Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (24 page)

noise. “Z—say something—”

“I’m right here,” the Brother answered, grimacing as he pried one of his clawed hands off the

armrest and held it up. “I’m okay, son—I’m all right.”

Qhuinn grabbed onto what was extended, and that was when his knees went out from under him.

He just crumpled around their clasped palms, his voice cracking so much he could barely speak.

“I just…wanted you to be okay….I just…wanted you…to be okay—oh, God…for your

daughter…I just wanted you to be okay….”

Zsadist, the Brother who never touched anyone, reached out and put his free hand on Qhuinn’s

bent head. Looking up, he said softly, “Don’t let anyone in here. Give him a minute, ’kay?”

Blay nodded and turned away, blocking the doorway with his body. “They’re all right—they’re

all right….”

As he babbled at the crowd, the number of faces staring up at him was a good dozen, but Bella

wasn’t among them. Where was she—

“Zsadist!
Zsaaaaaaaaaaaaadist!
”

The scream carried all the way across the glowing blue lawn as, up at the terrace, a lone figure

shot out into the snow at a dead run.

Lots of people shouted back at Bella, but he doubted she heard a thing.

“Zsaaaaaaaaaadist!”

As she skidded into range, Blay immediately reached for her, concerned she was going to slam

right into the side of the plane. And, oh, God, he was never going to forget the expression on her face

—it was more horrific than any war atrocity he’d ever seen, as if she were being flayed alive, sure as her arms and legs were strapped down and pieces of her very flesh were being peeled from her body.

Qhuinn jumped out of the aircraft. “He’s okay, he’s all right, I promise you—he’s just fine.”

Bella froze, like that was the last thing she expected anyone to say.

“My
nalla
, come inside,” Z said in that same quiet tone he’d used on Qhuinn. “Come in here.”

The female actually looked at Blay like she needed a check-in that she was hearing correctly. In

response, he simply took her elbow and helped her through the aircraft’s little doorway.

Then he turned away and once again blocked the portal. As sounds of a female weeping openly in

relief emanated, he saw Qhuinn draw his hands over his eyes like the male was clearing his own face of tears.

“Holy shit, son, I didn’t know you could fly a plane,” somebody said.

As Qhuinn looked up and appeared to glance across the landscape, Blay did the same. Talk about

your post-apocalyptic scenes: There was a gully extending all along the flight path, like the finger of God had drawn a little line right through the garden.

“Actually…I can’t,” Qhuinn mumbled.

V put his hand-rolled between his lips and extended his palm. “You got my Brother home in one

piece. Fuck the rest of that shit.”

“Word—”

“Yeah, thanks be to God—”

“Hell, yeah—”

“Amen—”

One by one, the Brotherhood came forward, each putting his dagger hand out. The procession took

time, but nobody seemed to worry about the cold.

Blay certainly couldn’t feel it. To the point that he became paranoid….

Reaching into the warmth of his leather jacket, he found his rib cage and pinched himself as hard

as he could.

Ow.

Shutting his eyes, he sent up a silent prayer that this was reality…and not the horror that might

have been.

All the attention was making Qhuinn jumpy.

And it wasn’t like his little flight of fancy had been a Zen frickin’ experience. The burn in his face from all that wind, the aches in his shoulders and his back, the wobbly legs—he felt like he was still up there, still praying to nothing he believed existed, still and forever on the verge.

Of dying.

Plus he was so damn embarrassed—breaking down in front of Z like that? Come on. What a

fucking pussy.

“Mind if I take a look?” Doc Jane said as she approached the crowd.

Yeah, good idea. The whole purpose of this was because Z had been injured badly enough not to

be able to dematerialize.

“Qhuinn?” the female said.

“I’m sorry?” Oh, he was in the way. “Here, let me get out of the—”

“No, not Zsadist. You.”

“Huh?”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Am I?”

The doctor turned his hands over. “See?” Sure enough, his palms were dripping red. “You just

wiped your face. You have a deep cut on your head.”

“Oh. Okay.” Maybe that was why he felt so spacey? “What about Z—”

“Manny’s already in there.”

Huh. Guess he’d missed that part. “You want to look at me here?”

She laughed a little. “How about we get you back to the house—if you can walk.”

“I’ll take care of him—”

“Let me get him—”

“I’ll take him—”

“Got him—”

The chorus of volunteers was a surprise, and so were all the helping arms that appeared from out

of nowhere: He was literally enveloped by thick fighting arms, and all but carried away from the site like someone surfing the crowd at a concert.

He glanced back, hoping to see Blay, praying to meet the guy’s eyes, just to connect, even though

that was crazy—

But Blay was there.

That beautiful blue stare was right there, so steady and true as it met his own that he felt like

breaking down all over again. And he drew strength from those eyes, just as he’d done back when

they’d spent so much time together. The truth was that he wished it were Blay getting him back to the mansion, but no one said shit to the Brotherhood when they kicked in en masse like this. And besides, no doubt the guy would feel like that was too close.

Qhuinn refocused on the way ahead. Holy…shit…

The garden was utterly decimated, half of the ten-foot-high hedge next to the house cut down, all

kinds of trees knocked over, bushes mowed through, the remnants of the crash landing scattered

around like bomb shrapnel.

Man, there was a lot of debris that looked like aircraft parts.

Oh, check it, a steel panel.

“Hold on,” he said, pulling himself free. Bending down, he picked the sharp-edged fragment out

of where it had melted into the snow. He could have sworn the thing was still warm.

“I’m really sorry,” he said to no one in particular.

