by J. R. Ward
Assail continued. “He stated unto representatives of the king that I was responsible for your rifle shot, the one that was discharged upon my property without my knowledge or permission—and,” he cut in before Xcor could speak, “you are well aware of exactly how little I had to do with that attack, are you not.”
Back in the Bloodletter’s time, this conversation would never have occurred. Assail would have been hunted down as an obstructionist and eliminated for both purpose and sport.
But Xcor had learned his lesson.
As his eyes went to Throe, standing so tall and elegant among the others, he thought, aye, he had learned that there was an appropriate place and time for certain…standards, he believed the word was.
“I meant what I said unto you, Xcor, son of the Bloodletter.” As Xcor flinched at the reference, he was glad this conversation was occurring over the phone. “I have no interest in either your agenda or the king’s. I am a businessman only—I am resigned from the Council, and I am unaligned with you. And Elan attempted to make a traitor out of me—something which, as you well know, comes with a price on one’s head. I took Elan’s life because he tried to take mine. It is entirely lawful.”
Xcor cursed to himself. The male had a rather good point. And whereas Assail’s rigid neutrality had at first seemed unbelievable, now Xcor was beginning to…well, trust was not a word he used with anyone other than his soldiers.
“Tell me something,” Xcor drawled.
“Yes?”
“Is his piggish head still attached to that weak little body of his?”
Assail chuckled. “No.”
“Do you know that is among my favorite ways of killing?”
“A warning for me, Xcor?”
Xcor glanced back at Throe, and thought again of the virtue of codes of behavior among even warring males.
“No,” he declared. “Just something we have in common. Fare thee well, Assail, for what is left of this night.”
“Yourself as well. And in the words of our mutual acquaintance, I must needs go. Afore I am forced to slaughter the doggen butler who is pounding, at this very instant, upon the door I have locked.”
Xcor threw his head back and laughed as he ended the call.
“You know,” he said to his fighters, “I rather like him.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
The following evening, as the shutters rose and an alarm clock Blay didn’t recognize started to chirp, he opened his eyes.
This was not his room. But he knew exactly where he was.
Next to him, against his back, Qhuinn stirred, the male’s body stretching against his own, naked skin brushing against naked skin—and didn’t that make his wake-up erection start to throb.
Qhuinn reached across Blay’s head, his heavy arm extending over, his hand slapping the clock into silence.
Lest there be any question as to whether he’d welcome a quickie before the whole shower-dress–First Meal thing, Blay arched, pushing his ass into the seat of Qhuinn’s pelvis. The groan that shot into his ear made him smile a little, but things got serious as Qhuinn’s dagger hand snaked downward and found Blay’s cock.
“Oh, fuck,” Blay breathed as he moved his leg up and out of the way.
“I’ve got to be inside of you.”
Funny, Blay was thinking the exact same thing.
As Qhuinn mounted him, Blay eased onto his stomach, crushing Qhuinn’s palm into that hard ridge of arousal.
It didn’t take long for the rhythm to get fast and furious, and as Blay’s balls tightened with yet another release, he marveled that his desperation for the guy only seemed to grow—you’d think the number of times the pair of them had come together—literally—during the day would have taken this burn down to a rolling boil.
Not the case.
Giving himself over to the pleasure, Blay gritted his teeth as his release shot out at the same time Qhuinn’s hips locked up tight and the male grunted.
There was no second round. Not that Blay didn’t want it and Qhuinn wasn’t able—the clock was the problem.
When Blay reopened his eyes, the digital readout told him that Qhuinn’s alarm provided for only fifteen minutes of get-ready—time for a male’s quick shower and arming, nothing extra. Kind of made him wish the fighter had been more of a mousse, double-shave, cologne, matching-outfit sort of guy.
With another of his trademark erotic groans, Qhuinn eased them onto their sides, keeping them joined. As the guy breathed deeply, Blay realized he could have stayed like this forever, just the two of them in a silent, dim room. In this moment of peace and quiet, there was no overhang of the past, or anything that needed to be said but wasn’t, or third parties, real or fabricated, between them.
“At the end of the night,” Qhuinn said in a gravelly voice, “will you come to me again.”
“Yes, I will.”
There was no other answer that occurred to him. In fact, he wondered how he was going to wait through the twelve hours of darkness and meals and work until he could slip away and come back here.
Qhuinn muttered something that sounded like, “Thank God.” Then he moaned as he disengaged, withdrawing himself. In the aftermath, Blay stayed where he was for a brief moment, but ultimately he had no choice save to get up, go out the door, and return to where he belonged.
Thank God no one saw him.
He made it back to his own room without anyone playing witness to the walk of shame, and yup, within fifteen minutes he was showered, leathered, and armed. Stepping out of his door, he—
Qhuinn came out of his at exactly the same moment.
Both of them froze.
Ordinarily, walking down together would have been marginally awkward, the kind of thing that they would have made small talk during.
But now…
Qhuinn dropped his eyes. “You go first.”
“Okay.” Blay turned to walk away. “Thanks.”
