Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (84 page)

“You are in my dreams,” he murmured. “Every day, you haunt me. Your scent, your voice, your

eyes…this mouth.”

He shifted his hand around and brushed her lower lip with his callused thumb.

Closing her lids, Layla leaned into the touch, knowing that this was all she would ever get from

him. They were on opposite sides of the war, and though she knew not the particulars, she had heard enough in the household to know that he was right.

He could not undo what he had done.

And that meant they were going to kill him.

“I cannae believe you let me touch you.” His voice grew hoarse. “I shall remember this for all my

nights.”

Tears speared into her eyes. Dearest Virgin Scribe, for all her life, she had waited for a moment

like this….

“Do not cry.” His thumb went to her cheeks. “Beautiful female of worth, do not cry.”

If any had told her someone as harsh as he was capable of such compassion, she would not have

believed them. But he was. With her, he was.

“I shall go,” he said abruptly.

Her instinct was to beg him to be careful…but that would mean she was wishing Wrath’s

dethroner well.

“Lovely Chosen, know this. If e’er you need me, I shall be there.”

He took something out of his pocket—a phone. Facing it toward her, he lit up the screen with the

touch of a button. “Can you read this number?”

Layla blinked hard and forced her eyes to focus. “Yes. I can.”

“That is me. You know how to find me. And if your conscience demands you give this information

to the Brotherhood, I will understand.”

He couldn’t read the numbers, she realized—and not for lack of visual acuity.

Whatever kind of life had he led, she wondered sadly.

“Be well, my beautiful Chosen,” he said, as he stared at her with the eyes of not just a lover, but a
hellren
.

And then he was gone without another word, leaving the car, picking up his weapons and arming

himself…

…before dematerializing into the night.

Layla immediately covered her face with her hands, her shoulders beginning to quake, her head

sagging, her emotions overflowing.

Caught in the middle, between her mind and her soul, she was torn asunder even as she remained

whole.

EIGHTY-ONE

“Come in.”

As Blay spoke up, he glanced over the top of
A Confederacy of Dunces
—and was surprised

to find Beth walking into his room.

One look at the queen’s face and he sat up from the chaise, putting the book down. “Hey, what’s

wrong?”

“Have you seen Layla?”

“No, but I’ve just been here since I got back from my parents’.” He glanced at the clock. After

midnight. “She’s not in her room?”

Beth shook her head, her dark hair shining as it slipped around her shoulders. “She and I were

going to hang out, but I can’t find her. She’s not in the clinic, or the kitchen—and I looked for Qhuinn down in the training center as well as up here. He’s gone as well.”

Maybe they were having a romantic dinner, like, sharing a plate of pasta and meeting in the

middle thanks to a strand of frickin’ linguine.

“Have you tried their phones?” he asked.

“Qhuinn’s is in his room. And Layla isn’t answering hers if it’s with her.”

As he got to his feet and started to get a little hyped, he thought, calm down—this was not a

national emergency. In fact, this was a big house with a lot of rooms, and more to the point, they were grown adults. Two people should be allowed to go off together and have it not be a crisis.

Especially if they were having a young together…

The sound of a vacuum off in the distance drew his attention.

“Come with me,” he told the queen. “If there’s one person in this place who’ll know? He’s down

the hall with a Dyson.”

Sure enough, Fritz was working in the second-floor sitting room, and as Blay walked in, he got

slapped in the face with all the memories of him and Qhuinn doing it up but good on the rug by the

couch.

Great. Just fabulous.

“Fritz?” the queen called out.

The
doggen
stopped the back-and-forth and killed the machine. “Well, hello, Your Majesty.

Sire.”

Lots of bowing.

“Listen, Fritz,” Blay said, “have you seen Layla?”

Instantly, the butler’s face became downcast. “Oh. Yes. Indeed.”

When he didn’t fill anything else in, Blay prompted him with an, “Annnnnd?”

“She took the car. The Mercedes. It was about two hours ago.”

What the hell, Blay thought. Unless…“So Qhuinn was with her.”

