by J. R. Ward
"How is the female doing?" he asked, as he wiped his mouth and eased back in the wooden chair.
"I don't know." Mary shook her head. "I just don't know how this one is going to go."
"That bad?" When she shrugged, he said, "If there's anything I can do . . ."
"Well, actually . . ."
"Name it."
She reached out, took his hand, and turned it over so the palm was facing up. It was a while before she spoke, but as he was beginning to get worried, she said, "I want you to entertain, just for a moment, that it might have been upsetting for you to see Selena almost die and for you to witness Trez's pain. I want you to consider that it is not business as usual, for anyone, to have to go through some house they've never been in before, not knowing whether an explosion or an ambush is going to kill them or someone they cared about. I want you to reflect that going to Wrath and not being able to tell him that you'd found the Bastards or disarmed something or captured some kind of information might feel like a failure. And finally, I want you to understand that for you to come home and see Layla passed out, and know that she's pregnant, and care about her and Qhuinn and Blay, is yet another trauma. I think you've had a really hard twenty-four hours, and that your emotions have kind of tapped out on you."
"I didn't feel upset, though, my Mary. By any of it. I was just fine--"
"Until you had the panic attack in front of the house."
"I didn't have a panic attack."
"You said you couldn't breathe. That your hands and feet were tingling. That you were having trouble connecting to reality. Sounds like a classic panic attack to me."
He shook his head. "I don't think that was it."
"Okay."
Rhage took a deep breath and focused on his beloved's face. "You are the most beautiful female I have ever seen."
"I'm pretty sure that isn't--"
He captured her face in his hands, cradling her with care. As his eyes roamed around her familiar features, he couldn't get enough of them. God, it was never enough. Not a night, a month, a year, a decade . . . not the eternity the Scribe Virgin had miraculously given them both, was ever going to be enough for him.
"You are the most beautiful female I have ever seen." He brushed her lips with his own. "I don't know what I did to deserve a destiny with you, but I will never, ever take that for granted."
The smile he got in response was better than the sunrise he would never see, shaming even that great glowing fireball that was the sustainer of all life, including even those who could not bear its rays.
They were still sitting like that, staring into each other's eyes, when the doggen came in for dessert.
"You wanna go upstairs," he said in a dark, deep voice, his beast starting to surge under his skin. "I'm ready for dessert."
Her scent flared. "Are you."
"Mmm-hmm."
"You want me to get you some ice cream?"
He narrowed his stare on her mouth. "Not even close. I want to lick something else."
"Well, then," she whispered, putting her mouth to his. "Let's get you fed."
TWENTY-SIX
Cold sweat.
Trez woke up in an absolute cold sweat, every inch of his skin drenched, his core temperature all arctic, his heart going so fast it felt like someone had swapped the thing for a cake mixer. Bursting up off the pillows, he shouted--
Bedroom. Instead of something terrible and shocking . . . all he saw was a whole lot of his bedroom, and everything was on the normal-normal, from the lamp that was glowing next to him, to his clothes draped over the chaise lounge, to his shoes askew from where he'd kicked them off the other dawn.
For a moment, he was confused. Scribe Virgin. Some strange, mystical place. Selena in the grass, in the clinic, frozen, frozen--
A soft moan shattered the straddle between nightmare and reality.
Jerking around, he saw Selena lying in his bed, her naked shoulders showing above the sheets, her dark hair loose over his white pillowcase, her face and body turned away from him.
Closing his eyes, he sagged, and wished it had all just been a bad dream.
But then he refocused and got about his female, pulling the duvet up higher to keep her warm, discreetly leaning over and reassuring himself she was still breathing, wondering if he should go find some food for her.
As if she sensed his presence, she rolled over, her face tightening in her sleep like it hurt her to move.
Fuck. The sex had been out of control, raw, rough. Right after her body had been through so much.
