Lover Eternal: A Novel of the Black Dagger Brotherhood (5 page)

She thought of her mother. And how Cissy Luce had died in her own bed in the house the two of them had always called home.

Everything about that bedroom was still so clear: The way the light had come through the lace curtains and landed on things in a snowflake pattern. Those pale yellow walls and the off-white wall-to-wall rug. That comforter her mother had loved, the one with the little pink roses on a cream background. The smell of nutmeg and ginger from a dish of potpourri. The crucifix above the curving headboard and the big Madonna icon on the floor in the corner.

The memories burned, so Mary forced herself to see the room as it had been after everything was over, the illness, the dying, the cleaning up, the selling of the house. She saw it right before she'd moved out. Neat. Tidy. Her mother's Catholic crutches packed away, the faint shadow left by the cross on the wall covered by a framed Andrew Wyeth print.

The tears wouldn't stay put. They came slowly, relentlessly, falling into the water. She watched them hit the surface and disappear.

 

When she looked up, she was not alone.

 

Mary leaped to her feet and stumbled back, but stopped herself, wiping her eyes. It was just a boy. A teenage boy. Dark-haired, pale-skinned. So thin he was emaciated, so beautiful he didn't look human.

 

"What are you doing here?" she asked, not particularly afraid. It was hard to be scared of anything that angelic. "Who are you?'

 

He just shook his head.

 

"Are you lost?" He sure looked it. And it was too cold for him to be out just in the jeans and T-shirt he was wearing. "What's your name?"

 

He lifted a hand to his throat and moved it back and forth while shaking his head. As if he were a foreigner and frustrated by the language barrier.

 

"Do you speak English?'

 

He nodded and then his hands started flying around. American Sign Language. He was using ASL.

 

Mary reached back to her old life, when she'd trained her autistic patients to use their hands to communicate.

 

Do you read lips or can you hear
? she signed back at him.

 

He froze, as if her understanding him had been the last thing he'd expected.

 

I can hear very well. I just can't talk.

 

Mary stared at him for a long moment. "You are the caller."

 

He hesitated. Then nodded his head
. I never meant to
scare you. And I don't call to annoy you. I just… like to know you're there. But there's nothing weird to it, honest. I swear.

 

His eyes met hers steadily.

 

"I believe you." Except what did she do now? The hotline prohibited contact with callers.

 

Yeah, well, she wasn't about to kick the poor kid off her property.

 

"You want something to eat?"

 

He shook his head.
Maybe I could just sit with you awhile? I'll stay on the other side of the pool
.

 

As if he were used to people telling him to get away from them.

 

"No," she said. He nodded once and turned away. "I mean, sit down here. Next to me."

He came at her slowly, as if expecting her to change her mind. When all she did was sit down and put her feet back in the pool, he took off a pair of ratty sneakers, rolled up his baggy pants, and picked a spot about three feet from her.

God, he was so small.

 

He slipped his feet in the water and smiled.

 

It's cold
, he signed.

 

"You want a sweater?"

 

He shook his head and moved his feet in circles.

 

"What's your name?"

 

John Matthew.

 

Mary smiled, thinking they had something in common. 'Two New Testament prophets."

 

The nuns gave it to me.

 

"Nuns?" There was a long pause, as if he were debating what to tell her.

 

"You were in an orphanage?" she prompted gently. She recalled that there was still one in town, run by Our Lady of Mercy.

 

I was born in a bathroom stall in a bus station. The janitor who found me took me to Our Lady. The nuns thought up the name.

 

She kept her wince to herself. "Ah, where do you live now? Were you adopted?'

 

He shook his head.

 

"Foster parents?" Please, God, let there be foster parents. Nice foster parents. Who kept him warm and fed. Good people who told him he mattered even if his parents had deserted him.

 

When he didn't reply, she eyed his old clothes, and the older expression on his face. He didn't look as if he'd known a lot of nice.

 

Finally, his hands moved.
My place is on Tenth Street
.

 

Which meant he was either a poacher living in a condemned building or a tenant in a rat-infested hovel. How he managed to be so clean was a miracle.

 

"You live around the hotline's offices, don't you? Which was how you knew I was on this evening even though it wasn't my shift."

He nodded.
My apartment is across the street. I watch you come and go, but not in a sneaky way. I guess I think of you as a friend. When I called the first time… you know, it was on a whim or something. You answered
__
and I liked the way your voice sounded
.

He had beautiful hands, she thought. Like a girl's. Graceful. Delicate.

 

"And you followed me home tonight?"

Pretty much every night. I have a bike, and you're a slow driver. 1 figure if I watch over you, you'll be safer. You stay so late, and that's not a good part of town for a woman to be alone in. Even if she's in a car.

