ary stared at the Chosen's outstretched hand and then looked at Rhage. His face was grim, his body tense.

"Will you not help him?" Layla asked.

Taking a deep breath, Mary went forward and placed her palm against the one extended toward her.

Layla tugged her down and smiled a little. "I know you are nervous, but worry not, it will be over quickly. Then I will go and it will just be you and him. You can hold each other and banish me from your thoughts."

"How can you stand to be... used like this?" Mary said.

Layla frowned. "I am providing what is needed, not being used. And how can I not give to the Brotherhood? They protect us so that we may live. They give us our daughters so that our traditions may continue... or at least, they used to. Of late our numbers dwindle, because the brothers no longer come to us. We are in desperate need of children, but by law we may breed only with members of the Brotherhood." She glanced up at Rhage. "That is why I was selected tonight. I am close to my needing, and we had hoped that you would take me."

"I will not lie with you," Rhage said softly.

"I know. And still I will serve you."

Mary closed her eyes, imagining the kind of child Rhage could give a woman. As her hand found her flat stomach, she tried to picture growing swollen and heavy. The joy would be overwhelming; she was quite sure. Because the pain of knowing that would never happen was tremendous.

"So, warrior, what will you do? Will you take what I am pleased to give? Or will you run the risk of hurting your mate?"

As Rhage hesitated, Mary realized the only solution they had was right in front of him. He needed to do this.

"Drink," she commanded him.

He met her eyes. "Mary?"

"I want you to feed. Now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

There was a heartbeat of frozen silence. Then he dropped to the floor in front of Layla again. As he leaned forward, the woman lifted her sleeve and laid her arm down on her thigh. The veins on the inside of her wrist were pale blue underneath white skin.

Rhage reached for Mary's hand as he opened his mouth. His fangs elongated, growing three times as long as usual. With a slight hissing sound, he bent down and put his mouth on Layla. The woman jerked and then relaxed.

Rhage's thumb stroked over Mary's wrist, his hand warm against hers. She couldn't see exactly what he was doing, but the subtle movement of his head suggested sucking. When he squeezed her palm, she returned the gesture weakly. The whole experience was too foreign, and he was right: There was a shocking intimacy to it.

"Stroke him," Layla whispered. "He's about to stop, and it's too soon. He hasn't taken enough."

Numbly, Mary reached out and put her free hand on his head. "It's all right. I'm fine."

When Rhage made a movement to sit back, as if he knew she was lying, she thought of everything he was willing to go through for her, everything he'd been through for her.

Mary held his head in place, pushing down. "Take your time. Really, everything's okay."

As she squeezed his palm, his shoulders eased up and he moved closer to her, shifting his body around. She parted her legs so that he could settle between them, his chest resting on her thigh, his broad back dwarfing her. She ran her hand through his blond hair, its thick, smooth waves sinking in between her fingers.

And all of a sudden, the whole thing wasn't that weird.

Even though she could feel the pulls he was taking on Layla's vein, Rhage's body against her own was familiar, and the rubbing on her wrist told her he was thinking of her while he was feeding. She looked over at Layla. The woman was watching him, but the concentration on her face was clinical.

Mary remembered what he'd said about the drinking: that if he bit her, she would feel his pleasure. Clearly there was none being exchanged between him and the Chosen. Both of their bodies were still, calm. Not in the throes of any kind of passion.

Layla's eyes shifted up and she smiled. "He's doing well. Just another minute or so."

Then it was done. Rhage lifted his head slightly and turned to Mary's body, easing into the cradle of her hips, putting his arms around her. He rested his face on her thigh, and though she couldn't see his expression, his muscles were slack, his breathing deep and even.

She glanced at Layla's wrist. There were two puncture wounds and a red blush, only a little trickle of blood.

"He'll need a little time to collect himself," Layla said as she licked herself and then rolled down her sleeve. She got to her feet.

Mary rubbed Rhage's back while looking at the woman. "Thank you."

"You are so very welcome."

"Will you come again when he needs you?"

"The two of you would want me? Me, specifically?"

Mary steeled herself against the woman's thrill. "Yes, I, ah, I think we would."

Layla absolutely glowed, her eyes alive with happiness.

"Mistress, it would be my honor." She bowed. "He knows how to summon me. Call upon me at any time."

The woman left the room with a spring in her step.

As the door shut, Mary bent down and kissed Rhage's shoulder. He stirred. Lifted his head a little. Then he rubbed his mouth with his palm, as if he didn't want her to see any blood that might be on him.

When he looked up at her, his eyelids were low, his bright teal gaze a little fuzzy.

"Hi," she said, stroking his hair back.

He smiled that special smile of his, the one that made him look like an angel. "Hi."

She touched his lower lip with her thumb. "Did she taste good?" When he hesitated, she said, "Be honest with me."

"She did. But I would rather it have been you, and I thought of you the entire time. I imagined it was you."

Mary leaned down and licked his mouth. As his eyes flared in surprise, she slid her tongue inside of him and caught a hint of the lingering flavor, a sweet red wine.

"Good," she murmured against his lips. "I want you to think of me when you do that."

He put his hands on the sides of her neck, his thumbs right over her veins. "Always."

