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.”