Lover Eternal (Black Dagger Brotherhood 2)

"I told you, she doesn't know what I am - "

"Are you trying to negotiate with me on this? You can't be that stupid."

Rhage shot his brother a nasty look. "And you really don't want me up in your grille again. This time, I won't let the cop peel me off."

"You kiss her with that mouth of yours yet? Whatcha tell her about your fangs, Hollywood?" As Rhage closed his eyes and cursed, Tohr's tone eased up. "Be real. She's a complication we don't need, and she's trouble for you because you chose her over a command from me. I'm not doing this to bust your balls, Rhage. It's safer for everybody. Safer for her. You will do this, my brother."

Safer for her.

Rhage leaned down and grabbed his ankles. He stretched his hamstrings so hard, he nearly pulled them off the backs of his legs.

Safer for Mary.

"I'll take care of it," he said finally.

"Ms. Luce? Please come with me."

Mary looked up and didn't recognize the nurse. The woman seemed really young in her loose pink uniform, was probably right out of school. And she got younger as she smiled because of the dimples.

"Ms. Luce?" She shifted the voluminous file in her arms.

Mary put her purse strap on her shoulder, got to her feet, and followed the woman out of the waiting room. They went halfway down a long, buff-colored hall and paused in front of a check-in station.

"I'm just going to weigh you and take your temperature." The nurse smiled again and got even more points for being good with the scale and the thermometer. She was quick. Friendly.

"You've lost some weight, Ms. Luce," she said, while making a note in the file. "How's your eating?"

"The same."

"We're down here on the left."

The examination rooms were all alike. Framed Monet poster and a little window with drawn blinds. Desk with pamphlets and a computer. Exam table with a piece of white paper stretched over it. Sink area with various supplies. Red biohazard container in the corner.

Mary felt like throwing up.

"Dr. Delia Croce said she wanted to take your vitals." The nurse handed over a neatly folded square of fabric. "If you'll put this on, she'll be right in."

The gowns were all the same, too. Thin, soft cotton, blue with a small pink pattern. There were two sets of ties. She was never sure whether she was putting the damn things on right, whether the slit should go in the front or the back. She chose the front today.

When she was finished changing, Mary slid up onto the table and dangled her feet off the edge. It was chilly without her clothes, and she looked at them, all neatly arranged on the chair next to the desk. She would have paid good money to get back in them.

With a chime and a whistle, her cell phone went off in her purse. She dropped back down to the floor and padded over in her socks.

She didn't recognize the number as she checked caller ID and answered out of hope. "Hello?"

"Mary."

The sound of the rich male voice made her sag with relief. She'd been so sure Hal wouldn't return her call.

"Hi. Hi, Hal. Thanks for calling." She looked around for a place to sit that wasn't on the exam table. Moving her clothes to her lap, she eased into the chair. "Look, I'm really sorry about last night. I just - "

There was a knock and then the nurse poked her head in.

"Excuse me, did you release your bone scans from last July to us?"

"Yes. They should be in my record." When the nurse shut the door, Mary said, "Sorry."

"Where are you?"

"I, ah..." She cleared her throat. "It's not important. I just wanted you to know how bad I felt about what I said to you."

There was a long silence.

"I just panicked," she said.

"Why?"

"You make me... I don't know, you're just..." Mary fiddled with the edge of the gown. The words tumbled out. "I've got cancer, Hal. I mean, I've had it and it might be back."

"I know."

"So Bella told you." Mary waited for him to confirm it; when he didn't she took a deep breath. "I'm not using the leukemia as an excuse for the way I behaved. It's just... I'm in a weird place right now. My emotions are bouncing all over and having you in my house" - being totally attracted to you - "it triggered something and I lashed out."

"I understand."

Somehow, she felt as though he did.

But God, his silences were a killer. She began to feel like a fool for keeping him on the line.

"Anyway, that's all I wanted to say."

"I'll pick you up tonight at eight. Your house."

She gripped the phone. God, she wanted to see him so badly. "I'll be waiting for you."

From outside the door of the exam room, Dr. Delia Croce's voice rose and fell in concert with the nurse's.

"And Mary?"

"Yes?"

"Wear your hair down for me."

There was a knock and the doctor came in.

"All right. I will," Mary said before hanging up. "Hey, Susan."

"Hi, Mary." As Dr. Delia Croce crossed the shallow room, she smiled and her brown eyes crinkled at the corners. She was about fifty, with thick white hair that was squared off at her jawline.

The doctor sat down behind the desk and crossed her legs. As she took a moment to collect herself, Mary shook her head.

"I hate it when I'm right," she muttered.

"About what?"

"It's back, isn't it."

There was a slight pause. "I'm sorry, Mary."

Chapter Seventeen

Mary didn't go to work. Instead she drove home, stripped, and got into bed. A quick call to the office and she had the rest of the day as well as the following week off. She was going to need the time. After the long Columbus Day weekend she was going in for a variety of tests and second opinions, and then she and Dr. Delia Croce were going to meet and discuss options.

The weird thing was, Mary wasn't surprised. She'd always known in her heart that they'd browbeaten the disease into a retreat, not a surrender.

Or maybe she was just in shock and being sick felt familiar.

When she thought about what she was facing, what scared her wasn't the pain; it was the loss of time. How long until they got it back under control? How long would the next respite last? When could she get back to her life?

She refused to think there was an alternative to remission. She wasn't going to go there.

Turning over onto her side, she stared at the wall across the room and thought of her mother. She saw her mom rolling a rosary through her fingertips, murmuring words of devotion while lying in bed. The combination of the rubbing and the whispering had helped her find an ease beyond that which the morphine was able to give her. Because somehow, even in the midst of her curse, even at the apex of the pain and fear, her mother had believed in miracles.

Mary had wanted to ask her mom if she actually thought she'd be saved, and not in the metaphorical sense, but in a practical way. Had Cissy truly believed that if she said the right words and had the right objects around her that she would be cured, that she would walk again, live again?

The questions were never posed. That kind of inquiry would have been cruel, and Mary had known the answer anyway. She'd had the sense that her mother had waited for a temporal redemption right up until the very end.

But then, maybe Mary had just projected what she would have wished for. To her, saving grace meant you got to live out your life like a normal person: You were healthy and strong, and the prospect of death was just some far-off, barely acknowledged hypothetical. A debt to be paid off in a future you couldn't imagine.

Perhaps her mother had looked at it in a different way, but one thing was for sure: Her outcome hadn't changed. The prayers hadn't saved her.

Mary closed her eyes, and exhaustion sucked her down. As she was swallowed whole, she was grateful for the temporary emptiness. She slept for hours, fading in and out of consciousness, flopping around on the bed.

At seven o'clock she woke up and reached for the phone, dialing the number Bella had given her to reach Hal. She hung up without leaving a message. Canceling was probably the right thing to do, because she wasn't going to be great company, but damn it, she was feeling selfish. She wanted to see him. Hal made her feel alive, and right now she was desperate for that buzz.

After a quick shower, she threw on a skirt and a turtle-neck. In the full-length mirror on the bathroom door both were looser than they had been, and she thought about the scale this morning at the doctor's. She should probably eat like Hal tonight, because God knew there was no reason to diet right now. If she was facing another round of chemo, she should be packing on the pounds.