Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (156 page)

come back—never did.”

“You’re safe here.” That was all he could think of. “You don’t worry about a damn thing—no

one’s getting anywhere near you.”

“Where…am I…”

“The Brotherhood’s training center.”

Those eyes widened. “In truth?”

“Yeah.”

“Indeed…” Luchas’s expression shifted, those once handsome features tightening even further.

“What of
Mahmen
. Papa. Solange?”

Qhuinn just shook his head back and forth.

And in response, a sudden strength came into that frail voice. “Are you sure they are dead? Are

you certain?”

As if he didn’t wish what he had suffered on any of them.

“Yeah, we’re sure.”

Luchas sighed and closed his eyes.

Shit. Qhuinn felt a little cheap about lying, but in spite of the fact that the machines by the bed suggested his brother was stable, if the guy tanked, he didn’t want to send Luchas to the grave thinking that after what had been done with him, no one could be sure how many others had been taken—or

when.

In the quiet, Qhuinn looked down at his brother’s hand. That signet ring had been left on—maybe

because the knuckle above it was so swollen, they would have had to cut it off.

The crest that had been carved into the gold face carried the sacred symbols that only the

Founding Families could mark their lineage with. And yeah, wow, it was completely deranged—and

grossly inappropriate—to covet the goddamn thing. After everything that had happened, you’d think

he’d be disgusted.

Then again, maybe it was just a knee-jerk reaction, an echo from all those years of hoping against

hope he’d get one of his own.

“Qhuinn?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry….”

Qhuinn shook his head, even though Luchas’s lids were closed. “You don’t worry about anything.

You’re safe. You’re back. It’s all going to be okay.”

As his brother’s chest rose and fell again like he was relieved, Qhuinn rubbed his face and didn’t

feel good about any of it. Not his brother’s condition—or his return.

It wasn’t that he wanted the guy dead. Tortured. Frozen forever.

But he had closed the door on all that family-dynamic stuff. Relegated it to the back of his mental file cabinet. Put it away for good, never to be looked at again.

What could you do, though?

Life specialized in curveballs.

The unfortunate thing was that they somehow inevitably ended up catching him in the nuts.

When a soft whistle sounded next to Blay, he jumped. “Oh, hey, John.”

John Matthew lifted his hand in a wave.
How’re things?

As Blay shrugged, he thought it might be a good idea to stand up off the floor again. His ass had

gone numb, which meant it was time for another of his walkabouts.

Grunting as he got to his feet, he stretched his back. “I guess okay. Luchas was awake enough after surgery so Qhuinn’s in there now.”

Oh. Wow.

While Blay walked things off in a tight circle, John settled against the wall. He was dressed in

sweats, and the guy’s hair was still wet—and there was a bite mark on his neck.

Blay looked away. Opened his mouth to say something. Ran out of gas for conversation.

From the corner of his eye, he saw John sign,
So, how’s Saxton?

“Ah, good. He’s good—on a little vacation.”

He’s been working really hard.

“Yeah, he has.” As he hoped the topic ended there, it felt odd to keep something from John. Other

than Qhuinn, the guy had been the closest friend he had—although they had drifted during the last year, too. “But he’ll be back soon.”

You must miss him.
John glanced away, like he knew it was pushing it.

Made sense. Blay had always shut down any conversation about his relationship, diverting talk to

other subjects.

“Yeah.”

So how’s Qhuinn holding up? I didn’t want to intrude, but…

Blay could only shrug again. “He’s been in there awhile. I’m taking that as good news.”

And Luchas is going to make it?

“Time will tell, but at least they got him patched up.” Blay took out his Dunhills and lit up,

exhaling slowly. When there was nothing but an awkward silence, he said, “Listen, I’m sorry if I’m

being weird.”

The truth was, that bite mark was a reminder of what was going to have to happen for him, and he

really didn’t need that so front-and-center.

Qhuinn’s voice barged into his head:
We could go together.

What the hell had he agreed to?

You’re stressed,
John signed as he focused on the door.
We’re all stressed. Everything is…

stressful.

Blay frowned as the guy’s mood registered. “Hey, are you okay?”

After a moment, John signed,
The strangest thing happened the other night. Wrath called me

into his office and told me that Qhuinn was no longer my
ahstrux nohtrum.
I mean, that’s fine,
that’s cool—it’s actually uncomplicated things a lot. But Qhuinn never said anything to me, and I
don’t know if I should say something to him? I also didn’t know that was possible. I mean, when it
started, it was like, “Your pink slip is a double-tap, and that’s that,” you know? Did he just quit?

Is it because of the Layla thing? I thought they weren’t getting mated.

Blay exhaled a curse, the smoke curling up over his head. “I have no clue.”

Shit, that mating thing probably should have occurred to him—and maybe that was why Qhuinn

had jumped out of range when V had appeared.

Could Qhuinn and Layla be getting hitched now that the young was okay—

The door swung wide, and Qhuinn came out, looking like he’d been kicked in the head. “Oh, hey,

John, whassup.”

As the two clapped each other on the shoulder, Qhuinn glanced over, but then carried on with a

back-and-forth with John.

And then he and Qhuinn were alone after John left a moment later.

“Are you okay?” Qhuinn said.

Clearly, the question of the hour, wasn’t it.

“Actually, I’m going to ask you that. How’s Luchas?” Blay pulled a V and stubbed his cigarette

out on the tread of his shitkicker.

Before Qhuinn could answer, Selena came out of the office, as if she had been summoned from the

main house. The Chosen walked toward them gracefully, but with purpose, her traditional white

robing flowing around her legs.