Blay cast his chest holster and his leather jacket over his shoulder and strode off. By the time he hit the stairwell, it felt like years had passed since they’d lain so close together. Had the day between them even fucking happened?
Jesus, he was starting to feel insane.
Entering the dining room below, he took a random empty chair and hung his stuff over the back as the others did—even though Fritz hated weapons around his food. Then he thanked the doggen who presented him with a fully loaded plate, and began to eat. He couldn’t have told you what had been served to him, or who was talking around the table. But he knew exactly when Qhuinn came through the jambs: His core started to hum, and it was impossible not to glance over his shoulder.
There was an immediate physical impact as he took in that huge body clad in black, and dripping in weapons—like a car battery had been hooked up to his nervous system.
As Qhuinn didn’t meet his eyes, he supposed that was a good thing. The others around the table knew them both too well, especially John, and things were complicated enough without the benevolent peanut gallery getting a chance to weigh in—not that anything would be said publicly. Privately, though? Pillow talk ran rampant through the household.
Something to envy.
Qhuinn started forward, then abruptly changed direction and walked allllll the way around to the other side of the table, to the only chair, other than the one next to Blay, that was empty.
For some reason, Blay thought of the conversation he’d had with his mother over the phone, the one where he had finally admitted to a member of his family who he really was.
Unease feathered across his nape. Qhuinn would never do something like come out, and not because his parents were dead, or because, when that pair had been alive, they had hated their son.
I see myself with a female long-term. I can’t explain it. It’s just the way it’s going to be.
Blay pushed his plate away.
“Blay? Hello?”
Shaking himself, he glanced at Rhage. “I’m sorry?”
“I asked you if you we
re ready to play Nanook of the North.”
Oh, that’s right. They were going back to that stretch of forest where they’d found the cabins and the lesser with the special power for going ghost—as well as that airplane which was, at the moment, gathering snow in the backyard.
He, John, and Rhage were on deck for the assignment. And Qhuinn.
“I…yeah, absolutely.”
The most beautiful member of the Brotherhood frowned, his Caribbean blue eyes narrowing. “You okay?”
“Yup. Just fine.”
“When was the last time you fed?”
Blay opened his mouth. Shut it. Tried to do the math.
“Uh-huh. I thought so.” Rhage leaned forward and spoke around Z’s chest. “Yo, Phury? Do you think one of your Chosen can come here and fill in for Layla at dawn? We’ve got some blood needs.”
Great. Just what he wanted to do at the end of the night.
* * *
About an hour later, Qhuinn took a sharp breath as he materialized in the cold. Flurries fluttered around his face, getting into his eyes and his nose. One by one, John, Rhage, and Blay assumed form with him.
As he faced off at the airplane hangar, the hollowed-out shell brought back memories of that fakakta Cessna, and the Hail Mary trip, and the crash landing.
Happy, happy, joy, joy.
“Good to go?” he said to Rhage.
“Let’s do this.”
The plan was to proceed at quarter-mile clips until they came to the first few cabins they’d already been to. After that, they would locate the other buildings on the property, using the map they’d found previously as a guide. Just your typical search/recon protocol.
He had no clue what they would find, but that was the point. You didn’t know until you did the job.
As Qhuinn sent himself forward, he was acutely aware of where Blay was. Yet as he re-formed in front of the first cabin they came to, he didn’t look over when Blay appeared about five feet away. Not a good idea. Even though they were on assignment, all he had to do was close his eyes and his mind was flooded with images of naked bodies intertwined in the dim light of his bedroom.
Further visual confirm that the guy was hot as fuck was not a help.
He was ashamed to admit it, but right now, the only thing keeping him together was the fact that Blay had promised to come to him at dawn. The aftermath-awkwardness at First Meal had made him crave the communion even more, to the point where he was shaken by the idea that someday, in the near future, Saxton would be back and Blay would stop walking over from next door—and then what the fuck was he going to do.
What a goddamn mess.
At least Layla was doing well: still nauseated and smiling constantly.
Still pregnant, thanks to Blay’s intervention…
“East by northeast,” Rhage said as he consulted the map.
“Roger that,” Qhuinn replied.
And so they went on, going deeper into the territory, the forest fanning out all around them for hundreds and hundreds of yards…and then by a mile. And then by several miles.
The cabins were largely the same, roughly twenty by twenty, open-spaced in the center, no bathroom, no kitchen, just a roof and four walls to file down the worst of the weather’s teeth. The farther in they went, the more dilapidated the structures became—and they were all empty. Logical. This was a long trek if you were on foot—and lessers, as strong as they were, couldn’t dematerialize.
At least, most of them couldn’t.
That had to have been the Fore-lesser, he thought. Only explanation for how that injured slayer had gone ghost like that.
The seventh cabin they came to was directly on a trail that had been used frequently enough at some point so that they could still see its path through the evergreens.
