"Just for the next twenty-four hours."
Layla looked back and forth between the pair of them. And felt like a lying hypocrite as she said, "I'd feel safer here."
"How long have you been on your feet?" Doc Jane asked.
"I just walked down the hall toward the gym--"
"We can move some equipment to the house," Qhuinn suggested. "You know, monitoring stuff. That kind of thing. Besides, it won't be for long."
Doc Jane shook her head like she couldn't believe she'd heard him correctly. "An OR? You think we can move an OR up there? I don't mean to be alarmist--but she's carrying twins, Qhuinn. Twins."
"I know." Qhuinn's mismatched eyes locked on the doctor's. "I'm fully aware of what is at stake. And so are you."
Doc Jane opened her mouth. Then hesitated. "Listen, I'm going to take these to my office. Meet me there, okay?"
As the doctor took off, Layla stared at Qhuinn. "Who else is down here."
Qhuinn put his hand on her shoulder. "No one, why do you ask?"
"Please. Just tell me.'"
"It's nothing. I don't know what she's talking about. Let's get you settled."
"You don't have to protect me."
Those dark brows got so tight, he wasn't frowning; he was glaring. "Really. Really?"
Layla exhaled and put her hand on her belly. "I'm sorry."
"Shit, no, don't apologize." He pushed his hair back, and for the first time, she got a good look at the black bags under his eyes. "Everyone is . . . you know, it's the war. It's so fucking stressful."
Putting his arm around her shoulders, he led her into her room and back to the bed where he set her down as if she were made of porcelain.
"I'll come check on you at the end of my--later. Ah, I'll be back later." He smiled in a way that did not reach his eyes. "Let me know if you need anything, okay?"
As the familiar waves of guilt and fear crested over her, Layla couldn't say anything, her jaw literally locking place and her lips squeezing tight. But what could she do? If she told him that she knew Xcor was here . . .
Well, he'd want to know how. And it would be impossible to lie to him and tell him that it was from her having fed the Bastard all those months before . . . back when she'd been duped by Xcor's soldier into going out to that meadow to take care of what she had assumed was a civilian fighter working with the Brotherhood. She had already confessed her unintentional sin to the King; what she hadn't told anyone was that she had gone on to meet Xcor many times after that--ostensibly to keep him from attacking the compound when he'd discovered its location.
In truth, it was because she had fallen in love with him.
And the fact that the visits had ended? The reality that Xcor himself had been the one to terminate the meetings? That hardly mattered.
The truth was that she had craved that time with him. And that was her treason, regardless of how much she had tried to paint herself as a victim.
"Layla?"
With a curse, she shook herself back into focus. "I'm sorry? What?"
"Are you all right?"
"No. I mean--yes, yes, I am." She put her hands on the small of her back and stretched. "I'm just tired. It's the pregnancy. But everything's fine."
Qhuinn stared at her for a long moment, his mismatched eyes searching her face. "Will you call me? Even if you're just . . . you know, going stir crazy?"
"I will. I promise."
As the door closed behind him, she knew what he was going to do. He was going to go talk to the other Brothers--if he hadn't already done so. And soon, very soon, she was going to find that she no longer sensed Xcor's presence.
Either because she was relocated or he was.
Putting her head in her hands, she tried to breathe and found that it was impossible. Her throat was tight, her ribs were like iron bars, her lungs were burning. She just kept telling herself that getting upset was not going to help things. It certainly wasn't going to be good for her or the pregnancy.
Besides, she wasn't meeting Xcor anymore.
Because that was what happened when you called a male on his feelings. Or at least, a male like him.
And he hadn't attacked the compound--
Unless that was how he'd been captured? Oh, dearest Virgin Scribe, had he brought his soldiers here with arms? Had that been the chaos of the evening before?
Her mind promptly went into a tailspin, her thoughts merging together in patterns that made no sense thanks to too much velocity, and not enough proper reasoning.
Sometime later, she dropped her arms, and glanced across at the bathroom door. It was a hundred miles away. But she did have to pee, and maybe some cold water on her face would help her calm down.
Shifting her legs off the mattress, she steadied herself on her feet and--
Wetness. There was . . . an abrupt wetness between her thighs.
Her hands went to the front of her nightgown as she looked down.
And screamed.
TWENTY-THREE
Upstairs in his glass house, Assail took a shower that lasted nearly a lifetime.
The black out panels had come down over the windows, so it was dark, nothing but the glowing light switches with their little peach-colored toggle heads orienting him. The water was blistering hot, and as he dropped his head back, he swept his hair flat to his skull. His body was in a post-feeding, post-fucking float, even his addiction quieting down.
Although the latter was probably due to the three lines he'd done as soon as he'd come up here.
Strike the probably.
He had fucked Naasha a number of times, and roughly, too, so his lower back was tight. His cock was exhausted. His balls, empty and then some.
There was no joy in his heart. None. That was not unusual, however. And the shampoo and soap did naught to make him feel cleaner, likely because the dirt he was coated with was not on his exterior. But he could not say that he was unfamiliar with that, either.
Still, all was not lost. There was work to be done.
