by J. R. Ward
On the keypad by the handle, she entered a code, heard the lock disengage, and pulled open the door.
Warmth greeted her, and so did silence.
She'd left the light on over the stove, and also one in the living room by the front door. Everything seemed in order--no, wait, the trash had been emptied.
"Xcor?"
She closed the glass door and listened. Breathed in deep.
A piercing disappointment stung her sternum as she got no reply and did not scent him. Curious about who had emptied the kitchen bin, she went across and checked the refrigerator. It had been completely restocked...and she was willing to bet that the bedroom downstairs had been refreshed as well.
Clearly, the doggen staff had been in to clean up after Xcor had left for the night. And further, the male obviously hadn't spent the day under this roof.
Sitting down at the circular table, she put her hands on the polished top and spread her fingers wide. Then she closed them. And spread them wide once again.
She had assumed that he would be here when she returned. Hadn't they made that plan? Perhaps it had only been on her side. She could not remember.
Oh, God, what if he had been killed during the previous night or day. But no, that was paranoia talking...right? Or...had he found his males? Had they taken their vows to Wrath already and left without Xcor saying good-bye?
As she listened to the silence in the house, the quiet broken by nothing save the sounds of warm air whistling out of the vents and the occasional tumble of ice falling inside the freezer, her heart pounded from both sorrow and fear.
And then, as time passed, she was struck by the fact that, like the ranch, so, too, was her life so very, very empty. Without the young to attend to, without Xcor to enjoy, what did she have?
Considering that he would be leaving very soon--assuming he hadn't already--and also that there was little chance she was going to go back to live at the mansion ever again, she realized it was time to find something for herself, something that wasn't tied to being a mahmen or a mate. When she had functioned as a Chosen, she had had plenty to occupy her mind and her time, all sorts of duties to perform. Here, in the outside world, though? In the post-Scribe Virgin era?
With freedom came the obligation of self-discovery, she supposed.
After all, how could you exercise choice if you didn't have a clue who you were? Labels weren't going to do it, titles like "mahmen" or "shellan" weren't really going to help you. You needed to dig into yourself and find out how to fill your hours with pursuits that were meaningful to you and for you, as a person, an individual.
Too bad that what should have been viewed as an adventure of exploration and enlightenment struck her as a burden.
As her stomach let out a growl, she glanced over at the refrigerator door. There had been all kinds of things in there, but little that interested her enough to have her even cross the floor, much less get out pots and pans. And takeout? She had heard of it, but she had no cash, no credit cards, and no interest in tangling with humans--
Knock knock knock--
Layla jumped and twisted around to the slider. And then she smiled. Smiled big.
Smiled huge.
Leaping from the chair, she sprang the lock on the glass door and looked up, way up, at the face that had been in her mind for the past twenty-four hours.
"You came back," she breathed as Xcor stepped inside and shut them in together.
His eyes narrowed on her mouth. "Where'er else would I go?"
Layla was tempted to make him swear that he wouldn't leave for the Old Country without a proper good-bye, but now that he was in front of her, she didn't want to mar even a second of their together-time with thoughts of the split that was coming.
Rising on her tiptoes, she leaned forward until she went off balance, sure that he would catch her--and he did, his arms solid and strong around her.
"Tell me," he said before he kissed her, "are the young well? Are they all right? Are you?"
For a moment, she closed her eyes. The idea that he would ask about the offspring of a male who had paid him no honor was such a kind and generous thing to do.
"Layla?" He pulled back. "Is all well?"
She blinked quickly. "Yes, yes, very well. We had a lovely night and day. They are a wondrous sight to behold. A true blessing."
For a moment, she entertained a fantasy about him meeting Lyric and Rhamp, of him holding them and getting to know them. But that was never going to happen, and not just because Xcor would be returning to the Old Country.
"And you?" she said. "Are you well?"
"I am now."
