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J.R.:

So you still have to recover afterward. (Rhage shoots me a well-DUH expression and rubs his stomach again.) Okay, silly question. Is it easier now for you? Dealing with the beast, that is?

Rhage:

Well . . . yes and no. I don’t fight it anymore when it comes out, and that seems to decrease the owie time afterward. But I still have to go through this to some extent—especially if there’s been, how do we say, a snack. The good thing is, I don’t worry so much about the damn thing turning my brothers or the boys into a Happy Meal. It’s weird . . . ever since Mary’s come along, the beast is tuning in to people. I don’t know if that makes any sense. It’s like, when he bonded with her, it made him capable of seeing folks as friend or foe instead of everyone being food, you know?

J.R.:

That’s a relief.

Rhage:

Man, I used to spend all my time worrying about that shit. So yeah, it’s better on a lot of fronts. I mean, for real? I’d still be way out of it at this point, you know, doing the recovery thing hard-core. Now? I’ll be up and around in another three hours or so. Still will have the indigestion, but those god-awful body aches don’t last nearly as long. (shakes his head) Have to say, though, even if it were still really tough to deal with . . . wouldn’t matter to me.

J.R.:

No?

Rhage:

Got me my Mary. So even if the beast split me apart to get out, as long as I could put myself back together enough to be with her, it’s fine for me.

J.R.:

That’s beautiful.

Rhage:

So is she.

J.R.:

Speaking of couple stuff . . . I’ve heard that you and she . . .

Rhage:

Have baby on the brain? (laughs) Yeah, we do. Go fig. Thing is, it’s not clear to me how to work it. There may be an opportunity, but we’ll see. We’re still just talking about it.

J.R.:

(not wanting to press) Well, I think you two would be great parents.

Rhage:

You know, I do too. There are some issues that we need to work out. Between you and me . . . Mary is . . .

J.R.:

What?

Rhage:

(shaking head) No, it’s private. Anyway, if it happens, it would be great, and if not, I’m not missing anything because I have her. I mean, shit, look at Tohr.

J.R.:

He’s really not doing well, is he.

Rhage:

No, he’s not. And to be honest, it’s fucking with all of our heads. Thing is, you can’t help but put yourself in his position, because he’s your brother and you’re feeling where he’s at and you don’t want him hurting so bad. And you can’t help but think about yourself. Me without Mary . . . (Eyes close, mouth narrows.) Yeah, what else were you going to ask me.

In the silence that follows, I think about what the shellans go through every night that these males of theirs go out to fight. It’s sad to realize that there is a fair turnabout. Without their mates, the Brothers are the living dead—and that has got to be equally terrifying to these strong warriors. To some degree, Rhage doesn’t have to worry about losing Mary, but it must be hard to live among guys who aren’t as fortunate as yourself.

Before I can ask some kind of fluffy nonsense thing, like whether he and V’s practical-joke war is continuing, there’s a knock on the door. Before it opens, Rhage lets out a purring sound, so I’m not surprised as Mary walks in. As always, Mary’s dressed simply in a pair of khakis and a polo shirt, but her arrival brings Rhage to life as if she were Miss America in a sparkling gown. She also flips some kind of switch inside of him. He really looks at her, focusing on her sharply. And he’s a flirt with everyone, but with her he’s serious, underscoring for me that she is the special exception and the rest of us are the rule.

Oh, and his bonding scent positively roars. Did I mention that he smells great?

Mary and I say hello, and I’m reminded that three’s a crowd when Rhage pulls himself up off the mattress and holds his arms out to her. As he envelops her with his great big arms and stays put, I make some pleasantries with Mary and turn to leave.

Rhage says my name softly, and I look over my