Lover At Last(104)

As the young cowered behind its mother, the female’s eyes flared in fear.

Then again, when a monster was stumbled upon, its presence was not often greeted with joy.

Xcor bowed deeply, in large measure because the sight of his face surely could not be helping the situation. “But of course.”

At that, he backed away from them both and then pivoted, returning to the original spot he’d occupied. Indeed, he had not realized how exposed he’d become.

And he did not want to fight. Not with the Brotherhood. Not with his Chosen as she was. Not…here.

Closing his eyes, he wished he could go back to that night when Zypher had taken him out to the meadow and Throe, under the guise of saving him, had condemned him to a kind of walking death.

A bonded male who was not with his mate?

Dead though animated—

Without warning, the portal pulled back and his Chosen appeared. Instantly, Xcor’s instincts screamed for action, in spite of all the reasons to leave her be.

Take her! Now!

But he did not: The grim expressions of those who shepherded her with such care froze him where he stood—bad news had been imparted during their tenure inside.

As before, she was all but carried to the vehicle.

And even still, there was the scent of her blood upon the air.

His Chosen was resettled in the back of that sedan, with the female at her side. Then Phury, son of Ahgony, and the warrior with the mismatched eyes got into the front. The vehicle was turned about slowly, as if out of concern for the precious cargo in its rear compartment.

Xcor followed in their wake, materializing apace to the steady speed that was gained first upon the rural road at the end of the lane, and then upon the highway. When the car approached the suspension bridge, he once again spotted it from atop the highest girder, and then after his female passed beneath him, he jumped from rooftop to rooftop as the sedan circumvented downtown.

He tracked the vehicle north until it exited the highway and entered the farmland area.

He stayed with her the whole time.

And that was how he found the location of the Brotherhood.





THIRTY-SEVEN


As Blay twisted his family’s signet ring around on his forefinger, his lit cigarette smoldered gently in his other hand, and his ass grew numb…and no one came back in through the vestibule’s doors.

Sitting on the bottom step of the mansion’s grand staircase, he wasn’t going to fulfill his promise to his mother and head home. Not tonight, at least. After the craziness of the evening before, what with the crash landing and the attendant drama, Wrath had ordered the Brotherhood and the fighters to take twenty-four off. So technically, he should have called the ’rents and told his mom to bust out the mozzarella and the meat sauce.

But there was no way he was leaving the house. Not after hearing yelling from Layla’s room, and then seeing her all but carried down the grand staircase.

Naturally, Qhuinn had been with her.

John Matthew had not.

So whatever had gone down apparently trumped the ahstrux nohtrum thing, and that meant…she had to be losing the young. Only something that serious would get a pass.

As he continued to bump-on-a-log it, with nothing but worry to keep him company, naturally his mind decided to make things worse: Shit, had he really slept with Qhuinn last night?

Taking a hard drag off his Dunhill, he exhaled a curse.

Had it really happened?

God, that question had been banging around his skull from the moment he’d woken up out of a hot-as-hell dream, with an erection that seemed to think the other male was sleeping next to him.

Replaying the scenes, for the hundredth time, all he could think was…talk about a plan misfiring. After he’d turned Qhuinn down when the guy had been on his knees, he’d gone back to his room and paced around, a debate he wasn’t interested in having with himself turning his brain to foie gras.

But he’d made the right decision in leaving. Really. He had.

The problem was, it hadn’t stuck. As the daylight hours had worn on, all he’d thought about was the time he’d gotten caught by his father stealing a pack of cigarettes from one of the family’s doggen. He’d been a young pretrans, and as a punishment, his dad had made him sit outside and smoke every one of those unfiltered Camels. He’d been horribly sick, and it had been a year or two before he’d been able to stomach even secondhand smoke.

So that had been the new plan.

He’d wanted Qhuinn so badly for so long, but it had all been a hypothetical, parceled out in fantasies in ways he could handle. Not all at once, not the full-bore, overload, wrecking-ball stuff—and he’d known damn well that in real life, Qhuinn wasn’t going to hold back or be easy. The “plan” had been to have the actual experience, and learn that it was just rough sex. Or hell, find out that it wasn’t even good sex.