A Warm Heart in Winter

by J. R. Ward

  Blay started to blink back tears. And then he was on his knees, too.

  As he stammered to give his answer, he reflected that time was never a given, love was never to be taken for granted, and some gifts could not be wrapped and put under a tree.

  “Yes. Yes, yes, yes…” he said over and over again as they kissed.

  There was some kind of commotion around them, and when he finally returned to his body, he saw that everyone around the table had gotten to their feet and were cheering and clapping—and every single doggen in the house had flooded into the dining room and were jumping up and down.

  With a laugh, Blay wondered whether their excitement was also because they were going to have to get ready for a big party.

  And there was one other thing he noticed.

  Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Lassiter standing back against the wall, a satisfied expression on his face.

  “He was right,” Qhuinn murmured as he looked over at the angel as well.

  “About what?”

  “You said yes.”

  At that moment, Lassiter bowed to them. And then blew them both a kiss.

  Blay refocused on his mate and felt a wave of love come over him. “As if there could ever have been any other answer?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Talk about a whirlwind.

  And yet even though everything came together in a matter of nights, it still felt like the preparations for the mating ceremony took too damned long.

  Not that Qhuinn would ever have said so to Fritz. Especially considering that the butler and his staff had worked around the clock. The thing was, though, when Qhuinn had dropped to one knee and asked his true love to properly mate him, he’d intended to have the ceremony then and there.

  Like, bring on the daggers, get the salt, let’s do this thing.

  Cooler heads had prevailed, however—and like he could deny Bitty’s party-planning committee a chance to put on its first event?

  At least it was all finally going down. Tonight. Right now.

  As Qhuinn came to the top of the grand staircase and looked down at the foyer below, everything had been transformed: Black candles flickered from a hundred different stanchions, and a ceremonial table had been set up, also draped with black, and the entire household, along with Blay’s parents, were assembled on the mosaic floor, everyone in formal garb.

  It was go time. For real.

  Wrath was standing behind the table, George on one side, Tohr on the other. And behind them, the Brotherhood was lined up, all of them bare-chested and wearing the same loose black pants that Qhuinn had on.

  “You ready?”

  At the sound of Qhuinn’s favorite voice in all the world, he turned. His mate was stepping out of their bedroom and he took a moment to enjoy the sight of that bare chest and that handsome face and that red hair. On a whim, Qhuinn had gotten ready in the second-floor sitting room, just for this moment—and he was so glad that he had.

  “You look amazing,” he said as Blay came up to him.

  “I’m just in the same thing you are.”

  “Come here, kiss me.” Qhuinn tugged his male forward until their lips met. “I’m more than ready for this. You?”

  “I can’t believe this is happening. And yes, I’m soooo ready.”

  Mating ceremonies for members of the glymera were highly prescribed affairs—no surprise there. Add in the fact that one of the couple was a member of the Black Dagger Brotherhood? That elevated everything to a celestial realm in terms of propriety—and there was a list of things that traditionally “had” to happen.

  Not the least of which was a mandatory mourning period to honor Luchas’s death.

  Yet he and Blay had decided to do all of this their way, and Wrath had given them his blessing. And as for the mourning period? Qhuinn felt as though this was all partially for Luchas. He had what his brother did not: This moment now, with his true love.

  “Let’s do this,” Qhuinn said.

  They each took the other’s hand and then they walked down to the assembly together. When they got to the bottom, they took the twins from Layla and Xcor, who were both glowing with happiness for them, and then they with their young went up to Wrath and the ceremonial accoutrement of two black daggers, an enormous bowl of salt, and a pitcher of water.

  Wrath beamed. “I know I speak for all of us when I say this is a blessed occasion. We’re happy to do it your way, and I understand there is one tradition that you all feel very strongly about.”

  On that note, Lassiter stepped out from the crowd. For once, he wasn’t in some costume, just a black silk shirt and black slacks, his blond-and-black hair braided into a rope that hung over his shoulder, his gold removed, everything toned down.

  Wrath leaned to Tohr and hissed, “Is he in the Elvis suit again?”

  “No. He looks normal.”

  “Great,” the King muttered. “They get ‘normal,’ but I get the Elvis suit…”

  Lassiter came forward and stood between Blay and Qhuinn, taking their hands. Then the angel closed his eyes—and that illumination rained down on them all, the warmth and grace levitating both them and the young off the depiction of that apple tree in full bloom.

  As everyone in the foyer gasped, they were resettled back upon the earth.

  “This is a very good mating, indeed,” Lassiter pronounced. “Very good.”

  The Brotherhood let out a mighty yell of agreement. And then the ancient ceremony commenced, sacred words spoken in the Old Language by the great Blind King—none of which registered for Qhuinn at all. He was just standing in front of Blay, looking into those blue eyes as they held their young—in front of everyone they cared about.

  Which he supposed, at the end of the night, was all that really mattered. The tradition was great and everything, but what really mattered was the communal acknowledgment of his commitment to his beloved, and his beloved’s commitment to him.

  The rest was just vocabulary—and a little fun and games with some daggers and salt.

