"What's the matter?" As he looked at her, his teal blue eyes were more alert than they had been. "Mary, please. Just once, tell me what's on your mind."
She hesitated. "Why didn't you just leave me behind? All this... wouldn't have happened."
"There is nothing I would not bear for your safety, for your life."
She shook her head. "I don't understand how you can feel so much for me."
"Yeah, you know what?" He smiled a little. "You've got to shelve this whole understanding thing."
"It's better than going on faith," she whispered, reaching up and running a hand through his blond waves. "Go back to sleep, big man. Every time you do, you seem to wake up miles ahead in the healing process."
"I'd rather look at you." But he shut his eyes. "I love it when you play with my hair."
He craned his neck, tilting away from her so she could reach more of it.
Even his ears were beautiful, she thought.
Rhage's chest rose and fell in a great sigh. After a while, she leaned back in the chair and kicked her legs out, propping her feet on one of the bed's massive supports.
As the hours passed, the brothers stopped by to check on him and introduce themselves. Phury, the one with the great head of hair, came in with some warm cider, which she actually took. Wrath, the guy who wore dark sunglasses, and Beth, the woman whom she'd passed out in front of, also visited. Butch, the football catcher, came by, and so did Tohrment, who had that short brush cut.
Rhage slept a lot, but kept waking up whenever he tried to shift over onto his side. He would look at her as he moved around, as if taking strength from the sight of her, and she brought him water, stroked his face, fed him. They didn't say much. The touching was enough.
Her eyelids were getting low, and she'd let her head fall back when there was another soft knocking. Probably Fritz with more food.
She stretched and went to the door.
"Come on in," she said while she opened it.
The man with the scarred face was standing in the hall. As he stood stock-still, light fell on the sharp lines of him, drawing out his deep-set eyes, the skull under his supershort hair, that jagged scar, his hard jawline. He was wearing a loose turtleneck and pants that hung low on his hips. Both were black.
She immediately moved closer to the bed to protect Rhage, even though it was stupid to think she could fend off something as big as the vampire in the doorway.
Silence stretched out. She told herself he was probably just checking in as the others had and didn't want to hurt his brother again. Except... he looked tight all over, his wide stance suggesting he might spring forward at any moment. And weirding her out even more was the fact that the vampire didn't meet her stare, and he didn't seem to be looking at Rhage, either. The guy's cold, black gaze was ungrounded.
"Would you like to come in and see him?" she asked finally.
Those eyes shifted to hers.
Obsidian, she thought. They were like obsidian. Glossy. Bottomless. Soulless.
She backed up farther and grabbed Rhage's hand. The vampire in the doorway smirked.
"You're looking a little ferocious there, female. You think I'm here to take another hunk out of him?" The voice was low, smooth. Resonant, really. And as detached and unrevealing as his pupils.
"Are you going to hurt him?"
"Silly question."
"Why's that?"
"You won't believe my answer, so you shouldn't ask."
There was more silence, and she measured him in the quiet. It dawned her that maybe he wasn't just aggressive. He was also awkward.
Maybe.
She kissed Rhage's hand and forced herself to step away. "I was going to take a shower. Will you sit with him while I'm gone?"
The vampire blinked as if she'd surprised him. "You gonna feel comfortable getting naked in that bathroom with me around?"
Not really.
She shrugged. "It's your choice. But I'm sure if he wakes up, he'd rather see you than be alone."
"You're going to turn the lights out on me then?"
"Are you coming or going?" When he didn't reply, she said, "Tonight must have been hell for you."
His distorted upper lip jerked into a snarl. "You're the only one who's ever assumed I don't get off hurting people. Are you the Mother Teresa type? All into seeing the good in big, wounded things or some shit?"
"You didn't volunteer for that scar on your face, did you? And I'm willing to bet you've got more below your jawline. So like I said, tonight must have been hell."
His eyes narrowed into slits, and a cold gust blew through the room, as if he'd pushed the air at her. "Careful, female. Courage can be dangerous."
She walked right up to him. "You know what? The whole shower thing is mostly a lie. I was trying to let you have some alone time with him, because it's obvious you're feeling bad or you wouldn't be standing in that doorway looking so damned torn. Take the offer or leave, but either way, I'd appreciate it if you don't try to scare me."
At this point, she didn't care if he lashed out at her. Then again, she was running on nervous energy and the buzz that came with exhaustion, so she probably wasn't thinking clearly.
"So what's it going to be?" she demanded.
The vampire stepped inside and shut the door, the room growing colder with him in it. His menace was a tangible thing, and it reached out, brushing over her body like hands. As the lock slid into place with a click, she became afraid.
"I'm not trying," he said in a satin drawl.
"What?' she choked out.
"To scare you. You are scared." He smiled. His fangs were very long, longer than Rhage's. "I can smell your fear, female. Like wet paint, it tingles in the nose."
As Mary backed away, he came forward, tracking her.
"Hmm... and I like your scent. Liked it from the moment I first met you."
She moved faster, putting out her hand, hoping to feel the bed at any moment. Instead she got tangled in some of the heavy drapes by a window.
The scarred vampire cornered her. He didn't carry as much muscle on his bones as Rhage did, but there was no doubt he was lethal. His cold eyes told her all she needed to know about his ability to kill.
With a curse, Mary put her head down and surrendered. She could do nothing if he hurt her, and neither could Rhage in his condition. Damn it, she hated being helpless, but sometimes that was where life put you.
The vampire leaned down to her and she cringed.
He breathed in deeply and his exhale was a long sigh.
"Take your shower, female. I had no desire to hurt him earlier in the night, and nothing's changed. And I've got no interest in pulling a nasty on you, either. If anything happened to you, he'd be in greater agony than he's in now."
She sagged as he turned away, and she caught his wince as he looked at Rhage.
"What is your name?" she murmured.
He cocked an eyebrow at her and then went back to staring at his brother. "I'm the evil one, in case you haven't figured it out."
"I wanted your name, not your calling."
"Being a bastard's more of a compulsion, really. And it's Zsadist. I am Zsadist."
"Well... it's nice to meet you, Zsadist."
"So polite," he mocked.
"Okay, how about this. Thank you for not killing him or me just now. That real enough for you?"
Zsadist glanced over his shoulder. His eyelids were like window blinds, allowing only slits of cold night to shine through. And with his skull-trimmed hair and that scar, he was the personification of violence: aggression, and pain anthropomorphized. Except as he looked at her through the candlelight, the slightest hint of warmth came through his face. It was so subtle she couldn't define quite how she knew it was there.
"You," he said softly, "are extraordinary." Before she could say anything further, he held up his hand. "Go. Now. Leave me with my brother."
Without another word, Mary went into the bathroom. She stayed in the shower for so long her fingers wrinkled and the steam in the air grew thick as cream. When she got out, she dressed in the same clothes she'd had on, because she'd neglected to bring new ones in with her. She opened the door to the bedroom quietly.
Zsadist was sitting on the bed, his broad shoulders caved in, his arms wrapped around his waist. Bent over Rhage's sleeping body, he was curled down as close as possible without their actually touching. As he rocked himself back and forth, there was a faint, lilting song in the air.