“Greetings, sires,” she said as she approached. “Dr. Jane indicated that I was required?”

As Blay exhaled, he felt like punching himself. This was the last thing he—

“Yeah, both of us,” Qhuinn answered.

Blay closed his eyes as a sudden surge rocked him. The idea of watching Qhuinn feed was like a

drug in his bloodstream, loosening him up and threatening to get him hard. But really, it wasn’t—

“Down the hall would be great,” Qhuinn murmured.

Well, it was better than a bedroom. Right? More professional, yes?

And he did need the feeding—and Qhuinn no doubt had to as well after all the drama.

Blay ditched his cigarette butt into a trash can and brought up the rear as Qhuinn led the way.

Going along, he didn’t track the Chosen’s movements. Nope, not in the slightest. His eyes were glued to Qhuinn’s, from those shoulders, to those hips…to that ass….

Okay, this was going to stop. Right now.

He just needed to pull himself together, do the feeding, and make an excuse to get gone.

Maybe this plan would be one that actually worked?

In through a doorway. Conversation. Polite smiling, even though he didn’t know what had been

asked or answered of him.

Ah, one of the hospital rooms, he realized. This was really good—a clinical environment. Just

take the vein and move along, with one biological function not necessarily leading to another—

“I’m sorry?” the Chosen said, looking at him with an open face.

Great. He’d been loose-lipping it, but there was no telling how much he’d shared.

“I’m sorry,” he said smoothly. “I’m just hungry as all get-out.”

“In that case, would you like to be first?” Selena asked.

“Yeah, he would,” Qhuinn replied as he settled back against the door.

Well, there you go, Blay thought. Everything was settled. When Qhuinn started? He was going to

leave.

Stepping forward, he wondered how this was going to work precisely, but Selena solved that one

by drawing up a chair and sitting by the hospital bed. Roger that—Blay hopped up on the mattress, his weight displacing the pillow from the slightly raised head, the springs creaking. And then his mind shut down, which was a relief. As Selena stretched out her arm and drew her white sleeve back, his

hunger came to the forefront, his fangs dropping down from his upper jaw, his breath deepening.

“Please partake as you wish,” she said placidly.

“I thank you for the gift, Chosen,” he answered in a low voice.

Leaning down, he struck deeply, but as gently as he could—and on the first swallow, he knew it

had been too long. With a great howl, his stomach roared with need, his civility draining out of him, his instincts taking over: He drew hard, drinking faster and faster, the power landing in his gut and spreading out from there—

His eyes went to Qhuinn.

Dimly, he was aware that yet again, one of his plans was soon going to be out the window, gone

and forgotten. In fact, this had been a very bad idea—assuming he didn’t want to fuck the guy again: Logic was difficult enough when it was just a case of conflicting emotions. A full-on sexual urge,

spurred by the drinking?

He was an asshat of the first order; he truly was.

And that was especially true as he watched Qhuinn’s erection inflate behind the fly of the fighter’s leathers.

Fuck.

Fuck
.

Man, one of these days, he was going to be strong enough to walk away. He really was, honest.

Oh, FUCK
.

SIXTY-SEVEN

As Qhuinn watched the show, his tongue parted his mouth and took a lick of his lips.

Across the shallow room, Blay was up on the hospital bed, that perfect torso angled

forward so he could partake of the Chosen’s vein, his hands, those capable, well-trained,

strong hands, holding the fragile wrist to his mouth with care—as though, even in the throes

of feeding, he was a gentlemale.

As he continued to drink, his torso curved around even tighter, his rib cage flexing and settling

with every breath, his head subtly shifting with every swallow.

It was all Qhuinn could do to stay where he was. He so wanted up on that mattress as well,

twisting that body around so he could come in from behind. He wanted to be at the male’s throat as

Blay took from the Chosen. He wanted to fuck the guy for twelve or fifteen hours straight when they were both done.

After all the drama with Luchas, this short, intense respite from the shock and pain was a glorious, guilty relief: it was just too damn good to focus on something like this—his tired mind and exhausted body ready to be refreshed so he could come back to reality fighting strong once again.

God, his brother…

Shaking his head, he deliberately gave his brain something erotic to play with: As Blay’s hand

sneaked between his legs and rearranged something at his fly, it was pretty damn clear he was fully aroused.

As if that delicious scent didn’t make it obvious.

Just as Qhuinn was about to lose it, Blay lifted his head and let out a chuffing sound of

satisfaction. Then the male licked at the puncture wounds he’d made.

You know what, Qhuinn thought. Fuck the feeding. All he needed was Blay….

“And you, sire?” the Chosen asked.

Crap. He probably should do it.

Besides, Blay was clearly in a postfeeding logy state, his body slow, his eyes fuzzy—and Qhuinn

took advantage of it, pushing himself between the fighter and the Chosen, his ass rubbing against the hard ridge of Blay’s cock as he hopped up onto the bed.

While Blay let out a groan, Qhuinn leaned over and took the female’s other wrist. Holding it with

one hand, he used his other to yank out the bottom of his muscle shirt—and then shove Blay’s palm

down the front of his own pants.

Qhuinn kept his own groan to himself by taking a hard pull on the Chosen’s vein, but Blay’s hiss

sounded out.

Maybe the Chosen would assume it—

Qhuinn’s eyes rolled back in his head as Blay stroked him, the friction threatening to make him

come right then and there—which was not something he wanted to do in front of Selena.

But, oh, fuck, that was—

He put his own hand down there, stilling that movement.

So Blay just gave his balls a good squeeze.

Qhuinn climaxed on his next swallow, the orgasm shooting out of him before he could think of any