by J. R. Ward
Qhuinn rubbed his face, and prayed that his sense of balance began to return quick: Evidently, his adrenal glands were still struggling to catch up to reality, the idea that there was no drama, no emergency, no dire anything to react to curiously hard to handle.
“I’m glad people are dropping in,” he mumbled, feeling like he had to say something.
“Oh, yes, there’ve been”—Layla looked away, a strange expression tightening her features—“quite a number of them.”
Qhuinn frowned. “Nobody weird, though, right?”
He couldn’t imagine that anyone in the house would be anything other than supportive, but he had to ask.
“No…not weird.”
“What.” As Layla just fingered the cover of the magazine in her lap, some brunette, bubble-headed, blank-eyed bimbo’s face distorted and went back to normal, distorted and went back to normal. “Layla. Tell me.”
So he could go lay down some motherfuckin’ boundaries if he had to.
Layla pushed her hair back. “You’re going to think I’m crazy…or, I don’t know.”
He went over and sat down next to her. “Okay, look. I don’t know how to say this right so I’m just going to get the words out. You and I? We’re going to be facing a lot of…you know, personal shit in connection with…” Oh, God, he really hoped she kept the pregnancy. “We might as well start being fully honest with each other now. Whatever it is? I won’t judge. After all the crap I’ve done in my own life? I ain’t judging no one over nothing.”
Layla took a deep breath. “All right…well, Payne came and saw me last night.”
He frowned again. “And.”
“Well, she said she might be able to do something for the pregnancy. She wasn’t sure whether it would work, but she didn’t think it would hurt me.”
Qhuinn’s chest tightened up, a stab of fear making his heart pound. V and Payne had things about them that were not of this world. And that was cool. But not around his young—for fuck’s sake, V’s hand was a straight-up killer….
“She took her hand and laid it on my belly, right where the young is….”
A sensation like Qhuinn’s inner toilet had flushed all the blood out of his head hit hard. “Oh, God—”
“No, no.” She reached for him. “It wasn’t bad. It felt…good, actually. I was…bathed in this light—it flowed through me, strengthening me. Healing me. It focused on my abdomen, but it went so much further than that. Afterward, I was so worried about her, though. She collapsed on the floor next to the bed….” Layla motioned downward, to the floor. “But then I lost consciousness. I must have slept for a long time. When I finally woke up? That was when I felt…different. At first, I assumed it was because the miscarriage had stopped because it was…over. I ran out and found Blay, and he took me down to the clinic. That’s when you came and Doc Jane told us that…” Layla’s elegant hand touched her lower abdomen, and then lingered there. “That was when she told us that our young is still with us—”
Her voice broke at that point, and she blinked quickly. “So you see, I think she saved our pregnancy.”
After a long moment of shock, Qhuinn whispered, “Oh…shit.”
* * *
Back in the parking lot of the restaurant, Assail loomed over the hood of his burglar’s Audi, standing fully in the glare of the headlights.
Much as he’d done the night before, he locked eyes with her by instinct rather than by sight.
And as he stood in the cold, he was hot from his temper, and so much else: As that sack of excrement on two legs had escorted her to her car, and had the insanity to kiss her, Assail had been confronted anew by two choices: Track the man into the night and follow through on all that throat tearing, or wait until the human left, and…
Something deep inside of him had made up his mind: He had been incapable of leaving her.
His burglar put down her window, and the scent of her arousal made him hard.
It also made him smile. It was the first time all night he’d caught a whiff of it—and that cooled his temper more than anything else could have.
Well, except perhaps skinning that man alive.
“What do you want,” she snarled.
Oh, wasn’t that the question.
He moved around to her side of the car. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Excuse me?”
“I believe you heard the question.”
She threw open the driver’s side door and jumped out. “How dare you expect any explanation from me about anything—”
He cranked his weight forward on his hips, leaning in toward her. “May I remind you that you invaded my privacy first—”
“I didn’t jump in front of your car and—”
“Did you like what you saw last night?” That clammed her up. And as the silence persisted, he smiled a little. “So you admit you were watching.”
“You goddamn knew I was,” she spat.
“So, answer the question. Did you like what you saw,” he said in a voice that was husky even to his own ears.
Oh, yes, he thought as he inhaled deeply. She did.
“Never mind,” he purred. “You don’t need to put it in words. I already know your answer—”
She slapped him so fast and so hard, his head actually kicked back on his spine.
His first instinct was to bare his fangs and bite her, to punish her, to tantalize himself—because there was no better spice to pleasure than a little pain. Or a lot of it.
He righted his head and lowered his lids. “That felt good. Do you want to do it again?”
As another bloom emanated from her, he laughed down deep in his chest, and thought, yes, indeed, this reaction from her had just ensured that that human man was going to keep living. Or at least die by the hands of another.
She wanted himself. And no other.
Assail eased even closer, until his lips were right next to her ear. “What did you do when you got home? Or couldn’t you wait that long.”
