V measured the male for a moment. Then brought that deadly hand back into range. “Once more—that’s all you get,” he said to Luchas.
“Damn straight,” Rhage cut in. “Any more and you could make a s’more out of the son of a bitch.”
The second shot was just as bad—that battered body contorting wildly, Luchas making that god-awful sound before landing back down in a clatter of bones.
But he took a deep breath. A big, powerful, deep breath that expanded his rib cage.
Qhuinn felt like praying, and he guessed he did as he started chanting, “Come on, come on….”
The mangled hand, the one with the ring, stretched out and grabbed onto Qhuinn’s shirt. The hold was weak, but Qhuinn leaned in.
“What,” he said. “Talk slow….”
That hand skipped over his jacket.
“Talk to me.”
His brother’s hand locked on the grip of one of his daggers. “Kill…me….”
Qhuinn’s eyes peeled wide.
Luchas’s voice was nothing like it had been, nothing but a hoarse whisper. “Kill…me…brother…mine….”
SIXTY-TWO
“How you holding up?” Blay asked.
Standing on the porch of the cabin, Qhuinn breathed in and caught a hint of smoke on the air. Blay had lit up again, and much as Qhuinn hated the habit, he didn’t blame the guy. Hell, if he were into that kind of thing, he’d have busted out the coffin nails, too.
He glanced over. Blay was staring at him patiently, clearly prepared to wait for a response to the question even if it took what was left of the night.
Qhuinn checked his watch. One a.m.
How long was it going to take the rest of Brotherhood to get here? And was this evac plan they were all rocking really going to work— “I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind,” he replied.
“I’m with you.” Blay exhaled in the opposite direction. “I can’t believe that he’s…”
Qhuinn stared at the trees ahead of them. “I never asked you about that night.”
“No. And frankly, I don’t blame you.”
Behind them, in the cabin, Rhage, V, and John were with Luchas. Everyone had taken their jackets off and wrapped them around the male in hopes of keeping him warm.
Standing in his muscle shirt and his weapons, Qhuinn didn’t feel the cold.
He cleared his throat. “Did you see him.”
Blay had been the one to go back to the mansion after the raids. Qhuinn simply hadn’t had the sac to ID the bodies.
“Yes, I did.”
“Was he dead then?”
“As far as I knew, yes. He was…yeah, I didn’t think there was any chance he was alive.”
“You know, I never sold the house.”
“So I’d heard.”
Technically, as a disavowed member of the family, he had had no rights to the property. But there had been so many killed that no one made any claims to the estate, and it had, according to the Old Laws, reverted to the king’s ownership—whereupon Wrath had promptly given it in fee simple to Qhuinn.
Whatever the hell that meant.
“I didn’t know what to think when I was told they’d gotten slaughtered.” Qhuinn looked up to the sky. The forecast was for more snow, so no stars were to be seen. “They hated me. I guess I hated them. And then they were gone.”
Beside him, Blay went very still.
Qhuinn knew why and a sudden awkwardness had him shoving his hands into his pockets. Yes, he absolutely despised talking about emotions and crap, but there was no keeping the shit down. Not out here. In private. With Blay.
Clearing his throat, he kept going. “I was relieved more than anything, to be honest. I can’t tell you what it was like growing up in that house. All those people looking at me like I was a walking, talking curse on them.” He shook his head. “I used to avoid them as much as possible, using the servants’ stairs, staying in that part of the house. But then the doggen threatened to quit. Actually, the biggest bene of my getting through the transition was that I could dematerialize out the window of my room. Then none of them had to deal with me.”
Even when Blay cursed softly, Qhuinn still didn’t feel like shutting up. “And you know what the real head fuck was? I saw that love was possible when my father looked at my brother. It would have been one thing if the bastard had just hated all of us—but he didn’t. And that just made me realize how locked out I was.” Qhuinn glanced over. Shuffled his shitkickers. “Why are you looking at me like that.”
“Sorry. Yeah, sorry. You just…you’ve never talked about them. Ever.”
Qhuinn frowned and measured the sky again, picturing the twinkling lights of the stars even though he couldn’t see them. “I wanted to. With you, that is. Not with anyone else.”
“Why didn’t you?” As if this was something the guy had wondered for a while.
In the silence that followed, Qhuinn sifted through memories he had never dwelled on, seeing himself. Seeing his family. Seeing…Blay. “I loved going to your house. I can’t tell you what it meant to me—I remember the first time you invited me over. I was convinced your parents were going to kick me out. I was ready for it. Hell, I dealt with that shit at my own house all the time, so why wouldn’t complete strangers do the same? But your mom…” Qhuinn cleared his throat again. “Your mom sat me down at your kitchen table and fed me.”
“She was mortified that she made you sick. Right afterward, you ran into the bathroom and threw up for an hour.”
“I wasn’t throwing up in there.”
Blay’s head whipped around. “But you said—”
“I was crying.”
As Blay recoiled, Qhuinn shrugged. “Come on, what was I going to say. That I pussied out and wept next to the sink on the floor? I ran the water so no one heard and flushed the toilet every once in a while.”
“I never knew.”
“That was the plan.” Qhuinn glanced over. “That was always the plan. I didn’t want you to know how bad it was at my house, because I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me. I didn’t want you or your parents to feel like you had to take me in. I wanted you to be my friend—and you were. You always have been.”
Blay looked away fast. Then rubbed his face with the hand he didn’t have the cigarette in.
“You guys were what got me through it,” Qhuinn heard himself say. “I lived for the night, because I could go over to your house. It was the only thing that kept me going. You were the only thing, actually. It was…you.”
As Blay’s eyes returned to his own, he had the sense the guy was searching for words.
And God help them both, if it hadn’t been for Saxton, Qhuinn would have dropped the l-word right then and there, even though the timing was stupid.
“You can, you know,” Blay said finally. “Talk to me.”
Qhuinn stamped his feet and bunched up his shoulders, stretching the muscles of his back. “Be careful. I might take you up on that.”
“It would help.” As Qhuinn glanced over again, Blay was the one shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”
Bullshit, Qhuinn thought—
Without warning, V emerged from the cabin, lighting up a hand-rolled as he came out. As Qhuinn fell silent, he wasn’t sure whether he was relieved the conversation had been forced to an end or not.
On the exhale, Vishous said, “I need to make sure you understand the consequences.”
Qhuinn nodded. “I already know what you’re going to say.”
Those diamond eyes locked on his own. “Well, let’s just open air it anyway, shall we? I don’t sense any of the Omega in him, but if it comes out, or if I’ve missed something, I’m going to have to take care of him.”
Kill me, brother mine. Kill me.
“You do what you have to.”
“He can’t go into the mansion.”
“Agreed.”
V put out his nonlethal hand. “Swear to it.”
It felt strange to clasp the Brother’s palm and bind his word on the contact—because that was what next of kin had to do in situations like this, and shit knew he hadn’t been next to anything for anybody ever: Even before the disavowal by his family, he’d have been the last person to vouch for the bloodline.
Times had changed though, hadn’t they.