"Ah, yeah, that's not... She's not here to... Ah, the three of us are not going to - " Good lord, Rhage was blushing. "Mary is here because I will have no other female, but I must feed, do you understand?" Rhage cursed and got to his feet. "This isn't going to work. I don't feel right about this."
Layla's eyes flashed. "You say you must feed, but you are unable to take her vein. I am here. I am willing. It would please me to give to you what you need. Why should you feel uncomfortable? Or perhaps you want to wait longer? Until the hunger consumes you and the danger is upon your mate?"
Rhage shoved his hand into his hair. Grabbed a chunk. Pulled at it.
Layla crossed her legs, the gown splitting open to her thigh. She was a picture, sitting on that lush bed, so proper and yet so incredibly sexual.
"Have the traditions faded from your mind, warrior? I know it has been a long time, but how can you feel unsettled about my attending you? It is one of my duties, and I find great honor in it." Layla shook her head. "Or shall I say, I used to. We used to. The Chosen have suffered these centuries. None of the Brotherhood call upon us anymore, we are unwanted, unused. When you finally reached out, we were so pleased."
"I'm sorry." Rhage glanced at Mary. "But I cannot - "
"It is her that you worry about most, is it not?" Layla murmured. "You worry what she will think if she sees you at my wrist."
"She is not used to our ways."
The woman held her hand out. "Mistress, come sit with me so he can look upon you while he drinks, so he can feel your touch and smell you, so that you will be a part of this. Otherwise he will refuse me, and then where will the two of you be?" When there was only silence and Mary stayed put, the woman motioned impatiently. "Surely you realize he will not drink otherwise. You must do this for him."
"So this is it," Tohrment said as he parked the Rover in front of a sleek, modern house.
They were in a section of town John was unfamiliar with, where the houses were set back from the street and far away from each other. There were lots of black iron gates and rolling lawns, and the trees weren't just maples and oaks, but fancy kinds, the names of which he didn't know.
John closed his eyes, wishing he weren't wearing a shirt that had a missing button. Maybe if he kept his arm around his stomach, Tohrment's wife wouldn't notice.
God... what if they had kids? Who'd make fun of him...
Do you have children? John signed without thinking.
"What's that, son?"
John fumbled in his pockets for some folded-up sheets of paper. When he found his Bic, he wrote quickly and turned the paper around.
Tohrment went very still and looked up at his house, that hard face tensing as if he were afraid of what was inside.
"We might have a child. In a little over a year. My Wellsie's pregnant, but our females have a very difficult time in childbirth." Tohrment shook his head, lips growing tight. "As you get older, you'll learn to fear pregnancy. It's a goddamn shellan robber. Frankly, I'd rather have no kids than lose her." The man cleared his throat. "Anyway, let's head in. We'll eat, and then I'll take you on a full tour of the training center."
Tohrment hit the garage door opener and got out. While John tugged the suitcase from the backseat, the man took the ten-speed out of the rear. They walked into the garage and Tohrment flipped on the lights.
"I'm going to leave your bike here against the wall, okay?"
John nodded and looked around. There was a Volvo station wagon and... a 1960's-era Corvette Sting Ray convertible.
John could only stare.
Tohrment laughed softly. "Why don't you go over and say hello to her?"
John dropped his suitcase and walked up to the Vette in a daze of love. He reached out, wanting to stroke the smooth metal, but then took his hand back.
"No, touch her. She likes the attention."
Oh, the car was beautiful. A shiny, metallic ice blue. And the top was down so he could see inside. The white seats were gorgeous. The steering wheel gleamed. The dashboard was all dials. He was willing to bet it sounded like thunder when the engine was started. Probably smelled like fresh oil when you put the heater on.
He glanced up at Tohrment, thinking his eyes were going pop. He wished he could talk, just to tell the man how special the car was.
"Yeah, she's a looker, isn't she? Restored her myself. I'm about to put her up on blocks for the winter, but maybe we'll take her to the center tonight, how about that? It's chilly, but we can pile on the coats."
John beamed. And kept on grinning as the man's heavy arm came around his thin shoulders.
"Let's feed you, son."
Tohrment picked up the suitcase and they headed for the door John's bike was next to. As they walked into the house, the smell of Mexican food wafted, spicy and rich.
John's nose was thrilled. His stomach rolled. Holy hell, he wasn't going to be able to eat any of that kind of stuff. What if Tohrment's wife got upset... ?
A stunning redhead stepped into their paths. She was easily six feet tall, had skin as fine as white china, and was wearing a loose yellow dress. Her hair was just incredible, a flowing river of waves falling from the crown of her head way down her back.
John put an arm around his middle, hiding the buttonhole.
"How's my hellren?" the woman said, lifting her mouth for Tohrment's kiss.
"I'm good, leelan. Wellsie, this is John Matthew. John, this is my shellan."
"Welcome, John." She offered her hand. "I'm so happy you'll be staying with us."
John shook her palm and quickly put his arm back in place.
"Come on, boys. Dinner's ready."
The kitchen was all cherry cupboards, granite counter-tops, and glossy black appliances. A round glass-and-iron table set with three places was in a windowed alcove. Everything looked brand-new.
"You two go sit," Wellsie said." I'll bring the food."
He looked to the sink. It was white porcelain with a graceful brass faucet rising up high.
"You want to wash your hands?" she said. "Go right ahead."
There was a bar of soap in a little dish, and he was careful to clean everywhere, even under his fingernails. After he and Tohrment sat down, Wellsie came over with plates and bowls heaping with food. Enchiladas. Quesadillas. She went back for more.
"Now, that's what I'm talking about," Tohrment said as he served himself, piling his plate high. "Wellsie, this looks fantastic."
John eyed the display. There was nothing he could stomach on the table. Maybe he could just tell them he ate earlier...
Wellsie put a bowl down in front of him. It was filled with white rice that had some kind of pale sauce on it. The aroma was delicate, but appealing.
"This will ease your stomach. It's got ginger in it," she said. "And the sauce is high in fat, which will help you put on some weight. For your dessert, I've made banana pudding. It goes down easy and has lots of calories in it."
John stared at the food. She knew. She knew exactly what he couldn't eat. And what he could.
The bowl in front of him got blurry. He blinked quickly. Then frantically.
Squeezing his mouth shut, he tightened his hands in his lap until his knuckles cracked. He was not going to cry like a child. He refused to disgrace himself like that.
Wellsie's voice was quiet. "Tohr? You want to give us a minute?"
There was the sound of a chair moving back, and then John felt a solid hand on his shoulder. The weight lifted and heavy footfalls sounded out of the room.
"You can let go now. He's gone."
John closed his eyes and sagged, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Wellsie pulled a chair over to him. With slow, sweeping motions, she rubbed his back.
He felt so blessed that Tohrment had come and found him just in the nick of time. That this house he was going to stay in was so nice and clean. That Wellsie had made him something special, something his stomach could tolerate.
That they'd both let him have his pride.
John felt himself get pulled to one side and then he was being hugged. Rocked.
Parched, he soaked up the kindness.
A little later he lifted his head and felt a napkin get put in his hand. He wiped his face, threw his shoulders back, and looked at Wellsie.
She smiled. "Better?"
He nodded.
"I'm going to go get Tohr, okay?"
John nodded again and picked up a fork. When he tried the rice, he moaned. It didn't have much of a taste, but when it hit his stomach, instead of spasms he felt a wonderful loosening in his gut. It was as if the stuff had been specifically calibrated for what his digestive system needed.