She took a deliberate step back. “You want to know? Fine. I changed the cat litter, made myself two scrambled eggs and a piece of cinnamon toast, and then I put myself to bed.”
He took a deliberate step forward. “What did you do when you were in between the sheets?”
As that scent of hers flared once again, he put his mouth back where it had been…close, oh, so close. “I think I know what you did. But I want you to tell me.”
“Screw you—”
“Did you think of what you saw?” As a gust of wind blew some of her hair into her eyes, he tucked the strands back. “Did you imagine it was you I was fucking?”
Her breath began to pump in her chest, and—dearest Virgin in the Fade—that made him want to take her. “How long did you stay?” he breathed. “Until the female finished…or until I did?”
Her hands punched him away. “Fuck off.”
In a quick shift, she shot around his body, jumped back into her car, and slammed the door.
He moved just as fast.
Surging in through the open window, he turned her head and kissed her hard, his mouth taking over, the drive to wipe clean any trace of that human male making his sex pound.
She kissed him back.
With equal strength.
As his shoulders were too big to fit through the window, he wanted to claw through the steel. He had to stay where he was, however, and that made him even more aggressive, his blood roaring in his veins, his body straining as his tongue entered her, his hand snaking behind her neck, burying into her hair.
She was slick and sweet and hot as hell.
To the point that he had to break off for a deep breath or run the risk of passing out.
As he separated them, he met her eyes. They were both heaving, and as her arousal thickened the air, he wanted to be inside of her.
To mark her…
The sound of his phone going off was exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time: The ringing from his coat seemed to snap her back to
reality, her eyes flaring as they slid away, her hands locking on the steering wheel as if she were trying to ground herself.
She didn’t look at him as she put the window up, engaged the engine, and drove off.
Leaving Assail panting in the cold.
FIFTY-FIVE
Qhuinn left Layla’s room shortly thereafter, his shitkickers carrying him fast across the narrow rug that ran down the corridor to the head of the stairs. As he kept going by Wrath’s study, he was vaguely aware of someone calling his name, but he paid no attention.
At the far end of the hall of statues, past Z and Bella’s suite, the room where Payne and Manny stayed had a closed door, but the sound of a television quietly murmured on the far side.
Qhuinn took a second to collect the pieces of his blown mind, and then knocked.
“Enter,” came the response.
As he stepped inside, the room was awash in a blue glow, the TV providing the light. Payne was lying in the bed, her skin so pale it reflected the changing images projected onto it.
“Greetings,” she said in a slurred voice.
“Jesus…Christ…”
“No, I am afraid not.” She smiled. Or at least, half of her mouth did. “Pardon me if I do not get up to offer greetings.”
He shut the door softly. “What happened?”
Even though he sort of knew.
“Is she well?” Payne asked. “Is your female pregnant still?”
“The tests seem to indicate so.”
“Good. That pleases me.”
“Are you dying?” he blurted out. And then wanted to knee himself in his own ’nads.
She laughed roughly. “I do not believe so. I’m very weak, however.”
Qhuinn’s feet carried him across the carpet. “So…what happened?”
Payne struggled to push herself higher on her pillows, but then gave up. “I think I’m losing my gift.” She groaned as she moved her legs under the duvet. “When I first came here, I was able to lay hands and heal with little or no after effects. Every time I do it, however, the effort appears to drag me down further. And what I endeavored with your female and your young was…”
“You nearly killed yourself,” he filled in.
She shrugged. “I woke up on the floor next to her bed. I dragged myself down here. Manny got me out of bed earlier, and I did have some energy. Now, it seems to have flagged once more.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“I think I must needs go to my mother’s sanctuary.” This was said with total derision. “For a recharge, as it were. It seems logical, as that may well have been the locus of my gift. I just need to get strong enough to make the trip, so to speak—well, that and gather the will to. I should much prefer to remain down here. The decision, however, appears to be making itself for me. One cannot negotiate with one’s physical form, after a point.”
Yeah, he knew how that was.
“I can’t…” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“When she gives birth, then you may thank me. There is much unknown ahead that is still to be crossed.”
Not anymore, he thought. His vision, the one on the door to the Fade, was once again on track to coming true.
And this time it was going to stay that way.
Qhuinn withdrew one of the daggers from his chest and streaked the sharp blade across the inside of his palm. As blood welled and started to drip, he offered himself to the female.
“I hereby offer the oath of my—” He stopped short. He didn’t have any bloodline to speak of, not with that disavowal in his background. “I offer the oath of my honor to you and yours from now until the final beat of my heart and the last breath in my lungs. Anything you shall call upon me for shall be provided without question or hesitation.”
On one level, it seemed ridiculous to put himself out like that to the daughter of a motherfucking deity. Like Payne needed any help?
Payne’s dagger hand met his and latched on tight. “I would rather have your honor than any bloodline upon the earth.”
