Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (58 page)

“I’ll call you?”

“Yes, please,” Mark said.

There was a long pause. And then she reached a hand up, slid it behind his neck, and drew his

mouth down to her own. Mark immediately went with the invitation, but not in a pushy, domineering

way: As she tilted her head, he did the same, and their lips met, brushing lightly, then with a little more pressure. He didn’t crush her to him, or trap her against the car…there was no sense of out-of-control.

No feeling of great passion, either.

She broke the contact. “I’ll see you soon.”

Mark exhaled hard, like he’d gotten turned on. “Ah, yeah. I hope so. And not only in the gym.”

He lifted his hand, smiled one last time, and walked to his truck.

With a quiet curse, Sola got behind her wheel, shut the door, and let her head fall back against the rest. In the rearview mirror, she watched his taillights come on, and saw him make a fat turn and head out of the parking lot.

Closing her lids, she didn’t see Mark’s gleaming smile, or imagine his lips against hers, or feel

his hands roaming her body.

She was back to being outside of that cottage looking in, playing witness to a pair of hot, slightly evil eyes looking up at her over the exposed breast of another woman.

“Oh, for the love of God…”

Shaking herself out of the memory, she feared that in this case, her craving for, oh, say, chocolate, was not going to be eased by a diet soda. Or a Snackwell’s cookie. Or even one single Hershey’s

Kiss.

At this rate, she was going to have to melt down a case of Lindt truffles and run them through an

IV directly into her vein.

Putting her foot on the brake, she hit the button on the dash and heard the engine flare to life. As the headlights lights came on—

Sola jerked back into her seat and let out a scream.

When Qhuinn returned to the mansion with the others, he broke rank as soon as he was through the

vestibule and into the grand foyer. Moving at a quick jog, he mounted the staircase and headed

directly to Layla’s room: According to her texts, she’d decided to leave the clinic after all, and he was anxious to find out how she was doing.

Knocking on the door, he started praying. Again.

Nothing like pregnancy to make an agnostic religious.

“Come in?”

At the sound of her voice, he braced himself and ducked inside. “How’re you feeling?”

Layla looked up from the
Us Weekly
magazine she was reading on the bed. “Hi!”

Qhuinn recoiled at the cheerfulness. “Ah…hi?”

Glancing around, he saw
Vogue
,
People
, and
Vanity Fair
on the duvet around her, and across the way, the TV was nattering on, a commercial for underarm deodorant segueing into one for Colgate

toothpaste. There were ginger ales and saltines on the side table next to her, and then, on the opposite stand, a cleaned-out carton of Häagen-Dazs and a couple of spoons on a silver tray.

“I’m feeling really nauseous,” Layla said with a smile. Like that was good news.

He supposed it was. “Any…you know…”

“Not in the slightest. Not even a little. I’m not throwing up, either. I just have to make sure I eat a little all the time. Too much and I feel sick—same if I go too long without putting something in there.”

Qhuinn eased back against the jambs, his legs literally wobbling from relief. “That’s…awesome.”

“Do you want to sit down?” As if he were looking as pale as he suddenly felt.

“No, I’m good. I’m just…I’ve been really worried about you.”

“Well, as you can see”—she indicated her body—“I’m just doing my thing—and thank the Virgin

Scribe for that.”

As Layla smiled over at him, he really liked the way she looked—and not from any sexual sense

of the word. It was just…she appeared calm and relaxed and happy, her hair down loose over her

shoulders, her coloring perfect, her hands and her eyes steady. In fact, she seemed…really healthy all of a sudden, that sallow cast to her skin now noticeable for its absence.

“So I guess you’ve had some visitors,” he commented, as he nodded to the mags and the dead

soldier of ice cream.

“Oh, everyone’s been by. Beth stayed the longest. She stretched out right next to me—we didn’t

talk about anything in particular. We just read and looked at pictures and watched a
Deadliest Catch
marathon. I love that show—it’s where all these humans go out on boats into the sea? It’s very

exciting. Made me feel glad to be warm and on dry land.”

Qhuinn rubbed his face, and prayed that his sense of balance began to return quick: Evidently, his

adrenal glands were still struggling to catch up to reality, the idea that there was no drama, no

emergency, no dire anything to react to curiously hard to handle.

“I’m glad people are dropping in,” he mumbled, feeling like he had to say something.

“Oh, yes, there’ve been”—Layla looked away, a strange expression tightening her features

—“quite a number of them.”

Qhuinn frowned. “Nobody weird, though, right?”

He couldn’t imagine that anyone in the house would be anything other than supportive, but he had

to ask.

“No…not weird.”

“What.” As Layla just fingered the cover of the magazine in her lap, some brunette, bubble-

headed, blank-eyed bimbo’s face distorted and went back to normal, distorted and went back to

normal. “Layla. Tell me.”

So he could go lay down some motherfuckin’ boundaries if he had to.

Layla pushed her hair back. “You’re going to think I’m crazy…or, I don’t know.”

He went over and sat down next to her. “Okay, look. I don’t know how to say this right so I’m just

going to get the words out. You and I? We’re going to be facing a lot of…you know, personal shit in connection with…” Oh, God, he really hoped she kept the pregnancy. “We might as well start being

fully honest with each other now. Whatever it is? I won’t judge. After all the crap I’ve done in my own life? I ain’t judging no one over nothing.”

Layla took a deep breath. “All right…well, Payne came and saw me last night.”

He frowned again. “And.”

