God, he didn’t know how human men handled it. From what he understood, they had to wonder whether their mates were fertile every single damn time they had sex—evidently, they couldn’t pick up on the subtle changes of their females’ scents.
He’d go fucking insane. At least when a female vampire was in her needing, everyone knew it.
Beth shifted in his lap, compressing his hard-on, making him groan. And usually, this was the cue for George to be led across to the double doors and temporarily banished. But not tonight. As much as Wrath wanted her, the pall in the house was putting a damper on even his libido.
And then there was Autumn’s needing. Now Layla’s.
He wasn’t going to lie; the shit was making him tetchy. Hormones in the air had been known to have a ricochet effect in a house full of females, influencing one and then another and then a third into her needing, assuming she was fairly close to her time.
Wrath stroked Beth’s hair and retucked his queen’s head into his shoulder.
“You don’t want to…”
As she let the sentence drift, he took her hand and lifted it up, feeling the heavy Saturnine Ruby that the queen of the race had always worn.
“I just want to hold you,” he said. “It’s enough for me right now.”
Nestling in, she fit herself even more closely to him. “Well, this is nice, too.”
Yeah. It was.
And curiously terrifying.
“Wrath?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
It was a little while before he could answer, before he trusted his voice to be calm, and level, and no BFD. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just fine.”
As he smoothed her arm, running his hand up and down her biceps, he prayed that she believed it…and vowed that what was happening just one door down the hall would never, ever happen to them.
Nope. That crisis was not anything the pair of them were going to have to deal with.
Thanks be to the Scribe Virgin.
FORTY-TWO
Layla wasn’t sleeping, of course.
When she’d told Qhuinn to go, she had meant the things she’d said about not wanting to keep up a front with him around. But the funny thing was, even with nobody in the room with her, she didn’t get hysterical. No tears. No cursing.
She just lay on her side with her arms and legs curled up, her mind receding deep into her body, the constant monitoring of every ache and cramp a compulsion that was making her crazy. There was no changing that, however. It was as if some part of her was convinced that if she could only know what stage she was in, she could somehow have some control over the process.
Which was, of course, bullshit. As Qhuinn would say.
The image of him in the clinic, with his dagger at the healer’s throat, was like something out of one of the books in the Sanctuary’s library—a dramatic episode that was part of someone else’s life.
Her vantage point on the bed, however, reminded her that that was not the case….
The knock on her door was soft, which suggested it was a female.
Layla closed her eyes. As much as she appreciated whatever kindness was awaiting a response, she would have so much preferred that whoever it was stayed out in the hall. The queen’s brief visit had been taxing, even though she’d appreciated it.
“Yes.” When her voice didn’t carry farther than her own ears, she cleared her throat. “Yes?”
The door opened, and at first she didn’t recognize who it was from the shadow that filled the space between the jambs. Tall. Strong. Not a male, though…
“Payne?” she said.
“May I come in?”
“Yes, of course.”
As Layla went to sit up, the warrior female motioned her to lie down, and then shut them both in together. “No, no, please…be at ease.”
One lamp had been left on over at the bureau, and in the gentle light, the blooded sister of the Black Dagger Brother Vishous was quite fearsome, her diamond eyes seeming to sparkle out of the strong angles of her face.
“How ever are you?” the female asked softly.
“I am very well, thank you. And yourself?”
The fighter came forward. “I’m very sorry about…your condition.”
Oh, how Layla wished this was something Phury or the others had not shared with anyone. Then again, her exit from the house had been rather dramatic, the sort of thing that would be cause for concerned questioning. Still, her privacy would have had her avoid this unwelcome, though compassionate, intrusion.
“I thank you for your kind words,” she whispered.
“May I sit down?”
“But of course.”
She expected the female to rest upon one of the chairs that had been arranged with a sense of decorum. Payne did not. She came over to the bed and lowered her weight beside Layla.