As their eyes met, he had a thought that it was not male-to-female, but fighter-to-fighter, in spite of their sexes.
“I will never be able to thank you enough,” he said.
“Would that she makes it through. Both of them, that is.”
“I have the sense they will now. Thanks to you.”
It felt weird to want to bow to the female, but some things you just went with, and he did. Then he turned away, not wanting to keep her up if she was going to rest.
Just as his hand locked onto the doorknob, Payne murmured, “If you thank anyone, it should be Blaylock.”
Qhuinn froze. Cranked back around. “What…did you say?”
* * *
Assail stayed put as that Audi skidded out of the parking lot and hit the road beyond like his burglar had planted a bomb in the restaurant and just hit the detonator.
His body told him to go after her, stop that car, and drag her into the backseat.
His mind, however, knew better.
As he felt the surging in his body, he knew that the extent to which he lost control around her was dangerous. He was a male who defined himself by his self-possession. With that female? Especially if that sex of hers was aroused?
He was consumed with the need to possess her.
So he needed to regather his own reins.
In point of fact, he had no business wasting time stalking some human woman, hanging out in the corner of a cheap dive, watching her with a man.
Also consumed with the urge to kill her cheeseburger dinner companion.
What in the name of the Scribe Virgin had happened to him?
The answer, when it came to him, was something he firmly rejected.
In a bid to refocus his energies, he took out his phone to ascertain who had called and broken the spell that had well needed rupturing.
Rehvenge.
On so many levels, he had no desire to speak with the male. The last thing he was interested in was a rehash of all the reasons he had to participate in the social and political standstill that was the Council.
But it was better than going after his burglar—
He didn’t even know her name, he realized.
And it would be in his best interests to never find out, he told himself.
As he returned the call, he held the iPhone to his ear and put his free hand into the pocket of his wool coat to keep it warm. “Rehvenge,” he said as the male picked up. “I’m talking to you more than I speak with my mahmen.”
“I thought your mother was dead.”
“She is.”
“You have a very low standard for communication.”
“What may I do for you.” ’Twas not a question. No reason to encourage a response.
“Actually, it’s what I can do for you.”
“With all due respect, I prefer to take care of business myself.”
“A very good policy. And as much as I know you like your ‘business,’ that isn’t why I called. I thought you might like to know that the Council met with Wrath tonight.”
“I believe I resigned during our last conversation. So I fail to see what this has to do with me?”
“Your name came up at the end. After everyone had left.”
Assail arched a brow. “In what capacity.”
“A little birdie said you set Wrath up with the Band of Bastards at your home this past fall.”
Assail’s grip tightened on his phone. And during the brief pause that followed, he chose his words with extreme care. “Wrath knows that isn’t true. I was the one who gave him the vehicle he got away in. As I told you before, I am not, and never have been, connected with any insurgency. In fact, I removed myself from the Council precisely because I do not wish to be embroiled in any drama.”
“Relax. He did you a favor.”
“In exactly what manner.”
“The individual said it in front of me.”
&
nbsp; “And again, I inquire, how does that equate to a—”
“I knew he was lying.”
Assail became quiet. It was, of course, a good thing that Rehvenge knew the statement to be untrue. But how?
“Before you ask,” the male murmured darkly, “I’m not going to go into exactly why I’m so sure of it. What I will say, however, is that I’m prepared to reward your loyalty with a gift from the king.”
“A gift?”
“Wrath is a male who’s aptly named. He understands, for example, how an individual would feel if he were to be wrongly accused of treason. He knows that someone who would falsely implicate another with information not widely known is likely trying to shift blame for his own actions—particularly if the person talking had a…well, shall we say, an affect…that indicated not just deceit, but a certain level of scheming. As if he were paying you back for something he considered indicative of disloyalty or bad judgment.”
“Who is it,” Assail breathed. Even though he knew.
“Wrath is not asking you to do any kind of dirty work. In fact, if you choose not to take action, the individual will be dead within twenty-four hours. The king just feels, as I do, that your interests are not only aligned with ours, in this case, they supersede them.”
Assail closed his eyes, vengeance boiling his blood in much the same manner in which the sexual instinct had just done. The end result, however, was going to be oh, so very different. “Say the name.”
“Elan, son of Larex.”
Assail popped his lids and bared his fangs. “You tell your king I shall take care of this with alacrity.”
Rehvenge laughed darkly. “That I’ll do. I promise it.”
FIFTY-SIX
Blay was antsy as he paced around his room. Although he was fully dressed for fighting, he was going nowhere. None of them were.
After the Council meeting, Tohr had ordered the Brotherhood to stay in on a just-in-case. Rehv was reaching out to the Council members, connecting outside of the mansion, getting a sense of where the glymera were. As the guy couldn’t very well show up with a six-pack of Brothers on his ass—at least, not if he wanted to preserve some pretense of civility—they had to chill. But given the political climate, it was important that backup was ready in case the Reverend needed it.
