he were no more an obstacle in her path than a throw rug.
“Jesus Christ. Fine, lose your dinner.”
As he stalked down to the bathroom, he could smell the blood all the way out in the hall. This was a nasty one, and he really wished Beth weren't so hell-bent on seeing for herself.
He pushed the door open, and Rhage looked up. The vampire's arm was hanging over the sink. There was blood everywhere, a dark pool on the floor, a little pond on the counter.
“Rhage, man, what's up?”
“Sliced and diced. Lesser got me a good one, right through a vein, down to the bone. I'm leaking like a sieve.”
In a blurry composite. Wrath caught the movement of Rhage's hand going down to his shoulder and up into the air. Down to his shoulder, up into the air.
“Did you get him?”
“Hell, yeah.”
“Oh… my… God,” Beth said. “Oh, dear God. Is he stitching—”
“Hey, who's the cutie?” Rhage said, pausing on the upstroke.
There was a strangled sound, and Wrath moved, blocking Beth's view with his bodv.
“Need help?” he asked, even though both he and his brother knew he had nothing to offer. He couldn't see well enough to close his own wounds, much less someone else's. The fact that he had to rely on his brothers or Fritz to tend to him was a weakness he despised.
“No, thanks.” Rhage laughed. “I'm a good little sewer, as you know firsthand. Now who's your friend?”
“Beth Randall, this is Rhage. An associate of mine. Rhage, this is Beth, and she doesn't do movie stars, got it?”
“Loud and clear.” Rhage leaned to one side, trying to see around Wrath. “Nice to meet you, Beth.”
“Are you sure you don't want to go to a hospital?” she said weakly.
“Nah. This one's just messy. When you can use your large intestine as a belt loop, that's when you hit the pros.”
A croaking sound came out of Beth's mouth.
“I'm going to take her downstairs,” Wrath said.
“Oh, yes, please,” she murmured. “I'd really like to go down… stairs.”
He put his arm around her, and he knew how affected she was by the way she melted into his body. It felt so good to have her relying on him for strength.
Too good, actually.
“You cool?” Wrath said to his brother.
“Damn straight. I'm leaving as soon as this is done. Got three jars to collect.”
“Nice tally.”
“Would have been more if this little gift hadn't come by air mail. No wonder you like those stars so much.” Rhage moved his hand around, as if he were tying a knot. “You should know Tohr and the twins are”—he grabbed a pair of scissors off the counter and snipped the thread—“continuing our work from last night. They should be back in a couple hours to report in, just as you asked.”
“Tell them to knock first.”
Rhage nodded and had the sense not to follow up with any commentary.
As Wrath led Beth down the hall, he found himself stroking her shoulder. Her back. Then he curled his hand around her waist, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh. She fit well against him, her head coming up to his chest, resting on his pectoral as they moved together.
Too comfortable. Too familiar, he thought. Way too good.
He held on to her anyway.
And even as he did, he wished he could take back what he'd said to her on that sidewalk. About her being his.
Because that wasn't true. He didn't want to take her as his shellan. He'd been worked up, jealous. Picturing that cop's hands all over her. Pissed off that he hadn't killed the human after all. The words had slipped out.
Ah, hell . The female did something to his brain. Somehow managed to unplug his well-developed self-control and put him in touch with his inner fricking psycho.
It was a connection he wanted to avoid.
After all, fits of insanity were Rhage's specialty.
And the brothers didn't need another hair-trigger loose cannon in the group.
Beth closed her eyes and leaned against Wrath, trying to shut out the picture of that gaping wound. The effort was like blocking sunlight with her hands: Parts of the image kept seeping through. All that bright red, shiny blood, the raw, dark pink muscle, the shocking white of bone. And that needle. Puncturing the skin, pulling the flesh out to a point, breaking through with the black thread—
She opened her eyes.
Open was better.
No matter what the man said, that was no little scrape he was dealing with. He needed to go to the hospital. And she would