The Beast
But there was one thing he knew for damn sure.
If by some miracle they were called upon by fate to step up to the plate for that little girl? He was going to be there without hesitation. And he knew without asking that his Mary was going to be the same.
Parents.
It would be a miracle.
* * *
Mary was surprised by the great, yawning chasm of pain that had opened up in the center of her chest.
And as she thought about it all, she decided, yes, it was entirely possible that she might have been sublimating the whole child-less thing . . . self-medicating an unacknowledged agony with honest good works that served those who needed help during their most vulnerable moments.
With a shudder, she leaned forward and Rhage was there to catch her as she fell off the chair and into his lap on the floor. As his arms wrapped around her and held her close, she hugged that folder full of papers as tightly as she could.
It had been too terrifying to admit to herself, or to Rhage, the idea that had been kindling in her heart over the last year. But a maternal yearning had taken root at some point along the journey with Bitty—although Mary had been careful never to infringe or intrude upon the true mother/daughter bond, or even acknowledge her feelings in her own mind.
She had, however, from time to time, wondered what the little girl would do if she were left alone in the world.
And yes, there might have been an occasional daydream about bringing her into their lives.
It was no doubt why, on the night of the death, Mary had driven toward the compound and the mansion instead of Safe Place.
But she had known that such feelings were not appropriate or professional, so she had said nothing, done nothing, acted no differently than she did around the other young she worked with.
Her heart had been on another page, though.
Easing back, she looked up into Rhage’s handsome face. “What did Vishous say about the uncle?”
Even though she’d thought she’d heard him tell her that V had come up with nothing also.
“He said he could find no one by that name. And no formally recorded details of Bitty, her mother, or any family, either.” Rhage wiped beneath her eyes with his thumbs; then dried her tears on his sweatshirt. “She really is orphaned.”
They were quiet for a while. And then Mary said, “It won’t all be fun trips to the ice cream parlor.”
“I know.”
“And she might not want to come live with us.”
“I know.”
“But you like her, right? She’s special, right?”
“Very.” He laughed in a short burst. “I think I decided I wanted to adopt her when she ordered that waffle cone.”
“What?”
“Long story. But it just . . . it kind of feels like it’s supposed to be.”
“That’s what I think.”
Rhage moved around so that he was leaning back against the wall, and she settled in between his legs, easing up against his chest. Maybe they should have moved over to the bed. It would have been more comfortable, after all. But the sense that some tremendous shift was occurring in their lives made it seem safer to stay on the ground—just in case the earthquake happening for both of them on an emotional level translated into the physical world somehow.
The damn thing would level the mansion into a pile of rubble.
“This is going to be a process, Rhage. It can’t happen overnight. There are going to have to be things we need to do, together and apart, to make sure this is real.”
But all that was just rhetoric.
In her heart, as far as she was concerned, the decision had been made.
Mary sat up and twisted around. “Do you want to be her father? I mean, I know where I stand—”
“It would be my honor and privilege.” He placed his dagger hand over his heart as he spoke in the Old Language. “It would be a duty that I would seek to fulfill all the nights I am upon this earth.”
Mary took a deep breath. And then cursed. “We’re going to have to explain to her what . . . I am. What you have.”
Oh, God, what if his beast and her . . . existential situation . . . precluded them from being prospective parents? And who made that decision? And where did they go to figure out how to do this?
With a groan, she fell back against Rhage’s strength. And it was funny . . . as she felt the pads of his muscles all around her, she knew that he would stand beside her for however long it took, never ducking from a challenge, pressing on with purpose and focus, going until they crossed the finish line.
That was just how he was made. He didn’t quit. Ever.
“I love you,” she said as she stared straight ahead.
“I love you, too.” He tucked her hair behind her ear and massaged her shoulders. “And, Mary . . . it’s all going to be okay. I promise.”
“They might not let us have her. Even if she wants us.”
“Why?”
“You know why. We’re not exactly ‘normal,’ Rhage.”
“Who is?”
“People who are alive in the conventional sense. And don’t have a beast who lives inside their body.”
As he fell silent, she felt bad, as if she’d ruined something. But they needed to be realistic.
Except Rhage just shrugged. “So we’ll get counseling. Or some shit.”
Mary laughed a little. “Counseling?”
“Sure. What the hell. I can talk about how I feel about the beast. And maybe he can eat a couple of counselors so he can internalize their constructive comments. I mean, jeez, acupuncture the fuck out of me and maybe the dragon will turn into a bunny or a titmouse or—”