Mary shook her head, thinking he was an odd one. He looked like a child, but his words were those of a man. And all things considered, she probably should be creeped out. This kid latching on to her, thinking he was some kind of protector even though it looked as if he were the one who needed to be rescued.

Tell me why you were crying just now
, he signed.

 

His eyes were very direct, and it was eerie to have an adult male stare anchored by a child's face.

 

"Because I might be out of time," she blurted.

"Mary? Are you up for a visit?" Mary looked over her right shoulder. Bella, her only neighbor, had walked across the two acre meadow that ran between their properties and was standing on the edge of the lawn.

"Hey, Bella. Ah, come meet John."

Bella glided up to the pool. The woman had moved into the big old farmhouse a year ago and they'd taken to talking at night. At six feet tall, and with a mane of dark waves that fell to the small of her back, Bella was a total knockout. Her face was so beautiful it had taken Mary months to stop staring, and the woman's body was right off the cover of
Sports lllustrated's
swimsuit edition.

So naturally John was looking awestruck.

Mary wondered idly what it would be like to get that reception from a man, even a prepubescent one. She'd never been beautiful, falling instead into that vast category of women who were neither bad-looking nor good-looking. And that had been before chemo had done a number on her hair and skin.

Bella leaned down with a slight smile and offered her hand to the boy. "Hi."

John reached up and touched her briefly, as if he weren't sure she was real. Funny, Mary had often felt the same way about the woman. There was something too… much about her. She just seemed larger than life, more vivid than the other people Mary ran into. Certainly more gorgeous.

Although Bella sure didn't act the part of the femme fa-tale. She was quiet and unassuming and she lived alone, apparently working as a writer. Mary never saw her in the daytime, and no one ever seemed to come or go out of the old farmhouse.

John looked at Mary, his hands moving.
Do you want me to leave
?

 

Then, as if anticipating her answer, he pulled his feet from the water.

 

She put her hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the sharp thrust of bone just under his shirt.

 

"No. Stay."

 

Bella took off her running shoes and socks and flicked her toes over the surface of the water. "Yeah, come on, John. Stay with us."
Chapter Four

Rhage saw the first one he wanted tonight. She was a blond human female, all sexed-up and ready to go. Like the rest of her kind in the bar, she'd been throwing him signals: Flashing her ass. Fluffing her teased hair.

"Find something you like?" V said dryly. Rhage nodded and crooked his finger at the female. She came when called. He liked that in a human.

 

He was tracking the shift of her hips when his view was blocked by another tight female body. He looked up and forced his eyes not to roll.

Caith was one of his kind, and beautiful enough with her black hair and those dark eyes. But she was a Brother chaser, always sniffing around, offering herself. He had the sense she saw them as prizes, something to brag about. And how irritating was that.

As far as he was concerned, she put the
itch
in
bitch
.

 

"Hey, Vishous," she said in a low, sexy voice.

 

"Evenin', Caith." V took a sip of his Grey Goose. "What up?"

 

"Wondering what you're doing."

 

Rhage looked around Caith's hips. Thank God the blonde wasn't put off by a little competition. She was still coming toward the table.

 

"You going to say hello, Rhage?" Caith prompted.

 

"Only if you get out of the way. You're blocking my view."

 

The female laughed. "Another of your cast of thousands. How lucky she is."

 

"You wish, Caith."

 

"Yes, I do." Her eyes, predatory and hot, glided over him. "Maybe you'd like to hang with Vishous and me?"

 

As she reached out to stroke his hair, he caught her wrist. "Don't even try it."

 

"How is it you'll do so many humans and deny me?"

 

"Just not interested."

 

She leaned down, talking into his ear. "You should try me sometime."

 

He jerked her away from him, tightening his hand on her bones.

 

"That's right, Rhage, squeeze harder. I like it when it hurts." He let go immediately, and she smiled while rubbing her wrist. "So are you busy, V?"

 

"I'm settling in right now. But maybe a little later."

 

"You know where to find me."

 

When she left, Rhage glanced over at his brother. "I don't know how you can stand her."

V tossed back his vodka, watching the female with hooded eyes. "She has her attributes." The blonde arrived, stopping in front of Rhage and striking a little pose. He put both hands on her hips and pulled her forward so she straddled his thighs.

"Hi," she said, moving against his hold. She was busy looking him over, sizing up his clothes, eyeing the heavy gold Rolex peeking out from under his trench coat's sleeve. The calculation in her eyes was as cold as the center of his chest.

God, if he could have left he would have; he was so sick of this shit. But his body needed the release, demanded it. He could feel his drive rising, and as always, that god-awful bum left his dead heart in the dust.

"What's your name?" he asked.