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Rhage:

Can’t have you tripping over things.

J.R.:

Thank you . . .

Man, Rhage doesn’t look good. He is indeed flat on his back, and there’s a lot of Alka-Seltzer next to him. He’s naked, but there’s a sheet pulled up to his waist, and as I look at him I’m reminded that he’s the biggest of the Brothers in terms of heft. He’s positively huge, even on a bed that seems big as an Olympic pool. But he is not well. His lids are down over his Bahama blue eyes, his mouth is slightly open, his belly distended as if he’s swallowed a weather balloon.

J.R.:

So the beast came out, huh.

Rhage:

Yeah . . . last night right before dawn. (He groans as he tries to turn over.)

J.R.:

Are you sure you want to do this right now?

Rhage:

Yup. I’m dying for distraction, and I can’t watch TV. Hey, could you get me some more Alka-Seltzer? Mary hit me with six before she left about half an hour ago, but they don’t seem to last long.

J.R.:

Absolutely.

I’m relieved to do something to help him, and I head over to where four boxes of the stuff are lined up next to a pitcher of water and a glass. I fill the glass, crack open three foil packets, and drop the chalky disks in.

J.R.:

(watching the plop-plop, fizz-fizz go to work) Maybe you should take something stronger?

Rhage:

Doc Jane tried me out on some Prilosec. Didn’t help as much.

When I turn to him, he lifts his head and I put the glass to his lips. As he drinks slowly, I feel guilty about noticing how gorgeous he is. He truly is the most beautiful male anything I’ve ever seen . . . you almost want to touch his face to make sure it’s real and not some artist’s rendering of the absolute standard of masculine splendor. He has Mount Everest cheekbones and a jaw that’s straight as an I beam and lips that are full and soft. His hair is blond with curls that go this way and that way on the pillow, and he smells amazing.

As I take the empty glass away from his mouth, Rhage opens his eyes. And I am reminded that his brilliant teal stare is even more of a knockout than his bone structure.

Rhage:

(laughs quietly) You are blushing.

J.R.:

No, I’m not.

Rhage:

(singing along to the tune of na-na-na-na-na-naaaaa) You are blushing. You are blushing.

J.R.:

How is it possible I want to strike you while you’re down?

Rhage:

(grins) Aw, you say the sweetest things.

J.R.:

(laughing because you just have to, he’s that endearing) Wait, I thought your vision was off afterward?

Rhage:

It is, but your cheeks are THAT red. But really, enough about you, let’s talk about me. (bats his mile-long lashes) Come on, what do you want to know? What burning questions do I get to answer?

J.R.:

(laughing again) You’re the only Brother who likes to get interviewed.

Rhage:

Glad to know I’ve managed to distinguish myself from that ratty bunch of fools.

J.R.:

What happened? (sits down on edge of bed)

Rhage:

I followed the lead on another lesser “persuasion” house, and let’s just say I found what I was looking for and then some.

J.R.:

(swallowing) Were there a lot of them?

Rhage:

Meh. Enough. There was some lead exchanged, and one of the bullets landed somewhere I didn’t appreciate.

J.R.:

Where were you hit?

Rhage:

(sweeps sheet off his legs, revealing a bandage around his thigh) Me and the beast get along much better now, and he doesn’t like me getting plugged. (laughs) But Qhuinn, John Matthew, and Blay came as backup—like they did for me and Z last week. Man . . . (laughs) that threesome was a little surprised at my alter ego.

J.R.:

What did the boys think of the beast?

Rhage:

When I came back as me, I woke up with them standing around my head, looking like they’d been victims of a hit-and-run. They were white as boxer shorts and about as solid. (laughs) Guess the beast took care of the squadron of slayers who’d been called in as reinforcements. (rubs tummy) Must have been quite a