Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (65 page)

have been.”

Blay looked away fast. Then rubbed his face with the hand he didn’t have the cigarette in.

“You guys were what got me through it,” Qhuinn heard himself say. “I lived for the night, because

I could go over to your house. It was the only thing that kept me going. You were the only thing,

actually. It was…you.”

As Blay’s eyes returned to his own, he had the sense the guy was searching for words.

And God help them both, if it hadn’t been for Saxton, Qhuinn would have dropped the l-word

right then and there, even though the timing was stupid.

“You can, you know,” Blay said finally. “Talk to me.”

Qhuinn stamped his feet and bunched up his shoulders, stretching the muscles of his back. “Be

careful. I might take you up on that.”

“It would help.” As Qhuinn glanced over again, Blay was the one shaking his head. “I don’t know

what I’m saying.”

Bullshit, Qhuinn thought—

Without warning, V emerged from the cabin, lighting up a hand-rolled as he came out. As Qhuinn

fell silent, he wasn’t sure whether he was relieved the conversation had been forced to an end or not.

On the exhale, Vishous said, “I need to make sure you understand the consequences.”

Qhuinn nodded. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

Those diamond eyes locked on his own. “Well, let’s just open air it anyway, shall we? I don’t

sense any of the Omega in him, but if it comes out, or if I’ve missed something, I’m going to have to take care of him.”

Kill me, brother mine. Kill me.

“You do what you have to.”

“He can’t go into the mansion.”

“Agreed.”

V put out his nonlethal hand. “Swear to it.”

It felt strange to clasp the Brother’s palm and bind his word on the contact—because that was

what next of kin had to do in situations like this, and shit knew he hadn’t been next to anything for anybody ever: Even before the disavowal by his family, he’d have been the last person to vouch for

the bloodline.

Times had changed though, hadn’t they.

“One other thing.” V tapped the tip of the hand-rolled. “It’s going to be a long, hard recovery for him. And I’m not just talking about the physical shit. You need to prepare yourself.”

What, like they’d had a relationship before this or something? He might share some DNA with the

guy, but other than that, Luchas was a stranger. “I know.”

“Okay. Fair enough.”

In the distance, a pair of high-pitched whines cut through the darkness.

“Thank fuck,” Qhuinn bit out as he went back into the cabin.

Over in the corner, next to the drum that had been overturned, his brother was nothing but a pile of jackets, his twisted body covered by the makeshift blankets.

Qhuinn stalked across the floorboards, nodding to John Matthew and Rhage.

Kneeling down next to his brother, he felt like he was in a dreamscape, not reality. “Luchas?

Listen, here’s what’s going to happen. They’re going to take you out on a sled. You’re going to our clinic for treatment. Luchas? Can you hear me?”

As the pair of snowmobiles tore up to the cabin, Blay tracked their progress from the porch, watching their headlights get bigger and brighter, the pair of engines dimming into steady purrs as they reached their destination. Oh…this was good: Behind one of them, there was a covered sled, the kind of thing he’d seen on TV during the Olympics when some skier had crashed through the ropes and been evac’d

down a mountain.

Perfect.

Manny and Butch dismounted and jogged over.

“They’re right in there,” Blay said, getting out of the doctor’s way.

“Luchas? You with me?” he heard Qhuinn murmur.

Peering in, Blay wathced as Manny bent over Luchas’s body. Man, what a fucking night. And he’d

thought the air show from a couple of evenings ago had been full of drama?

It’s always been you.

Turning back to face the forest, Blay rubbed his face again, like that was going to help. And he

wanted to light up another Dunhill, but the longer this took, the more paranoid he became. The last thing this situation needed was a squadron of
lessers
showing up before they could get Luchas out to safety.

Better to have a forty than a cig in his hands.

It’s always been you.

“You okay?” Butch asked.

In the spirit of honesty, because that seemed to be tonight’s theme song, he shook his head. “Not in the slightest.”

The cop clapped him on the shoulder. “So you knew him.”

“I thought I did, yes.” Oh, wait, the question was about Luchas. “I mean, yes, I did.”

“It’s gotta be wicked tough, this whole thing.”

Blay glanced over his shoulder again and got another eyeful of Qhuinn crouching next to his

brother. His old friend’s face was ancient in the beams of those flashlights, to the point where Blay wondered if he had actually seen it relaxed after they’d been together—or whether he’d been

mistaken.

You were the only thing…actually.

“It is tough,” he muttered.

And strange, too.

Right after his transition, he had looked for some sign that the way he felt about his friend was

reciprocated, some clue as to where Qhuinn was at. But there had been nothing that he had been able to see—nothing other than abiding loyalty, friendship, and kick-ass fighting skills: Through the

hookups they’d had with other people, and the training, and then the nights out in the field…he had always been on the far side of the connection he’d wanted, staring into a wall he couldn’t get around.

That short time on this porch?

It was the first time he’d ever gotten a glimpse of what he’d longed for even more greatly than the sex.

Shit, for a treacherous moment, he wondered if there had in fact been an “in” involved when

Layla had spilled the beans outside of his bedroom.

“They’re moving him.” Butch snagged Blay’s arm and got him out of the way of the door. “Come

stand with me.”

Luchas had been properly covered now, a silver Mylar blanket wrapped around him from head to

foot, nothing but the barest hint of his face showing. They had put him onto a collapsible stretcher, with Qhuinn at one end and V on the other. Manny walked alongside, as if he were not sure whether

he was going to need to resuscitate things at any given moment.

