Lover At Last tbdb-11

by J. R. Ward

  As much as his stomach protested, he and his brother walked out into the main hall. Victorian ephemera was everywhere, from the garnet-colored Orientals on the floor, to the tapestry-covered benches, to the taxidermied bison, deer, moose, and bobcat heads mounted around the rough stone fireplace.

  “Rehv!” he called out again.

  Man, that racoon lamp had always given him the creeps. So did the stuffed owl with the sunglasses.

  “He’ll be right down.”

  Trez turned around at the female voice.

  And in that one moment, had the course of his life change forever.

  The staircase down from the second floor was a straight shot, the shallow steps and their simple railing emerging from above without architectural artifice.

  The female in the white robe standing at their base turned them into a stairway from heaven. She was tall and slender, but her curves were in all the right places, her loose dress unable to conceal her high, large breasts or the graceful swell of her hips. Her skin was smooth and the color of café au lait, her hair dark and coiled up high on her head. Eyes were pale and heavily fringed.

  Lips were full and rosy.

  He wanted to kiss them.

  Especially as they moved, enunciating whatever she was saying with intoxicating precision—

  iAm’s sharp elbow in his rib cage made him jump. “Ow! What the fuck—frick, I mean. Shit—I mean, crap.”

  Way to be calm, cool, and collected, asshole.

  “She asked if we wanted any food,” iAm muttered. “I said, no, not for me. Now it’s your turn.”

  Oh, he wanted to eat something, all right. He wanted to fall to his knees at her feet and get under that—

  Trez closed his eyes and felt like a total flipping bastard. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “I thought you said you were hungry.”

  Trez popped his lids and glared at his brother. Was the guy trying to make him look like an idiot?

  The knowing light in those black eyes suggested, yes, iAm was.

  “No. I’m fine,” he ground out. Subtext: Don’t push it, douche.

  “I was just going to check on my bread.”

  Trez’s eyes shut again, the Chosen’s voice lilting in his ears, the sound of it both raising his blood pressure and calming him down at the same time.

  “You know,” he heard himself say, “maybe I will see if I can scrounge up a meal.”

  She smiled at him. “Follow me. I’m sure we can find something to your liking.”

  As she headed around for the entryway they’d just come through, Trez blinked like the dumb-ass he was.

  It had been a very, very long time since a female had spoken anything to him without a double entrendre…but as far as he could tell, those words, which could arguably be considered a come-on—at least given his lust filter—had held no promise of a blow job or some full-on sex. Or even attraction of any kind.

  Naturally, this made him want her more.

  His feet started in her direction, his body following rather as a dog would its master, with no thought of deviating from the path chosen by her for him—

  iAm grabbed his arm and yanked him back. “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

  Trez’s first impulse was to rip himself free, even if he left his own limb behind in his brother’s grip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

  “Do not make me grab your hard-on to prove my point,” iAm hissed.

  Numbly, Trez looked down at the front of himself. Well. What do you know. “I’m not going to…” Fuck her came to mind, but God, he couldn’t use the f-word around that female, even in the hypothetical. “You know, do anything.”

  “You actually expect me to believe that.”

  Trez’s eyes flipped over to the doorway she’d disappeared through. Shit. Talk about having no credibility on the subject of abstinence.

  “She is not available to you, do you understand me,” iAm gritted out. “That’s not fair to someone like her—more to the point, if you tap that, Phury is going to come after you with a black dagger. That is his, not yours.”

  For a split second, Trez bristled at that—except not because his inner feminist was roaring about females being treated as property, although of course that was wrong. No, it was because…

  Mine.

  From somewhere deep inside of him, that word emanated outward, as if every cell in his body had suddenly found its voice and was speaking the only truth that mattered.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  At the sound of Rehv’s voice, Trez dragged his consciousness back from the cliff it had unexpectedly found itself flying off of.

