Is that a word?
It is now.
Rhage, son of Tohrture
There’s a narrow door in the far corner of the billiards room that opens back up to the foyer. You dump out on the flank of the grand staircase, and even though the kitchen is my ultimate destination, first I have to go over to another entry that’s set into the massive, ornamental base of the way upstairs. The panel I’m after was crafted to look exactly like all of the articulated paneling, hidden but for the polished brass ring you pull. As the seal is broken, a rush of cedar-scented, hand-milled French soap buffers into me, like it’s been locked inside and begging for an escape.
I don’t enter. I just lean in.
It’s the males’ bathroom, and oh, God, the agate. I love a good agate bathroom. This one has been redone since the first lot of books, and I totally approve of the black and brown stone that covers the floors, walls and ceilings. And of course the furniture is perfect. In the low glow from vintage fixtures, the moss green velvet sofa looks like something Oscar Wilde would have had in his living room, and the side tables are exquisite.
Naturally, the stalls with their individual sinks are tucked discretely around the corner.
I keep going, making a wide circle around the base of the ornate staircase that seems right out of Buckingham Palace. The dining room is on the other side, and even though there are other ways of getting into the kitchen, I take a detour into the enormous space that reminds me of the one at the Breakers at Newport, RI. The table remains as long as a bowling alley, andall the carved chairs lined up on both sides look like an army in formation. The sideboards, too, are where they’ve always been, the paintings and the sculpture, as well. No sterling place settings with beautiful porcelain, though. No crystal glasses set, or flowers in vases, or candles flaring gently in the candelabra.
The fact that all of it is shut down is a reminder of how change is more common than permanency. Darius built this vast palace on this defensible location with the idea that the Brotherhood would live here together with their families. When that didn’t happen, I know he mourned the opportunity lost—and then he died and his dream came true.
At least he did return to see it, if only through a different set of eyes.
John Matthew.
A lot of people ask me whether they should readDariusfirst, beforeDark Lover. That book is the story of how Beth, Wrath’sleelanand Queen, came to be put on the planet, and as origins stories go, I think it’s a heart wrenching one. Without it, though, the daughter of a human and a Brother wouldn’t have found herself unknowingly lost in the human world, on the verge of a transition that will kill her if a vampire doesn’t feed her and see her through it.
At which point Wrath entered the picture and all of us were off to the races, so to speak.
Personally, I still think people should start withDark Lover. And you know, as I reread Wrath and Beth’s story recently, I was reminded that I was not a good enough writer to have typed out that manuscript. I may still not be. It’s just so complete, everyone playing a vital role, from Butch being the only one who can go look for Beth when Mr. X abducts her in the daylight to the very end, where Wrath spares Havers’s life as a gift to Marissa in return for how badly he’s treated her over the years.It’s so tight, all amends made, all the loose ends resolved—with the promise that Rhage is up next.
All I want is one good female, he says in the last scene.But I guess I’ll settle for quantity until I find her...
This coming after Vishous points out to him that he should be so lucky to smooch like Wrath and Beth.
As I push my way through a flap door into the butler’s pantry, and then proceed down to the archway into the kitchen, I’m remembering the wayDark Loverended, with Fritz telling the Brothers not to throw linens and asking if anybody wanted peaches—
“I have two spoons,” Rhage says as he looks up over a half gallon of Breyers mint chocolate chip.
He holds up the one he isn’t using and smiles at me—and I literally blink in the glare of his ridiculous attractiveness. I mean, the eyes really are stupidly bright aquamarine, just like the water in the Bahamas, and the hair is thick and blond and curls up off his incredible face, and his teeth…
His teeth are so white they could qualify as bathroom tile.
Setting all of that off is skin that’s smooth and golden brown, like he’s just come back from a holiday in the—well, Bahamas. Tonight, he’s wearing a black muscle shirt and the empty holster for his daggers is still strapped onto his chest. His full-length black leather trench coat is laying on the rough-hewn oak table next to him, and given the bumps under it, I know that’s where his knives are.
And clearly a number of other weapons as well.
“I’ll take a rain check on the ice cream.” I go over and sit across from him. “But more for you—”
“More for me.” He puts the spoon he offered down and bows to me. “You are such a giver.”
Rhage is such an orderly little eater—then again, you could make the argument that he’s had a lot of practice. I give him aminute to take a couple more bites, noting that he’s started on the right and is working his way across in rows. Like it’s the dessert equivalent of corn on the cob.
I feel a familiar sting of guilt as I watch him. I didn’t want to write his book,Lover Eternal. It’s the second in the series, and at the time, all I could think of was that I wanted to get to Zsadist’s story. More on that later, but yeah, as I arrived at the end ofDark Lover, I had to decide which of the Brothers to do next. I had ten installments in my head, but only had a three-book contract. Z’s was supposed to end everything, except I had to write him as number three because it was clear I was going to get fired again when no one read these crazy-ass, out-there novels.
(Um, note on the out-there: ApollyCon’s Monsters panel from this year was like, “Hold my beer…,” but I digress.)
Anyway, in my gut I knew it was Rhage, except come on. What a snore. A beautiful, funny, charismatic vampire falls in love with a woman who—
When a slicing headache stops my thoughts, he murmurs, “Yeah, I’ve heard you didn’t want to write about me.”
As I level a stare at him, he flashes a gamin smile.