His lips found hers, his arms went back around her, and he picked her up, holding her flush against his powerful body. Melding their mouths, he moved her against the wall and pinned her with her feet dangling from the ground.
With a groan, she put her legs around his waist, tilted her head to one side...and kissed the ever-living crap out of him. All of her worry, all of her concern and anxiety over him, the young, Qhuinn...her stress just went out the window as the taste and scent of him became the only thing she knew.
All too soon, Xcor eased back, his hot eyes raking over her hair, her shoulders. He was seeing her naked, she thought as he stared at her. He was remembering exactly what she looked like with nothing but bare skin and passion to clothe her--
"When did you eat last?" he asked.
Okaaaaay, so maybe he was thinking about other things.
"I don't know." She moved her hands from his shoulders to the nape of his neck. "Kiss me again...oh, kiss me--"
"We are going to feed you now."
With that, he set her in a chair like she weighed no more than a doll. And just as she was going to point out that there would be time after making love to bother with the whole caloric thing, he undid the black parka he was wearing.
Which was a movement in the right direction--
"Is that a bulletproof vest?" she demanded.
He looked down at his chest. "Yes."
She closed her eyes for a moment and not just from relief that he had one on. It was also because she wished that the war didn't exist. That no one from his camp had tried to shoot Wrath. That there was no reason for him to have to worry about guns or knives or any other kind of weapon coming at him.
"What would you care for?" he inquired as he set the parka aside and started working on the straps of the vest. "And bear in mind, I am no great chef. I wish I could provide you with fare of great sophistication, however."
Princeps or a pauper, chef or not, she thought, I do not care.
Especially if you keep taking off your--
"Wait, are you hurt?" she said as she stood up.
"What?"
"You're hurt."
As he pulled the vest off of himself, she pointed to the dried blood on his side. And before he could minimize it, she got right in there, yanking the T-shirt up--and gasping at the wound.
"You were shot." After all, what else could make that kind of stripe? Not a knife, certainly. "What happened?"
He shrugged. "I didn't feel it."
She pushed his hands away as he tried to cover himself up. "Down to the bathroom. Right now. Come on."
When he didn't seem inclined to obey the order, she took his hand and pulled him along with her, forcing him to descend to the cellar and enter the bedroom they'd shared. In the bathroom, she ran warm water in the sink, got out the soap and a washcloth, and then started to remove the shirt.
"Layla--"
"Xcor," she muttered, mimicking his bored tone. "And yes, I know better than to ask you to go see Havers or let me get Doc Jane. So in return for my sensible nature, you are going to let me clean the wound."
"It's healed up."
"Has it?" She wet the washcloth and put some soap on it. "Is that why it's bleeding anew now that you've taken the vest off? Now remove that shirt or I'm getting a pair of scissors."
Xcor started to grumble, but at least he did as he was t
old--and then hissed as she started to gently rub the streak of inflamed and torn flesh. When she could see things better, it appeared that the bullet had just grazed him, catching his torso at the side panels of the vest that didn't have the protective inserts in them, maybe because he had been jumping or running at the time. The vest had then shifted back into place and sealed the wound, binding it until the thing had been removed.
Or at least that was her rather inexpert conclusion.
"So what happened?" she asked as she rinsed the washcloth and started blotting to get the soap off. "Well?"
When she glanced up from her work, she got a heck of a view of Xcor's iron jaw, and the way his molars were clenched. Likewise, he had crossed his arms over his chest, a veritable picture of disapproval.
"Did you find your males?" she prompted.
"No," he clipped out. "I did not."
Well, at least it hadn't been one of them, angry at him for his vow unto the King.
"Was it lessers?"
After a long moment, when she was beginning to wonder whether she was going to have to drag the explanation out of him with a grappling hook, he reluctantly nodded.
Layla closed her eyes. "I hate this war. I really do."
Dearest Virgin--um, Dearest Most-Definitely-Not-a-Virgin Lassiter, she hated to think what would have happened out there in that storm if he'd been shot somewhere else, like the head--
"I'm all right," he said gently.
