J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [582]
As she faced the mountain before her, her nape tingled like she was being stalked, and she looked over her shoulder. In the east, the light of day was gathering momentum, and the radiance made her eyes burn. She was almost out of time.
Hand still on her throat, she walked up to a pair of massive brass doors. There was no doorbell or knocker, so she tried one side. It opened, which was a shock—at least until she stood in the vestibule. Ah, here was where you were screened.
She put her face in front of a camera and waited. No doubt an alarm had gone off when she’d breached the first door, so someone would either come and let her in…or refuse her. In which case she was on to her second choice. At a dead run.
Rehvenge was the only other person she could have turned to, but he was complicated. His mahmen was a spiritual counselor of sorts to the glymera and would no doubt be highly offended by Marissa’s presence.
With a prayer to the Scribe Virgin, she smoothed her hair with her palm. Maybe she’d gambled wrong, but she’d assumed that Wrath wouldn’t turn her away this close to dawn. For all she’d endured with him, she figured he could spare her one day under the cover of his roof. And he was a male of honor.
At least Butch didn’t live with the Brotherhood as far as she knew. He’d stayed at another place somewhere else over the summer and she guessed he still had it. Hoped he did.
The heavy wooden doors ahead of her opened, and Fritz, the butler, seemed very surprised to see her. “Madam?” The elderly doggen bowed low. “Are you…expected?”
“No, I’m not.” She was about as far away from expected as it got. “I, ah—”
“Fritz, who is it?” came a female voice.
As footsteps got closer, Marissa clasped her hands together and lowered her head.
Oh, Lord. Beth, the queen. It would have been so much better to see Wrath first. And now she could only assume this wasn’t going to work out.
Surely her majesty would let her use the phone to call Rehvenge? God, did she even have time to dial?
The doors creaked open even wider. “Who is…Marissa?”
Marissa kept her eyes on the floor and curtsied, as was custom. “My queen.”
“Fritz, will you excuse us?” A moment later Beth said, “Would you like to come in?”
Marissa hesitated, then stepped through the door. She had a peripheral sense of incredible color and warmth, but she couldn’t lift her head to take it all in.
“How did you find us?” Beth asked.
“Your…hellren’s blood lingers within me. I…I have come to him for a favor. I would speak to Wrath, if it would not offend?”
Marissa was shocked when her hand was grasped. “What’s happened?”
When she lifted her eyes to the queen, she nearly gasped. Beth was so genuinely concerned, so worried. To be greeted with any kind of warmth was disarming, especially from this female who by all rights might be tempted to kick her out.
“Marissa, talk to me.”
Where to start. “I am…ah, I am in need of a place to stay. I have nowhere to go. I have been cast out. I am—”
“Wait, slow down. Just slow down. What happened?”
Marissa took a deep breath and gave a condensed version of the story, one that avoided any mention of Butch. The words ran out of her like dirty water, spilling onto the brilliant mosaic floor, staining the beauty beneath her feet. The shame of the recounting stung her throat.
“So you will stay with us,” Beth pronounced when it was over.
“Just the one night.”
“For however long you want.” Beth squeezed Marissa’s hand. “However. Long.”
As Marissa shut her eyes and tried not to break down, she became dimly aware of a pounding sound, of heavy boots descending carpeted stairs.
Then Wrath’s deep voice filled the cavernous three-story foyer. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Marissa is moving in with us.”
While Marissa dropped into another curtsy, she was totally stripped of her pride, as vulnerable as if she were naked.