Lover At Last tbdb-11

by J. R. Ward

  Layla hung her head. “Thank you for being honest with me. And…in truth, that is what I believe to be occurring.”

  “A female knows. Now, let’s take you back.”

  “Yes, thank you very much.”

  Except Layla struggled with getting her panties in place as she stood up. When it became clear she couldn’t get her hands coordinated, the nurse stepped in and helped with enviable ease, and it was all so embarrassing and frightening. To be so weak and at the mercy of another for such a simple thing.

  “You have the most gorgeous accent,” the nurse said as they rejoined the traffic in the hall, sticking once again to their slow lane. “It’s so Old Country—my granmahmen would approve. She hates how English has become our dominant language here. Thinks it’s going to be the downfall of the species.”

  The conversation about nothing in particular helped, giving Layla something to focus on other than how long she was going to be able to go until she needed to make this trip again…and whether things were getting worse with the miscarriage…and what it was going to be like when she was forced to look Qhuinn in the eye and tell him she had failed….

  Somehow they made it back to the exam room.

  “It shouldn’t be much longer. I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  The nurse paused by the door, and as she went still, shadows crossed the depths of her eyes, as if she were reliving parts of her own past. And in the silence between them, a moment of communion was struck—and though it was unusual to have something in common with an earthbound female, the connection was a relief.

  She had felt so alone in all this.

  “We have people you can talk to,” the female said. “Sometimes talking afterward can really help.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Use that white handset if you need help or feel dizzy, okay? I’m not far.”

  “Yes. I shall.”

  As the door shut, tears watered up her vision, and yet even as she ached in her chest, the crushing sense of loss seemed disproportionate to the reality. The pregnancy was only in the very beginning stages—logically, there was not much to lose.

  And yet to her, this was her young.

  This was the death of her young—

  There was a soft knock at the door, and then a male voice. “May I come in?”

  Layla squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard. “Please.”

  The race’s physician was tall and distinguished, with tortoiseshell glasses and a bow tie at his throat. With a stethoscope around his neck and that long white coat, he looked like the perfect healer, calm and competent.

  He closed the door and smiled at her briefly. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  He regarded her from across the room, as if assessing her medically even though he did not touch her or use instruments. “May I speak frankly?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  He nodded and pulled over a rolling stool. Sitting down, he balanced a file on his lap and stared into her eyes. “I see that you haven’t listed your hellren’s name—nor your father’s.”

  “Must I?”

  The physician hesitated. “Have you no next of kin, my dear?” When she shook her head, his eyes registered true sadness. “I’m so sorry for your losses. So there is no one here for you? No?”

  When she just sat there, saying nothing, he took a deep breath. “All right—”

  “But I can pay,” she blurted in a rush. She wasn’t sure where she could get the money, but—

  “Oh, my dear, do not worry about that. I need not be renumerated if you are not able.” He opened the file and moved a page out of the way. “Now, I understand that you have gone through your needing.”

  Layla just nodded, as it was all she could do to keep from screaming, “What is the test result?!”

  “Well, I have looked at your blood results and they have shown some…things I didn’t expect. If you so consent, I would like to take another sample and send it to my lab for a few more tests. Hopefully, I’ll be able to make sense of it all—and I’d like to do an ultrasound, if you don’t mind. It’s a standard exam that will give me an idea how things are progressing.”

  “As in, how much longer I have to miscarry until it is complete?” she said grimly.

  The race’s physician reached out and took her hand. “Let’s just see how you are, shall we?”

  Layla took a deep breath and nodded again. “Yes.”

  Havers went to the door and called for the nurse. When the female entered the room, she rolled in with her what appeared to be a desktop computer mounted on a cart: there was a keyboard, a monitor, and some wands mounted on the sides of the contraption.

  “I shall allow my nurse to do the draw—her hands are far more competent than mine in that regard.” He smiled in a gentle way. “And in the meantime, I’m going to check on another patient. I shall return imminently.”

  The second needle stick was far better than the first, as she knew what to expect, and she was briefly left by herself when the nurse departed to deliver the goods to the lab—wherever, whatever that was. Both of them returned shortly.

  “Are we ready?” Havers asked.

  When Layla nodded, he and his nurse conversed, and the equipment was arranged close to where she was sitting. The physician then rolled back over on his stool and pulled out two arm-like extensions from the sides of the examination table. Flipping what looked like a pair of stirrups free, he nodded to the nurse, who dimmed the lights and came around to put her hand on Layla’s shoulder.

  “Will you lie back?” Havers said. “And move down so that you’re at the end of the table. You’re going to put your feet here after you remove your undergarments.”

  As he indicated both of the footrests, Layla’s eyes peeled wide. She’d had no idea that the examination was going to be—

  “Have you never had an internal exam before?” Havers said with hesitation. As she began to shake her head, he nodded. “Well, that’s not uncommon, especially if this was your first needing.”

  “But I can’t take off—” She stopped. “I’m bleeding.”