Over at the sled, they transferred Qhuinn’s brother and strapped him down.

“I’m driving him out,” Qhuinn announced as he mounted up and gunned the snowmobile’s engine.

“Slow and steady,” Manny warned. “He’s a fucking mass of broken bones.”

Qhuinn glanced over at Blay. “Ride with me?”

No reason to answer that. He marched over and got on behind the guy.

Typical of Qhuinn, he didn’t bother waiting for the others. He just nailed the accelerator and took off. He did, however, listen to the good doctor: He made a broad turn and followed the tracks that had been made, keeping the speed fast enough to make some time, but not so much so that they blendered

Luchas.

Blay kept two guns out.

As Manny and Butch rode up beside them, the other Brothers and John Matthew dematerialized at

regular distances, appearing at the sides of the two parallel tracks.

It took a hundred years.

Blay literally thought they were never going to get out of there. It seemed as though the high-

pitched, whining engines, and the blur of the dark forest, and the brilliant white patches of clearings were going to be the last things he saw.

He prayed the entire way.

When the big, boxy hangar structure finally came into view, parked right next to it was the single

most beautiful thing Blay had ever seen.

V and Butch’s Escalade.

Things moved lickety-split from there: Qhuinn pulling up alongside the SUV, Luchas transferred

into the backseat, snowmobiles reloaded onto the trailer hitched to the back, Qhuinn going over to the passenger seat of the vehicle.

“I want Blay to drive,” he said before getting in.

There was a heartbeat of a pause. Then Butch nodded and tossed the keys over. “Manny and I will

be in the back back.”

Blay got behind the wheel, moved the seat to accommodate his legs, and powered up the engine.

As Qhuinn settled next to him, he looked over.

“Put on your seat belt.”

The male did as he was told, stretching the nylon strap around his chest and clicking it into place.

Then he immediately cranked himself around to focus on his brother.

A feeling of single-minded determination set Blay’s shoulders and tightened his hands. He didn’t

care what he had to mow over, take down, or leave grille marks on; he was going to get Qhuinn and

his brother to the training center and into the clinic.

Hitting the gas, he didn’t look back.

SIXTY-THREE

Trez frowned at the adding machine he’d been punching numbers into. Reaching out for the

white tongue of paper that hung over the side of his desk, he tried to see the column of numbers

he’d been making.

He blinked.

Rubbed his eyes. Reopened them.

Nope. The shimmering circle in the upper right-hand quadrant of his vision was still there, and it

was not a function of glare.

“Fuck…me.”

Shoving the receipts he’d been totaling aside, he looked at his watch, then put his head in his

hands. As he squeezed his eyes shut, the aura was still in place, the pattern of interlocking geometrics sparkling with all the colors of the rainbow.

He had about twenty-five minutes before all hell broke loose—and he was not going to be able to

dematerialize.

Fumbling for his office phone, he hit the intercom. Two seconds later, Xhex’s voice came out of

the speaker, tinnier than usual. Which meant the sensitivity to sound was kicking in.

“Hey, what’s up?” she said.

“I’m getting a migraine. I gotta bounce.”

“Oh, man, that sucks. Didn’t you get one just a week ago?”

Whatever. Not the point. “Can you take over?”

“You need a ride home?”

Yes. “No. I can make it.” He began gathering his wallet, his cell, his keys. “Call me if you need

me, ’kay?”

“You got it.”

Trez took a deep breath as he cut the connection and got to his feet. He felt perfectly fine—for the moment. And the good news was, he was no more than fifteen minutes from his apartment—even

assuming he hit all red lights. Which would leave him about ten minutes to get into sweats, line up a wastepaper basket and a towel beside his bed, and prepare for total digestive collapse.

Six, seven hours from now? He was going to feel better.

Unfortunately, the here-to-there was going to suck.

On his way to his office’s closed door, he slung his jacket onto his shoulders and braced himself

for the music on the far side.

When he stepped out, he walked right into the wall of iAm’s considerable chest.

“Gimme your keys,” was all his brother said.

“You don’t have to—”

“Did I ask you for an opinion?”

“Goddamn Xhex—”

“Right behind your brother,” the female cut in. “And I know you meant that as a compliment.”

“I’m fine,” Trez said, as he tried to angle his vision so that his head of security was out of his

blind spot.

“You have how many minutes before the pain hits?” Xhex smiled, flashing her fangs. “Do you

really want to be wasting any of them arguing with me?”

Trez bitched his way out of his club, and the instant the cold air hit his sinuses, his stomach seized up—like it was getting ready to go to town early.

Sliding into the passenger seat of his own BMW, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

The aura was getting larger, the original line of shimmer splitting into two and fanning outward,

moving slowly toward the edge of his vision.

During the trip home, he found himself feeling glad iAm wasn’t a talker.

Although it wasn’t as if he didn’t know what the guy was thinking.

Too much stress. Too many headaches.

He probably needed to feed as well—but that was not happening for a while.

As his brother drove with alacrity, Trez passed the time picturing where they were in the city;

what traffic lights they were going through or stopping at; what turns they were making; where the

Commodore was, its towering length looming higher and higher the closer they got.

A sudden decline told him that they were going into the parking garage—and that he’d fallen

behind in his mental mapping: as far as he’d known, they were still a couple of blocks away.

Lot of left-hand turns came next as they spiraled down three floors and parked in one of the two

spots they were allotted.

By the time they filed into the elevator and iAm punched the eighteenth button, the aura had

wandered off the confines of his vision, disappearing as if it had never been.