When Assail had endeavored to come unto the New World, he had not made the trip alone. His cousins, Ehric and Evale, had traveled with him, and they had proven to be steadfast and loyal aides throughout his business endeavors. Staying with him here, they had never failed him--and he was going to need them once again.
For something they were rather likely to enjoy.
Naasha, as want would have it, had several friends of hers in a similar situation--females of the glymera who were unable to be attended to properly by their older hellren and were looking for certain . . . releases . . . that were unavailable to them. And although his cousins had retired to their basement suites by the time Assail had returned home, he was confident that he had volunteered the pair for work they would be quite happy to perform.
Because Wrath had been right.
Things were indeed afoot in the aristocracy.
Assail could sense it sure as a scent upon the night air. He just knew not what yet. Time, and sex, was going to fix that, however.
Stepping out of the shower, he appreciated the thick, warm pile of the bath mat beneath his feet and dried off with a towel heated upon a bar next to the shower enclosure. Indeed, he had purchased the mansion fully furnished from its builder, and all had been considered and attended to in the construction and kitting out of the house. Every luxury provided. Not a penny spared.
The place seemed utterly empty, however, in spite of its three occupants. Rather like the inside of his skin, wasn't it. A thing of refinement and beauty on the exterior, yet soulless inside.
For a brief interlude, things had not been as such. In both cases.
But that time had passed.
Out in his bedroom, he got in between his silk sheets naked and made a mental note to switch them out at nightfall. Although it was not traditional for a male of his station, he had grown used to attending to his own baths and dressings, changing his sheets, washing his clothes. There was a strange comfort to taking care of such simple things, a st
art and finish to each endeavor from which he derived a certain satisfaction.
And that was how he usually passed the days whilst his cousins slept down below. Tidying up. Scrubbing floors and sinks, toilets and counters. Vacuuming. Polishing. It was a productive way to burn off the cocaine jitters.
Not these particular daylight hours, however. After the feeding, he required rest, not just of the mind, but of the body--
Beside him, his cell chimed softly with the old-fashioned bell ring of phones that were nowhere to be found anymore.
He didn't bother to see who it was. He knew. "I would have called you," he said, "but I didn't want to be rude. It is rather early in the morning for business."
The Brother Vishous didn't miss a beat. Which was rather one of his most predominant characteristics. "What happened? Did you get anything?"
"Indeed, yes. In rather a number of different positions. Naasha was most accommodating."
A dark laugh came over the connection. "With a male like you, I'm sure she was. And we expect you to hit that on the regular until she starts talking."
"She already has." Assail smiled cruelly in the dark. "Tell me, is your Dom reputation just talk or are you truly that perverted?"
"Waste my time with gossip and I'll answer that firsthand."
"Kinky."
"Why do you ask?"
"Your name came up in conversation."
"How."
The fact that that wasn't a question, but a demand was not a surprise. "She was speaking of sexual conquests she had enjoyed. You apparently were one of them, back when she was younger--and she made it clear you had done the conquesting, as it were."
"I've fucked a lot of people," V said in a bored tone, "and forgotten ninety-five percent of them. So tell me what you know--and not about sex. Mine or others'."
Assail was not surprised about the conversation's redirection. "The aristocracy is going to be approaching the King soon. They're going to request his appearance at a private reception for her hellren's nine hundredth birthday--an event that even in good bloodlines is a thing of rarity."
"Are they planning on shooting my Lord again?"
"Possibly. My instincts tell me there is a path being forged." Assail shook his head even though the Brother could not see him. "I'm just not sure by whom. Naasha is more renowned for her horizontal accomplishments rather than her mental ones. She is not capable of developing a strategy, whether one of treasonous nature or even for a Last Meal encounter. That is why I believe there is someone guiding her. But again, I know not whom--yet."
"When are you seeing her next?"
"She is having a dinner on the eve and I shall attend with my cousins. I shall endeavor to discover more at that time."
"That's tight. Good job."
"I haven't performed yet."
"Not true. How many times did she come?"
"I lost count after seven."
Another dark laugh came over the connection. "A male after my own heart. And don't knock perversion, you judgmental little fuck. You never know when you might find it appealing. Call me tomorrow."
"We keep this up and I'll talk to you more than I speak with my own mahmen."
"Isn't she dead?"
"Yes."
"Some bastards have all the luck."
*
After the meeting with Wrath and the Brotherhood broke up, Rhage returned to his and Mary's room, and as he opened the door, he was hoping she was asleep--
"Hi."
Okay, right. Mary was anything but in a doze. She was sitting up in their bed, leaning against the headboard, knees tucked to her chest, arms linked around them.
As if she had been waiting for him.
"Ah, hi." He shut the door. "I thought maybe you'd be resting."
She just shook her head. And stared at him.
In the awkward silence that followed, he remembered another night that seemed like forever ago--when he'd walked into this room after he'd taken his edge off with a human woman. Mary had been staying with him, and it had killed her to see him afterward--hell, it had killed him to come back to her like that, too. But at the time, it had been a case of him either giving his body some sex or him mounting Mary and risking the beast coming out while he was inside of her. After all, his Mary had juiced him up so high, so fast that his curse had threatened to emerge just in her presence alone, and he had been terrified of hurting her. Scared to reveal that part of his nature to her. Convinced that his unworthiness would emerge and ruin everything.
