Mary was downstairs in the billiard room, talking to Fritz about the history of the house, when the doggen's ears picked up a sound she hadn't heard.

"That would be the sires returning."

She went to one of the windows just as a pair of headlights swung around the courtyard.

The Escalade came to a stop, its doors opened, and the men got out. With the hoods on their robes down, she recognized them from the first night she'd come to the mansion. The guy with the goatee and the tattoos at one of his temples. The man with the spectacular hair. The scarred terror and the military officer. The only one she hadn't seen before was a man with long black hair and sunglasses.

God, their expressions were bleak. Maybe someone had been hurt.

She searched for Rhage, trying not to panic.

The group milled around and condensed at the back of the SUV just as someone came out of the gatehouse and held the door open. Mary recognized the guy between the jambs as the one who'd caught the football in the foyer.

With all of the big male bodies crowded in a tight circle at the rear of the Escalade, it was hard to tell what they were doing. But it seemed like some kind of heavy weight was being shifted among them...

A blond head of hair caught the light.

Rhage. Unconscious. And his body was being carried toward that open door.

Mary was out of the mansion before she realized she was running.

"Rhage! Stop! Wait!" Cold air streaked into her lungs. "Rhage!"

At the sound of her voice, he jerked and threw a limp hand out to her. The men stopped. A couple of them cursed.

"Rhage!" She ground to a halt, kicking up pebbles. "What... oh... lord."

There was blood on his face, and his eyes were unfocused from pain.

"Rhage..."

His mouth opened. Worked soundlessly.

One of the men said, "Shit, we might as well take him to his room now."

"Of course you'll take him there! Was he hurt fighting?"

No one answered her. They just changed direction and muscled Rhage through the mansion's vestibule, across the foyer and up the stairs. After they'd laid him on his bed, the guy with the goatee and tattoos on his face smoothed Rhage's hair back.

"Brother, maybe we could bring you something for the pain?"

Rhage's voice was garbled. "Nothing. Better this way. You know rules. Mary... where's Mary?"

She went to the bedside and took his slack hand. As she pressed her lips to his knuckles, she realized the robe was in perfect condition, with no rips or tears. Which meant he hadn't had the thing on when he'd been hurt. And someone had put it back on him.

With a horrible intuition, she reached for the braided leather tie around his waist. She loosened it and pulled the edges or the robe open. From his collarbones to his hips he was covered with white bandages. And blood had welled through, a bright, shocking red.

Afraid to look, needing to know, she gently untaped one corner and lifted.

"Dear God." She swayed and one of the brothers caught her. "How did this happen?"

When the group remained silent, she pushed whoever was holding her up away and looked at them all. They were unmoving, staring at Rhage...

And in as much pain as he was. Sweet Jesus, they couldn't have...

The goateed one met her eyes.

They did.

"You did this," she hissed. "You did this to him!"

"Yes," said the one with the sunglasses. "And it's none of your business."

"You bastards."

Rhage made a sound and then cleared his throat. "Leave us."

"We'll be back to check on you, Hollywood," said the guy with long multicolored hair. "Do you need anything?"

"Other than a skin graft?" Rhage smiled a little and then winced as he shifted on the bed.

While the men went out the door, she glared at their strong backs. Those goddamned... animals.

"Mary?" Rhage murmured. "Mary."

She tried to pull it together. Getting all worked up over those thugs wasn't going to help Rhage right now.

She looked down at him, choked back her fury, and said, "Will you let me call that doctor you talked about? What was his name?"

"No."

She wanted to tell him to lose the tough-guy-bearing-pain-nobly crap. But she knew he'd fight her, and an argument was the last thing he needed.

"Do you want the robe off or on?" she asked.

"Off. If you can stand the sight of me."

"Don't worry about that."

She untied the leather belt and peeled the black silk off him, wanting to scream as he rolled back and forth to help her while grunting in pain. When they were finished getting the thing out from under him, blood seeped down his side.

That beautiful duvet was going to be ruined, she thought, not giving a shit.

"You've lost a lot of blood." She rolled up the heavy robe.

"I know." He closed his eyes, head sinking into the pillow. His naked body was going through a series of flickering seizures, the trembling in his thighs, stomach, and pectorals making the mattress jiggle.

She dumped the robe in the tub and came back. "Did they clean you before they dressed the wounds?"

"I don't know."

