Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (51 page)

Blay motioned in the direction of the clinic. “Yeah. Sure. She’s in the exam room right now.”

Right, clearly, the topic was closed. Whatever it was.

Snapping into action, Qhuinn jogged down the corridor, and nearly burst through the closed door.

At the last minute, though, a sense of decorum pulled him up short. Some examinations of pregnant

females involved very private places—and even though he and Layla had had sex, they certainly

weren’t intimate like that.

He knocked. “Layla? You in there?”

There was a pause and then Doc Jane opened up. “Hi, come on in. I’m glad Blay found you.”

The physician’s face gave nothing away—and that made him psychotic. Generally speaking, when

doctors did that professionally pleasant thing, it was not good news.

Looking beyond V’s female, he focused on Layla—but Blay was who he grabbed onto, snagging a

hold on the guy’s arm.

“Stay if you can?” Qhuinn said out of the corner of his mouth.

Blay seemed surprised, but he complied with the request, letting the door shut them all in together.

“What’s going on?” Qhuinn demanded.

Checkup, his ass: Layla’s eyes were wide and a little wild, her hands jittery as they played with

her loose, tangled hair.

“There’s been a change,” Doc Jane said with hesitation.

Pause.

Qhuinn nearly screamed. “Okay, listen up, people—if someone doesn’t tell me what the fuck is

going on, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind all over this room—”

“I’m pregnant,” Layla blurted.

And this is a change how? he wondered, his head starting to hum.

“As in the miscarriage appears to have stopped,” Jane said. “And she’s still pregnant.”

Qhuinn blinked. Then he shook his head—and not as in back and forth, as in how someone would

masturbate a snow globe.

“I don’t get it.”

Doc Jane sat on a rolling stool, and opened a chart on her lap. “I gave her the blood test myself.

There’s a sliding scale of pregnancy hormones—”

“I’m going to be sick,” Layla cut in. “Right now—”

Everybody rushed at the poor female, but Blay was the smart one. He brought a wastepaper

basket with him, and that was what the Chosen used.

As she was heaving, Qhuinn held her hair back and felt a little dizzy.

“She’s
not
okay,” he told the doctor.

Jane met his eyes over Layla’s head. “This is a normal part of being pregnant. For female

vampires, too, apparently—”

“But she’s bleeding—”

“Not anymore. And I did an ultrasound. I can see the gestational sac. She is still pregnant—”

“Oh, shit!” Blay yelled.

For a split second, Qhuinn couldn’t figure out why the guy was cursing. And then he realized…

huh, the ceiling had traded places with the wall.

No, wait.

He was passing out.

His last conscious thought was that it was really cool of Blay to catch him as he went over like a

tree in the forest.

In the context of the English language, there were many more important words than “in.” There were

fancy words, historic words, words that meant life or death. There were multi-syllabic tongue-

twisters that required a sort out before speaking, and mission-critical pivotals that started wars or ended wars…and even poetic nonsensicals that were like a symphony as they left the lips.

Generally speaking, “in” did not play with the big boys. In fact, it barely had much of a definition at all, and, in the course of its working life, was usually nothing but a bridge, a conduit for the heavy lifters in any given sentence.

There was, however, one context in which that humble little two-letter, one-syllable jobbie was a

BFD.

Love.

The difference between someone “loving” somebody versus being “in love” was a curb to the

Grand Canyon. The head of a pin to the entire Midwest. An exhale to a hurricane.

Now I know why he…

As Blay sat on the floor of the exam room with Qhuinn’s loose-as-a-goose body in his lap, he

couldn’t for the life of him remember what Layla had said next. Had it been “loves you”? In which

case, well, yeah, he knew that the guy loved him as a friend and had for decades. And that didn’t

change a thing.

Or had it been with the addition of the “in.”

In which case, he was kind of considering taking Qhuinn’s lead and having a little TO on the tile.

“How’s my other patient doing?” Doc Jane asked as Layla collapsed back on the exam table.

“Breathing,” Blay replied.

“He’ll come around.”

One would hope, Blay thought as he focused on Qhuinn’s face—like those familiar features, even

though he was out of it, could somehow answer the question one way or the other.

The Chosen couldn’t possibly have said “in love.”

Couldn’t have been it. He simply refused to let two bouts of great sex rewrite someone else’s

words.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he heard Layla say to Doc Jane.

“The throwing up? According to what Ehlena told me earlier, it can most certainly be part of the

symptoms of a successful pregnancy. In fact, it can be a sign that things are progressing well. It’s the hormones.”

“I don’t have to return to Havers’s, do I?”

“Well, Ehlena’s coming back from visiting her father tonight. So we need to find out how much

she’s comfortable treating—and then see where you’re at. I won’t lie…I think this is a miracle.”

“I agree.”

While the females spoke, Blay kept his eyes on Qhuinn’s closed lids. It was a miracle, all right.

Straight up—

As if on cue, the guy came around, those thick, dark eyelashes batting as if they were trying to

decide how serious he was about staying conscious.

“Layla!” he shouted as he burst upright.

Blay pushed himself backward, letting the guy go. Feeling a little stupid.

Especially as Qhuinn shot to his feet and went to the female.

Blay stayed where he was, settling back against the closed cupboards under the sink, his knees up,

his hands on his thighs. Even though it tore him to pieces, he couldn’t help but watch the two of them together, Qhuinn’s dagger hand impossibly gentle as he smoothed the blond hair away from Layla’s

face.

