Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (42 page)

“I’m going to carry you,” he said, bending down and picking her up.

The way she didn’t argue told him exactly how little of her there was left.

As the vestibule doors were opened by Fritz, like the butler had been waiting for their arrival,

Qhuinn regretted the whole thing: The dream that he’d briefly entertained during her needing. The

hope he’d wasted. The physical pain she was in. The emotional anguish they were both going through.

You did this to her.

At the time, when he’d serviced her, he’d been solely focused on the positive outcome he’d been

so sure of.

Now, on the far side, his shitkickers planted on the solid, foul-smelling earth of reality? Not

worth it. Even the chance of a healthy young wasn’t worth this.

The worst was watching her suffer.

As he brought her into the house, he prayed there wasn’t a big audience. He just wanted to spare

her something, anything, even if it was simply being paraded in front of a cast of sad, worried faces.

No one was around.

Qhuinn took the stairs two at a time, and as he came up to the second story, the wide-open double

doors of Wrath’s study made him curse.

Then again, the king was blind.

As George let out a chuff of greeting, Qhuinn just strode by, gunning for Layla’s bedroom. Kicking

open the door, he found that the
doggen
had been in and tidied up, the bed all made, the sheets undoubtedly changed, a fresh bouquet of flowers set on the bureau.

Looked like he wasn’t the only one who wanted to help in whatever way he could.

“Do you want to change?” he asked as he kicked the door shut.

“I want a shower—”

“Let’s get one started.”

“—except I’m too afraid. I don’t…want to see it, if you know what I mean.”

He laid her down and sat on the bed beside her. Putting his hand on her leg, he rubbed her knee

with his thumb, back and forth.

“I’m so sorry,” she said roughly.

“Fuck—no, don’t do that. You don’t ever think that or say it, clear? This is
not
your fault.”

“Who else’s is it?”

“Not the point.”

Shit, he couldn’t believe the miscarrying thing was going to go on for another week or so. How

was that possible—

The grimace that contorted Layla’s face told him that a cramp had hit her again. Glancing behind,

and expecting to find Doc Jane, he discovered they were alone.

Which told him more than anything else that there was nothing to be done.

Qhuinn hung his head and held her hand.

It had started with the pair of them.

It was ending with the pair of them.

“I think I’d like to go to sleep,” Layla said as she squeezed his palm. “You look as if you need

some, too.”

He eyed the chaise lounge across the way.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” Layla murmured.

“Where else do you think I would be?”

A quick mental picture of Blay holding his arms wide flashed through his mind. What a fantasy,

though.

Don’t you touch me like that.

Qhuinn shook the thoughts out of his head. “I’ll sleep over there.”

“You can’t stay in here for seven nights straight.”

“I’ll say it again. Where else would I be—”

“Qhuinn.” Her voice got strident. “You have a job out there. And you heard Havers. This is just

going to take as long as it does, and it’s probably going to be a while. I’m not in any danger of

bleeding out, and frankly, I feel as though I have to be strong in front of you, and I do not have the energy for that. Please come and check in, yes, do. But I will go mad if you camp out here until I stop with all this.”

Quiet despair.

That was all Qhuinn had as he sat there on the edge of that bed, holding Layla’s hand.

He got up to leave shortly thereafter. She was right, of course. She needed to rest as much as she

could, and really, aside from staring at her and making her feel like a freak, there was nothing he could do.

“I’m never far.”

“I know that.” She brought his fist to her lips, and he was shocked by how cold they were. “You

have been…more than I could have asked for.”

“Nah. There’s nothing that I’ve—”

“You have done what is right and proper. Always.”

That was a matter of opinion. “Listen, I’ve got my phone with me. I’ll be back in a couple of

hours just to look in on you. If you’re asleep, I won’t disturb you.”

“Thank you.”

Qhuinn nodded and sidestepped over to the door. He had heard once that you were not supposed

to show your back to a Chosen, and he figured the display of protocol couldn’t hurt.

Closing the door behind him, he leaned back against it. The only person he wanted to see was the

one guy in the house who had no interest in—

“What’s going on?”

Blay’s voice was such a shock that he figured he’d imagined it. Except then the male himself

stepped into the doorway of the second-floor sitting room. As if he’d been waiting there all along.

Qhuinn rubbed his eyes and then started walking, his body seeking out the very thing he had been

praying for.

“She’s losing it,” Qhuinn heard himself say in a dead voice.

Blay murmured something in return, but it didn’t register.

Funny, the miscarriage hadn’t seemed real until this moment. Not until he told Blay.

“I’m sorry?” Qhuinn said, aware that the guy seemed to be waiting for an answer.

“Is there anything I can do?”

So funny. Qhuinn had always felt as though he’d come out of his mother’s womb an adult. Then

again, there had never been any cootchie-coo crap for him, no darling-little-boy stuff, no hugs when he hurt himself, no coddling when he was frightened. As a result, whether it was character or the way he’d been brought up, he’d never regressed. Nothing to go back to there.

Yet it was in the voice of a child that he said, “Make it stop?”

As if Blay alone had the power to work a miracle.

And then…the male did.

Blay extended his arms wide, offering the only haven Qhuinn had ever known.

“Make it stop?”

Blay’s body started to shake as Qhuinn uttered those words: After all these years, he’d seen the

guy in a lot of moods and in a lot of circumstances. Never like this, though. Never…so completely

and utterly ruined.

Never like a child, lost.

In spite of his need to keep really and truly far away from any emotional anything, his arms

opened of their own accord.

