Lover At Last tbdb-11

by J. R. Ward

  “Thank you for calling that night,” he said gruffly.

  Blay’s eyebrows shot up. “Which night?”

  Qhuinn cleared his throat. “After Luchas went through his change, and my father gave him…you know, the ring.” He shook his head. “I went up to my room and I was going to do something…yeah, something really stupid. You called me. You came over. Do you remember?”

  “I do.”

  “It wasn’t the only time you did something like that.”

  As Blay looked away, Qhuinn knew exactly where the guy’s mind had gone. Yup, that night hadn’t been the only ledge he’d nearly jumped off of.

  “I’ve said I was sorry,” Qhuinn intoned. “But I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you. So, yeah…thank you.”

  Before he knew what he was doing, he put his hand out, offering his palm. It seemed appropriate to mark this moment, right here, right now, outside of his busted-to-fuck brother’s operating room, with some kind of solemn contact.

  “Just…thank you.”

  * * *

  Unbelievable.

  After what had felt like lifetimes with Qhuinn, Blay had thought that the surprises were finally over. That the male couldn’t pull anything else that would leave him speechless.

  Wrong.

  Jesus…of all the imaginary conversations he’d had in his head with the guy, talks when he’d pretended that Qhuinn opened up, or said something close to “the right thing,” it had never been about gratitude. But this…was exactly what he needed to hear, even though he hadn’t known that.

  And that offered palm broke his damn heart.

  Especially given that the male’s brother was on death’s door in the room across from them.

  Blay didn’t shake the hand that was offered.

  He reached over, took a hold of the fighter’s face, and drew Qhuinn in for a kiss.

  It was supposed to be only a split-seconder—like their lips were the ones doing the handshake thing. When he went to pull back, though, Qhuinn captured him, and held him in place. Their mouths met again…and again…and once more, their heads tilting to the sides, the contact lingering.

  “You’re welcome,” Blay said roughly. Then he smiled a little. “Can’t say it was all a pleasure, though.”

  Qhuinn laughed. “Yeah, I can imagine pants were definitely not fun.” The male got serious. “Why the hell did you stay around?”

  Blay opened his mouth, the truth on the tip of his tongue—

  “Oh. Shit. Ah…’scuse me, boys, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  Qhuinn jerked back so fast, he literally ripped his face out of Blay’s hold. Then he jumped up onto his feet and faced off with V, who’d come out of the OR. “No problem, nothing going on.”

  As V’s expression registered a boatload of yeah-right, Qhuinn just looked at the Brother head-on, like he was daring Vishous to have a different opinion than his own.

  In the silence between the two males, Blay got up more slowly, and found that he was light-headed, and not because he needed to feed.

  No problem, nothing going on.

  Sure as hell hadn’t felt that way for him. Buuuut once again, Qhuinn had snapped out of any closeness, shied away, pulled back, unplugged.

  Except come on. Bad time. Bad place. And V was the last person you wanted to go hearts-and-flowers in front of.

  It was, however, a good reminder. Stressful situations had a way of making even the most rigid of personalities malleable—for a time. Sadness, shock, intense anxiety…it could all make someone vunerable and liable to talk in ways they normally wouldn’t simply because they had had all their defenses knocked to shit. The unusual behavior didn’t signal a sea change, though. It was not indicative of some kind of religious conversion where, from that day onward, everything was forever different.

  Qhuinn was reeling from what was doing with his brother. And any revelations, or heartfelt statements, that came out of his mouth were undoubtedly a product of the stress the guy was under.

  Period.

  No, “in” love going on here. Not really. Not permanently. And he needed to fucking remember that.

  “…bones are going to be set?” Qhuinn asked.

  Blay shook himself to attention as V lit up a hand-rolled and exhaled away from the two of them. “He’s got to be stabilized first. Selena’s going to feed him again, and then we’re going to open up his abdomen and do exploratory surgery to find out where the bleeding is. After we see how he’s doing? We’ll work on the bones.”

