A knock on the door to her office brought Marissa’s eyes around. “Yes?”
Over the phone, the female said, “Wonderful! You can come to my estate—”
“No, no. There’s someone who needs me.” She spoke up louder. “Come on in.”
The moment she saw the expression on Mary’s face, she cursed. Not good news. Rhage’s shellan was a consummate professional, so for her to look like that? It was really a problem—
Was that blood on her shirt?
Marissa dropped her tone and cut the politeness. “My answer is no. My job requires all my time. Besides, if you’re this passionate, you should take the job. Good-bye.”
Dropping the phone back in the cradle, she got to her feet. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve got an intake who needs medical assistance STAT. I can’t reach Doc Jane or Ehlena anywhere. I don’t know what to do.”
Marissa rushed around the desk. “Where is she?”
“Downstairs.”
The pair of them hit the stairwell at a run, Marissa in the lead. “How did she come to us?”
“I don’t know. One of the security cameras picked her up out on the lawn, crawling.”
“What?”
“My cell phone went off with an alert, and I ran out there with Rhym. We carried her into the parlor.”
Rounding the corner at the bottom, Marissa skidded on one of the throw rugs …
And stopped altogether.
When she saw the condition of the female on the sofa, she put one hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear God…” she whispered.
Blood. There was blood everywhere, on the floor in drips, soaking through white towels pressed to wounds, pooling under one of the female’s feet on the carpet.
The girl had been beaten so badly there was no way to identify her, her features so swollen that, if she hadn’t had long hair and a torn skirt, you wouldn’t even have known what sex she was. One arm was clearly dislocated, the limb hanging badly from the shoulder … and she had only the left high-heeled shoe on, her stockings shredded.
Her breathing was bad, very bad. Nothing but a rattling in her chest, as if she were drowning in her own blood.
Rhym, the intake supervisor, looked up from where she had crouched by the couch. Through the tears in her eyes, she whispered, “I don’t think she’s going to live. How can she live…?”
Marissa had to pull herself together. It was the only option. “Doc Jane and Ehlena are both unreachable?” she said in a hoarse voice.
“I’ve tried the mansion,” Mary replied. “The clinic. Their cell phones. Two times in all places.”
For a split second, Marissa was terrified about what that meant for her own life. Were the Brothers in medical trouble? Was Butch okay?
That lasted only a moment. “Give me your phone—and get the residents into the Wellsie annex. I want everyone there in case I have to bring a male in.”
Mary tossed over her phone and nodded. “I’m on it.”
Safe Place was exactly that—a safe place for female victims of domestic violence to come for shelter and rehabilitation with their young. And after Marissa had spent countless, useless centuries in the glymera, being nothing but the unclaimed betrothed of the King, she had found her calling here, in service to those who had been at best verbally abused, at worst, horrifically treated.
Males were not allowed inside.
But to save the life of this female here, she would break that rule.
Answer your phone, Manny, she thought as the first ring sounded. Answer your damn phone …
Chapter Two
It wasn’t the whole Black Dagger Brotherhood.
In fact, there were only two Brothers with the King.
As Abalone, First Adviser to Wrath, son of Wrath, sire of Wrath, entered the audience room to stand before his ruler, he was acutely aware of the other males. He had never known any of those warriors to be aught than protective and civilized, but considering he was about to turn his only blooded offspring over to them, their more obvious attributes were like screams in the night.
The Brother Vishous was staring at him with diamond eyes that didn’t blink, those tattoos at his left temple seeming properly sinister, his muscle-roped body clad in leather and stung with weapons. By his side was Butch, a.k.a. the Dhestroyer—a former human with a Boston accent who had been infected by the Omega and left for dead—only to become one of the few to survive a jump-started transition.
The two of them were rarely apart, and it was tempting to assign them bad-cop, good-cop roles. Right now, though, the paradigm had shifted. Butch, the male who tended to smile and talk to people, seemed like the one it would be best to avoid in a dark alley: His hazel stare was narrow and unwavering.
“Yes?” Abalone asked his King. “May I be of service in some manner?”
Wrath stroked the boxy blond head of his guide dog, George. “My boys here need to talk to you.”
Ah, Abalone thought. And he suspected what this was about.
Butch smiled for a split second. Like he wanted to preemptively take the sting from whatever was going to come out of his mouth. “We want to make sure you’re aware of what’s involved in the training program.”
Abalone cleared his throat. “I know that this is very important to Paradise. And I’m hoping there are some self-defense courses offered. I should like her to be … safer.”
That potential benefit had been the only thing that had helped him through the clash between what he had expected for her and her life, and what she seemed to be choosing to do.