Blood Kiss - Ward J. R. (чтение книг .txt) 📗

For some reason, she remembered staying wide awake while she let Butch sleep. That never would have happened even a year ago. “What do I do?”

“You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“It feels like it can’t get worse.”

“You’re going to have to make peace with your brother.”

Marissa closed her eyes. “I will never be able to forgive him.”

“Making peace doesn’t mean you absolve him of his wrongdoing. And honestly, he isn’t the only one you need to come to terms with. The glymera treated you horribly, your position within the aristocracy was untenable, and Wrath was a royal shit—and I do mean that with love. You’ve got a tremendous amount of pain and rejection that you at first held in because it was the only way to survive, and then you put aside because you finally got a break and a chance to feel good in your own life.” Mary nodded at all the paperwork on the desk. “If you want to get back to being productive, you’re going to have to look under all those rocks, feel your feelings, and come out on the other side of that journey.”

Tissue number four came out of the box with a snap, but she didn’t end up using it. She just twisted the thing in her hands. “I don’t want to forget the girl. I don’t want this to be all about me.”

“No one says you have to stop trying to find out who she is or do right by her. Just don’t use that as an excuse to pack up all this dirty laundry and shove it back underground. That’s a short-term coping strategy that will not hold—and the next time this all comes up again—and it will—it’s going to be even harder, because you’ll relive all this with the girl, too. See, this is how people get paralyzed. They stuff and stuff and stuff, and the triggers keep coming and the layers continue to build until the load becomes too heavy, and they fold.”

Marissa kept twisting and untwisting the tissue. “You’re right.”

“I know.”

After a deep breath, Marissa looked across the desk. “Can I give you a hug?”

“Please! Are you kidding me?”

They both stood up and Marissa came around to embrace the smaller female. The hug she got in return was so strong and steady, she teared up all over again.

“You’re always there when I need you,” Marissa choked out. “I love you too much for words.”

“That’s what friends are for.” Mary pulled back. “And you’re going to do the same for me sometime.”

Marissa snorted and rolled her eyes. “Doubt that.”

“Trust me.”

“I’m too much of a mess.”

“No, you’re human.” Mary shook herself. “Sorry, term of art. You’re alive and you’re struggling and you’re beautiful inside and out—and I love you, too.”

“I’m still not sure what exactly to do next.”

“Think on it. It’ll come to you. Remember, forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting, hiding isn’t a long-term strategy, and distraction isn’t your friend. Hit this head-on—and know that I’ve got your back, ’kay?”

After the female left, Marissa went around to her office chair and sat down again. For some reason, her eyes fixated on the phone—the desk one, not her cell.

The past. Her brother. Butch. The girl. The glymera.

Mary was right. There was a lot she wasn’t dealing with.

And to start things off, she might as well tackle the one that seemed the least scary. Or … well, maybe the most doable, how about that.

Picking up the receiver, she riffled through the papers and found the pink While You Were Out slip that had been given to her two nights before. Dialing the local number, she took off her pearl earring and leaned back in her chair.

A maid answered the line, put her on hold … and then a haughty female voice said, “Oh, hello! So very glad you’ve called.”

Marissa gritted her teeth. “I’ll do it. I’ll chair the festival.”

“Oh! This is marvelous! What wonderful…”

As the platitudes droned on, Marissa closed her eyes and heard Mary’s voice in her head: You’re going to have to make peace with your brother.

Oh, God, she thought. She had no idea how that was going to happen—but she did know about parties, damn it.

Start small. Then get to the big stuff.

Chapter Eighteen

Paradise dislocated her finger when she blocked a heel-of-the-palm punch thrown at her by Rhage. She’d meant to duck and defend using her forearm as he’d taught her to, but her arms and legs didn’t always follow directions correctly—the result being that she caught her hand spread wide on the punch.

“Fuck!” she barked as she spun away and tucked in around the injury.

“Lemme see,” the Brother said.

“Owowowow.” Okay, fine, she sounded like a girl, but how did this hurt so much? “God!”

“Parry, lemme see.”

She put her arm out and his big hands, which were now gentle, examined what was an extraordinarily cockeyed version of her middle finger.

“What is wrong with it?” she said, even though she knew.

“Off to the clinic, come on.”

As he led her out of the gym, she glanced over her shoulder. Anslam was giving Boone a helluva fight, and that surprised her. Peyton was sitting up and icing his shoulder, staring across at her like he wanted to know what the hell was going on. Novo and Axe were circling each other, the Brother Tohr offering instruction.

“You’re going to be fine,” Rhage said as he opened the heavy door for her. “Back at ’em in no time.”

She made some kind of mmm-hmm as they hit the corridor—and she knew he was right. As long as she didn’t look at the digit, the pain was actually okay.

“You guys have only got an hour left tonight, then we’re going to let you go,” the Brother said as they came up to one of the swinging doors of the medical clinic. “And tomorrow you’re going to be in the classroom most of the time.”

Cue another mmm-hmmm. “Has Craeg left already?”

“He’s still being treated.”

The exam room was tiled from floor to ceiling and filled with glass-fronted stainless-steel cabinets, medical equipment that was worth a fortune, and all kinds of computer screens. In the center was a massive table under a chandelier with enough globe lights to turn midnight into noontime over a surface area of several acres.

A tall, dark-haired human male turned from what looked like the image of a knee X-ray. Dressed in blue surgical scrubs and a white coat, he seemed very big, very broad … and very not-vampire. “Hey, what have we got here?”

Paradise took a step back. She couldn’t help it.

“Yes, I’m one of those guys,” the man said as he flashed teeth that lacked prominent canines. “But I’m all right, promise.”

Rhage went over and gave the guy’s shoulder a squeeze. “Great surgeon. Fantastic dude. Tragically proficient poker player, but at least he sucks at pool. Meet Manny Manello, MD.”

“So what have we got going on?”

“Dislocated finger,” the Brother said.

Both of the males—well, the male and the man—looked over at her.

Paradise cleared her throat—and intended to go with a “Yeah, my finger is…” Instead she blurted, “I’ve never seen a human up close before.”

Dr. Manello smiled, put his arms out, and did a slow pivot. “Not that different from you. And I’ve been to the audience house a couple of times while you were working.”

She hadn’t noticed then, probably because she’d been so focused on her job—and surrounded by other vampires.

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” she whispered.

“I’m not offended. I had a worse reaction when I learned about you people, trust me.” When she looked at him in surprise, he shrugged. “Bear in mind, in my culture, your kind are the bad guys. You know, fangs, bloodsucking, the whole Halloween thing.”

She traced his features, and was surprised to find that he was handsome—and he seemed smart, too. Not like a rat without a tail at all.

“He’s operated on me twelve times,” Rhage cut in.