  “Do we have any idea what happened to him?”

  “He’s not real verbal at the moment.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “So we need your consent. He’s not capable of understanding the risks and benefits.”

  Qhuinn pushed his hand through his hair. “Yeah. Of course. Do what you have to.”

  V exhaled again, the scent of Turkish tobacco filling the air and reminding Blay exactly how many hours, minutes, and seconds it had been since he’d last lit up himself.

  “You’ve got Jane, Manny, Ehlena, and myself in there. We’re not going to let anything happen to him, ’kay?” He clapped Qhuinn on the shoulder. “He’s going to pull through. Or the four of us are going to die trying.”

  Qhuinn murmured some thanks at that point.

  And then V glanced at Blay. Looked at Qhuinn. Cleared his throat.

  Yup, the Brother was doing all kinds of math in his head. Great.

  “So you guys just keep hanging here. I’ll come out and update you as soon as I know anything. So. Yeah.”

  The Brother’s brows lifted high on his forehead, the tattoos at his temple distorting as he tamped out his barely smoked hand-rolled on the sole of his shitkicker.

  “Be with you in a few,” he said as he ducked back inside.

  In the wake of the Brother’s departure, Qhuinn paced around, eyes on the concrete floor, hands on his lean hips, weapons that he’d neglected to take off catching the fluorescent light and glinting.

  “I’m going to go have a smoke,” Blay said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “You can light up here,” Qhuinn cut in. “There’s a seal on the door.”

  “I need a little fresh air. I won’t be long, though.”

  “Okay.”

  Blay strode off in a hurry, gunning for the door at the far end of the corridor that opened into the parking garage. When he got to the thing, he punched his way out and breathed in deep.

  Fresh air, his ass. All he got was a noseful of dry, earthy, concrete-y stuff.

  At least it was cooler, though.

  Fuck.

  He’d left his cigarettes in his goddamn jacket. On the floor. Outside of the OR.

  As he cursed and stomped around, he was tempted to hit something—but a set of busted knuckles was just one more thing he’d have to explain to people.

  And shit knew the eyeful V had just gotten was more than enough.

  Pushing his hands into the pockets of his leathers, he frowned as the one on the right shoved into something.

  Saxton’s lighter. The one the male had given him on his birthday.

  Taking the thing out, he turned it over and over in his palm, thinking about everything that had been said in that corridor.

  There had been a time when he would have taken those words and put them on the mantelpiece of his head and his heart, giving them pride of place that ensured their preciousness stayed with him for the rest of his living days.

  There had been so many years when those moments at that cabin and on that cold, hard floor just now would have been enough to clear away all the conflict, and the strife, and the pain, wiping everything clean such that he could relate as a virgin would to Qhuinn.

  Fresh start.

  All not just forgiven, but forgotten.

  That was no longer the case.

  God, he was probably too young to be this old, but life had a way of being about experience, rather than calendar days. And standing out here, alone, he was positively geri
atric: He was absolutely, totally, completely fresh out of the optimistic, rose-colored naïveté that came with a younger person’s outlook on life.

  When one believed that miracles were not impossible…but merely unusual.

  Thank fuck V had come out when he had.

  Otherwise, three little words would have leaked from his mouth. And undoubtedly doomed him in ways he couldn’t even guess at.

  Bad time. Bad place.

  For that kind of thing.

  Forever.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  As iAm paced around the apartment, he kept his gun on him—even though it was highly unlikely that there would be a round two with some naked bimbo jacking her way into his and his brother’s home-sweet-home.

  Goddamn it, he wanted some red smoke. Just to take the edge off.

  Because, right now? He was on the edge of violence.

  The good news, he supposed, was that he didn’t really have a target, and that was effectively keeping him in check: That migraine was beating the hell out of his brother. And that poor, used-up woman that had been frog-marched out of here? She was already being tortured on too many levels to count. Now, the security guard was an excellent candidate—but the motherfucker had gotten off an hour ago, and iAm wasn’t going to leave Trez in a vulnerable state just so he could issue a correction to an imbecile—

  Off in the distance, he heard a whispering through the plumbing pipes.