Focusing on him, she found that he'd dropped his arms and was staring at her with softness in his eyes.
"Don't cry, my love."
"Am I?" she whispered.
"Aye." With care, he brushed her cheeks with his thumbs. "Never cry for me."
He urged her to straighten and come up against his body. "Besides, I am well enough. Witness me here and now."
With that, he kissed her long and slow, his lips teasing and taking, his tongue licking and stroking at her, and soon she melted, all thoughts of nursing his wound leaving her head. Which was undoubtedly his plan--and yet she couldn't help but give in to him.
"You are the great eraser," she said against his mouth.
"I'm sorry?"
Shaking her head, she leaned into him even more--and then let out a curse as he moved back and out of reach.
"Food," he announced. "Now."
When she started to protest, he cocked an eyebrow. "I let you take care of me. So I am going to take care of you."
With that, he snagged her hand and led her back toward the stairs. As they passed by the bed, she muttered, "You realize that's a mattress right there. Riiiiight there."
"And it shall be waiting for us when we finish feeding you, my female."
FORTY-SEVEN
As Qhuinn pulled the Hummer into Blay's parents' driveway, he checked out all the windows in the house. There were a lot of them that were lit up, and he searched for one specific big body moving around, one large, beautifully built--
The front door was thrown open, and sure enough, the male in question's mahmen came out with her crutches and her cast, looking for all intents and purposes like she was going to come down the walkway even though it was slick with ice and snow.
In a panic, Qhuinn reached for his door handle, prepared to dematerialize in her path to stop her, but then Blay's dad ran out and said something.
For a moment, Qhuinn just watched their expressions as they argued, the fondness and the love they had for each other turning the conflict into a negotiation between reasonable parties.
Something to work for, he thought.
"You ready, guys?" he asked as he glanced into the review mirror. "Time to go see Grandmahmen and Grandfather."
Shutting the engine down and getting out, he waved toward the porch. "Evening all!"
"I'm so excited!" Lyric called out.
"She's been cooking," Blay's dad said with a shake of the head. "She's been cooking even though she's on doctor's orders to stay off her feet and those two young are on formula."
"But I have our Qhuinn to feed!" Lyric was positively bubbling over with enthusiasm, bouncing up and down in her own skin. "And besides, the house will smell good for the young. They'll appreciate the cinnamon and spice in the air."
Or maybe not, Qhuinn thought as he went around to get Rhamp out first. It was quite possible his son's sniffer was broken.
After wrestling with the car seat, he got the carrier free and then combat-booted himself and his boy up the walkway. "Care for a kid?" he said to Blay's dad.
"Oh, you have no idea," the male replied as he accepted the transfer.
As Qhuinn was about to turn away, he got a load of their expressions as they looked down at the young--and he nearly teared up. The two older vampires were rapt with love, their stares glowing, their eyes blinking, their faces flushing.
It made him think about what Blay had said about not torturing them with kids that were not their own.
Well, he'd fixed that.
Trying to be surreptitious, he leaned to one side and looked into the front hall. No Blay. And no Blay coming down the stairs, either. Or emerging from the back of the house. And Qhuinn was far too scattered to be able to sense the guy.
Hmm, how to put it into words--
"Is Blay here?"
As his mouth opened and the syllables came out, the male's parents froze.
Blay's father frowned and glanced at Big Lyric. "He's just on the back porch. Where else would he be?"
Lyric, on the other hand, clearly knew what was up. "Why don't you go get him?" Then she looked at her hellren. "Honey, grab Lyric out of that enormous carbon-footprinted nightmare, will you?"
As Blay's dad hopped on that duty, Qhuinn felt like hugging the female. So he did--and the fact that she accepted his embrace so readily gave him hope.
"Go on, now," she whispered in his ear. "You two work out whatever this is. We'll watch the young."