Damn him, he thought as he dragged a palm down his face. How could he have done that to her? He should have jerked himself off until his cock had lost all sensation.
Worse? He wasn't sure they had actually worked things out between them. Shit knew, he still felt like an asshole.
Reaching across to the bedside table, he got his phone and checked the time. Five forty-four a.m.
There was going to be no more sleep for him. Sliding free of the sheets, he padded into the bathroom, shut the door, used the facilities, and took a quick shower. Then he was back out, picking up his pair of earbuds from the bedside table's drawer and putting them in place before he did a bed reinsertion.
Moving slowly, he was just as careful getting back in as he had been on his evac, maneuvering his nearly three-hundred-pound weight onto the pillow-top mattress without displacing her like she was on a trampoline.
When he was resettled, he pulled a quick check of his female and was relieved to find she was still sleeping. Which kind of terrified him. What if she were in a coma or--
As if she were searching for him, she patted around on the duvet.
"I'm right here," he whispered.
Instantly, she stilled her searching, and as he took her hand, her palm was warm, vital, just as it always had been.
He took a moment to study her fingers, bending them one by one, measuring the movement, checking for resistance. Which wasn't right, he thought.
It was unfair to try to solicit information from her body without her knowledge and awareness--and by way of apology, he stopped himself and smoothed the pink nail beds and the short white semi-circles she trimmed regularly.
As sleep reclaimed her, he felt . . . paralyzingly alone. Even though they were side by side, him propped up against the headboard, her nestled in close to his body, he couldn't seem to connect with her. He told himself it was simply a matter of asleep and awake. That was the divide--nothing scarier than the fact that her brain waves would read differently than his on a CAT scan.
It was bullshit, of course. And the harder he tried to force himself to believe the lie, the more trapped he felt--so to derail the internal fight, he turned on SiriusXM radio on his phone, jacked the plug of his earphones into the ass of his handset, and tried to get comfortable. Or somewhat comfortable.
Or . . . at least not consumed by the need to jump out of his own skin.
Naturally, because his luck sucked, the first thing he heard on the radio was more bad news.
"Are you kidding me?" he blurted out loud as Howard Stern's voice piped into his skull. "Eric the Actor is d--"
Selena's brows tightened like she was considering waking up and he closed his piehole. But he couldn't believe another wack packer had been lost. It just seemed cruel in light of everything he was going through.
Shit, it was as if bad news was making a concerted effort to come out of the shadows and find him.
*
Selena woke up slowly, and the scent of Trez's body was the first thing she noticed. The sound of his voice the next. The feel of his hand in hers the third.
Opening her lids, she found him sitting up next to her in his bed, his black eyes rapt on his phone, his brows down as if he'd received upsetting news through a text or--
"Is everything okay?" she asked.
When he didn't answer her, she saw that he had wires running from the phone to his ears like he was listening to something.
The instan
t she squeezed his hand, he jumped so high he popped the ear thingies free.
"Oh, my God! You're awake."
"I'm sorry, I didn't meant to--"
"Shit, no, don't be--are you all right? Do you need Doc Jane--"
"No, no . . ." She tried to get her brain working. "I'm fine. I just . . . you seem upset?"
As he looked at her, the only sound in the room was the hiss coming from what had been in his ears.
She pulled the covers up higher. "Is there something wrong with me?"
"Oh, God, no. I, ah, no--it's nothing." He glanced at his phone. "Just, someone who was on the Stern Show d--"
When he stopped, his eyes got wide, as if he had almost said something unforgivable.
"Died?" she finished for him.
"I, ah . . ."
"You can still say the word." She squeezed his hand again. "Honestly."
Trez cleared his throat and put the phone aside. "Are you hungry?"
"Not really."
"Thirsty?"
"No."
He fidgeted with the sheets. The duvet. "Warm enough?"
Frowning, she pushed herself upright and sat back against the pillows. Looking over at him, she smiled. "I'm glad I came up here. To talk to you and . . . do those other things."