So he had returned here and had had to look her in the face, knowing what he had done with another.
Short of the night he had learned she was dying, it was the single worst memory in his whole life.
Funny, this felt the same in some ways. A reckoning he didn't want, but could do nothing to prevent.
"I talked to Beth," she said grimly. "She told me you sat with L.W. when she was getting her hand treated."
Rhage closed his eyes and wanted to curse. Especially as there was a long pause, as if she were giving him a chance to explain.
"Do you want to tell me why holding L.W. made you so emotional?"
Her tone was even. Controlled. Gentle, might even be apt.
So it made his truth seem especially cruel and unfair. But she wasn't going to let him off the hook, change the subject, push this aside. That was not his Mary's way, not when it came to stuff like this.
"Rhage? What happened down there."
Rhage took a deep breath. He wanted to go over to her by the bed, but he needed to walk around--the churn and burn in his skull required some kind of physical expression or he was going to start screaming. Or punching walls . . .
He just had to figure out how to phrase this so it didn't sound as if he were blaming her. Or catastrophically unhappy. Or--
"Rhage?"
"Just gimme a minute."
"You've been pacing around for over twenty."
He stopped. Glanced across at his mate.
Mary had changed positions, and was now sitting with her feet dangling off the high mattress. She was dwarfed by the size of the bed, but they needed a mattress the size of a football field; he was so big, he couldn't really stretch out on anything smaller.
Shit. He was losing focus again--
"Was it because you . . ." Mary stared down at her feet. Then looked back over at him. "Is it because you want to have your own baby, Rhage?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
Stood there like a plank as his heart thundered in his chest.
"It's all right," she whispered. "Your brothers are starting to have families--and watching the people you love do that stirs up things. It brings up . . . wants . . . that maybe people weren't aware of--"
"I love you."
"But that doesn't mean you aren't disappointed."
Backing up so his shoulders hit the wall, he let himself slide down until the floor caught him in the ass. Then he hung his head because he couldn't bear looking at her.
"Oh, God, Mary, I don't want to feel this way." When his voice cracked, he cleared his throat. "I mean . . . I could try to lie, but . . ."
"You've felt like this for a while, haven't you. That's why things have been a little off between us."
He shrugged with defeat. "I would have said something, but I didn't know what was wrong. Until down there in the kitchen when I was alone with L.W. It just came out of nowhere. Hit me like a ton of bricks--I don't want to feel this way."
"It's perfectly natural--"
He drove his fist into the floor hard enough to crack the wood. "I don't want this! I don't fucking want this! You and I are all I need! I don't even like young!"
As his voice thundered in the room, he could feel her staring at him.
And couldn't stand it.
Jumping up again, he pounded around and felt like tearing the paintings off the walls and lighting the drapes on fire and breaking the highboy into kindling with his bare hands.
"I meant it," he barked.
"When I told you I would get you a baby if you wanted one, I fucking meant that shit!"
"I know you did. What you didn't expect was to be the one who had the hollow pit in the middle of his chest."
He stopped dead and talked to the Oriental rug. "It doesn't matter. This doesn't matter. It's going to go away--"
"Beth told me something else." Mary waited for him to look over, and when he did, she brushed away a tear. "She said that Vishous came to you before the attack. She said . . . he told you that you were going to die. That he tried to get you to leave the field--but you wouldn't."
Rhage cursed and resumed walking around. Dragging a hand over his face, he found himself just wanting to go back to the early days of their relationship. When it had been easy. Nothing but good sex and greater love.
Not all this . . . life bullshit.
"Why did you go out there?" she asked in a halting way.
He waved away the question. "He could have been wrong, you know. V doesn't actually know everything or he'd be a god--"
"You went out early into the fight. You didn't wait . . . you went out there by yourself. Into a campus full of the enemy. Alone--right after one of your Brothers, who hasn't been wrong yet, told you that you were going to die out there. And then you were shot. In the chest."
Rhage didn't mean to crumble.
It was weird, though. He was upright . . . and then he was down on the floor, his legs collapsing under him at bad angles, his torso following suit in a sloppy fall of arms and shoulders. But that was what happened when a warrior lost his fight--he was nothing more than a gun dropped from a shooting hand, a dagger let loose from a palm, a grenade released, not thrown, into thin air.
"I'm sorry, Mary. I'm so . . . sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . ."
He just kept saying the words over and over again. There was nothing else he could do.
"Rhage." As she cut into his rambling, his Mary's voice was so sad that the sound of it was worse than that lead bullet through his heart. "Do you think you went out there alone because you wanted to die? And please, just be honest with me. This is too big . . . to just sweep under the rug."
Feeling like utter shit, he put his hands up to his face and talked into his palms. "I just needed . . . to be close to you again. Like it always was. Like it should be. Like it has to be for me. I thought . . . maybe if I were on the other side, and you came to me, we could . . ."
"Do what we're doing right now?"