to take forever.
When they got to the compound’s first set of double gates, she was practically vibrating, she was so excited. And the moment they pulled up in front of the house, she bolted from the car, not even bothering to shut the door.
“Thanks, Fritz!” she called out over her shoulder.
“You’re welcome, madam!” he shouted back.
She burst through the vestibule and bounded up the grand staircase. As she took the corner at the top, going at a dead run, her purse swung out and clipped a lamp. She doubled back and righted the thing before it crashed.
She was laughing out loud as she burst into their bedroom—
Mary careened to a halt.
In the center of the room Rhage was naked and kneeling in a trance on some kind of black slab. He had white binds tied around his neck and wrists. And there was blood dripping onto the rug, though she couldn’t see where it was coming from.
His face looked as if he’d aged decades since she’d seen him.
“Rhage?”
His eyes slowly opened. They were opaque, dull. He blinked at her and frowned.
“Rhage? Rhage, what’s going on?”
Her voice seemed to snap him to attention.
“What are you—” He stopped. Then shook his head as if he were trying to clear a vision. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m cured! I’m a miracle!”
As she ran to him, he leaped out of the way, holding his hands up and glancing around frantically. “Get out! She’ll kill you! She’ll take it all back! Oh, God, get away from me!”
Mary stopped dead. “What are you talking about?”
“You took the gift, didn’t you!”
“How do you…how do you know about that weird dream?”
“Did you take the gift!”
Jesus. Rhage had lost it completely. Shaking, naked, he was bleeding from his shins and white as limestone.
“Calm down, Rhage.” Boy, this was so not how she’d pictured this conversation going. “I don’t know about any gift. But listen to this! I fell asleep while I was getting another MRI and something happened to the machine. It exploded or something, I guess, I don’t know, they said there was some flash of light. Anyway, when they took me back upstairs, they drew some blood and everything was perfect. Perfect! I’m clean! No one has any idea what happened. It’s like the leukemia just disappeared and my liver fixed itself. They’re calling me a medical miracle!”
Happiness poured through her. Until Rhage grabbed her hands and squeezed so hard he hurt her.
“You need to leave. Now. You can’t know me. You have to go. Don’t ever come back here again.”
“What?”
He started pushing her out of the room, and then dragged her when she resisted.
“What are you doing? Rhage, I don’t—”
“You have to go!”
“Warrior, you can stop now.”
The wry female voice halted them both.
Mary looked over his shoulder. A small figure covered in black was in the corner of the room, light glowing from underneath the flowing robe.
“My dream,” Mary whispered. “You were the woman in my dream.”
Rhage’s arms crushed her as they went around her body, and then he thrust her away from him.
“I did not not go to her, Scribe Virgin. I swear, I didn’t—”
“Be at ease, warrior. I know you kept the bargain.” The small figure