J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [184]
She reached up and touched her face. Perhaps now that he’d seen what she looked like he didn’t want to follow through? Was she uncomely to him?
Dear Virgin, what was she worrying over? She didn’t want to mate with him. With anyone. It was going to hurt; the Directrix had told her that. And no matter how beautiful this Brother was, he was utterly unknown to her.
“Don’t worry,” he said in a rush, as if he’d read into her expression. “We’re not going to…”
She pulled the curtain closer to herself. “We aren’t?”
“No.”
Cormia ducked her chin. “But then all shall know that I failed you.”
“You failed…Jesus, you aren’t failing anyone.” He put his hand through his hair, the thick waves catching the light and gleaming. “I’m just not…Yeah, it doesn’t feel right.”
“But that is the purpose of me. To mate with you and bind the Chosen unto you.” She blinked quickly. “If we don’t, the ceremony is incomplete.”
“So what.”
“I…don’t understand.”
“So what if the ceremony isn’t complete today. There’s time.” He frowned and looked around. “Hey…you want to get out of here?”
Her brows shot up. “And go where?”
“I don’t know. A walk. Or something.”
“I was told I can’t leave unless we—”
“Here’s the deal. I’m the Primale, right? So what I say goes.” He shot her a level stare. “I mean, you’d know better than me. Am I wrong?”
“No, you have dominion here. Only the Scribe Virgin is higher than you.”
He stood up off the wall. “Then let’s go for a walk. The least we can do is get to know each other, considering the situation we’re in.”
“I…have no robe.”
“Use the curtain. I’ll turn away while you arrange it.”
He gave her his back, and after a moment she stood up and wrapped the folds of cloth around herself. She would never have foreseen this, she thought, neither his substitution nor his kindness nor his…beauty. For indeed he was fair to the eyes. “I…I am ready.”
He walked to the door, and she followed behind. He was even bigger up close…but he smelled lovely. Dark spices that tingled in her nose.
When he opened the doors and she saw the white vista before them, she hesitated.
“What’s wrong?”
Her shame was hard to put into words. She felt selfish in her relief. And concerned that her deficiencies would be borne unto the Chosen whole.
Her stomach clenched. “I have not discharged my duty.”
“You haven’t failed. We’ve just postponed the s—er, mating. It’ll happen at some point.”
Except she couldn’t get the voices out of her head. Or her fears. “Mayhap you should just get it over with?”
He frowned. “God…you really are scared of disappointing them.”
“They are all I have. All I know.” And the Directrix had threatened to expel her if she didn’t uphold tradition. “I am alone without them.”
He regarded her for a long moment. “What’s your name?”
“Cormia.”
“Well…Cormia, you’re not alone without them anymore. Now you have me. And you know what? Forget the walk. I have another idea.”
Breaking into things was one of V’s specialties. He was tight with safes, cars, locks, houses…offices. Equally facile with the residential and commercial shit. S’all good.
So, cracking wide the door to the St. Francis Medical Center Department of Surgery’s palatial suite of offices was no BFD.
Slipping inside, he kept up the mhis that fogged out the security cameras and ensured that he was hidden from the few folks who were still in this administrative section of the complex.
Man…these were some seriously sweet digs. Big reception area, all stately and shit, with the wood-paneled walls and the Orientals. Couple of ancillary offices marked with—
Jane’s office was right over there.
V went over and put his finger on the brass nameplate by the door. Etched into the polished surface was: JANE WHITCOMB, M.D., CHIEF OF TRAUMA DIVISION.
He put his head through the door. Her scent lingered in the air, and there was one of her white coats folded on top of a conference table. Her desk was covered with piles of paperwork and files