Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (133 page)

marrow in his bones, the soul in his physical body.

“It’s just so sad,” she said. “So damned sad.”

“You’ve been to see her?”

“Just now. She’s resting. I mean…on some level, I can’t believe there’s nothing that can be done.”

“You talk to Doc Jane?”

“As soon as they all got back from the clinic.”

As his
shellan
cried a little, the fresh-rain scent of his beloved’s tears was like a knife in the chest—and he was not surprised at her reaction. He’d heard that females dealt with the loss of

another’s pregnancy badly—then again, how could they not relate? He sure as shit could put himself

in Qhuinn’s boots.

And oh, God…the idea of Beth suffering like that? Or worse, if she were to carry to term and—

Great. Now he had a case of the quakes.

Wrath put his face in his Beth’s hair, breathing in, calming himself. The good news was that they

were never going to have young, so he wouldn’t have to worry about that.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Me, too. I hate this for both of them.”

Well, actually, he was apologizing for something else entirely.

It wasn’t that he wanted anything shitty to happen to Qhuinn or Layla or their young. But maybe if

Beth saw this sad reality, she’d be reminded of all the risks that presented themselves every step of the way when it came to pregnancy.

Fuck. That sounded horrible. That
was
horrible. For chrissakes, he honestly didn’t want this for Qhuinn, and he really didn’t want his
shellan
upset, either. Unfortunately, however, the sad truth was that he had absolutely no interest in placing his seed within her like that—
ever
.

And that kind of desperation made a guy think unforgivable things.

In a surge of paranoia, he mentally calculated the number of years since her transition—just over

two. From what he understood, the average vampire female had her first needing about five years

after the change, and then every ten years or so thereafter. So by all accounts, they had some time before they had to worry about all this….

Then again, as a half-breed, there was no way to be sure in Beth’s case. When humans and

vampires mixed, anything could happen—and he did have some reason to be conerned. She had, after

all, mentioned kids once or twice before.

But surely that had to be in the hypothetical.

“So are you going to hold off on Qhuinn’s induction?” she said.

“Yeah. Saxton is done updating the laws, but with Layla being where she’s at? Not the right time

to bring him into the Brotherhood.”

“That’s what I thought.”

The two of them fell silent, and as Wrath took the moment to heart, he couldn’t possibly imagine

his life without her.

“Do you know something?” he said.

“What?” There was a smile in her voice, the kind that told him she had a clue about what he was

going to say.

“I love you more than anything.”

His queen laughed a little, and stroked his face. “I would never have guessed.”

Hell, even he caught the surge of his bonding scent.

In response, Wrath cupped her face and leaned in, finding her lips and taking them in a soft kiss—

that didn’t stay that way. Man, it was always like this with her. Any contact at all and before he knew it, he was hard and ready.

God, he didn’t know how human men handled it. From what he understood, they had to wonder

whether their mates were fertile every single damn time they had sex—evidently, they couldn’t pick

up on the subtle changes of their females’ scents.

He’d go fucking insane. At least when a female vampire was in her needing, everyone knew it.

Beth shifted in his lap, compressing his hard-on, making him groan. And usually, this was the cue

for George to be led across to the double doors and temporarily banished. But not tonight. As much as Wrath wanted her, the pall in the house was putting a damper on even his libido.

And then there was Autumn’s needing. Now Layla’s.

He wasn’t going to lie; the shit was making him tetchy. Hormones in the air had been known to

have a ricochet effect in a house full of females, influencing one and then another and then a third into her needing, assuming she was fairly close to her time.

Wrath stroked Beth’s hair and retucked his queen’s head into his shoulder.

“You don’t want to…”

As she let the sentence drift, he took her hand and lifted it up, feeling the heavy Saturnine Ruby

that the queen of the race had always worn.

“I just want to hold you,” he said. “It’s enough for me right now.”

Nestling in, she fit herself even more closely to him. “Well, this is nice, too.”

Yeah. It was.

And curiously terrifying.

“Wrath?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

It was a little while before he could answer, before he trusted his voice to be calm, and level, and no BFD. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just fine.”

As he smoothed her arm, running his hand up and down her biceps, he prayed that she believed

it…and vowed that what was happening just one door down the hall would never, ever happen to

them.

Nope. That crisis was not anything the pair of them were going to have to deal with.

Thanks be to the Scribe Virgin.

FORTY-TWO

Layla wasn’t sleeping, of course.

When she’d told Qhuinn to go, she had meant the things she’d said about not wanting to

keep up a front with him around. But the funny thing was, even with nobody in the room with

her, she didn’t get hysterical. No tears. No cursing.

She just lay on her side with her arms and legs curled up, her mind receding deep into her body,

the constant monitoring of every ache and cramp a compulsion that was making her crazy. There was

no changing that, however. It was as if some part of her was convinced that if she could only know

what stage she was in, she could somehow have some control over the process.

Which was, of course, bullshit. As Qhuinn would say.

The image of him in the clinic, with his dagger at the healer’s throat, was like something out of

one of the books in the Sanctuary’s library—a dramatic episode that was part of someone else’s life.

Her vantage point on the bed, however, reminded her that that was not the case….

The knock on her door was soft, which suggested it was a female.

Layla closed her eyes. As much as she appreciated whatever kindness was awaiting a response,

she would have so much preferred that whoever it was stayed out in the hall. The queen’s brief visit had been taxing, even though she’d appreciated it.