"I probably should check at some point."

"Give me an hour. By then the bleeding will stop." He took a deep breath and grimaced. "Mary... they had to."

"What?" She leaned down.

"They had to do this. I don't..." Another breath was followed by a groan. "Don't be angry with them."

Screw. That.

"Mary," he said strongly, his dull eyes focusing on her. "I gave them no choice."

"What did you do?"

"It's over. And you are not to be angry with them." His stare fuzzed out again.

As far as she was concerned, she could be anything the hell she wanted at those bastards.

"Mary?"

"Don't worry." She stroked his cheek, wishing she could wash the blood off of his face. When he flinched at the light contact, she pulled back. "Won't you please let me get you something?"

"Just talk to me. Read to me..."

There were a few contemporary books on the shelves next to his DVD wasteland, and she went over to the hardcovers. She grabbed a Harry Potter, the second one, and pulled a chair up next to the bed. It was hard to concentrate at first because she kept measuring his respiration, but eventually she found a rhythm and so did he. His breathing slowed and the spasms stopped.

When he was asleep, she closed the book. His forehead was wrinkled, his lips pale and tight. She hated that the pain was with him even in the rest he'd found.

Mary felt the years peel away.

She saw her mother's yellow bedroom. Smelled disinfectant. Heard labored, desperate breaths.

Here she was again, she thought. Another bedside. Another's suffering. Helpless.

She looked around the room, eyes landing on the Madonna and Child over the dresser. In this context the painting was art, not icon, part of a museum-quality collection and used only as decoration.

So she didn't have to hate the damn thing. And she wasn't scared of it, either.

The Madonna statue in her mother's room had been different. Mary had despised it, and the instant Cissy Luce's body had left the house, that piece of plaster had been in the garage. Mary hadn't had the heart to break it, but she'd wanted to.

The next morning she'd taken the thing to Our Lady and dropped it off. Same with the crucifix. As she'd driven out of the church's parking lot, the triumph she'd felt, the veritable fuck you to God, had been heady, the only good feeling that came to her for a long time. The rush hadn't lasted, though. When she'd returned to the house, all she'd seen was the shadow on the wall where the cross had been and the dust-free spot on the floor where the statue had stood.

Two years later, to the very day she'd dropped those objects of devotion off, she'd been diagnosed with leukemia.

Logically she knew she wasn't cursed because she'd dumped the things. There were 365 days to hit on the calendar, and like a ball on a roulette wheel, the announcement of her disease had had to land on one of them. In her heart, though, she sometimes believed otherwise. Which made her hate God even more.

Hell... He didn't have time to spare a miracle for her mother, who'd been faithful. But He went out of His way to punish a sinner like her. Go figure.

"You ease me," Rhage said.

Her eyes snapped to his. She cleared her head by taking his hand. "How are you?"

"Better. Your voice soothes me."

It had been the same with her mother, she thought. Her mother had like the sound of her talking, too.

"You want something to drink?" she asked.

"What were you thinking about just now?"

"Nothing."

He closed his eyes.

"Would you like me to wash you?" she said.

When he shrugged, she went to the bathroom and came back with a warm, damp washcloth and a dry bath towel. She cleaned his face and gently worked around the edges of the bandages.

"I'm going to take these off, okay?"

He nodded and she carefully peeled the tape from his skin. She pulled the gauze and padding back.

Mary shuddered, bile rising up into her mouth.

He'd been whipped. It was the only explanation for the marks.

"Oh... Rhage." Tears clouded her eyes, but she didn't allow them to fall. "I'm just going to change the dressing. This is too... tender to wash yet. Do you have¡ª"

"Bathroom. Floor-to-ceiling cupboard to the right of the mirror."

Standing in front of the cabinet, she was daunted by the supplies he kept on hand. Surgical kits. Plaster for broken bones. Bandages of all kinds. Tape. She took what she thought she'd need and went back to him. Ripping open sterile packs of twelve-inch gauze pads, she laid them on his chest and stomach and figured she'd just let them sit there. There was no way she could lift his torso off the mattress to wrap him up, and taping them all together would involve too much fiddling around.

As she patted down the lower left section of bandages, Rhage jerked. She glanced at him. "Did I hurt you?"

"Funny question."

"I'm sorry?"

His eyes flipped open, his stare hard. "You don't even know, do you?"

Clearly not. "Rhage, what do you need?"