  The symphath king was coming down the same stairs the Chosen had used, the male’s cane steadying him, his black mink coat keeping his medicated body warm.

  As iAm said something and Rehv replied, Trez refocused on the doorway to the kitchen. What was she doing in there—oh, man. Probably bending down to look at that bread…

  A subtle growl percolated up his throat.

  “Excuse me?” Rehv demanded, purple eyes narrowing.

  Another shot in the ribs brought Trez back to reality. “Sorry. Indigestion. How you been?”

  Rehv cocked a brow, but then shrugged. “I need your help.”

  “Anything,” Trez said, meaning it.

  “There’s a Council meeting tomorrow night. Wrath’s going to be there. The Brotherhood will provide protection, but I want you both to come on the QT.”

  Trez recoiled. The Council had met regularly prior to the raids of a couple of years ago, and Rehv had never needed backup. “What’s doing?”

  “Wrath got shot back in the fall.”

  What. The. Fuck.

  Trez ground his molars. “Who?” After all, he liked the king.

  “Band of Bastards. You don’t know them, but you may meet them tomorrow night—if you agree to come.”

  “Of course we’ll be there.” As iAm nodded, Trez crossed his arms over his chest. “Where?”

  “I’m having it at this estate in Caldwell at midnight. It’s one of the few that wasn’t infiltrated by the Lessening Society—the family was mostly wiped out nonetheless, however, because they were visiting another bloodline in town at the time the attack went down.” Rehv went over and sat down on the tapestry-covered sofa, twirling his cane on the floor between his legs. “Let me tell you how we’re going to roll. Wrath is now totally blind, but the glymera don’t know this. I want him seated in the morning parlor when those aristocrats arrive so they don’t see him relying on anyone to find his place. Then…”

  As Rehv continued to lay out the plan, Trez took a seat in front of the fire and nodded in the right places.

  In his mind, however, he was in that kitchen, with that female….

  What was her name? he wondered.

  Just as important…

  When could he see her again?

  FIFTY

  Downstairs in the clinic’s examination room, Qhuinn felt like he was up in the air, flying high. And not in a soon-to-crash POS Cessna with a wounded Brother in the back.

  “I’m sorry, could you say that again?”

  Doc Jane smiled as she brought a rolling table over to the bedside. Dimly, the stuff on it registered, but he was more focused on what might or might not come out of the physician’s mouth. “You guys are still pregnant. Her hormone levels are doubling exactly as they should, blood pressure’s perfect, heart rate’s great. And still no bleeding, right?”

  As the physician looked over at Layla, the Chosen shook her head, her expression as poleaxed as he sure as shit felt like. “None at all.”

  Qhuinn took a little walk, his hand dragging through his hair, his brain cramping. “I don’t understand this….I’m mean, this is what I want—what we want—but I don’t get why she had the…”

  After having ridden the roller coaster down into hell, it was completely disarming to hit an unexpected rise back in the direction of earth.

  Doc
Jane shook her head. “This is probably not helpful, but Ehlena’s never seen this before, either. So I get your confusion, and more to the point, I understand better than you know how treacherous hope can be. It’s hard to give yourself over to any optimism after where you both have been.”

  Man, V’s shellan was so not an idiot.

  Qhuinn focused on Layla. The Chosen was in a loose white robe, but not the kind she’d worn as a member of the Scribe Virgin’s sacred sect of females. It was an everyday bathrobe, and underneath was a hospital johnny that had pink and red hearts on a white background. And on that rolling table? Turned out it was a box of saltine crackers and a six-pack of little Canada Dry ginger ales.

  Talk about your over-the-counter medications.

  Doc Jane opened the crackers. “I know that the last thing you’re thinking of is food.” She handed one of the flaky, salty squares over. “But if you eat this, and have a little of the soda? Might settle things down in there.”

  And what do you know, it did. Layla ended up working her way through half a sleeve, and two of the small green bottles.