  It was the toilet in Trez’s bathroom being flushed. Again.

  And then came the muttered cursing, and the creak of the bed frame as Trez resettled into his bed.

  Poor. Bastard.

  iAm went over to the huge windows that faced the river, and stopped to stare across the water at Caldwell’s opposite side. Putting his hands on his hips, he ran through the places they could move to. Short list. Hell, one of the main benes of the Commodore had been its security; they hadn’t even bothered with turning the alarm on.

  Which had been a mistake.

  They needed someplace safe. Secure. Impregnable.

  Especially if his brother continued with the hit-it-and-quit-it shit, and AnsLai kept doing “diplomatic” drive-bys.

  iAm resumed his pacing. It was impossible to ignore the fact that his brother was getting worse. The sexual stuff had been going on for years—and for the longest time, iAm had just chalked it up to a healthy male’s drive for mating.

  Something that he had often thought he lacked.

  Then again, his brother had been fucking enough females for the both of them.

  In recent months, however, it had become clear that there was an addiction process at work—and that had been even before the high priest had started showing up. Now that things seemed to be coming to a head with AnsLai? The s’Hisbe’s machinations were just going to put more pressure on his brother, and that was going to make him act out even more.

  Shit. iAm felt like he was standing in front of a train crossing, triangulating the speed of the locomotive’s engine with the approach of an oncoming car…and seeing the carnage that was going to result. The metaphor was also apt when it came to the helplessness he felt because he couldn’t put the brakes on either force: He wasn’t behind the wheel or in the engineer’s seat. All he could do was sit back and watch.

  Or scream at the side of the road was more like it.

  Where the hell could they go—

  Frowning, he lifted his eyes up from the view, up past the molding, up to the ceiling.

  After a moment, he took out his cell phone and made a call.

  When he hung up, he went down to his brother’s room. Opening the door a crack, he said into the dense, black silence, “I’m going out for a second. Won’t be long.”

  Trez’s moan could have meant anything from, “Cool,” to, “Oh, God, not so loud,” to, “Have fun, I’m going to hang here and hurl some more.”

  iAm walked fast. Out of the apartment. To the elevator.

  Inside of which, he hit the button marked “P” for “Penthouse.”

  When the doors slid open, there were two choices: One direction took him to the Brother Vishous’s place. The other to his old friend’s.

  He strode down and rang Rehvenge’s bell.

  When the symphath opened up, Rehv appeared as he always was: mohawked, purple-eyed, mink clad. Dangerous. Little bit evil.

  “Hey, my man, how you be,” the male said as they embraced and clapped each other on the shoulder. “Come in.”

  As iAm entered the Reverend’s private space for the first time in a good year or so, he found that nothing had changed, and for some reason, that was a relief.

  Rehvenge went over to a leather sofa and sat down, propping his cane up next to him and crossing his legs at the knees. “What do you need?”

  As iAm tried to put together the right words, Rehv swore a little. “Man, I knew this wasn’t a social call—but I didn’t expect your emotions to be a fucking mess.”

  Ah, yes, the sin-eater way meant that there was no hiding anything from the male.

  Still, it was difficult to speak of it all. “I’m not sure you’re aware of what’s been going on with Trez?”

  Rehv frowned, his dark brows narrowing that intense, violet stare. “I thought the Iron Mask was doing good business. You boys in trouble? I’ve got plenty of cash if you need—”

  “Business is great. We’ve got more money than we can spend. The issue is my brother’s extracurricular activities.”

  “He’s not into drugs, is he,” Rehv said darkly.

  “Women.”

  Rehv laughed and brushed that off with the flick of a dagger hand. “Oh, if that’s all it is—”

  “He’s completely out of control—and one of them magically appeared in his bed tonight. We got home and there she was.”

  Rehv went back to the frowning. “In your apartment? How the fuck did she get in?”

