Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (40 page)

he stood—bad news had been imparted during their tenure inside.

As before, she was all but carried to the vehicle.

And even still, there was the scent of her blood upon the air.

His Chosen was resettled in the back of that sedan, with the female at her side. Then Phury, son of Ahgony, and the warrior with the mismatched eyes got into the front. The vehicle was turned about

slowly, as if out of concern for the precious cargo in its rear compartment.

Xcor followed in their wake, materializing apace to the steady speed that was gained first upon

the rural road at the end of the lane, and then upon the highway. When the car approached the

suspension bridge, he once again spotted it from atop the highest girder, and then after his female passed beneath him, he jumped from rooftop to rooftop as the sedan circumvented downtown.

He tracked the vehicle north until it exited the highway and entered the farmland area.

He stayed with her the whole time.

And that was how he found the location of the Brotherhood.

THIRTY-SEVEN

As Blay twisted his family’s signet ring around on his forefinger, his lit cigarette smoldered

gently in his other hand, and his ass grew numb…and no one came back in through the

vestibule’s doors.

Sitting on the bottom step of the mansion’s grand staircase, he wasn’t going to fulfill his

promise to his mother and head home. Not tonight, at least. After the craziness of the evening before, what with the crash landing and the attendant drama, Wrath had ordered the Brotherhood and the

fighters to take twenty-four off. So technically, he should have called the ’rents and told his mom to bust out the mozzarella and the meat sauce.

But there was no way he was leaving the house. Not after hearing yelling from Layla’s room, and

then seeing her all but carried down the grand staircase.

Naturally, Qhuinn had been with her.

John Matthew had not.

So whatever had gone down apparently trumped the
ahstrux nohtrum
thing, and that meant…she

had to be losing the young. Only something that serious would get a pass.

As he continued to bump-on-a-log it, with nothing but worry to keep him company, naturally his

mind decided to make things worse: Shit, had he really slept with Qhuinn last night?

Taking a hard drag off his Dunhill, he exhaled a curse.

Had it really happened?

God, that question had been banging around his skull from the moment he’d woken up out of a hot-

as-hell dream, with an erection that seemed to think the other male was sleeping next to him.

Replaying the scenes, for the hundredth time, all he could think was…talk about a plan misfiring.

After he’d turned Qhuinn down when the guy had been on his knees, he’d gone back to his room and

paced around, a debate he wasn’t interested in having with himself turning his brain to
foie gras
.

But he’d made the right decision in leaving. Really. He had.

The problem was, it hadn’t stuck. As the daylight hours had worn on, all he’d thought about was

the time he’d gotten caught by his father stealing a pack of cigarettes from one of the family’s
doggen
.

He’d been a young pretrans, and as a punishment, his dad had made him sit outside and smoke every

one of those unfiltered Camels. He’d been horribly sick, and it had been a year or two before he’d

been able to stomach even secondhand smoke.

So that had been the new plan.

He’d wanted Qhuinn so badly for so long, but it had all been a hypothetical, parceled out in

fantasies in ways he could handle. Not all at once, not the full-bore, overload, wrecking-ball stuff—

and he’d known damn well that in real life, Qhuinn wasn’t going to hold back or be easy. The “plan”

had been to have the actual experience, and learn that it was just rough sex. Or hell, find out that it wasn’t even
good
sex.

You weren’t supposed to smoke all the cigarettes in the pack…and only want more.

Jesus Christ almighty, it had been the first time reality had been better than a fantasy, the absolute best erotic experience of his life.

Afterward, however, the kindness that Qhuinn had shown had been unbearable.

In fact, as Blay recalled that tenderness, he burst up from where he’d been sitting and marched

around the apple tree—as if he had somewhere to go.

At that moment doors opened. Not the vestibule ones, however.

The library.

As he glanced over his shoulder, Saxton stepped out from the room. He looked like hell, and not

just because, as fast a healer as the male was, he still had some residual jaw swelling thanks to

Qhuinn’s attack.

Good one, Blay thought. Way to express disappointment in someone’s behavior: Let them fuck the

shit out of you after they tried to strangle your ex.

Soooo classy.

“How are you?” Blay asked, and not in a social way.

It was a relief as Saxton came over. Looked him in the eye. Smiled a little like he was determined

to make an effort.

“I’m exhausted. I’m hungry. I’m restless.”

“Would you like to eat with me?” Blay blurted. “I’m feeling exactly that way, too, and the only

thing I can do anything about is the need for food.”

Saxton nodded and put his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “That is a stellar idea.”

The pair of them ended up in the kitchen at the battered oak table, sitting side by side, facing out into the room. With a happy smile, Fritz immediately flipped into provide-sustenance mode and what

do you know. Ten minutes later, the butler provided each of them with a bowl of steaming beef stew, as well as a crusty baguette to share, a bottle of red wine, and a stick of sweet butter on a little plate.

“I shall be back, my lords,” the butler said on a bow. And then he proceeded to shoo everyone

else out of the place, from the
doggen
who were prepping vegetables to the ones who were polishing silver to the window cleaners in the alcove beyond.

As the flap door shut behind the last of the staff, Saxton said, “All we need is a candle and this

would be a date.” The male leaned forward and ate with perfect manners. “Well, I suppose we would

need a few other things, wouldn’t we.”

Blay glanced over as he put his cigarette out. Even with bags under those eyes and that mostly

faded bruise on his neck, the attorney was something to look at.