This one was missing a number of panes of glass, and its door had been blown open, a snowdrift barging in like a burglar. Qhuinn crunched grimly through the ice pack, his shitkickers making mincemeat of the pristine surface as he closed in on the porch. With a flashlight in his left hand and a forty-five in his right, he jumped up under the eaves and leaned in.
Same shit, different dead space.
As he swept the interior, there was a whole lot of absolutely frickin’ nothing. No furniture. Some built-in shelving that was empty. Cobwebs that waved in the breeze coming through the busted windowpanes.
“Clear,” he called out.
Turning away, he thought this was bullshit. He wanted to be downtown kicking ass, not out here in the middle of nowhere, hunting and pecking and coming up with nada.
Rhage put a penlight between his teeth and unfolded the map once again. Making a mark with a pen, he tapped the heavy paper. “Last one is about a quarter mile to the west.”
Thank. Fuck.
Assuming everything was as snore as it had been, they should be out of this and engaging the enemy in the alleys within fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.
Piece of cake.
FIFTY-NINE
“You look really happy.”
Layla glanced over. On some level, it was unfathomable that the queen of the race was propped up next to her on the bed, reading Us Weekly and People, and watching television. Then again, except for the huge blood red Saturnine Ruby that winked on her finger, she was as normal as could be.
“I am.” Layla put aside the article on the newest season of The Bachelor and laid her hand upon her belly. “I am ecstatic.”
Especially given that Payne had stopped by earlier, and appeared to be back to feeling like herself. Although Layla’s wish for the pregnancy to continue was nearly pathological, the idea that the blessing had come at a cost to the other female had not sat well.
“Do you wish to have young?” Layla blurted. And then had to add, “If it does not offend—”
Beth batted away the concern. “You can ask me anything. And, God, yes. I want some so badly. It’s funny, back before my change? I had no interest in them—at all. They were a noisy, out-of-control complication that I honestly didn’t know why people bothered to bring into their lives. Then I met Wrath.” She pushed her dark hair back and laughed. “Needless to say, everything has changed.”
“How many needings have you had?”
“I’m waiting. Praying. Counting down.”
Layla frowned and made busywork opening a new sleeve of saltines. It was hard to remember much in specific of those crazy hours with Qhuinn—but it had been a trial of epic proportions.
Given the miracle that was still resting within her, it had all been worth it.
However, she couldn’t say she ever wanted to go through her fertile time again. At least not unmedicated.
“Well, I wish your needing for you soon, then.” Layla bit into yet another cracker, the square splintering and melting in her mouth. “And I can’t believe I’m saying that.”
“Is it as rough as…I mean, I didn’t get to talk to Wellsie much about hers before she passed, and Bella’s never said anything about her time.” Beth looked down at the queen’s ring, as if admiring the way its facets captured and reflected the light. “And I don’t know Autumn all that well—she’s lovely, but given everything she and Tohr have just been through, it doesn’t seem an appropriate topic to bring up with her.”
“It’s mostly a blur, to be honest.”
“Probably a blessing, huh.”
Layla winced. “I wish I could tell you otherwise—but yes, I believe it is a blessing.”
“It’s got to be worth it, though.”
“Without a doubt—I was just thinking that very thing, as a matter of fact.” Layla smiled. “You know what they say about pregnant females, yes?”
“What?”
“If you spend time with them, they’ll encourage your needing to come.”
“Reeeeeeally.” The queen grinned. “Then you could be the answer to my prayers.”
“Well, I’m not sure whether it’s true. On the Far Side, we’re fertile all the time. It’s only here on Earth that fem
ales are subjected to hormone fluctuations—but I have read about the effect in the library.”
“Then let’s do our own experiment, shall we?” Beth offered her palm for a shake. “Besides, I like being here. You’re very inspirational.”
Layla’s brows peaked as she shook what was presented to her. “Inspir—oh, no. I cannot see that at all.”
“Think of everything you’ve been through.”
“The pregnancy has resolved itself, though—”
“Not just that. You’re the survivor of a cult.” As Layla gave her a blank look, the queen asked, “You’ve never heard of that?”
“I know the word’s definition. But I’m not sure it applies to me.”
The queen glanced away, as if she didn’t want to create discord. “Hey, I could be wrong, and you would certainly know better than me—besides, you’re happy now, and that’s what matters.”
Layla focused on the television across the way. From what she understood, a cult was not a good thing, and survivor was a term usually associated with people who had been through some kind of trauma.
The Sanctuary had been as placid and temperate as a spring day upon the earth, all the females in the sacred place calm and at peace with their important duties to the mother of the race.
No coercion. No strife.
For some reason, Payne’s voice entered her mind.
You and I are sisters in my mother’s tyranny—casualties of her grand plan for the way things must be. We were both jailed by her in different ways, you as a Chosen, myself as her blooded daughter.
“I’m sorry,” the queen said, reaching out and touching Layla’s arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I honestly don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.”
Layla snapped herself back to attention. “Oh, please, do not concern yourself.” She clasped the queen’s hand. “I take no offense at all. But now, let us speak of happier things—such as your hellren. He must be impatient for your time to come as well.”