He was saying something to her, something soft and reassuring.

Before Blay knew it, he was out in the hall, walking somewhere, anywhere. As hard as it was to

accept compassion from Qhuinn…it was downright impossible to witness it being imparted on

someone else—even if they more than deserved it.

The idea that Layla had been given in her needing exactly what he’d had for the last two days

made his chest ache—but what was worse? It appeared that with her, the pneumatics had served their

biological purpose. She was pregnant—and thanks to Payne, he had a feeling she was going to stay

that way.

Overall, he’d done the right thing in going to V’s sister the day before. Assuming that that had

been the cause of the amazing turnaround. But still, and even though it didn’t make sense, he felt—

“Are you okay?”

He stopped immediately, Qhuinn’s voice a shock. One would figure the guy would have stayed

with the Chosen.

Bracing himself, he shoved his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath before turning around.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just figured you two would want some privacy.”

“Thanks for catching me.” The male lifted his palms. “I don’t know what happened in there.”

“Relief.”

“I guess.”

There was an awkward moment. Then again, they had specialized in them, hadn’t they.

“Listen, I’m going to go back to the house.” Blay tacked on a smile and hoped the guy bought it.

“It’s good to have a night off.”

“Oh, yeah. Saxton’s probably waiting for you.”

Blay opened his mouth, but then caught the “why” that was about to fly out from between his lips.

“Yup, he is. Take care of your girl. I’ll see you at Last Meal, maybe.”

As he strode off and ducked into the office, he knew he was being a coward for hiding behind a

nonexistent relationship. But when you had a bad cut, you needed a Band-Aid.

Christ, no wonder Saxton had broken up with him.

What a fucking romantic.

FORTY-EIGHT

As Assail drove through the grand gates of an estate in the wealthy part of Caldwell, he was

annoyed. Exhausted. On edge. And not just because he’d been doing cocaine regularly and

not eating.

The cottage was over to the left, and he parked the Range Rover grille-first beneath one

of the cheerful little windows. He would have preferred to have dematerialized here—so much less

complicated. But after he’d dropped the twins off by that Goth club, the Iron Mask, he’d had to face the reality that if he didn’t feed, he was not going to be able to go on.

He hated this. It wasn’t that he minded the money it cost. It was more that he wasn’t particularly

attracted to the female—and did not appreciate her attempts to change that.

Swinging his door wide, he got out, and the cold air hitting his face slapped some awareness into

him, making him cognizant of just how logy he’d been.

At that very moment, a car went by out on the street beyond, some kind of domestic sedan.

And then the quaint portal of the cottage opened.

Assail’s fangs tingled as the female in between the jambs registered to his senses. Dressed in

something black and lingerie-esque, she was ready for him, the heady scent of her arousal marking the air, although that wasn’t what got his lust going. It was her vein, nothing more, nothing less…

Assail frowned and looked beyond the cottage, into the forest that rimmed the estate.

Through the skeletal trees, the rear lights of the car that had just passed by flared red. Then

whoever it was turned the vehicle around, the headlights swinging in a fat circle—and then

extinguishing.

Immediately, Assail went for his gun. “You go inside. We’re not alone.”

The female promptly canned the come-on and disappeared into the cottage, shutting the door with

a bang.

Dematerializing into the woods would have been the best move, but of course, he was too damned

starved for that—

Abruptly, the wind shifted direction and came at him, and his nostrils flared.

Assail growled softly—and not in a warning. More like a greeting, of sorts.

As if he would e’er forget that particular combination of pheromones.

His little burglar had turned the tables on him, doing to him what he had done to her the night

before. How long had she been on his trail? he wondered, a shaft of respect driving through his chest at the same time he grew frustrated.

He did not like the idea that she might have seen him under the bridge. Knowing her, though, he

couldn’t rule that out.

Drawing in a long, slow breath, he caught nothing else of significance. Which meant she was

alone.

Information gathering? For whom?

Assail pivoted back around to the cottage and smiled darkly. No doubt once he was inside she

would close in…and far be it from him not to give her a show.

He knocked once, and the female opened up again.

“Are we okay?” she asked.

His eyes went over her face, and then lingered on her hair. It was dark. Thick. Rather like his

little burglar’s.

“All clear. Just a human with car trouble.”

“So there’s nothing to worry about?”

“Not a thing.”

As relief eased the tension out of her face, he shut them in together and threw the lock.

“I’m so glad you came back to me again,” the female said, letting the lace-trimmed halves of her

satin robe fall back apart.

Tonight she was wearing a black negligee that pushed her breasts high and made her waist look

like he could span it with only one of his hands. She smelled overdone: too much hand cream, body

lotion, shampoo, conditioner, and perfume marking her body.

He really wished she wouldn’t go to the effort.

With a quick shift of the eyes, Assail checked the position of all the windows. Naturally, none of

them had changed: There were two narrow ones on either side of the stone fireplace. A stretch of

three panes of glass over the sink. And then that bowed-out section over to the left that was above the built-in seat with its cushions and needlepoint pillows.

His burglar would choose the window to the right of the fireplace. It was out of the glow from the

lantern over the front door, and in the lee of the chimney.

“Are you ready for me?” the female purred.

Assail ducked his hand into the inside of his jacket. The thousand dollars in cash was folded

once, the ten hundred-dollar bills forming a thin folio.

Moving sinuously, he put his back to the bay window and the fireplace. For some reason, he