"You are?" His eyes, those beautiful almond-shaped eyes, swung back to her. "Really? I feel like I was too hard on you when we . . ."
She smiled even wider. "I really, really lost my virginity now."
He blushed. Actually blushed, a red stain hitting his high cheekbones. "I worried I'd hurt you."
"Not at all. When can we do it again--"
Trez's coughing fit was sudden and loud, and she had to pound him on the back before he started breathing right again.
"You okay?" she said, still smiling.
"Ah, yeah. You just have a way of surprising me."
For a split second, she remembered him coming to her in the Sanctuary. Even though she had been in an Arrest at the time, she had known the instant he had arrived. It had been a miracle. But how had he known?
"How did you find me? Up in the Sanctuary?"
He shook his head slowly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
"The Scribe Virgin. I was at my club and dealing with some stuff--Rhage and V were with me. All of a sudden this . . . figure appeared . . . black robes, light under the hem, voice that I heard inside here"--he tapped his head--"rather than through my ears. Next thing I know? I'm . . . well, anyway. I was with you."
Now she was the one fiddling with things. "I'm really sorry."
"About what?"
"About you seeing me like that. About . . . all of this."
"Fucking hell--like I said before, as if you'd volunteer to be sick?"
"I know, but still. I wish . . ." She tried to tilt her head back so she could look at the ceiling, but her neck was too painful.
"You're hurting."
"It's nothing unusual. This is how I always feel after I . . . well, anyhow."
Guess two could play at the avoidance game.
"This is so unnatural," she blurted.
"What is?"
She had to turn her torso so that she could look at him properly. And absently, she measured how good his dark skin looked against the white sheets, the contrast making both seem to glow.
Selena tried to find the words. "I feel like there's this huge . . . I don't know, divide or something . . . between us. It makes no sense. I mean, you're right here beside me--but there are words that we're tripping over, subjects we don't want to talk about. It's just . . . well, it sucks. Because right now? This is the good part. I mean, check me out."
She lifted her free hand and splayed her fingers wide; then wiggled them.
"Mobile and awake is so much better than where I was, right?" When he simply stared at her, she felt like a fool. "I'm sorry, I guess that sounds weird--"
Trez leaned in and kissed her quiet, his lips lingering. "No." He eased back. "It's . . . I know what you mean. It's not crazy, and you're right. Now is the good part--"
"You are so hot."
Trez let out another cough. "Damn, female. What are you like."
"I told you last night--or, jeez, what time is it? Anyway, I told you before, I'm all about honesty now."
His lids dropped low. "Being straight up suits me just fine. So lemme ask you, if I were to pick you up and carry you into the shower, would you--"
"Get on my knees again under the hot spray and see if you taste as good as I remember?"
The sound that came out of him was not a cough. But it wasn't a coherent statement, either. It was part growl, part groan, with a little moan thrown in for good measure, like he was getting ready to beg . . .
It was pretty much the sexiest thing she had ever heard.
"Is that a yes?" she drawled.
He kissed her again, harder this time. Longer, too. Then he pegged her with eyes that were boiling. "Shit, I'm dying over here--"
As Trez stopped himself again, she got thrown by that word herself. When it came to the two of them, one was, in fact, dying. It was her, not him, though.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I won't say that ever again."
"It's all right." She forced herself to smile. "Let's wash our cares away--"
"I'm going to find a cure for this," he said gravely. "I'm not going to let you lose the fight, Selena. I will literally move heaven and earth to keep you beside me--no divide, nothing but our naked skin . . . our souls."
Tears speared into her eyes, and she forced them back, willing them to get gone and stay that way. Reaching up to his handsome face, she brushed her fingertips over his features.
"I love you, Trez."
"God, I love you, too."
TWENTY-SEVEN
When Layla woke up, she was lying on her side on a much softer surface than the vestibule's floor. In a panic, she brought her hand to her belly.