“No, she was alone.” As a boatload of uh-oh hit Blay’s stomach, the butler shook his head. “I

tried to insist that I take her, but she would not let me.”

“Where was she going?” Beth asked.

“She said she had no destination. I knew that Master Qhuinn had taught her to drive, and when she

ordered me to tender upon her palm the keys, I knew not what to do.”

The queen spoke up. “You are not at fault here, Fritz. Not at all. We’re just worried about her.”

Blay took out his phone. “And there’s GPS on the vehicle, so this is going to be fine. I’ll just hit up V and he’ll be able to locate her for us.”

After he sent the text, the queen reassured the butler some more, and Blay hung around, waiting for a response.

Ten minutes later? Nada. Which meant the Brother with the IT skills was in the middle of some

business downtown.

Fifteen minutes.

Twenty.

He even called, and didn’t get an answer. So he could only assume that someone was bleeding—

or that V’s phone had gotten shanked during fighting.

“Qhuinn’s not in the gym?” he said, even though that question had already been answered.

Beth shrugged. “Not when I checked.”

Blay put in a quick call, got Ehlena, and a moment later was informed that the workout room was

empty, Luchas was asleep, and there was no one in the pool or on the basketball court.

The guy wasn’t in the house. And not in the field, because he was off rotation. That left only one

other conceivable place.

“I know where he is,” Blay said gruffly. “I’ll go get him while we wait for V to check in.”

After all, that female was carrying his young—so if she went AWOL into the big world by

herself, he had a right to be involved in locating her. And sure, maybe Qhuinn knew where she was,

but Blay had a feeling he didn’t: hard to believe he would have left his phone in his room if he was aware that she was going out in the car. He’d want some way for her to get in touch with him.

On that note, why had he left his cell behind at all? Not like him.

Unless he thought Layla was doing okay…and he didn’t want to be interrupted.

Great.

Looping back to his room, Blay picked up a gun—because you never knew when you might need

one—and a coat that was only to cover his hardware. Then he jogged down the stairs and went out the vestibule…and dematerialized into the night.

He resumed form in the back parking lot of the Iron Mask, and when he got to the club’s rear door,

he hit the bell and showed his face to the security camera. Xhex opened the way in.

“Hey,” she said, giving him a quick hug. “How you been? Long time no see around here.”

“I’m looking for—”

“Yeah, he’s at the bar.”

Of course he was. “Thanks.”

Blay nodded to the bouncers, Big Rob and Silent Tom, and pushed out of the staff area into the

club proper. As he emerged on the far side, the bass drum of the music went right into his sternum—

or maybe that was his heartbeat.

Annnnd there he was: Even though there were a hundred people crowded around the bar, Qhuinn

was a neon sign to him, standing out from the rest. The fighter was sitting at the far end, his back to Blay, his elbows splayed on the black varnished wood, his head hanging low.

Blay exhaled a curse as he thought, here they were, back at the beginning. And yup, before he

could even make it over, a woman closed in, her body sliding up to Qhuinn, her hand lingering on his arm, his head turning so he could get a good look at her.

Blay knew what was next. A quick up-and-down with that mismatched stare, a slow smile, a

couple of drawled words—and the pair would go off to the bathrooms—

Qhuinn shook his head, and put his palm out in a stop. And though she was inclined to make a

second appeal, it just got her a another round of talk-to-the-hand.

Before Blay could get moving again, a guy with hair down to his ass and a pair of sprayed-on

velvet pants made an approach. His smile was brilliant white, and his lean body seemed made for

acrobatics.

A sudden nausea blendered Blay’s gut—even as he reminded himself that after their last run-in,

Qhuinn would not be looking for sex from him ever again—so why should he care who the fighter

fucked. And God knew the male had a sex drive—

Mr. Lounge Suit with the extensions was given the heave-ho as well.

After which, Qhuinn just refocused ahead of himself.

