Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (69 page)

of on or around him.”

“Okay. All right.” Qhuinn glanced at the door. “Good.”

Time to go in, he told himself. Come on….

His eyes went to Blay’s. During the course of the four-hour operation, the guy had gone back and

forth down the hall, taking breaks out in the parking lot for cigs. He’d always returned, though.

God, he looked grim.

Had ever since V had come out and found them…yeah.

Christ, what timing had that been.

“I’ll go in now,” he said.

It wasn’t until after Blay nodded that he actually entered the OR.

Pushing his way through the door, the first thing he was greeted with was that antiseptic smell that he associated with postfight contusions. Next was the subtle beeping by the gurney in the center of the room, and the sound of Ehlena typing at the computer.

“I’ll give you some private time,” she said in a kind voice, as she got to her feet.

“Thanks,” he replied quietly.

As the door shut behind her, Qhuinn retucked his shirt even though it didn’t need the help.

“Luchas?”

Waiting for his brother to respond, he glanced around. The debris of the operation, the bloody

gauze pads, the used instruments, the plastic tubing, was all gone—nothing but the still body under those white sheets, and a stuffed red biohazard bag to show for the hours that had passed.

“Luchas?”

Qhuinn went over and stared down. Man, he didn’t typically have problems with his blood

pressure, but when he got a gander at his brother’s drawn face, things went for a spin, a surge of

dizziness making him realize exactly how tall he was—and how far he had to fall.

Luchas’s eyes fluttered open.

Gray. They had both been gray, and still were.

Qhuinn reached behind and rolled over a little stool. As he sat down, he didn’t know what to do

with his arms, his hands…his voice.

He had never expected to see a member of his family again. And that had been back before the

raids, when he’d been kicked out.

“How you doing?” What a dumb-ass question that was.

“He kept…me…”

Qhuinn leaned in close, but damn, that weak, hoarse voice didn’t carry far. “What?”

“He kept me…alive….”

“Who?”

“…because of you.”

“Who are you talking about?” Hard to imagine the Omega had a vendetta against—

“Lash…”

At the sound of the name, Qhuinn’s upper lip peeled off his fangs. That motherfucker cousin of

theirs—who turned out not to be blood at all, but rather, the transplanted son of the Omega. As a kid, the SOB been an obnoxious show-off. As a pretrans in the training program, he’d made John

Matthew’s life a living hell. As a posttrans?

His true father had welcomed him back into the fold, and utter destruction had been the result.

Lash was the one who had led the raids. After centuries of the Lessening Society having to hunt and peck for vampire enclaves, that bastard had known exactly where to send the slayers—and because

he had been adopted into an aristocratic family, he had decimated the upper classes.

But apparently Daddio and the golden boy had had a falling-out.

Shit, the idea Lash had tortured his brother? Just made him want to kill him all over again.

As Luchas groaned and took a deep breath, Qhuinn raised a hand to…pat him on the shoulder or

something. But he didn’t follow through. “Listen, you don’t need to talk.”

Those bloodshot gray eyes locked on his. “He kept me alive…because of what I did…to you….”

Down on the gurney, tears welled and started to fall, his brother’s emotions spilling out on his

cheeks, regret mingling with what was undoubtedly physical pain as well as the narcotics used to

treat it.

Because Qhuinn was hard-pressed to think that the guy would be showing anything like this under

normal circumstances. That hadn’t been the way they’d all been raised. Etiquette over emotion.

Always.

“The Honor Guard….” Luchas started to cry in earnest. “Qhuinn…I’m so sorry…sorry….”

We’re not supposed to kill him!

Qhuinn blinked and went back to that beating at the side of the road, those males in black robes

surrounding him and whaling on him as he’d tried to protect his head and his balls. Then it was up to the door to the Fade, to meet his daughter.

So strange the way things came full circle. And how some tragedies actually led to good things.

Now, Qhuinn did touch his brother, resting his dagger hand on that thin shoulder. “Shh…it’s cool.

We’re good, it’s cool….”

He wasn’t sure whether that was true, but what else was he going to say while the guy cracked?

“He wanted…to turn me….” Luchas took a deep breath. “He brought me…back around. Woke up

in the woods—his males beat me…did things to me…put me in that…blood. I waited for them to

come back—never did.”

“You’re safe here.” That was all he could think of. “You don’t worry about a damn thing—no

one’s getting anywhere near you.”

“Where…am I…”

“The Brotherhood’s training center.”

Those eyes widened. “In truth?”

“Yeah.”

“Indeed…” Luchas’s expression shifted, those once handsome features tightening even further.

“What of
Mahmen
. Papa. Solange?”

Qhuinn just shook his head back and forth.

And in response, a sudden strength came into that frail voice. “Are you sure they are dead? Are

you certain?”

As if he didn’t wish what he had suffered on any of them.

“Yeah, we’re sure.”

Luchas sighed and closed his eyes.

Shit. Qhuinn felt a little cheap about lying, but in spite of the fact that the machines by the bed suggested his brother was stable, if the guy tanked, he didn’t want to send Luchas to the grave thinking that after what had been done with him, no one could be sure how many others had been taken—or

when.

In the quiet, Qhuinn looked down at his brother’s hand. That signet ring had been left on—maybe

because the knuckle above it was so swollen, they would have had to cut it off.

The crest that had been carved into the gold face carried the sacred symbols that only the

Founding Families could mark their lineage with. And yeah, wow, it was completely deranged—and

grossly inappropriate—to covet the goddamn thing. After everything that had happened, you’d think

he’d be disgusted.