  Well, and also, thanks to Bitty and the fallen angel, what looked like some really good frickin’ cake.

  It was a blur, a total blur—

  “Qhuinn?” Blay whispered. “You there?”

  “What? Oh, sorry.” With a much louder voice, he said, “I do!”

  Laughter rippled through the crowd, and Blay leaned in again. “We already did that.”

  “We did?” Qhuinn flushed. “Then let’s get to it with the blades!”

  They passed the young back to Xcor and Layla, and then they went to the two black mats that had been laid out in front of the table.

  “You have chosen two to assist you,” Wrath said in the Old Language. “I would ask them to step forward at this time.”

  John Matthew and Zsadist broke ranks and walked around the table. Both were smiling as they each picked up one of the black daggers.

  Qhuinn and Blay sank down onto their knees. As they planted their palms on the mats, they were facing each other.

  And yup, Qhuinn was very aware of the shit-eating grin on his face. God, he wanted this so badly.

  “Blaylock, son of Rocke, I ask you, what is the name of your hellren?” Wrath said.

  Blay’s eyes were so beautiful as he spoke. “He is Qhuinn. My beloved… is Qhuinn.”

  “And Qhuinn, blooded sire of Rhampage and Lyric, what is the name of your hellren?”

  Qhuinn had to clear a sudden lump in his throat. “He is Blaylock. My one and only love is Blaylock.”

  John Matthew stepped up to Blay. Z did the same for Qhuinn.

  Qhuinn and Blay held each other’s stare without wincing as the carving happened, the letters of their names inscribed in the flesh across the tops of their shoulders. And then Tohrment poured the salt, first on Blay and then on Qhuinn.

  Not once, for even a moment, did either of them look away.

  As their names became permanent in their skin.

  And their hearts, already paired forever, swel
led with love.

  * * *

  “Oh, thank you, Father,” Blay said as he embraced his dad. “And Mahmen, I’m so glad you’re here!”

  As Lyric threw her arms around him, she squeezed the air out of his lungs. “As if we would ever have missed this! Finally! Now, where are my grandbabies?”

  “Over there, by the Christmas tree in the library.”

  Lyric hooked her hellren’s elbow. “Let’s go! I have to hold my young. And I think I want one of those.”

  Rocke blanched. “A young?”

  “No, silly. A Christmas tree. They’re awfully pretty, and when the kids come, I want them to feel at home.”

  As Rocke rolled his eyes and kissed his mate, he winked at Blay. “Whatever you want, darling.”

  “That’s the right answer, my love,” Lyric said as they walked off through the crowd. “You are such a smart male.”

  All around the foyer, people were talking with animation, drinking spirits, eating—

  “Bitty!” Blay called out. “Hey, Bitty—”

  The girl came skipping over in her bright yellow party dress, all flounces and smiles. “You’re mated!” she exclaimed as she threw herself at him. “I’m so happy!”

  Blay hugged the young and set her back down on her patent leather Mary Janes. “I just wanted you to know, I think you did a great job with the planning of all this.”

  “And Uncle Blay, we have a wedding cake!” She pointed to where the five-layer, chocolate- and vanilla-frosted creation had been set on a platform. “This is your wedding, and that’s the cake, so that’s a wedding cake!”

  Blay smiled. “You are awesome, do you know that?”

  “My dad tells me that all the time.” She frowned. “And I better go make sure Lassiter’s okay. He was worried about the cake—that you wouldn’t like it because of the two-colored frosting. So I’ll let him know it’s just fine.”

  “It’s perfect. Tell him it’s perfect.”

  “Roger that.”

  The girl danced off, skipping around Phury and Cormia, dashing by Manny and Payne, dodging past Wrath and Beth, who were sharing a kiss over L.W.’s head.

  “Hey, hellren.”

  Blay started to smile even before he turned his head. Qhuinn had come up right next to him—and it was weird. Even though nothing had changed, the formality, the carvings in the back, the whole process of confirming their love in front of their community, made it all feel so different. In a good way.

  “Hi, hellren.”

  And then they both smiled like idiots.

  Absolute idiots.

  “Hey listen, can you come over here,” Qhuinn said. “You know, to the bathroom—and no, not for nookie.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “No, I mean it. It’s not for… you know.” As Blay laughed, Qhuinn tilted forward and jogged his brows. “But the nookie’s coming later today. All day.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  As they went around the base of the stairs, and ducked into the guest powder room together, Blay wondered what was going on. And then they were sitting together on the bench.

  When Qhuinn took a deep breath, Blay got anxious. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. Not at all. This is the best night of my life. But there’s something I wanted to do privately. Just for you and me. I mean, not that other people shouldn’t and won’t see eventually, but I just…”

  Blay stroked Qhuinn’s arm. “What is it?”

  Qhuinn shifted his weight to one hip and winced, as the carvings across his shoulders undoubtedly stretched. And then he held up something that glowed with gold.

  “Remember when you gave this to me? At that bar?” he said.

  Blay instantly recognized what he was being shown. “My signet ring. Of course.”

  “Here, you take it now.”

