Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (148 page)

“A warning for me, Xcor?”

Xcor glanced back at Throe, and thought again of the virtue of codes of behavior among even

warring males.

“No,” he declared. “Just something we have in common. Fare thee well, Assail, for what is left of

this night.”

“Yourself as well. And in the words of our mutual acquaintance, I must needs go. Afore I am

forced to slaughter the
doggen
butler who is pounding, at this very instant, upon the door I have locked.”

Xcor threw his head back and laughed as he ended the call.

“You know,” he said to his fighters, “I rather like him.”

FIFTY-EIGHT

The following evening, as the shutters rose and an alarm clock Blay didn’t recognize started to

chirp, he opened his eyes.

This was not his room. But he knew exactly where he was.

Next to him, against his back, Qhuinn stirred, the male’s body stretching against his own,

naked skin brushing against naked skin—and didn’t that make his wake-up erection start to throb.

Qhuinn reached across Blay’s head, his heavy arm extending over, his hand slapping the clock

into silence.

Lest there be any question as to whether he’d welcome a quickie before the whole shower-dress–

First Meal thing, Blay arched, pushing his ass into the seat of Qhuinn’s pelvis. The groan that shot into his ear made him smile a little, but things got serious as Qhuinn’s dagger hand snaked downward and found Blay’s cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Blay breathed as he moved his leg up and out of the way.

“I’ve got to be inside of you.”

Funny, Blay was thinking the exact same thing.

As Qhuinn mounted him, Blay eased onto his stomach, crushing Qhuinn’s palm into that hard ridge

of arousal.

It didn’t take long for the rhythm to get fast and furious, and as Blay’s balls tightened with yet

another release, he marveled that his desperation for the guy only seemed to grow—you’d think the

number of times the pair of them had come together—literally—during the day would have taken this

burn down to a rolling boil.

Not the case.

Giving himself over to the pleasure, Blay gritted his teeth as his release shot out at the same time Qhuinn’s hips locked up tight and the male grunted.

There was no second round. Not that Blay didn’t want it and Qhuinn wasn’t able—the clock was

the problem.

When Blay reopened his eyes, the digital readout told him that Qhuinn’s alarm provided for only

fifteen minutes of get-ready—time for a male’s quick shower and arming, nothing extra. Kind of made him wish the fighter had been more of a mousse, double-shave, cologne, matching-outfit sort of guy.

With another of his trademark erotic groans, Qhuinn eased them onto their sides, keeping them

joined. As the guy breathed deeply, Blay realized he could have stayed like this forever, just the two of them in a silent, dim room. In this moment of peace and quiet, there was no overhang of the past, or anything that needed to be said but wasn’t, or third parties, real or fabricated, between them.

“At the end of the night,” Qhuinn said in a gravelly voice, “will you come to me again.”

“Yes, I will.”

There was no other answer that occurred to him. In fact, he wondered how he was going to wait

through the twelve hours of darkness and meals and work until he could slip away and come back

here.

Qhuinn muttered something that sounded like, “Thank God.” Then he moaned as he disengaged,

withdrawing himself. In the aftermath, Blay stayed where he was for a brief moment, but ultimately he had no choice save to get up, go out the door, and return to where he belonged.

Thank God no one saw him.

He made it back to his own room without anyone playing witness to the walk of shame, and yup,

within fifteen minutes he was showered, leathered, and armed. Stepping out of his door, he—

Qhuinn came out of his at exactly the same moment.

Both of them froze.

Ordinarily, walking down together would have been marginally awkward, the kind of thing that

they would have made small talk during.

But now…

Qhuinn dropped his eyes. “You go first.”

“Okay.” Blay turned to walk away. “Thanks.”

Blay cast his chest holster and his leather jacket over his shoulder and strode off. By the time he hit the stairwell, it felt like years had passed since they’d lain so close together. Had the day between them even fucking happened?

Jesus, he was starting to feel insane.

Entering the dining room below, he took a random empty chair and hung his stuff over the back as

the others did—even though Fritz hated weapons around his food. Then he thanked the
doggen
who presented him with a fully loaded plate, and began to eat. He couldn’t have told you what had been

served to him, or who was talking around the table. But he knew exactly when Qhuinn came through

the jambs: His core started to hum, and it was impossible not to glance over his shoulder.

There was an immediate physical impact as he took in that huge body clad in black, and dripping

in weapons—like a car battery had been hooked up to his nervous system.

As Qhuinn didn’t meet his eyes, he supposed that was a good thing. The others around the table

knew them both too well, especially John, and things were complicated enough without the

benevolent peanut gallery getting a chance to weigh in—not that anything would be said publicly.

Privately, though? Pillow talk ran rampant through the household.

Something to envy.

Qhuinn started forward, then abruptly changed direction and walked allllll the way around to the

other side of the table, to the only chair, other than the one next to Blay, that was empty.

For some reason, Blay thought of the conversation he’d had with his mother over the phone, the

one where he had finally admitted to a member of his family who he really was.

Unease feathered across his nape. Qhuinn would never do something like come out, and not

because his parents were dead, or because, when that pair had been alive, they had hated their son.

I see myself with a female long-term. I can’t explain it. It’s just the way it’s going to be.

Blay pushed his plate away.

“Blay? Hello?”

Shaking himself, he glanced at Rhage. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked you if you were ready to play Nanook of the North.”