When Qhuinn straightened, something of what he was feeling must have shown in his expression, because she reached up and stroked his face.
"I love you, even if your choice of automobile appalls me. That gets, what, maybe two miles per gallon? On the highway?"
Blay's dad piped in as he came back with Little Lyric: "It did get us safely to the training center last night. Your Prius? That thing wouldn't have made it out of the driveway."
Like the male knew he'd pushed it as far as he could, Rocke winked at Qhuinn, smiled with love at his shellan, and beat feet into the house with both carriers like he was being chased with a rolled-up copy of Mother Jones.
"You two take your time," Blay's mom said. "I'm going to quote some climate change articles to your young. Maybe make them watch Bill Gates's Innovating to zero! TED talk."
Qhuinn helped her back into the house, even though she tried to resist the hand on her elbow, and she was right: The cinnamon and spices did smell terrific, and the warmth from the fire in the family room was perfect on a cold night, and everything seemed to glow with love.
Bracing himself, he passed by the kitchen and went to the porch door in the back. Before he opened things up, he checked to make sure the collar on his button-down was where it needed to be and that his wool coat was, like, properly whatever'd. Also did a quick Desitin review in case he had the stuff on anything.
And then...
Through the glass panes in the upper part of the door, he saw Blay standing in the cold, nothing but a sweater on, staring out over the snowy landscape to a frozen pond. As the male took a drag on his cigarette, the end flared orange, and then a cloud of smoke drifted off over his red head.
He looked regal in his reserve, his shoulders back, his eyes narrowed on some distant point, his feet planted on the otherwise empty porch.
Something told Qhuinn to knock before he went out.
When he did, Blay didn't turn around. He just shrugged a little.
Beggars couldn't be choosers, Qhuinn thought as he opened the door and stepped into the early winter's night.
And
shit knew he was more than willing to beg.
--
"More toast?"
As Xcor made the inquiry from across the table, Layla shook her head, wiped her mouth with a paper towel, and sat back.
"You know, I think I'm quite satisfied, thank you." Translation: I've sucked back two pieces of toast, two eggs, and a mug of Earl Grey. Can we be done now and go downstairs to make love?
"I'll just get you one more slice. How about more tea?"
Whilst he got up from the table, she could tell by the set of his shoulders and the disapproval on his face that he somehow knew she had lied about being full--and he had no intention of being diverted from the goal of feeding her properly.
"Yes, please."
Her tone was closer to "screw that" than "thank you for your further Earl Greying on my behalf," but that was what sexual frustration would do for a female.
"How about we take it and go downstairs?" she suggested, thinking that way, they'd be closer to the bed they were going to mess the heck up. "In fact, I'll just head down now."
Over at the toaster, Xcor put in another two slices of Pepperidge Farm white and pushed down the lever. "I shall bring you everything. Go and put your feet up--leave your mug for me."
Heading for the cellar door, she paused and glanced over her shoulder. The gray and white kitchen was small, and Xcor's heft dwarfed the space sure as if a German shepherd had wandered into a dollhouse. And it was so incongruous that this warrior was bending down over the toaster to carefully monitor its toasting process.
Not too light, not too dark.
Then there was the buttering. He approached the dispensation of sweet butter over a crispy bread surface with the seriousness and attention span of a heart surgeon.
It was exactly how she had always wished the male she loved would treat her--and that wasn't about whether it was First Meal or Last Meal, day or night outside, winter or summer. Xcor's focus and concern simply showed that she mattered to him. That he cared about her.
That he saw her.
After a lifetime of being one of many to somebody divine, it was a rare gift to be the only one to someone mortal.
But damn it, why couldn't they be having sex right now?
Down in the cellar, she lowered the lights and turned on the TV, hoping to find one of the romantic movies Beth and Marissa liked to watch on cable. News. News. Commercial. Commercial--
What was taking him so long, she thought as she glanced to the stairs.
