“Myself as well. You are e’er on my mind, but for a different reason, I venture to guess.”
Layla took a deep breath as her heart pounded anew in her ears. “I’m not certain…it is so different from your own.”
She heard his head snap around.
“What did you say?” he breathed.
“I believe…you heard me quite well.”
Instantly, a vital tension sprang up between them, shrinking the space they inhabited, bringing them closer even though neither of them moved.
“Must you be their enemy,” she thought aloud.
There was a long silence. “It is too late now. Actions have been taken that cannae be undone through words nor vows.”
“I wish it were not so.”
“On this night, in this moment…I wish that as well.”
Now her own head turned quickly. “Mayhap there is a way—”
He reached out and silenced her with his fingertip, laying it ever so gently upon her mouth.
As his eyes focused on her lips, a nearly imperceptible growl vibrated out of him…but he didn’t allow it to continue for long, shutting the sound off as if he didn’t want to burden her, or mayhap frighten her.
“You are in my dreams,” he murmured. “Every day, you haunt me. Your scent, your voice, your eyes…this mouth.”
He shifted his hand around and brushed her lower lip with his callused thumb.
Closing her lids, Layla leaned into the touch, knowing that this was all she would ever get from him. They were on opposite sides of the war, and though she knew not the particulars, she had heard enough in the household to know that he was right.
He could not undo what he had done.
And that meant they were going to kill him.
“I cannae believe you let me touch you.” His voice grew hoarse. “I shall remember this for all my nights.”
Tears speared into her eyes. Dearest Virgin Scribe, for all her life, she had waited for a moment like this….
“Do not cry.” His thumb went to her cheeks. “Beautiful female of worth, do not cry.”
If any had told her someone as harsh as he was capable of such compassion, she would not have believed them. But he was. With her, he was.
“I shall go,” he said abruptly.
Her instinct was to beg him to be careful…but that would mean she was wishing Wrath’s dethroner well.
“Lovely Chosen, know this. If e’er you need me, I shall be there.”
He took something out of his pocket—a phone. Facing it toward her, he lit up the screen with the touch of a button. “Can you read this number?”
Layla blinked hard and forced her eyes to focus. “Yes. I can.”
“That is me. You know how to find me. And if your conscience demands you give this information to the Brotherhood, I will understand.”
He couldn’t read the numbers, she realized—and not for lack of visual acuity.
Whatever kind of life had he led, she wondered sadly.
“Be well, my beautiful Chosen,” he said, as he stared at her with the eyes of not just a lover, but a hellren.
And then he was gone without another word, leaving the car, picking up his weapons and arming himself…
…before dematerializing into the night.
Layla immediately covered her face with her hands, her shoulders beginning to quake, her head sagging, her emotions overflowing.
Caught in the middle, between her mind and her soul, she was torn asunder even as she remained whole.
EIGHTY-ONE
“Come in.”
As Blay spoke up, he glanced over the top of A Confederacy of Dunces—and was surprised to find Beth walking into his room.
One look at the queen’s face and he sat up from the chaise, putting the book down. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Have you seen Layla?”
“No, but I’ve just been here since I got back from my parents’.” He glanced at the clock. After midnight. “She’s not in her room?”
Beth shook her head, her dark hair shining as it slipped around her shoulders. “She and I were going to hang out, but I can’t find her. She’s not in the clinic, or the kitchen—and I looked for Qhuinn down in the training center as well as up here. He’s gone as well.”
Maybe they were having a romantic dinner, like, sharing a plate of pasta and meeting in the middle thanks to a strand of frickin’ linguine.
“Have you tried their phones?” he asked.
“Qhuinn’s is in his room. And Layla isn’t answering hers if it’s with her.”
As he got to his feet and started to get a little hyped, he thought, calm down—this was not a national emergency. In fact, this was a big house with a lot of rooms, and more to the point, they were grown adults. Two people should be allowed to go off together and have it not be a crisis.