His mouth found hers and she grabbed onto his shoulders, urging him closer. As he pulled up the bottom of her sweater, she lifted her arms so he could get it off her and then let herself fall back on the bed. He took off her pants and her panties and then did away with his own clothes.

He loomed over her, picking her up with one arm and putting her farther back on the bed. His thigh came between her legs and then his body pressed hers into the mattress, that heavy arousal running up the very center of her. She undulated against him, stroking herself, stroking him.

His mouth moved urgently as they kissed, but he entered her slowly, parting her gently, stretching her, joining them together. He was thick and hard and heavenly and he moved languidly, deeply. That delicious dark scent came out of his skin, saturating her.

"I will have no other," he said against her throat. "I will take none but you."

Mary wrapped her legs around his hips, trying to have him so far inside that he could stay with her forever.

John followed Tohrment through the house. There were a lot of rooms, and all the furniture and decorations were really nice, really old. He paused by a painting of a mountain scene. A little brass nameplate on the gilt frame read Frederic Church. He wondered who that was and decided the guy was awfully good at what he did.

Down at the end of a hallway, Tohrment opened a door and turned on a light. "I put your suitcase in here already."

John walked inside. The walls and ceiling were painted dark blue and there was a big bed with a sleek headboard and lots of fat pillows. There was also a desk and a bureau. And a set of sliding glass doors that opened onto a terrace.

"Bathroom's through here." Tohrment turned on another light

John put his head in and saw a whole lot of dark blue marble. The shower was glassed in and... wow, there were four heads for the water to come out.

"If you need anything Wellsie is here, and I'll be back around four A.M. We go downstairs about that time every night. If you need us during the day, just pick up any phone and dial pound one. We'd be happy to see you anytime. Oh, and we have two doggen, or staff, who help out around here, Sal and Regine. Both of them know you're with us now.

They show up around five-ish. If you need to go out, just ask them to take you."

John went over to the bed and touched a pillowcase. It was so soft, he could barely feel it.

"You're going to be fine here, son. It might take some getting used to, but you're going to be fine."

John looked across the room. Shoring up his courage, he walked over to Tohrment and opened his mouth. Then he pointed up to the man.

"You sure you want to do this now?" Tohrment murmured.

When John nodded, Tohrment slowly parted his lips. And bared a set of fangs.

Oh... man. Oh...

John swallowed and put his fingers to his own mouth.

"Yeah, you're going to get them, too. Sometime in the next couple of years." Tohrment crossed the room and sat on the bed, plugging his elbows into his knees. "We go through the change around age twenty-five. After that you're going to need to drink to survive. And I'm not talking about milk, son."

John cocked his eyebrows, wondering from whom.

"We'll find you a female to get you through the change, and I'll tell you what to expect. It's no party, but once you have it behind you, you'll be so strong, you'll think it was all worth it."

John's eyes flared as he measured Tohrment. Abruptly he spread his hands apart horizontally and lengthwise, then put his thumb to his own chest.

"Yeah, you'll be my size, too."

John mouthed the words get out.

"Really. That's why the transition is a bitch. Your body goes through a big change in a period of hours. Afterward you're going to have to relearn things, how to walk, how to move." Tohr looked down at himself. "These bodies of ours are hard to control at first."

John absently rubbed his chest, where the circular scar was.

Tohrment's eyes tracked the movement.

"I have to be honest with you, son. There's a lot we don't know about you. For one thing, there's no telling how much of us is in your blood. And we have no clue what line you descend from. As for that scar, I can't explain it. You say you've had the thing all your life, and I believe you, but that marking is given, not something we're born with."

John took out his paper and wrote, Everyone has it?

"No. Just my brothers and me. That's why Bella brought you to us."

Who are you? John wrote.

"The Black Dagger Brotherhood. We're warriors, son. We fight to keep the race alive, and that's what we're going to train you to do. The other males in your class will become soldiers, but you, with that marking, you may end up being one of us. I don't know." Tohrment rubbed the back of his neck. "Sometime soon I'm going to take you to meet Wrath. He's the boss in charge, our King. I'd also like to have you checked out by our doctor, Havers. He might be able to get a read on your bloodline. Would that be cool with you?"

John nodded.

"I'm glad we found you, John. If we hadn't you'd have died, because there would have been no one to give you what you needed."

John went over and sat down next to Tohrment.

"You got anything you want to ask me?"

John nodded, but couldn't marshal his thoughts into any coherent pattern.

"Tell you what, you think on it tonight. We'll talk more tomorrow."

John was dimly aware that his head was nodding in response. Tohrment got up and walked to the door. From out of nowhere a bullet of panic ricocheted through John's chest. The idea of being alone seemed terrifying, even though he was in a pretty house, with kind people, in a very safe area. He just felt... so very small.

Tohrment's shitkickers came into his line of sight.

"Hey, John, maybe I'll hang for a while in here with you. You like that? We can channel surf."

Thank you, he signed without thinking, I feel a little weird.

"I'll take that as a yes." Tohrment propped himself up on the pillows, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. "Vishous, one of my brothers, wired this house. I think we get about seven hundred stations on this thing. What do you like to watch?"

John shrugged and shuffled back against the headboard.

Tohrment clicked around until he found Terminator 2. "You like?"

John whistled softly through his teeth and nodded.

"Yeah, me, too. This is a classic, and Linda Hamilton is hot."