Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (36 page)

As Phury got off the exit that would take them onto the bridges, Qhuinn’s brain shifted from

worrying about Layla to reviewing all kinds of pictures and sounds and…tastes from the daylight

hours.

Intellectually, he knew what had happened between them hadn’t been a dream—and his body sure

as hell remembered everything, like the sex had been a kind of branding on his flesh that changed the way he looked forever. And yet, as he went about dealing with the newest frickin’ drama, the too-short session seemed prehistoric, not less than a night old.

He feared it was a one-and-only.

Don’t you touch me like that.

Groaning, he rubbed at his head.

“It’s not about your eyes,” Phury said.

“I’m sorry?”

Phury glanced into the backseat. “Hey, how we doing?” he asked the females. When Layla and

Doc Jane answered in some sort of affirmative, he nodded. “Listen, I’m going to shut the partition for a sec, ’kay? All good up here.”

The Brother didn’t give them a chance to answer one way or another, and Qhuinn stiffened in his

seat as the opaque shield rose up, cutting the sedan into two halves. He wasn’t going to run from any kind of confrontation, but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to round two of this one—and if

Phury was cutting the pair in the back off, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Your eyes are not the problem,” the Brother said.

“Excuse me?”

Phury looked over. “My being pissed off about this has got nothing to do with any defect. Layla’s

in love with you—”

“No, she’s not.”

“See, you’re really pissing me off right now.”

“Ask her.”

“While she’s miscarrying your young?” the Brother snapped. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

As Qhuinn winced, Phury continued. “See, here’s the thing with you. You like living on the edge

and being all wild—frankly, I think it helps you come to terms with the bullshit your family put you through. If you iconoclast everything? Nothing can hurt you. And believe it or not, I don’t have a

problem with that. You do you, and get through your nights and your days any way you can. But as

soon as you break the heart of an innocent—especially if she’s under my care? That’s when you and I have an issue.”

Qhuinn looked out his window. First off, props to the big man over there. The idea that there was

a judgment against Qhuinn based on his character instead of a genetic mutation he hadn’t volunteered for was a refreshing change. And hey, it wasn’t that he didn’t agree with the guy—at least not until about a year ago. Back before then? Hell, yeah, he’d been out of control on a lot of levels. But things had changed. He had changed.

Evidently, Blay becoming unavailable was the kind of boot in the balls he’d needed to finally

grow the fuck up.

“I’m not like that anymore,” he said.

“So you are in fact prepared to mate her?” When he didn’t reply, Phury shrugged. “And there you

go. Bottom line—I’m responsible for her, legally and morally. I may not be behaving like the Primale in some respects, but the rest of the job description I take pretty goddamn seriously. The idea that you got her into this mess makes me sick to my stomach, and I find it very hard to believe that she didn’t do this to please you—you said you both wanted a young? Are you sure that it wasn’t just you, and

she did it because she wanted to make you happy? That’s very much her way.”

This was all presented as a rhetorical. And it wasn’t like Qhuinn could criticize the logic, even if it happened to be wrong. But as he dragged a hand through his hair, the fact that Layla was the one who had come to him was something he kept to himself. If Phury wanted to think it was all his fault, that was fine—he’d carry that load. Anything to take the pressure and attention off Layla.

Phury stared across the seats. “It wasn’t right, Qhuinn. That’s not what a real male does. And now

look at the situation she’s in. You did this to her. You put her in the backseat of this car, and that’s just wrong.”

Qhuinn squeezed his eyes shut. Well, wasn’t that going to be banging around the inside of his head

for the next hundred years. Give or take.

As they started over the bridge and left the twinkling lights of downtown behind, he kept his

godforsaken yap shut, and Phury fell silent as well.

Then again, the Brother had said it all, hadn’t he.

THIRTY-THREE

Assail ended up further tracking his prey from behind the wheel of his Range Rover. Much

cozier this way—and it wasn’t as if the woman’s location was an issue now: While he’d

been waiting by the Audi for her to come off his property, he’d attached a tracking device to

the underbelly of her side-view mirror.

His iPhone took care of the rest.

After she’d left his neighborhood in a rush—following his deliberate dematerialization from sight

just to further destabilize her—she had crossed the river and headed around to the backside of the

city, where the houses were small, packed in close to one another, and finished with aluminum siding.

As he trolled behind her, keeping at least two blocks between their vehicles, he regarded the

brightly colored lights in the neighborhoods, the thousands of strands of twinklers strung among

bushes and hanging from roof lips and boxing out windows and doorframes. But that wasn’t the half

of it. Manger scenes placed prominently on tiny front lawns were spotlit, and there were also fat

white snowmen with red scarves and blue pants that glowed from within.

In contrast to the seasonal accoutrements, he was willing to bet the Virgin Mary statues were

permanent.

When her vehicle stopped and stayed that way, he closed in, parking four houses down and killing

his lights. She didn’t get out of the car right away, and when she finally did, she wasn’t wearing the parka and tight ski pants she’d had on whilst spying on him. Instead, she had changed into a thick red sweater and a pair of jeans.

She’d let her hair down.

And the heavy, brunette weight reached below her shoulders, curling at the ends.

He growled in the darkness.

With quick, easy strides, she surmounted the four shallow concrete steps leading up to the modest

entrance of the home. Propping open the screen door with its curlicue metalwork, she buttressed the thing with her hip, let herself in with a key, and closed things back up.

As a light came on downstairs, he watched her shape walk through the front room, the thin privacy

drapes giving him only a sense of her movement, not any kind of clear view.