“Yes.” When her voice didn’t carry farther than her own ears, she cleared her throat. “Yes?”

The door opened, and at first she didn’t recognize who it was from the shadow that filled the

space between the jambs. Tall. Strong. Not a male, though…

“Payne?” she said.

“May I come in?”

“Yes, of course.”

As Layla went to sit up, the warrior female motioned her to lie down, and then shut them both in

together. “No, no, please…be at ease.”

One lamp had been left on over at the bureau, and in the gentle light, the blooded sister of the

Black Dagger Brother Vishous was quite fearsome, her diamond eyes seeming to sparkle out of the

strong angles of her face.

“How ever are you?” the female asked softly.

“I am very well, thank you. And yourself?”

The fighter came forward. “I’m very sorry about…your condition.”

Oh, how Layla wished this was something Phury or the others had not shared with anyone. Then

again, her exit from the house had been rather dramatic, the sort of thing that would be cause for

concerned questioning. Still, her privacy would have had her avoid this unwelcome, though

compassionate, intrusion.

“I thank you for your kind words,” she whispered.

“May I sit down?”

“But of course.”

She expected the female to rest upon one of the chairs that had been arranged with a sense of

decorum. Payne did not. She came over to the bed and lowered her weight beside Layla.

Compelled to at least appear to be a good hostess of sorts, Layla pushed herself up, wincing as a

set of cramps froze her halfway.

As Payne cursed softly, Layla had to lie back down. In a rough voice, she said, “Forgive me, but I

cannot have visitors at this time—no matter how well intended you are. Thank you for your

expression of sympathy—”

“Are you aware of who my mother is,” Payne cut in.

Layla shook her head against her pillow. “Please just leave—”

“Do you know?” the female said roughly.

Abruptly, Layla wanted to cry. She just didn’t have the energy for any conversation at this point—

but most certainly not about
mahmens
. Not when she was losing her own young.

“Please.”

“I am birthed of the Scribe Virgin.”

Layla frowned, the words registering even through the pain, mental and physical. “I’m sorry?”

Payne took a deep breath, as if the revelation were not something she rejoiced in, but rather a kind of curse. “I am of the Scribe Virgin’s very flesh, born of her long ago, and hidden from the records of the Chosen and the eyes of all third parties.”

Layla blinked in shock. The female’s appearance up above had been a mystery of sorts, but she

had certainly asked no questions as it was not her place to. The one thing she was clear on was that there had never been any mention of the race’s holiest mother having e’er birthed a child.

In fact, the entire structure of the belief system was predicated upon that
not
having occurred.

“How is this possible?” Layla breathed.

Payne’s brilliant eyes were grave. “It was not what I would have wished. And it is not something

I speak of.”

In the tense moment that followed, Layla found it impossible not to see the truth in what the female spoke. Nor the strident anger, the cause of which one could guess at.

“You are a holy one,” Layla said with awe.

“Not in the slightest, I assure you. But my lineage has provided me with a certain…how shall we

say it? Ability.”

Layla stiffened. “And that would be?”

Payne’s diamond eyes never wavered. “I want to help you.”

Layla’s hand went to her lower belly. “If you mean get this over with sooner…no.”

She had her young for such a precious short time within her. No matter how long the pain went on,

she was not going to sacrifice one minute of what was no doubt her one and only pregnancy.

She would never put herself through this again. In the future, when her needing hit, she would be

drugged, and that was it.

Once in a lifetime was too much for the loss she was sustaining now.

“And if you believe you can stop this,” Layla tacked on, “it is not possible. There is naught that

any may do.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Payne’s eyes were rapt. “I’d like to see if I can save the pregnancy. If you’ll let me.”

At the abandoned Brownswick School for Girls campus, Mr. C had taken up res in what had once

been the headmistress’s office.

The cracked sign outside in the hall told him so.

As there was no heat, the ambient air temperature was exactly that of the great outdoors, but

thanks to the Omega’s blood, cold was not a problem. And thank fuck for that: Across the overgrown, snow-covered lawn, in the main dormitory on the ridge, nearly fifty
lessers
were sleeping the sleep of the dead.

If those bastards had required BTUs or food, he’d have been shit out of luck.

But nah, all he had to do was provide them with shelter. Their inductions took care of the rest—

and the fact that they needed to unplug from consciousness every twenty-four hours was a relief.

He needed time to think.

Jesus Christ, what a mess.

Compelled by an urge to pace, he went to push his chair back, and then remembered that he was

sitting on an overturned drywall bucket.

“Goddamn it.”

Looking around the decrepit room, he measured the plaster that was hanging in sheets from the

ceiling rafters, the boarded-up windows, and the hole in the floorboards over in the corner. Place

was just like the bank accounts he’d found.

No money anywhere. No ammo. Weapons that could be used for blunt-force trauma, and that was

about it.

After his promotion, he’d been so fucking pumped, full of plans. Now he was staring at a whole

lot of no cash, no resources, no nothing.

The Omega, on the other hand, was expecting all kinds of results. As had been made amply clear

during their little “visit” late last night.

And that was another problem. He hated that shit.

At least he could do something about the rest of it.

Stretching his arms over his head and cracking his shoulders, he thanked God for two things: One,