Oh, that’s right. They were going back to that stretch of forest where they’d found the cabins and

the
lesser
with the special power for going ghost—as well as that airplane which was, at the moment, gathering snow in the backyard.

He, John, and Rhage were on deck for the assignment. And Qhuinn.

“I…yeah, absolutely.”

The most beautiful member of the Brotherhood frowned, his Caribbean blue eyes narrowing.

“You okay?”

“Yup. Just fine.”

“When was the last time you fed?”

Blay opened his mouth. Shut it. Tried to do the math.

“Uh-huh. I thought so.” Rhage leaned forward and spoke around Z’s chest. “Yo, Phury? Do you

think one of your Chosen can come here and fill in for Layla at dawn? We’ve got some blood needs.”

Great. Just what he wanted to do at the end of the night.

About an hour later, Qhuinn took a sharp breath as he materialized in the cold. Flurries fluttered

around his face, getting into his eyes and his nose. One by one, John, Rhage, and Blay assumed form with him.

As he faced off at the airplane hangar, the hollowed-out shell brought back memories of that

fakakta
Cessna, and the Hail Mary trip, and the crash landing.

Happy, happy, joy, joy.

“Good to go?” he said to Rhage.

“Let’s do this.”

The plan was to proceed at quarter-mile clips until they came to the first few cabins they’d

already been to. After that, they would locate the other buildings on the property, using the map they’d found previously as a guide. Just your typical search/recon protocol.

He had no clue what they would find, but that was the point. You didn’t know until you did the

job.

As Qhuinn sent himself forward, he was acutely aware of where Blay was. Yet as he re-formed in

front of the first cabin they came to, he didn’t look over when Blay appeared about five feet away.

Not a good idea. Even though they were on assignment, all he had to do was close his eyes and his

mind was flooded with images of naked bodies intertwined in the dim light of his bedroom.

Further visual confirm that the guy was hot as fuck was not a help.

He was ashamed to admit it, but right now, the only thing keeping him together was the fact that

Blay had promised to come to him at dawn. The aftermath-awkwardness at First Meal had made him

crave the communion even more, to the point where he was shaken by the idea that someday, in the

near future, Saxton would be back and Blay would stop walking over from next door—and then what

the fuck was he going to do.

What a goddamn mess.

At least Layla was doing well: still nauseated and smiling constantly.

Still pregnant, thanks to Blay’s intervention…

“East by northeast,” Rhage said as he consulted the map.

“Roger that,” Qhuinn replied.

And so they went on, going deeper into the territory, the forest fanning out all around them for

hundreds and hundreds of yards…and then by a mile. And then by several miles.

The cabins were largely the same, roughly twenty by twenty, open-spaced in the center, no

bathroom, no kitchen, just a roof and four walls to file down the worst of the weather’s teeth. The farther in they went, the more dilapidated the structures became—and they were all empty. Logical.

This was a long trek if you were on foot—and
lessers
, as strong as they were, couldn’t dematerialize.

At least, most of them couldn’t.

That had to have been the
Fore-lesser
, he thought. Only explanation for how that injured slayer had gone ghost like that.

The seventh cabin they came to was directly on a trail that had been used frequently enough at

some point so that they could still see its path through the evergreens.

This one was missing a number of panes of glass, and its door had been blown open, a snowdrift

barging in like a burglar. Qhuinn crunched grimly through the ice pack, his shitkickers making

mincemeat of the pristine surface as he closed in on the porch. With a flashlight in his left hand and a forty-five in his right, he jumped up under the eaves and leaned in.

Same shit, different dead space.

As he swept the interior, there was a whole lot of absolutely frickin’ nothing. No furniture. Some

built-in shelving that was empty. Cobwebs that waved in the breeze coming through the busted

windowpanes.

“Clear,” he called out.

Turning away, he thought this was bullshit. He wanted to be downtown kicking ass, not out here in

the middle of nowhere, hunting and pecking and coming up with nada.

Rhage put a penlight between his teeth and unfolded the map once again. Making a mark with a

pen, he tapped the heavy paper. “Last one is about a quarter mile to the west.”

Thank. Fuck.

Assuming everything was as snore as it had been, they should be out of this and engaging the

enemy in the alleys within fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.

Piece of cake.

FIFTY-NINE

“You look really happy.”

Layla glanced over. On some level, it was unfathomable that the queen of the race was

propped up next to her on the bed, reading
Us Weekly
and
People
, and watching television. Then again, except for the huge blood red Saturnine Ruby that winked on her finger, she was as normal as could be.

“I am.” Layla put aside the article on the newest season of
The Bachelor
and laid her hand upon her belly. “I am ecstatic.”

Especially given that Payne had stopped by earlier, and appeared to be back to feeling like

herself. Although Layla’s wish for the pregnancy to continue was nearly pathological, the idea that the blessing had come at a cost to the other female had not sat well.

“Do you wish to have young?” Layla blurted. And then had to add, “If it does not offend—”

Beth batted away the concern. “You can ask me anything. And, God, yes. I want some so badly.

It’s funny, back before my change? I had no interest in them—at all. They were a noisy, out-of-control complication that I honestly didn’t know why people bothered to bring into their lives. Then I met

Wrath.” She pushed her dark hair back and laughed. “Needless to say, everything has changed.”

“How many needings have you had?”

“I’m waiting. Praying. Counting down.”

Layla frowned and made busywork opening a new sleeve of saltines. It was hard to remember