  “We’ll take care of that.” The physician seemed utterly sure. “Shall we get started?”

  Layla closed her eyes and leaned back so she was lying flat, the thin paper that covered the padded surface crinkling under her weight. With a lift of the hips and a quick shuffle, she did away with what covered her.

  “I’ll take care of that for you,” the nurse said quietly.

  Layla’s knees locked together as she patted around with her feet for those forsaken stirrups.

  “That’s it.” That rolling stool squeaked as the doctor closed in. “But move down farther.”

  For a split second, she thought, I can’t do this.

  Curling her arms around her lower belly, she squeezed them in, as if she could somehow hold the baby inside of her at the same time she kept herself from flying apart. But there was nothing she could do, no conversations she could have with her body to calm it down and keep what had implanted, no loving pep talk she could impart to her young so it would keep trying to survive, no strain of words to calm her total panic.

  For a split second, she longed for the cloistered life she had once found so stifling. Up in the Scribe Virgin’s Sanctuary, the placid nature of her existence had been something she had taken for granted. Indeed, ever since she had come down to earth and tried to find purpose here, she had been rocked by trauma after trauma.

  It made her respect the males and females whom she had been told were beneath her.

  Down here, everyone seemed to be at the mercy of forces outside of their control.

  “Are you ready?” the doctor asked.

  As tears rolled out of the corners of her eyes, she focused on the ceiling above her, and gripped the edge of the table. “Yes. Do it now.”

  TWENTY

  Holy shit, Qhuinn was completely out of control.

  Almost no visibility. Plane wob
bling back and forth like it had the DTs. Engine cutting in and out.

  And he couldn’t even check on Z. Too much wind to yell over, and he wasn’t taking his eyes off wherever they were headed—or more like wherever they were going to crash-land—even though he couldn’t see a damn thing—

  What in a million years had made him think this was a good idea?

  The one thing that appeared to be working was the compass, so at least he could orientate himself to where home base was: The Brotherhood compound was due north and a little east, on the top of a mountain surrounded by the invisible, defensive boundary of V’s mhis. So directionally, he was right on, assuming that N-S-E-W dial was in fact more operational than, oh, say, everything else in the tin-can shit box.

  As he looked to his right, the unrelenting wind coming through the half-shattered windshield slammed into his ear canal. Out the side window, he could see…a whole lot of dark. Which he took to mean they had passed through the suburbs and were out over the farmland. Maybe they’d already hit the rolling hills that eventually turned into the mountain—

  A sound like a car backfiring got his attention in a bad way—but what was worse?

  The sudden silence that followed.

  No engine clatter. Just the wind whistling into the cockpit.

  Okay, now they were really in trouble.

  For a split second, he thought about dematerializing out. He was strong enough, aware enough—but he wasn’t leaving Z—

  A strong hand landed on his shoulder, scaring the balls off him.

  Z had dragged himself forward, and going by the expression on his face, he was having trouble staying on his feet—and not just because of the bucking and weaving.

  The Brother spoke up, his deep voice cutting through the din. “Time for you to go.”

  “Fuck that,” Qhuinn hollered back. Reaching forward, he went to try the ignition. Couldn’t hurt, right?

  “Don’t make me throw you out.”

  “Try it.”

  “Qhuinn—”

  The engine kicked back on, and the din reintensified. All good news. The trouble was, if the bastard’d gone out once, it was going to go out again.

  Qhuinn shoved his hand into his jacket. As he snagged his cell phone, he thought of everyone they were both leaving behind—and he passed the thing to the Brother.

  If there was a hierarchy in the reach-out-and-touch order, Z was at the top of the list. He had a shellan and a daughter—and if anyone was going to make a call, it was him.

  “What’s this for?” Zsadist said darkly.

  “You can figure it out.”

  “And you can leave—”

  “Not leaving—gotta fly this deathtrap until we hit something.”

  There was some further arguing at that point, but he wasn’t moving from the driver’s seat, and as strong as the Brother was under normal circumstances, Z wasn’t in any condition to muscle around so much as a loaf of bread. And the convo didn’t last long. After the talk dried up, Z disappeared, no doubt ducking back into the rear so he could make that last contact with those he loved.

  Smart move.

  Left to his own devices, Qhuinn closed his eyes and threw a prayer up to anyone who might hear the thing. And then he pictured Blay’s face—

  “Here.”

  He flipped open his lids. His cell phone was right in front of his face, held in place by Z’s sturdy grip. And the GPS map was up and rolling, the little blinking arrow showing him exactly where they were.

  “Another three miles,” the Brother yelled over the roaring noise. “That’s all we need—”

  There was a boom and a fizzle—and then another round of that god-awful quiet. Cursing, Qhuinn focused hard on the little screen all the while hoping things would restart on their own. More north, obviously—but farther east. A lot farther. His guesstimate had been good, but hardly spot-on.

  Without the phone? They’d be fucked.

  Well, that and the whole no-engine thing.