  “The lowest common denominator with a security guard.” iAm paced around the modern room, dimly noting that the view was, in fact, better from this height. “Trez has been fucking anything that moves for years, but lately he’s been so reckless—not wiping memories, hitting ’em more than once, not worrying about consequences.”

  “What the hell is wrong with him?”

  iAm turned and faced the half-breed who was the closest thing to family he had outside of his flesh and blood. Matter of fact, he trusted the guy more than ninety-nine percent of his own bloodline.

  “Trez is mated.”

  Long silence. “Excuse me?”

  iAm nodded. “He’s mated.”

  Rehv got up off that couch. “Since when?”

  “Birth.”

  “Ohhhhhh.” Rehv whistled softly. “So it’s a s’Hisbe thing.”

  “He was promised to the queen’s first daughter.”

  Rehv was silent for a while. Then he shook his head. “That would make him the future king, would it not.”

  “That’s right. And even though we are a matriarchal society, that is not an irrelevancy.”

  “Check us out,” the male murmured. “He and I and Wrath. Quite the trifecta.”

  “Well, it’s different for the s’Hisbe, of course. The queen is the one who dictates everything for us.”

  “So what’s he still doing on the outside. With all us UnKnowables?”

  “He doesn’t want anything to do with the s’Hisbe.”

  “Has he got a choice?”

  “No.” iAm glanced over at the wet bar in the corner. “Mind if I have a drink?”

  “Are you kidding me? I’d be getting hammered if I were you.”

  iAm wandered over, considered his options, and ended up picking a decanter that had a little necklace reading Bourbon around its throat. He went straight up, and as he took a pull off the rim of a cut-crystal glass, he savored the burn over his tongue. “Nice.”

  “Parker’s Heritage Collection, Small Batch. The best.”

  “I didn’t think you were a big drinker.”

  “That’s no
excuse for not knowing what you serve your guests.”

  “Ah.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  iAm tilted his head back, emptied the glass into his mouth and swallowed hard. “We need somewhere safe to stay. And not just because of the women thing. We had a visit by the high priest this past week—and given we’re on the outside, that means they’re getting serious back home. They’re looking for him—and if they find him? I’m afraid he’s going to kill the s’Hisbe’s representative. Then we’ve really got a problem.”

  “You think he’d take it that far?”

  “Yes, I do.” iAm poured a refill. “He’s not going back there, and I need time to figure out how to resolve the conflict before something disastrous happens.”

  “You guys want to move into my house up north?”

  iAm downed his second bourbon on a oner. “No.” He leveled his eyes. “I want us to move into the Brotherhood compound.”

  As Rehv cursed long and low, iAm poured himself a third. “It’s the safest place for us.”

  * * *

  Xcor was covered in lesser blood and sweat as he returned to his new lair. His fighters were still downtown, engaging with the enemy, but he had had to pare off and seek shelter.

  Damn cut on his arm.

  The house that Throe had found them was located in a modest neighborhood full of modest homes with two-car garages and swing sets in their backyards. Among its advantages was that it was located at the end of a cul-de-sac, and there was an empty building lot on one side and a Caldwell Sewer Department processing unit on the other.

  They had it for three months, with an option to buy.

  As he dematerialized through the heavily draped windows of the family room, he scoffed at the padded sofa that formed an L, its tufted cushions like rolls of fat, its color akin to beef stew.

  Although he appreciated working heat, the fact that the facility had come “furnished” was annoying to him. He feared he was alone in this, however: Over the past few days, he’d oft caught one or another of his soldiers reclining on that godforsaken monster, their heads lying back, their legs stretched out in comfort.

  What was next? Throw blankets?

  Stalking up the narrow staircase, he missed the doom and gloom of the castle they still owned back in the Old Country. Longed for the heft of the stone that had surrounded them, and the impregnable nature of the layout, with its moat and high walls. Mourned, too, the fun they had had spooking the villagers, giving physical presence to the stuff of myth.