  “That really helps, huh?” Qhuinn murmured as the Chosen lay back and sighed in relief.

  “You have no idea.” Layla put her hand on her lower belly. “Whatever it takes, I will do it, eat it, drink it.”

  “The nausea’s that bad, huh.”

  “It’s not about me. I don’t care if I throw up for the next eighteen months, as long as the young is all right. I’m just scared that with the heaving, I’ll lose…well, you know.”

  Okay, anyone who thought females were the weaker sex had their head fucking wedged.

  He looked at Doc Jane. “What do we do now?”

  The doctor shrugged. “My advice? Trust in the symptoms and in the test results, otherwise, you’re going to go crazy. Layla’s body is, and has been, driving all this. If right now there are no indications of a miscarriage, but in fact every reason to believe that the pregnancy has resumed a positive course? Take a deep breath and go one night at a time. If you look forward too much, or get stuck dwelling over the past couple of days? You’re not going to get through this in one piece.”

  Word, Qhuinn thought.

  The good doctor’s phone went off. “Hold on a sec—shoot. I have to check on that doggen who cut his hand last night. Layla, as far as I’m concerned, there’s no medical reason to make you stay down here. I don’t want you leaving the compound for the next couple of nights, though. Let’s get some time under our belts, okay?”

  “But of course.”

  Doc Jane left a moment later, and Qhuinn was at a loss. He wanted to help Layla back to the main house, but she wasn’t crippled, for godsakes. Still, he felt like carrying her around—for like, the rest of the frickin’ pregnancy.

  He leaned back against the stainless-steel cabinets. “I find myself wanting to ask you how you are every two seconds.”

  Layla laughed a little. “That makes the both of us.”

  “You want to go to back to the house?”

  “You know…I actually don’t. I feel…” She looked around. “Safer down here, to be honest.”

  “Makes sense to me. You need anything?”

  She nodded at her little tray full of anti-nausea stuff. “As long as I’ve got this, I’m good. And you should feel free to go out and fight.”

  Qhuinn frowned. “I thought I’d stay in….”

  “And do what? I’m not telling you to leave, by any means. But I have a feeling it’s just going to be me sitting here and stewing. If something happens, I can call you and you can come right home.”

  Qhuinn thought about where the Brotherhood and the fighters in the house were heading at midnight: the Council meeting.

  If it had been a normal evening of engaging in the field, he probably would have stayed put. But with Wrath actually in the world, meeting with those assholes in the glymera?

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “I’ll keep my phone with me, and I’ll make it clear to the others that if you call, I’m out of there.”

  Layla took a sip of her ginger ale, and then stared into the cup, like she was watching the bubbles rise around the ice.

  He thought of where they’d been the night before at Havers’s—out of control, terrified, in mourning.

  Shit could still go back to that, he reminded himself. It was way too early to get attached again.

  And yet he couldn’t seem to help himself. Standing in the tiled room, with the scent of Lysol disinfectant in his nose, and the lip of the counter he was leaning against biting into his ass…he realized this was the moment he started to love his young.

  Right here, right now.

  As a male bonded with his female, so too did a father to his offspring—and accordingly, his heart just opened wide and let it all in: the commitment that came with choosing to try for a child, the terror of losing them that he bet never went away, the joy that there was something of you on the face of the earth after you were gone, the impatience to meet them in person, the desperate desire to hold them in your arms and look into their eyes and give them all the love you had to give.

  “Is it okay…can I touch your stomach?” he asked in a small voice.

  “Of course! You don’t have to ask.” Layla lay back with a smile. “What’s in there is half yours, you know.”

  Qhuinn rubbed nervous hands together as he approached the table. He had certainly touched Layla during the needing, and then afterward in a solicitous manner when a situation called for it.

  He had never thought of touching his baby.

  Qhuinn watched from a vast distance as his dagger hand reached out. Jesus, the tips of the fingers were trembling like crazy.