  Checking the precise location, he made some calculations in his head, and steered them to the right, trying to get that pointed indicator on the map heading exactly to their mountain. Then it was time to try to jump-start the engine again.

  They were losing altitude. Not in that movie-spiral way, where there was a close-up on the altimeter and the thing was spinning fast as you wished the propeller was. But slowly, inexorably they were drifting down…and if they lost enough forward momentum, which was what that unreliable sewing machine under the hood was supposed to provide, they were going to drop out of the sky like a stone.

  Working the ignition over and over again, he muttered, “Come on, come on, come on….”

  It was hard to keep the nose up with only one hand—and just as he was going to have to devote all of his attention to fighting with the steering wheel, Z’s arm shot forward, kicked his hand out of the way, and took over trying to restart the engine.

  For a split second, Qhuinn had an absurdly clear snapshot of the slave band peeking out from the cuff of the Brother’s leather jacket—and then it was all business.

  God, his shoulders were on fire from pulling back on the wheel shaft.

  And to think he was dying to hear that racket from the—

  All at once, the engine coughed back to life, and the change in their altitude was immediate. The instant those spark plugs and pistons started roaring again, the numbers began going up.

  Keeping the throttle fully engaged, he checked the fuel gauge. On E. Maybe they were just out of gas, and it wasn’t a mechanical issue?

  Talk about splitting hairs.

  “Just a little farther, baby—just a little more, come on, baby girl, you can do it….”

  As an endless stream of murmured encouragement left his lips, the impotent words were drowned out by the only thing that mattered—but come on, like the Cessna spoke English…?

  Man, it seemed like it took forever, the hoping and praying, his brain bouncing back and forth between best- and worse-case scenarios as miles were crossed at a dead-goddamn-slow pace.

  “Tell me you called your females,” Qhuinn shouted.

  “Tell me you can keep us up off the ground.”

  “Not without lying.”

  “Bank us harder east.”

  “What?”

  “East! Go east!”

  Z zoomed in on the map and started running his fingertip in one direction, east to west.

  “You want to land this way—behind the mansion!”

  Qhuinn supposed he should take it as a positive sign that the guy was making landing plans that didn’t involve fireballs. And the suggestion was a good one. If they could orient themselves along the long side of that big-ass house, on the far side of the swimming pool, they might wipe out a line of fruit trees…but there would be roughly the same amount of field they’d used to take off from.

  Better than slamming into the huge retaining wall that ran around the property—

  The engine didn’t pop this time. It just went dead, like it was tired of playing hard to get, and was going to take a permanent TO.

  At least they were within landing range.

  One shot. That was all they had.

  A single attempt to land them on the ground that, assuming he could coast them into the vicinity of the property, penetrate the mhis, and manage not to hit the house, the Pit, the cars, the gates, or anything of real or other sorta property…would result in him delivering the proud father and loving hellren and superb fighter…back into the arms of his family.

  But Z wasn’t all he was thinking about.

  The Primale would oversee Layla’s health and safety. Blay had his loving parents and Sax. John had his Xhex.

  They were all going to be okay.

  Qhuinn wrenched around. “Get in a seat! Back there! Get into a seat and strap yourself in—”

  The Brother opened his mouth, and Qhuinn did the unthinkable. He slapped his open hand over the male’s lips. “Sit the fuck down and strap in! We�
�ve come this far—let’s not be the reason this fucks up!”

  He snatched the phone back. “Go! I got us!”

  Z’s black eyes locked on his, and for a split second, Qhuinn wondered if he wasn’t going to get thrown out of the cockpit. But then the miraculous happened: An instant connection sprang up between them, a chain with links as thick as thighs locking in from one to the other.

  Z lifted his forefinger and pointed directly into Qhuinn’s face. After he nodded once, he disappeared into the rear.

  Qhuinn refocused.

  Their coasting was keeping them aloft, and thanks to Z’s direction, that little extra pull to the right had set them up well. According to the GPS, they were closing in on the juncture of roads that split around the base of the mountain, inch by inch. Inch…by inch…

  He was pretty sure they were over the property now.

  As the plane sank farther, he braced himself, continuing to pull back hard on the steering staff until his shoulders bit into the seat behind him. There was no landing gear to put down—the shit had been locked in place all along—

  A sudden whistling noise penetrated the cockpit, and that, along with an abrupt change in angle, announced that gravity had started to win the fight, claiming the fiberglass and metal construction along with its pair of living-and-breathing as its prize.

  They weren’t going to make it—it was too soon—

  A wild vibration followed, and for a moment, he wondered if they hadn’t hit the ground and not noticed—treetops, maybe? No. Something…

  The mhis?

  The sudden buffering seemed to extend upward, and what do you know, the plane reacted differently, the nose leveling out through no effort of Qhuinn’s or help from the deadweight of that engine. Even the side-to-side teeter-tottering stopped.

  Apparently, V’s invisible defense not only kept out humans and lessers, it could hold a Cessna in the air.

  Except then he had another problem. That vital lift didn’t seem to let up.