Dougie dropped his arms. “No, no, this is wrong. No—”
“I think you finally broke your brain, Dougie. But that’s what happens when you feed it twelve hits of lysergic acid diethylamide in a six-hour period. At least you thought it was real this time, though, as opposed to that car-meets-tree thing you did for me.”
Yup, there was absolutely nothing unusual down below in what had to be the center of campus. No dead bodies. No body parts. And no smell, either. Nothing but more abandoned buildings, more cold wind, and more nothing-weird.
“No, no, no…”
As Dougie ran down, she let him go, hanging back and trying to imagine what the place had looked like when it had been operational. It was hard to think that her mother had gone to classes in these buildings. Slept in them. Had that first dance with her father in one of them.
Funny, the past as it had been seemed as inaccessible as the present currently was with both of those people who had adopted her. The three of them had just never clicked, and although being on her own was tough sometimes, it had been a relief to let go of all those exhausting attempts to fake a bond that had never materialized.
“Jo! Come over here!”
When she cupped her ear and pretended she couldn’t hear him, Dougie rushed back up to her with the messianic zeal of a preacher. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her into a descent behind his flapping Army surplus jacket.
“See how everything is trampled over there? See?”
She let herself get dragged over to an admittedly flattened section of the meadow. But a bunch of horizontal long grass and disturbed undergrowth was hardly a scene out of a Wes Craven movie. And it was definitely not whatever was on that video Dougie had insisted she watch over and over again.
She wasn’t sure how to explain everything. But what she was clear on? She really wasn’t going to give herself a brain cramp trying to reconcile it all.
“You saw what I posted!” Dougie said. “And someone took my phone because they don’t want anyone else to see it!”
“You probably just lost the thing—”
“I was up there.” He pointed to the tallest of the brick buildings. “Right there! That’s where I got the footage!”
“Hey, Dougie, no offense, but I have to get to work—”
“Jo, I’m fucking serious.” He pivoted around in a circle. “Fine, explain this. How did everything get crushed here? Huh?”
“For all I know, you and our three roommates ran around in a circle naked. Actually, let’s not even go there on a hypothetical.”
Dougie faced off at her. “Then how did I get the video? Huh?”
“I don’t know, Dougie. Frankly, it’s so grainy, I don’t know what I’m looking at.”
She gave him some time to hop around with all kinds of what-about-this and what-about-that, and then she was done. “Look, I’m really sorry, but I’m leaving. You can come with me or Uber home. Your choice. Oh, wait. No phone. Guess that means walking?”
As she turned away, he said in a surprisingly adult voice, “I’m serious, Jo. It happened. I don’t care what the three of them say. I know when I’m high and when I’m not.”
When Jo stopped and glanced behind herself, his expression turned hopeful.
“Do you mind if I drop you off at the bus stop on Jefferson? I don’t think I have time to take you all the way back.”
Dougie threw his arms up. “Aw, come on, Jo—let me just show you over here…”
“Bus stop it is,” she said. “And remind me of this the next time you drop acid. I want to be prepared.”
FIFTEEN
Sometime later, Mary woke up after a good long rest … and smiled at her decidedly asleep mate. Rhage was out like a light, his eyes closed, one blond brow twitching, his jaw grinding as if maybe he were dreaming of an argument or a pool game. His breathing was deep and even, and yes, he was snoring. Not like a chain saw, though. Or an unmuffled Mustang revving at a red light. Or even anything close to Butch’s wounded-badger routine—which was something you had to hear to believe.
No, the sounds her man let out were more like a Krups coffee pot right as it was finishing a cycle of brewing; the kind of thing that burbled in the background, offering a comforting rhythm of patter that she could sleep through if she wanted to or stay up and listen to if she were stewing again. Come to think of it, his snores were probably the quietest thing about him, considering how heavy his footfalls were, how loud his laugh was, and how much he spoke, especially if he were giving his Brothers a hard time.
All that out-there was just part of what she loved so much about him.
He was always so alive. So very much alive.
Thank God.
As she went for a stretch, she moved slowly against his body so she didn’t wake him up and glanced at the clock across the recovery room. Seven at night. Past sundown.
Given how tired he had to be, he was liable to sleep another four or five hours. Probably better that she head out now and come back when he was awake.
“I’m going to head into Safe Place for a little bit,” she said softly. “You stay with him. Let him know I’ll be back soon, or he can call me?”
She was talking to the beast, of course—and treating that massive, bone-crushing dragon as some kind of social secretary. But it worked. If she had to leave when Rhage was asleep, she always told the beast what she was doing and when she’d be back. That way, Rhage didn’t wake up in a cold sweat that she’d been abducted. Murdered. Or had a slip and fall in the bathroom that had knocked her out and left her bleeding all over the marble floor.
Yeah, bonded males tended to jump to conclusions that were just a liiiiiiiiiiiiiittle over the top.
Mary carefully disengaged herself from Rhage’s hold—only to stop when she was halfway free. Staring down at his unmarred, completely intact sternum, she brushed her fingertips over where the gunshot had been.
“I didn’t say thank you,” she whispered. “You saved him. I owe you … so very much.”
All at once, Rhage’s lids flipped open—but it wasn’t him waking up. His eyes were nothing but white orbs, that telltale illumination of the beast’s consciousness training on her with total focus.
She smiled and brushed her mate’s face, knowing that the dragon would feel her touch. “Thank you. You’re a good boy.”
A quieter version of the affectionate chuff the beast always gave her reverberated up and out of Rhage’s throat.
“Go back to sleep, too, okay? You need your rest as well. You worked hard last night.”
One more chuff … and those lids started to sink. The beast fought the tide like a puppy, but ultimately lost the battle, the snoring returning, the pair of them both reengaging with whatever versions of dreamland they were in.
Leaning down, she kissed her mate’s forehead and smoothed his hair back. Then she padded over to the bathroom and shut the door. As soon as she turned to the counter by the sink, she smiled. Someone—oh, who was she kidding, it had to have been Fritz—had laid out complete changes of clothes for the both of them. As well as toothbrushes, a razor and shaving cream, and shampoo and conditioner.
“Fritz, thy name truly is thoughtfulness.”
And oh, what a shower it was. From time to time, she wondered whether the sounds or scents were going to wake up Rhage, but when she was drying off, she cracked the door and found that, other than having turned to face the bathroom, he remained out cold.
Probably because she’d told the beast what was up.
As she was blowing dry her hair, she wondered where the Volvo had ended up. She had ridden here from the battle in the surgical unit, but surely someone had brought that station wagon back?
Well, she could always take something else to Safe Place.
Fifteen minutes later, she whispered her way across to the door. After a prolonged stare at Rhage, she opened the way out and—
“Oh! God!” she hissed as she recoiled.