The Beast

“Do I look okay?”

Leaning back on the silk sofa, Mary regarded her mate. “Handsome as ever.”

“Will that work in our favor?”

“How can it not?” She kissed his cheek. “Just remember not to come on to her. She’s your best friend’s wife.”

“As if. She’s fine-looking and all, but so are most of the major appliances in Fritz’s kitchen, and I have no interest in humping any of them.”

Mary laughed and gave him another squeeze. Then she resumed feeling like her head was going to explode. “So. Yeah. Anywho . . . you know, I’ve never paid much attention to this room before. It’s nice.”

As Rhage gave her an mmm-hmmm, she glanced around at the shelves of books and the crackling fire and all the rich jewel tones of the carpets, drapes and throw pillows. There was a desk to write at. Sofas to curl up on with a specimen from the collection—or your Kindle, if that was the way you went. A number of oil paintings. And then all kinds of knickknacks that Darius had collected when he’d been alive, from special seashells to rare stones to fossils.

“I can’t breathe.”

As Rhage put his head between his knees, she rubbed his shoulders, comforting herself as she comforted him, too. Probably wasn’t going to help to tell him she was feeling suffocated as well. And a little nauseous.

Marissa came rushing in ten minutes later. “I’m so sorry! I’m sorry I’m—oh, hey, Rhage.”

“Hi.” Rhage cleared his throat and lifted his palm. “Ah . . . hi. Yeah.”

Marissa looked back and forth between them. Then she seemed to compose herself, and closed the doors. “I’d wondered why you wanted to meet here. Now I see.”

“Yeah,” Rhage said. “I can’t . . . well, you know. Go to Safe Place. Which you know . . . because you run it. And—I really need to stop talking here, don’t I.”

Marissa came over toward the fire, her extraordinary beauty seeming to attract all the illumination and warmth from the hearth. As she took a seat on an armchair, she crossed her legs like the perfect lady she was.

Her face was remote, but not cold. She seemed braced.

This was not going to go well, Mary thought with dread.

“So . . . thank you for meeting with us.” Mary took Rhage’s hand. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. Rhage and I have been talking, and we’d like to explore the possibility of adopting, or at the very least, fostering Bitty. Before you say no, I’d like you to consider that I have a clinical background in—”

“Wait.” Marissa put her hands out. “Wait, this is not about . . . you wanting to quit?”

“What?”

Marissa put her hand over her heart and sagged in her seat. “You’re not quitting.”

“No, good God, where did you get that idea?”

“I just thought that I’d offended you during that conversation before Last Meal. I didn’t know whether I’d put my foot in it—I mean, I’m only trying to do right by Bitty and I—” Marissa stopped short. Shook herself. “Did I hear you say adoption?”

Mary took a deep breath. And, man, did she squeeze her hellren’s hand. “Rhage and I talked about it. We want to be parents, and we want to give Bitty a loving home, a place to call her own, a support system that’s more than just professional. As you know, I can’t have children . . . and Bitty truly is an orphan. Even Vishous couldn’t find her uncle.”

Marissa blinked a couple of times. Looked back and forth between the pair of them again. “This is . . . extraordinary.”

Rhage leaned forward. “Is that good or bad?”

“Good. I mean . . .” Marissa sat back and stared at the fire. “It’s wonderful—it’s fantastic. I’m just not sure what we need to do.”

Wait, was that a “yes”? Mary thought as her heart jumped.

“Bitty gets to have an opinion about it,” she said, trying to keep cool. “She’s old enough to have an opinion. And I know that it’s not going to be easy—the adoption process or the parenting. So does Rhage. I guess, though . . . this kind of all starts with you, you know?”

Without any warning, Marissa burst up out of her seat and threw her arms around first Mary, then Rhage. When she sat back down, she fanned the tears in her eyes.

“I think it’s a really great idea!”

Okay, Mary started getting a little misty. And she could not look at Rhage—because if he were tearing up, and she was pretty sure he was, it was game over.

“I’m really glad you’re behind us,” Mary said roughly. “Although I don’t know if we’re suitable—

Marissa’s elegant hand sliced through the air. “I am not worried at all about you two being good parents. And please don’t take any pauses on my part as being unsupportive. I’ve just never had to do anything like this.”

Rhage spoke up. “Saxton knows the legal procedure. He got us some paperwork. I think I need an audience in front of the King as a member of the aristocracy—”

Mary put her hands up, all whoooooa. “Wait, wait, we need to have a formal assessment of us both, first. And we have to do even more due diligence on her mother’s family—and her father’s. And we have to ask her if she’s even interested in all this. It’s very soon after the death of her mother. I don’t want her to think that we’re crowding out her blood family or trying to replace someone who will never be replaced. We need to move slowly and be flexible and remain calm. There’s also one potential problem.”