He thought of his own screens. It had taken him a long time to perfect that invention, and the

Hudson River house had been perfect for piloting them. The barriers worked even better than he’d

anticipated.

But she was smart enough to have picked up on the anomalies, and he wondered what the

giveaway had been.

On the second floor, a light came on, as if someone who had been resting had stirred at her

arrival.

His fangs pulsed. The idea that some human man was awaiting her in their mated bedroom made

him want to establish his dominance—even though that didn’t make sense. After all, he was tracking

her for his own self-protection, and nothing more.

Absolutely nothing more.

Just as his hand sought the car door handle, his phone rang. Good timing.

When he saw who it was, he frowned and put the cell up to his ear. “Two calls in such a short

time. To what do I owe this honor?”

Rehvenge was not amused. “You didn’t get back to me.”

“Was I required to?”

“Watch yourself, boy.”

Assail’s eyes remained locked on the little house. He was curiously desperate to know what was

going on inside. Was she heading up the stairs, undressing as she went?

Exactly who was she hiding her pursuits from? And she was in fact hiding them—otherwise, why

change in the car prior to entering the house?

“Hello?”

“I appreciate the kind invitation,” he heard himself say.

“It’s not an invitation. You’re a goddamn member of the Council now that you’re in the New

World.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

Assail thought back to the meeting at Elan’s house in the early winter, the one Rehvenge had not

known about, the one to which the Band of Bastards had shown up and flexed their muscle. He also

thought of the attempt on Wrath, the Blind King’s life—on Assail’s own property, for godsakes.

Too much drama for his liking.

With practiced ease, he launched into the same speech he had given Xcor’s faction. “I am a

businessman by predilection and purpose. Although I respect both the current sovereignty and the

Council’s power base, I cannot divert energy or time away from my enterprise. Not now, nor in the

future.”

There was a stretch of silence. And then that deep, ever-so-evil voice came over the connection.

“I’ve heard about your business.”

“Have you.”

“I was in it myself for a number of years.”

“So I understand.”

“I managed to do both.”

Assail smiled into the darkness. “Mayhap I am not as talented as you.”

“I’m going to make something perfectly clear. If you don’t show up at that meeting, I’m going to

assume you’re playing on the wrong team.”

“By that very statement, you acknowledge there are two and they are opposed.”

“Take it as you will. But if you’re not with me and the king, you are my enemy and his.”

And that was precisely what Xcor had said. Then again, was there any other position in this

growing war?

“The king was shot at your house, Assail.”

“So I recollect,” he muttered dryly.

“I’d think you’d want to put to rest any notion of your involvement.”

“I already have. I told the Brothers that very night that I had nothing to do with it. I gave them the vehicle in which they escaped with the king. Why would I do any such thing if I were a traitor?”

“To save your own ass.”

“I am quite accomplished at that without the benefit of conversation, I assure you.”

“So what’s your schedule like?”

The light on the second story was extinguished, and he had to wonder what the woman was doing

in the darkness—and with whom.

Of their own volition, his fangs bared themselves.

“Assail. You are seriously boring me with this hard-to-get bullshit.”

Assail put the Range Rover in gear. He was not going to sit upon the curb whilst whatever

happened inside…happened. She was clearly home for the night, and staying there. Besides, his

phone would alert him in the event that her car was once again set into motion.

As he rolled into the street and gathered speed, he spoke with clarity. “I am herewith resigning my position on the Council. My neutrality in this battle for the crown shall not be questioned by either side—”

“And you know who the players are, don’t you.”

“I shall make this as bald as I am able—I have no side here, Rehvenge. I do not know how to state

this more plainly—and I will not be pulled into the war either by you and your king, or by any other.

Do not attempt to push me, and know that the neutrality I present to you is exactly what I give to

them.”

On that note, he had made a vow to Elan and Xcor not to reveal their identities, and he was going

to keep it—not because he believed the group would e’er return the favor to him, but rather for the simple fact that, depending upon who won this tussle, a confidant to either side would be viewed

either as a whistle-blower to be eradicated or a hero to be lauded. The problem was, one wouldn’t

know which until the end, and he was uninterested in such a gamble.

“So you have been approached,” Rehv stated.

“I received a copy of the letter they sent in the spring of this year, yes.”

“Is that the only contact you’ve had?”

“Yes.”

“You’re lying to me.”

Assail stopped at a traffic light. “There is naught you may say or do to pull me into this, dear

leahdyre
.”

With menace in abundance, the male on the other end growled, “Don’t count on that, Assail.”

With that, Rehvenge hung up.

Cursing, Assail tossed his phone onto the passenger seat. Then he made two fists and banged them

on the steering wheel.

If there was one thing he could not abide, it was being sucked into the vortex of other people’s

arguments. He didn’t give a pence who sat on the throne, or who was in charge of the
glymera
. He just wanted to be left alone to make his money off the backs of rats without tails.

Was that so fucking hard to understand?

When the light turned green, he stomped on the accelerator, even though he had no real destination

in mind. He just drove in a random direction…and about fifteen minutes later, he found himself going over the river on one of the bridges.

Ah, so his Range Rover had decided to take him home.

As he emerged onto the opposite shore, his phone let off a chiming sound, and he nearly ignored

it. But the twins had gone out to move Benloise’s newest shipment, and he wanted to know if those

petty dealers had shown up for their quotas after all.

It was not a phone call or a text.

That black Audi was on the move again.

Assail stomped on the brake, cut in front of semi that blew its horn like the f-word, and plowed up