The king’s voice boomed from in front of him. “For keeping my Brother alive?”

Qhuinn looked up. Wrath had come out of the library with George on one side of him and his

queen on the other. The male looked as big as the mansion behind him—and just as strong: Even

blind, he seemed like a superhero in those wraparound shades.

“I fucking trashed your yard,” Qhuinn muttered as he went up to the royal male. “I mean…

landscaped it in a bad way.”

“It’ll give Fritz something to do in the spring. You know how much he loves to pull weeds.”

“That’s the least of your problems. I’m pretty sure you’re in backhoe territory.”

Wrath came forward, meeting him halfway across the terrace. “This is the second time, son.”

“That I’ve ruined something mechanical in the last twenty-four hours? I know, right—next thing

you know, I’ll be blowing up a battleship.”

Those jet-black brows sank low. “That is not what I’m talking about.”

Okay, this had to end right now. He
really
hated having the attention on him.

Deliberately ignoring the king’s statement, he said, “Well, the good news, my lord, is that I’m not looking for a three-peat. So I think we’re safe from now on.”

There was a lot of grumbling in agreement.

“Can I get him to the clinic now?” Doc Jane cut in.

Wrath smiled, his fangs flashing in the moonlight. “You do that.”

Thank God…he was so done with tonight.

“Where is Layla?” the doctor asked as they stepped into the warmth of the library. “I think you

need to feed.”

Fuck.

As the mother hens in black leather behind him started clucking in support of that idea, Qhuinn’s

eyes rolled back in his head. One crisis tonight was more than enough. The last thing he was

interested in was explaining exactly why the Chosen could not be used as a blood source.

“You look woozy,” somebody said.

“I think he’s going over—”

Annnnnnd that was the last thing he heard for a while.

TWENTY-TWO

Across the river, at Havers’s clinic, Layla finally had to get off the examination table and

wander around the little room. She had lost all track of time at this point. Indeed, it felt as

though she had been staring at the four walls forever—and would be for the rest of her

natural life upon the earth.

The only part of her that remained fresh and engaged was her mind. The unfortunate thing was that

it relentlessly churned over what that nurse had said…that this was a miscarriage. That in all

likelihood, she had conceived—

When the knock she’d been waiting for finally came, it was unexpected and made her jump.

“Come in?” she said.

The nurse who had been so kind entered…but appeared changed. She refused to meet Layla’s

eyes, and her face was frozen in a mask. Draped over her arm was a bolt of white cloth, and she

thrust the fabric forward while looking away. And then she dropped to a curtsy.

“Your grace,” she said in a shaky voice. “I…we…Havers…we had no idea.”

Layla frowned. “What are you—”

The nurse shook the robing, as if trying to get Layla to accept it. “Please. Put this on.”

“What is this about?”

“You have Chosen blood in you.” The nurse’s voice quavered. “Havers is…distraught.”

Layla struggled to comprehend the words. So this was not…about her pregnancy? “What— I

don’t understand. Why is he…he’s upset because I am a Chosen?”

The other female blanched. “We thought you were…fallen?”

Layla put her hands over her eyes. “I may soon be—depending on what happens.” She did
not

have the energy for this. “Would someone just tell me what the test results are and what I need to do to take care of myself?”

The nurse fumbled with the draping, still trying to hand it over. “He can’t come back in here—”

“
What?
”

“Not if you’re…he cannot be in here with you. And he should never have—”

Layla jacked herself forward, her temper flaring. “Let me make myself perfectly clear—I want to

talk to the doctor.” At the demand, the nurse actually looked up at her face. “I have a right to know what he found out about my body—you tell him to get in here
now
.”

There was nothing shrill in her voice. No high-pitched hysteria—just a flat, powerful tone she’d

never heard come out of her mouth before.

“Go. And get him,” she commanded.

The nurse lifted the drapery up. “Please. Put this on. He’s…”

Layla forced herself not to yell. “I’m just another patient—”

The nurse frowned and squared her shoulders. “Excuse me, but that is not accurate. And as far as

he’s concerned, he violated you during the exam.”

“What?”

The nurse just stared at her. “He’s a good male. A fine male who is very traditional in his ways

—”

“What in the Scribe Virgin’s name does that have to do with anything?”

“The Primale can kill him for what he did to you.”

“During the exam? I consented—it was a medical procedure I needed!”

“It does not matter. He did something unlawful.”

Layla closed her eyes. She should have just used the Brotherhood’s clinic.

“You must realize where he’s coming from,” the nurse said. “You are of a hierarchy that we don’t

come in contact with—and moreover, should not.”

“I have a beating heart and a body that requires help. That’s all he—and anybody else—needs to

know. The flesh is the same.”

“The blood is not.”

“He must come see me—”

“He will not.”

Layla refocused on the female. And then put her hand upon her lower belly. For all of her life, up

until now, she had lived on the side of the righteous, serving faithfully, discharging her duties, existing within the prescribed parameters that were dictated by others.

No more.

She narrowed her eyes. “You tell that doctor he either comes and tells me in person what is going

on—or I will go to the Primale and recite word-for-word what happened in here.”

She deliberately shifted her stare to the machine that had been used during her internal exam.

As the nurse blanched, Layla felt no joy at the leverage she used. But there was no regret, either.

The nurse bowed deeply and backed out of the room, leaving that ridiculous fabric on the shallow

counter by the sink.

Layla had never considered her Chosen status as either burden or benefit. It simply was all she

had known: her lot cast, the fate that she had been given made manifest through breath and