  “Are you giving it back to me or—” Blay stopped talking as Qhuinn flatted his other hand to reveal, in the center of his palm, something that took the breath away. “Oh, God…”

  It was another gold signet ring, and Blay knew whose it was even before he picked the heavy weight up and noted the crest.

  Luchas’s ring. The one that had been given to him the night after his transition. The one that had been on his finger when he’d been found in that oil drum—which was the only reason they’d been able to identify him.

  The one he’d turned over to Qhuinn.

  Because Qhuinn had never been given one by their parents.

  “This ring is my most precious possession,” Qhuinn said roughly. “For reasons that you are well aware of. And so tonight, on the night of our mating ceremony, in honor of my brother, and as a way to include him, I would like to place it on your finger.”

  Blay’s eyes watered. And then, in the Old Language, he said, “It is my greatest honor to wear it in his name and yours.”

  Qhuinn took a deep breath and stared at the gold crest.

  And then he cleared his throat. “I miss him.”

  “How could you not.”

  With an effort, Qhuinn seemed to refocus. And then he smiled a little. “Shall we?”

  “Yes,” Blay murmured.

  They both placed the rings on the other’s fingertips. And then, as they tilted in and kissed, they slid the gold home.

  They kissed for a bit longer and eased back.

  Qhuinn smiled and brushed the side of Blay’s face. “You are my warm heart in winter, you know that?”

  “And you are mine,” Blay said as they both looked down at the same time.

  The sight of their entwined fingers, with the rings, seemed like a fitting metaphor for their lives, a melding of histories and experiences, a foundation on which to further build their future together, a vow to raise their young, and love and live and learn, for all the nights destiny provided them.

  Together.

  Forever.

  Amen.

  EPILOGUE

  It was a week before Christmas when Elle returned again to her mother’s apartment. She didn’t really want to go, but like she had a choice? She got worried if she didn’t personally check in every couple of weeks.

  “Don’t run into a snowbank again,” Terrie said slyly.

  As Elle pulled their father’s BMW into an empty parking spot, she deliberately pounded the brake so that Terrie jerked forward against her seat belt.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry.”

  “You are not!”

  Elle cut the engine and opened her door. With her period of monitored driving finally up, she was now allowed to go out on her own, and their father—who’d been feeling extra permissive since… well, since their little talk that morning when she’d gotten up early to confess something she’d ultimately kept to herself—was letting her take out the BMW pretty much whenever it was free to be used.

  Getting out, she rolled her eyes as Terrie bitched her way around the far side of the car—but all the sister-stressing dried up as they both stared at the apartment building.

  “I don’t know why you dragged me here,” Terrie whined. “I don’t—”

  “She’s our mother. And it’s almost Christmas. And that’s why you have to come, too, sometimes.”

  As they started off for the stairwell, the pit in Elle’s stomach got more hollow.

  “I’m hungry,” Terrie said. “Can we go to McDonald’s after this?”

  “Sure.”

  “Really? You’ll, like, really take me? Even though it’s almost dinnertime.”

  “Dad’s out tonight, remember.”

  “Oh. Another work event?”

  “Yeah,” Elle muttered. “Work again. Always with that work of his.”

  Up on the second landing, at their mother’s door, Elle went to knock—

  The panel opened, and Elle jumped back in surprise—although not because someone other than their mother was standing there. It was because of the smell. Which was…

  “Are you making dinner?” Elle blurted.

  Their mom nodded. “
I thought you girls might be hungry. It’s almost six, and I know you like lasagna.”

  “Is this our lasagna?” Elle demanded. “I mean—wait. What is that?”

  She barged in and stared across the shallow living room at the Christmas tree that had been put up in the corner. The thing was four feet high, and had a coordinated decorating scheme of blue and white lights and bulbs.

  No garland. But their mother had never liked garland.

  “It’s not a live one,” their mom said. “Without your father to help—well, this was what I could handle. But I think it’s pretty, non?”

  Terrie raced over and skidded on her knees on the carpet. “There are presents! This one is for me!”

  Elle narrowed her eyes on their mother as the door to the apartment shut by itself. “What’s going on?”

  Before their mom could answer, the timer in the kitchen went off. “Excuse me.”

  Elle looked around again, and wondered if the Upside Down hadn’t showed up in Caldwell… especially as, through the open door to the bedroom, she saw a freshly vacuumed carpet, and a bed that was made, and a sprig of holly in a little vase on the bedside table.

  “Girls, wash your hands, please.”

  Elle snapped to it without any argument—Terrie, too—because that tone of voice was one she’d spent her childhood respecting. And as she traded off the bar of soap at the kitchen sink with her sister, she tried to remember the last time she’d heard that kind of command.

  And look, the table was set for three.

  The next thing Elle knew, they were seated together and holding hands, the prayer done in French. And then their mother was serving them from the glass pan in the center of the little table.

  “I love this lasagna!” Terrie exclaimed as she accepted her plate.

  “Two or one piece?” their mom asked Elle.

  Elle looked down at the melted cheese and the perfect layers. “Two. Please.”