Everything felt the same, the hard swelling, the size it had been--but dearest Virgin Scribe, had she injured the young? She could remember getting out of her car, struggling to walk over to the mansion's entrance, losing consciousness--
"Young," she mumbled. "Young okay? Young?"
Instantly, Qhuinn's blue-and-green stare was right in front of her. "You're all right--"
As if she cared about herself right now. "Young!"
With a curse, she thought, why had she ever complained about being pregnant? Maybe this was punishment for her having--
"Everything's okay." Qhuinn glanced across the room, focusing on someone she couldn't see. "Fine, just . . . okay, yeah, fine."
The relief was so great, tears flooded her eyes. If she had lost their young because she was meeting with Xcor? Because she'd been staring at him while he . . . did that to his sex?
She never would forgive herself.
With a curse, she wondered why had she asked that male to do those things. It was wrong on so many levels, adding to her guilt when she was already choking on the stuff.
After all, it was so much easier to take the high-road victim role if you were not asking your blackmailer to jerk off.
"Oh, God," she moaned.
"Are you in pain? Shit, Jane--"
"I'm right here." The good doctor knelt down beside Qhuinn, looking tired, but alert. "Hi there. We're glad you're back. Just so you know, Manny reset your arm. It was broken clean through. We've put it in a cast and . . ."
There was some kind of conversation about her recovery time and when the plaster could come off, but she didn't pay attention to any of that. Doc Jane and Qhuinn were keeping something from her: Their smiles of reassurance were like photographs of the real thing--perfectly accurate, but flat.
"What aren't you telling me?" she cut in.
Silence.
As she struggled to sit up, Blay was the one who helped her, gently grasping her good arm and giving her something to push against.
"What," she demanded.
Doc J
ane looked at Qhuinn. Qhuinn looked at Blay. And Blay . . . was the one who eventually met her eyes.
"There's something unexpected," the fighter said. "In the ultrasound."
"If you make me ask 'what' again," she gritted out, "I'm going to start throwing things, and to hell with my broken arm."
"Twins."
As if time and reality were a car that had suddenly had its brakes punched, there was a metaphoric screeching sound in her head.
Layla blinked. "I'm sorry . . . what?"
"Twins," Qhuinn repeated. "The ultrasound is showing that you are carrying twins."
"And they're both perfectly healthy," Doc Jane added. "One is significantly smaller, and its development has been delayed, but it appears viable. I didn't catch the second fetus during your previous ultrasounds because I understand--from a consult with Havers--that vampire pregnancies are different from humans'. There was apparently another fertilized egg that had implanted but did not enter a significant embryogenesis stage until much later--your last ultrasound was two months ago, for example, and I did not see anything at that time."
"Twins?" Layla choked out.
"Twins," one of the three replied.
For some reason, she thought back to the moment when she'd found out she had, in fact, conceived. Even though pregnancy had been the goal, and she and Qhuinn had done what they'd had to do to get there, the news that the needing had been successful had been the kind that stunned. It just seemed so miraculous, and overwhelming--a joyous gauntlet that she was not entirely sure wouldn't get the best of her.
This was the same.
Except without the joy.
She had known two of her sisters to carry twins, and one of the pregnancies had been lost. The other had resulted in only a single, living young.
Tears started to fall from her eyes.
This was not good news.
"Hey." Blay leaned down with a handkerchief. "This is not bad. It's not."
Qhuinn nodded, although his face remained a mask. "It's . . . unexpected. But not at all bad."
Layla put her hands to her stomach. Two. There were two young that she now had to get over the ultimate finish line safely.
Two.
Dearest Virgin Scribe, how had this happened? What was she going to do?
As the questions ran through her head, she realized . . . well, hell. Like so much of life, this was out of her hands. An impossibility had become manifest--her job now was to do what she could to help herself and the young get the rest, nutrition and medical care that was required.