  But they stilled the instant he made the connection.

  “I’m right here,” he said. “Dad’s right here. I’m going nowhere. Just gonna wait until you’re ready to come out into the world, and then your mom and I are going to take care of you. So you hang tight, we clear? Do your thing, and we’ll wait for however long it takes.”

  With his free hand, he took Layla’s palm, and put it over his own.

  “Your family is right here. Waiting for you…and we love you.”

  It was totally stupid to talk to what was, no doubt, nothing but a bundle of cells. But he couldn’t help it. The words, the actions…they were at once totally his, and yet coming from a place that was foreign to him.

  Felt right, though.

  Felt…like what a father was supposed to do.

  * * *

  Left-hand forty. Check.

  Right forty. Check.

  Backup ammo on the waist belt. Check.

  Daggers one and two in the chest holster. Check.

  Leather jacket—

  As a knock sounded on Blay’s door, he leaned out of his closet. “Come in?”

  When Saxton entered, he pulled his jacket onto his shoulders and pivoted. “Hey. How are you?”

  Something was up.

  The other male’s eyes made a quick three-sixty on Blay’s “working wardrobe,” as they’d once called it. Unease drew Sax’s pale eyebrows upward; then again, he’d never seemed entirely comfortable around the weapons.

  “Heading out into the field, then,” the male murmured.

  “To a meeting of the Council, actually.”

  “I didn’t realize that required so many guns as accessories.”

  “New era.”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  There was a long pause. “How are you?”

  Saxton’s eyes went around the room. “I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

  Oh, fuck. Now what.

  Blay swallowed hard. “About?”

  “I’m leaving the house for a little while—for a vacation, as it were.” He put his hand out to stop any arguing. “No, it’s not permanent. I’ve gotten everything in order for Wrath, and there’s nothing he needs for the next couple of days. Naturally, if he does, I’ll come right back. I’m going to be staying with an old friend. I truly need so
me rest and relaxation—and before you worry, I swear I am returning, and this is honestly not about us. I’ve been working for months straight and I just want to have no schedule, if that makes sense?”

  Blay took a deep breath. “Yes, it does. Where are you…” He stopped himself with a reminder that that was none of his business anymore. “Let me know if you need anything?”

  “I promise.”

  On impulse, Blay walked over and put his arms around his former lover, the platonic connection as unforced and natural as his previously amorous one had been. Holding onto the male, he turned his face in.

  “Thank you,” Blay said. “For coming and telling me—”

  At that moment, someone passed by in the hall, the stride faltering.

  It was Qhuinn; Blay knew by the scent even before the tall, powerful figure registered visually. And in the brief hesitation before the guy kept going, their eyes locked over Saxton’s shoulder.

  Qhuinn’s face became a mask instantly, the features freezing, giving nothing away.

  And then the fighter was gone, his long legs taking him out of the open door’s frame.

  Blay stepped away and forced himself to replug into the good-bye. “When will you be back?”

  “A couple of days at the least, no longer than a week.”

  “Okay.”

  Saxton glanced around the room again, and as he did, it was clear he was remembering. “Be well, and be careful out there. Do not try to be a hero.”

  Blay’s first thought was…well, since Qhuinn was usually the first in line for that, it was unlikely he was going to have to put any kind of Superman outfit on.

  “I promise.”

  As Saxton left, Blay stared off into space. He didn’t see what was in front of him, or remember what he and Saxton had shared in the room. Rather, his mind was next door with Qhuinn, and Qhuinn’s things…and the memories he had of that session with Qhuinn.

  Shit.

  Glancing at the clock, he put his phone into the chest pocket of the jacket and headed out. As he jogged down to the staircase, voices from the foyer echoed through the hall, a sign that the Brotherhood had already gathered and was waiting for the departure signal.

  Sure enough, they were all there. Z and Phury. V and Butch. Rhage, Tohr, and John Matthew.