An abrupt vibration went off in Blay’s pocket, his phone letting him know there was a text. Taking

the thing out, he saw that it was from Beth:
All good—Layla home safe. Just went for a joyride, and
is going to watch some tube with me.

Blay texted back a thanks, and returned his cell to his inner pocket. No reason to stay and bother

the fighter with what had been a nonevent…although this was a chance to do a little damage control

on his H-bomb delivery from a week ago.

Blay walked over, wending in and out of the bodies. When he got within range, he cleared his

throat and spoke up over the din. “Hey—”

That hand shot up above Qhuinn’s shoulder. “For the love of fucking God, I’m not interested,

okay?”

At that moment, the person on the left decided to vacate with whatever drink he’d ordered.

Blay took the human’s place.

“I told you to get the fuck—” Qhuinn froze in mid-blow-off. “What…are you doing here?”

Okay, where to start with that.

“Is there something wrong?” Qhuinn said.

“No, no. Really, not anything…you know, wrong.” Blay frowned as he realized there was no

alcohol in front of the guy. “Did you just get here?”

“No, I’ve been hanging around for…couple of hours, I guess.”

“You’re not drinking?”

“I did when I first sat down. But then…yeah, no.”

Blay studied that face he knew so well. It was so grim, with hollows under the cheekbones and a

perma-frown that suggested the guy hadn’t slept in seven days, either.

“Listen, Qhuinn—”

“Did you come to apologize?”

Blay cleared his throat again. “Yeah. I did. I’m—”

“Right.”

“What?”

Qhuinn put his hands up and scrubbed his eyes…then stayed put with his palms covering himself

from forehead to chin. He said something that didn’t carry, and that was when Blay knew something

momentous had happened.

Then again, the poor bastard had probably come to the realization that Blay was in fact not a saint.

Blay leaned in closer. “Talk to me. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Fair, after all, was fair. He’d sure as hell unloaded everything on his mind when they’d last seen

each other.

“You were right,” Qhuinn said. “I didn’t know…I was…”

When nothing else came, Blay’s ribs tightened up hard, his brows shooting sky-high as the gist hit

him. Oh…my God.

As shock went through his whole body, he realized he’d never expected the guy to come around.

Even as he’d yelled those hard-core words, it had been more a function of finally snapping, rather

than out of any expectation that they would sink in.

Qhuinn shook his head, those hands staying in place. “I just…all those years, all that shit with

them…I couldn’t face another strike against me.”

Blay was more than aware of who the “them” was.

“I did a lot of things to make it go away, to cover crap up—because even after they kicked me out,

they were still in my head. Even after they died…still in there, you know. Always in there with

the…” One hand made a fist and started banging his brain. “Always in there…”

Blay caught that thick wrist and guided the male’s arm down. “It’s okay….”

Qhuinn didn’t look at him. “I didn’t even know I was bending everything. I wasn’t, like, aware of

the shit in my mind—” That deep voice caught. “I just didn’t want to give them another reason to hate me, even though they didn’t fucking matter. What the fuck is that, you know? What the fuck have I been thinking?”

The pain that wafted out of Qhuinn’s body was so great, it changed the air temperature around

him, lowering things until the hair on Blay’s forearms pricked from the chill.

And at that moment, faced with the abject misery in front of him, Blay wished he could have taken

what he’d said back—not because it wasn’t true, but because he wasn’t the one who should have

ripped off that Band-Aid. Mary, Rhage’s
shellan,
should have done it as part of a therapy session or something. Or maybe Qhuinn should have gradually become aware of it.

But not like this…

The devastation that was written in every line of Qhuinn’s body, in the hoarseness of his voice, in the barely restrained scream that seemed to be just under the surface, was terrifying.

“I never knew how much they got to me, especially my father. That male…he contaminated

everything about me, and I didn’t even know it was happening. And it ruined…everything.”

Blay frowned, not following that part. But what he was clear on was the juxtaposition between his

parents and Qhuinn’s—not that he needed yet another reminder: All he could think of was that hug in front of the stove, his mom and dad wrapping their arms around him, their acceptance openhanded,