"For you to talk to me."

"Okay. Let me finish here."

As soon as she was done, she opened up the book. He cursed.

Confused, she reached for his hand. "I don't know what you want."

"It's not that tough to figure out." His voice was weak but indignant. "Christ, Mary, can you at least once let me in?"

There was a knock across the room. They both glared at the sound.

"I'll be right back," she said.

When she opened the door, the man with the goatee was on the other side. He had a silver tray weighed down with food balanced on one hand.

"I'm Vishous, by the way. Is he awake?"

"Hey, V," Rhage said.

Vishous walked right past her and put the meal on the dresser. As he headed for the bed, she wished she were as big as he was so she could keep him out of the room.

The guy propped his hip on the side of the mattress. "How you doing, Hollywood?"

"I'm okay."

"Pain fading yet?"

"Yeah."

"So you're healing up good."

"Can't happen fast enough for me." Rhage closed his eyes in exhaustion.

Vishous stared down at him for a moment, lips drawn thin. "I'll come back later, my brother. All right?"

"Thanks, man."

The guy turned around and met her eyes, which couldn't have been easy. At the moment, she was wishing he had a taste of the pain he'd inflicted. And she knew the desire for vengeance was showing in her face.

"Tough cookie, aren't you?" Vishous murmured.

"If he's your brother, why did you hurt him?"

"Mary, don't," Rhage cut in hoarsely. "I told you¡ª"

"You told me nothing." She squeezed her eyes shut. It was not fair to yell at him when he was flat on his back with a chest that looked like a grid map.

"Maybe we should just let it all out," Vishous said.

Mary crossed her arms over her chest. "Now there's an idea. Why don't you tell me the whole damn thing? Help me understand why you did this to him."

Rhage spoke up. "Mary, I don't want you to¡ª"

"So tell me. If you don't want me to hate them, then explain this to me."

Vishous looked over to the bed, and Rhage must have nodded or shrugged, because the man said, "He betrayed the Brotherhood to be with you. He had to make amends if he wanted to stay with us and keep you here."

Mary stopped breathing. This was all for her? Because of her?

Oh, God. He'd allowed himself to be whipped raw for her...

I'll make it safe for you, how about that?

She had absolutely no context for this kind of sacrifice.

For the pain he was enduring for her. For what had been done to him by people who supposedly cared for him.

"I can't... I feel a little light-headed. Will you excuse..."

She backed away, hoping to stumble into the bathroom, but Rhage struggled up on the bed, as if he were going to come after her.

"No, you stay there, Rhage." She went back to him, sitting down in the chair and stroking his hair. "Stay where you are. Shh... Easy, big man."

When he'd relaxed a little, she looked at Vishous. "I don't understand any of this."

"Why would you?"

The vampire's eyes were steady on hers, the silver depths somehow frightening. She focused on the tattoo that bled out onto his face for a moment and then glanced at Rhage. She brushed his hair with her fingertips and murmured until he slid back into sleep.

"Did it hurt you to do this to him?" she demanded softly, knowing Vishous hadn't left. "Tell me it hurt you."

She heard a whispering of cloth. When she glanced over her shoulder, Vishous had taken off his shirt. On his muscular chest there was a fresh wound, a slice, as if a blade had cut into his skin.

"It killed each one of us."

"Good."

The vampire smiled rather fiercely. "You understand us better than you think. And that food is not just for him when he wants it. I brought it for you, too."

Yeah, well, she didn't want anything from them. "Thank you. I'll see that he eats."

Vishous paused on his way out. "Have you told him about your name?"

Her head snapped around. "What?"

"Rhage. Does he know?"

Shivers crept up the back of her neck. "Obviously he knows my name."

"No, the why of it. You might tell him." Vishous frowned. "And no, I didn't find out on the Internet. How could I?"

Good lord, that had been exactly what was going through her... "Do you read minds?"

"When I want to and sometimes when I have no choice." Vishous left, shutting the door quietly.

Rhage tried to roll over onto his side and woke up with a moan. "Mary?"

"I'm right here." She placed his hand between both of hers.

"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.

The vampire was chanting, his voice rising and falling, skipping octaves, soaring high, falling low. Beautiful. Utterly beautiful. And Rhage was relaxed, resting peacefully in a way he hadn't before.

She quickly crossed the room and went out in the hall, leaving the men alone.