Then again, maybe it was just a knee-jerk reaction, an echo from all those years of hoping against

hope he’d get one of his own.

“Qhuinn?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry….”

Qhuinn shook his head, even though Luchas’s lids were closed. “You don’t worry about anything.

You’re safe. You’re back. It’s all going to be okay.”

As his brother’s chest rose and fell again like he was relieved, Qhuinn rubbed his face and didn’t

feel good about any of it. Not his brother’s condition—or his return.

It wasn’t that he wanted the guy dead. Tortured. Frozen forever.

But he had closed the door on all that family-dynamic stuff. Relegated it to the back of his mental file cabinet. Put it away for good, never to be looked at again.

What could you do, though?

Life specialized in curveballs.

The unfortunate thing was that they somehow inevitably ended up catching him in the nuts.

When a soft whistle sounded next to Blay, he jumped. “Oh, hey, John.”

John Matthew lifted his hand in a wave.
How’re things?

As Blay shrugged, he thought it might be a good idea to stand up off the floor again. His ass had

gone numb, which meant it was time for another of his walkabouts.

Grunting as he got to his feet, he stretched his back. “I guess okay. Luchas was awake enough after surgery so Qhuinn’s in there now.”

Oh. Wow.

While Blay walked things off in a tight circle, John settled against the wall. He was dressed in

sweats, and the guy’s hair was still wet—and there was a bite mark on his neck.

Blay looked away. Opened his mouth to say something. Ran out of gas for conversation.

From the corner of his eye, he saw John sign,
So, how’s Saxton?

“Ah, good. He’s good—on a little vacation.”

He’s been working really hard.

“Yeah, he has.” As he hoped the topic ended there, it felt odd to keep something from John. Other

than Qhuinn, the guy had been the closest friend he had—although they had drifted during the last year, too. “But he’ll be back soon.”

You must miss him.
John glanced away, like he knew it was pushing it.

Made sense. Blay had always shut down any conversation about his relationship, diverting talk to

other subjects.

“Yeah.”

So how’s Qhuinn holding up? I didn’t want to intrude, but…

Blay could only shrug again. “He’s been in there awhile. I’m taking that as good news.”

And Luchas is going to make it?

“Time will tell, but at least they got him patched up.” Blay took out his Dunhills and lit up,

exhaling slowly. When there was nothing but an awkward silence, he said, “Listen, I’m sorry if I’m

being weird.”

The truth was, that bite mark was a reminder of what was going to have to happen for him, and he

really didn’t need that so front-and-center.

Qhuinn’s voice barged into his head:
We could go together.

What the hell had he agreed to?

You’re stressed,
John signed as he focused on the door.
We’re all stressed. Everything is…

stressful.

Blay frowned as the guy’s mood registered. “Hey, are you okay?”

After a moment, John signed,
The strangest thing happened the other night. Wrath called me

into his office and told me that Qhuinn was no longer my
ahstrux nohtrum.
I mean, that’s fine,
that’s cool—it’s actually uncomplicated things a lot. But Qhuinn never said anything to me, and I
don’t know if I should say something to him? I also didn’t know that was possible. I mean, when it
started, it was like, “Your pink slip is a double-tap, and that’s that,” you know? Did he just quit?

Is it because of the Layla thing? I thought they weren’t getting mated.

Blay exhaled a curse, the smoke curling up over his head. “I have no clue.”

Shit, that mating thing probably should have occurred to him—and maybe that was why Qhuinn

had jumped out of range when V had appeared.

Could Qhuinn and Layla be getting hitched now that the young was okay—

The door swung wide, and Qhuinn came out, looking like he’d been kicked in the head. “Oh, hey,

John, whassup.”

As the two clapped each other on the shoulder, Qhuinn glanced over, but then carried on with a

back-and-forth with John.

And then he and Qhuinn were alone after John left a moment later.

“Are you okay?” Qhuinn said.

Clearly, the question of the hour, wasn’t it.

“Actually, I’m going to ask you that. How’s Luchas?” Blay pulled a V and stubbed his cigarette

out on the tread of his shitkicker.

Before Qhuinn could answer, Selena came out of the office, as if she had been summoned from the

main house. The Chosen walked toward them gracefully, but with purpose, her traditional white

robing flowing around her legs.

“Greetings, sires,” she said as she approached. “Dr. Jane indicated that I was required?”

As Blay exhaled, he felt like punching himself. This was the last thing he—

“Yeah, both of us,” Qhuinn answered.

Blay closed his eyes as a sudden surge rocked him. The idea of watching Qhuinn feed was like a

drug in his bloodstream, loosening him up and threatening to get him hard. But really, it wasn’t—

“Down the hall would be great,” Qhuinn murmured.

Well, it was better than a bedroom. Right? More professional, yes?

And he did need the feeding—and Qhuinn no doubt had to as well after all the drama.

Blay ditched his cigarette butt into a trash can and brought up the rear as Qhuinn led the way.

Going along, he didn’t track the Chosen’s movements. Nope, not in the slightest. His eyes were glued to Qhuinn’s, from those shoulders, to those hips…to that ass….

Okay, this was going to stop. Right now.

He just needed to pull himself together, do the feeding, and make an excuse to get gone.

Maybe this plan would be one that actually worked?

In through a doorway. Conversation. Polite smiling, even though he didn’t know what had been

asked or answered of him.

Ah, one of the hospital rooms, he realized. This was really good—a clinical environment. Just

take the vein and move along, with one biological function not necessarily leading to another—

“I’m sorry?” the Chosen said, looking at him with an open face.

Great. He’d been loose-lipping it, but there was no telling how much he’d shared.