Why the hell couldn’t he—

“Do not say you’re sorry again.” Saxton wiped his mouth and smiled. “It really isn’t necessary or

appropriate.”

Sitting beside the guy, it seemed just as unlikely that they had broken up as it was that he had been with Qhuinn. Had any of the last couple of nights happened?

Well, duh. What had gone down with Qhuinn wouldn’t have if he and Sax were still together. That

he was very clear on—it was one thing to jerk off in secret, and that was bad enough. The full bifta?

NFW.

Shit, in spite of the fact that he and Saxton had split up, he still felt like he should confess the transgression…although if Qhuinn was right, Saxton had already moved on in one sense of the word.

As they ate in silence, Blay shook his head, even though he hadn’t been asked a question and there

was no conversation. He just didn’t know what else to do. Sometimes the changes in life came at you so fast, and with such fury, there was no way to keep up with reality. It took time for things to sink in, the new equilibrium establishing itself only after some period of your brain sloshing back and forth against the walls of your head.

He was still in the slosh zone.

“Have you ever felt as though hours were more properly measured in years?” Saxton said.

“Or maybe decades. Yes. Absolutely.” Blay glanced over again. “I was actually just thinking that

very same thing.”

“Such a morbid pair we are.”

“Maybe we should wear black.”

“Armbands?” Saxton prompted.

“Whole deal, head to toe.”

“Whatever shall I do with my flare for color?” Saxton flicked at his orange Hermès kerchief.

“Then again, one can accessorize anything.”

“Certainly explains the theory behind dental grilles.”

“Pink plastic flamingos.”

“The Hello Kitty franchise.”

All at once, they both burst into laughter. It wasn’t even that funny, but the humor wasn’t the point.

Breaking the ice was. Getting back to a new kind of normal was. Learning to relate in a different way was.

As things settled into chuckles, Blay put his arm around the male’s shoulders and gave him a

quick hug. And it was nice that Saxton leaned in for a brief moment, accepting what was offered. It wasn’t that Blay thought that just because they’d sat down together, shared a meal, and had a laugh, all of a sudden everything was going to be smooth sailing. Not at all. It was awkward to think Saxton had been with someone else, and utterly incredible to know he’d done the same—especially given who it

had been.

You didn’t downshift from being lovers for nearly a year to doing the pally-pally thing in the

matter of a day or two.

You could, however, start forging a new path.

And put one foot after the other on it.

Saxton was always going to have a place in his heart. The relationship they’d shared had been the

first one he’d had—not just with a male, but with anyone. And there had been a lot of good times,

things he would carry with him as memories that were worth the brain space.

“Have you seen the back gardens?” Saxton asked as he offered the bread.

Blay broke off a piece and then passed the butter plate over as Saxton took a section for himself.

“They’re bad, aren’t they.”

“Remind me never to attempt to weed with a Cessna.”

“You don’t garden.”

“Well, if I ever do, then.” Saxton poured some wine in his glass. “Vino?”

“Please.”

And that was how it went. All the way from the stew through to the peach cobbler that

miraculously appeared before them thanks to Fritz’s perfect timing. When the last bite had been taken and the final napkin swipe made, Blay leaned back against the built-in bench’s cushions and took a

deep breath.

Which was about so much more than just a filled stomach.

“Well,” Saxton said, as he laid down his napkin beside his dessert plate, “I do believe I’m finally going to take that bath I talked about nights ago.”

Blay opened his mouth to point out that the salts the male preferred were still in his bathroom.

He’d seen them in the cupboard when he’d taken his backup shaving cream out at nightfall.

Except…he wasn’t sure he should mention it. What if Saxton thought he was asking the male to

come and bathe in his suite? Was it too much of a reminder of how things had changed—and why?

What if—

“I have this new oil treatment I’m dying to try,” Saxton said as he slid out his side of the bench. “It finally arrived from overseas in today’s mail. I’ve been waiting for ages.”

“Sounds awesome.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Saxton resettled his jacket on his shoulders, pulled his cuffs into

place, and then lifted his hand in a wave, striding out without any sign of complication or strain on his face.

Which was helpful, actually.

Folding his own napkin up, he placed it beside his plate, and as he scooted free of the table, he

stretched his arms over his head and bent backward, his spine cracking in a good way.

The tension in him returned as soon as he stepped into the foyer again.

What the hell was going on with Layla?

Damn it, it wasn’t like he could call Qhuinn. The drama wasn’t his own, or anything he was

connected to: When it came to that pregnancy, he was no different from the others in the house who

had also seen and heard the show and were no doubt just as worried as he was—but had no right to

emergent updates.

Too bad his now-full gut didn’t buy that. The thought of Qhuinn losing the young was enough to

make him studiously consider the locations of the bathrooms. Just in case an evac order was issued by the back of his throat.

In the end, he found himself upstairs in the second-floor sitting room pacing around. From that

vantage point, it was no problem to hear the vestibule door, and yet it wasn’t like he was waiting out in the open—

The double doors of Wrath’s study were pushed wide, and John Matthew emerged—from the

king’s sanctum.

Immediately, Blay strode across the sitting room, ready to see if maybe the guy had heard anything

—but he stopped as he got a gander at John’s expression.

Deep in thought. Like he’d received personal news of the disturbing variety.

Blay hung back as his buddy went off in the opposite direction, going down the hall of statues, no

doubt to disappear into his room.