“Well, she said she might be able to do something for the pregnancy. She wasn’t sure whether it

would work, but she didn’t think it would hurt me.”

Qhuinn’s chest tightened up, a stab of fear making his heart pound. V and Payne had things about

them that were not of this world. And that was cool. But not around his young—for fuck’s sake, V’s

hand was a straight-up killer….

“She took her hand and laid it on my belly, right where the young is….”

A sensation like Qhuinn’s inner toilet had flushed all the blood out of his head hit hard. “Oh, God

—”

“No, no.” She reached for him. “It wasn’t bad. It felt…good, actually. I was…bathed in this light

—it flowed through me, strengthening me. Healing me. It focused on my abdomen, but it went so much

further than that. Afterward, I was so worried about her, though. She collapsed on the floor next to the bed….” Layla motioned downward, to the floor. “But then I lost consciousness. I must have slept for a long time. When I finally woke up? That was when I felt…different. At first, I assumed it was

because the miscarriage had stopped because it was…over. I ran out and found Blay, and he took me

down to the clinic. That’s when you came and Doc Jane told us that…” Layla’s elegant hand touched

her lower abdomen, and then lingered there. “That was when she told us that our young is still with us

—”

Her voice broke at that point, and she blinked quickly. “So you see, I think she saved our

pregnancy.”

After a long moment of shock, Qhuinn whispered, “Oh…shit.”

Back in the parking lot of the restaurant, Assail loomed over the hood of his burglar’s Audi, standing fully in the glare of the headlights.

Much as he’d done the night before, he locked eyes with her by instinct rather than by sight.

And as he stood in the cold, he was hot from his temper, and so much else: As that sack of

excrement on two legs had escorted her to her car, and had the insanity to kiss her, Assail had been confronted anew by two choices: Track the man into the night and follow through on all that throat

tearing, or wait until the human left, and…

Something deep inside of him had made up his mind: He had been incapable of leaving her.

His burglar put down her window, and the scent of her arousal made him hard.

It also made him smile. It was the first time all night he’d caught a whiff of it—and that cooled his temper more than anything else could have.

Well, except perhaps skinning that man alive.

“What do you want,” she snarled.

Oh, wasn’t that the question.

He moved around to her side of the car. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Excuse me?”

“I believe you heard the question.”

She threw open the driver’s side door and jumped out. “How
dare
you expect
any
explanation from me about
anything
—”

He cranked his weight forward on his hips, leaning in toward her. “May I remind you that you

invaded my privacy first—”

“I didn’t jump in front of your car and—”

“Did you like what you saw last night?” That clammed her up. And as the silence persisted, he

smiled a little. “So you admit you were watching.”

“You goddamn
knew
I was,” she spat.

“So, answer the question. Did you like what you saw,” he said in a voice that was husky even to

his own ears.

Oh, yes, he thought as he inhaled deeply. She did.

“Never mind,” he purred. “You don’t need to put it in words. I already know your answer—”

She slapped him so fast and so hard, his head actually kicked back on his spine.

His first instinct was to bare his fangs and bite her, to punish her, to tantalize himself—because

there was no better spice to pleasure than a little pain. Or a lot of it.

He righted his head and lowered his lids. “That felt good. Do you want to do it again?”

As another bloom emanated from her, he laughed down deep in his chest, and thought, yes, indeed,

this reaction from her had just ensured that that human man was going to keep living. Or at least die by the hands of another.

She wanted himself. And no other.

Assail eased even closer, until his lips were right next to her ear. “What did you do when you got

home? Or couldn’t you wait that long.”

She took a deliberate step back. “You want to know? Fine. I changed the cat litter, made myself

two scrambled eggs and a piece of cinnamon toast, and then I put myself to bed.”

He took a deliberate step forward. “What did you do when you were in between the sheets?”

As that scent of hers flared once again, he put his mouth back where it had been…close, oh, so

close. “I think I know what you did. But I want you to tell me.”

“Screw you—”

“Did you think of what you saw?” As a gust of wind blew some of her hair into her eyes, he

tucked the strands back. “Did you imagine it was you I was fucking?”

Her breath began to pump in her chest, and—dearest Virgin in the Fade—that made him want to

take her. “How long did you stay?” he breathed. “Until the female finished…or until I did?”

Her hands punched him away. “Fuck off.”

In a quick shift, she shot around his body, jumped back into her car, and slammed the door.

He moved just as fast.

Surging in through the open window, he turned her head and kissed her hard, his mouth taking

over, the drive to wipe clean any trace of that human male making his sex pound.

She kissed him back.

With equal strength.

As his shoulders were too big to fit through the window, he wanted to claw through the steel. He

had to stay where he was, however, and that made him even more aggressive, his blood roaring in his veins, his body straining as his tongue entered her, his hand snaking behind her neck, burying into her hair.

She was slick and sweet and hot as hell.

To the point that he had to break off for a deep breath or run the risk of passing out.

As he separated them, he met her eyes. They were both heaving, and as her arousal thickened the

air, he wanted to be inside of her.

To mark her…

The sound of his phone going off was exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time: The ringing from

his coat seemed to snap her back to reality, her eyes flaring as they slid away, her hands locking on the steering wheel as if she were trying to ground herself.

She didn’t look at him as she put the window up, engaged the engine, and drove off.

Leaving Assail panting in the cold.

FIFTY-FIVE

Qhuinn left Layla’s room shortly thereafter, his shitkickers carrying him fast across the narrow

rug that ran down the corridor to the head of the stairs. As he kept going by Wrath’s study, he