As Qhuinn stepped in against him, the fighter’s body seemed smaller and frailer than it actually

was. And the arms that wound around Blay’s waist simply lay against him as if there were no strength in the muscles.

Blay held them both up.

And he expected Qhuinn to pull back quickly. Usually, the guy couldn’t handle any kind of intense

connection other than a sexual one for longer than a second and a half.

Qhuinn didn’t. He seemed prepared to stand in the doorway to the sitting room forever.

“Come here,” Blay said, drawing the male inside and shutting the door. “Over on the couch.”

Qhuinn followed behind, shitkickers shuffling instead of marching.

When they got to the sofa, they sat down facing each other, their knees touching. As Blay looked

over, the resonant sadness touched him so deeply, he couldn’t stop his hand from reaching out and

stroking that black hair—

Abruptly, Qhuinn curled in against him, just collapsed, that body folding in half and all but

pouring into Blay’s lap.

There was a part of Blay that recognized this was dangerous territory. Sex was one thing—and

hard enough to handle, fuck him very much. This quiet space? Was potentially devastating.

Which was precisely why he’d gotten the hell out of that bedroom the day before.

The difference tonight, however, was that he was in control of this. Qhuinn was the one seeking

comfort, and Blay could withdraw it or give it depending on how he felt: Being relied on was

something altogether different from receiving—or needing.

Blay was good with being relied on. There was a kind of safety in it—a certainty, a control. It

was not the same as falling into the abyss. And hell, if anyone would know that, it was him. God knew he’d spent years down there.

“I would do anything to change this,” Blay said while stroking Qhuinn’s back. “I hate that you’re

going through…”

Oh, words were so damned useless.

They stayed that way for the longest time, the quiet of the room forming a kind of cocoon.

Periodically, the antique clock on the mantel chimed, and then after a long while, the shutters began to descend over the windows.

“I wish there was something I could do,” Blay said as the steel panels locked into place with a

chunk
.

“You probably have to go.”

Blay let that one stand. The truth was not something he wanted to share: Wild horses, loaded guns,

crowbars, fire hoses, trampling elephants…even an order from the king himself could not have pulled him away.

And there was a part of him that got angry over that. Not at Qhuinn, but at his own heart. The

trouble was, you couldn’t argue with your nature—and he was learning that. In the breakup with

Saxton. In coming out to his mom. In this moment here.

Qhuinn groaned as he lifted his torso up, and then scrubbed his face. When he dropped his hands,

his cheeks were red and so were his eyes, but not because he was crying.

Undoubtedly his decade’s allotment of tears had come out the night before as he’d wept in relief

that he’d saved a father’s life.

Had he known that Layla wasn’t doing well then?

“You know what the hardest thing is?” Qhuinn asked, sounding more like himself.

“What?” God knew there was a lot to choose from.

“I’ve seen the young.”

The fine hairs on the back of Blay’s neck tingled. “What are you talking about.”

“The night the Honor Guard came for me, and I almost died—remember?”

Blay coughed a little, the memory as raw and vivid as something that had happened an hour ago.

And yet Qhuinn’s voice was even and calm, like he was referencing an evening out at a club or

something. “Ah, yeah. I remember.”

I gave you CPR at the side of the goddamn road,
he thought.

“I went up to the Fade—” Qhuinn frowned. “Are you okay?”

Oh, sure, doing great. “Sorry. Keep going.”

“I went up there. I mean, it was like…what you hear about. The white.” Qhuinn scrubbed his face

again. “So white. Everywhere. There was a door, and I went up to it—I knew if I turned the knob I

was going in, and I was never coming out. I reached for the thing…and that’s when I saw her. In the door.”

“Layla,” Blay interjected, feeling like his chest had been stabbed.

“My daughter.”

Blay’s breath caught. “Your…”

Qhuinn looked over. “She was…blond. Like Layla. But her eyes—” He touched next to his own.

“—they were mine. I stopped reaching forward when I saw her—and then suddenly, I was back on

the ground at the side of the road. Afterward, I had no clue what it was all about. But then, like, so much later, Layla goes into her needing and comes to me, and everything fell into place. I was like…

this is
supposed
to happen. It felt like fate, you know. I never would have lain with Layla otherwise. I did it only because I
knew
we were going to have a little girl.”

“Jesus.”

“I was wrong, though.” He rubbed his face a third time. “I was totally fucking wrong—and I

really wish I hadn’t gone down this path. Biggest regret of my life—well, second-biggest, actually.”

Blay had to wonder what the hell could be worse than where the guy was at.

What can I do?
Blay wondered to himself.

Qhuinn’s eyes searched his face. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

Apparently he’d spoken out loud. “Yeah, I do.”

Qhuinn’s dagger hand reached out and cupped the side of Blay’s jaw. “You sure?”

The vibe instantly shifted. The tragedy was still very much with them, but that powerful sexual

undertow came back between one heartbeat and the next.

Qhuinn’s stare started to burn, his lids dropping low. “I need…an anchor right now. I don’t know

how else to explain it.”

Blay’s body responded instantly, his blood spiking to the boiling point, his cock thickening,

growing long.

“Let me kiss you.” Qhuinn groaned as he leaned in. “I know I don’t deserve it, but please…it’s

what you can do for me. Let me feel you….”

Qhuinn’s mouth brushed his own. Came back for more. Lingered.

“I’ll beg for it.” More with the caress of those devastating lips. “If that’s what it takes. I don’t give a fuck, I’ll beg….”

Somehow, that wasn’t going to be necessary.