Her first thought was to go and find Vishous’s sister, just jump up and start searching. Although she hadn’t understood exactly what had transpired between them, there was no doubt that it had cost the fighter dearly.
But Layla stopped herself, as worry for her own well-being took over: Her awareness shifted from the external to the internal, her mind burrowing into her body, searching out and expecting to find the cramping, the warm welling between her legs, the strange lagging aches that rode her bones.
Nothing.
As a room could go silent when all who were within it went quiet, so too could the corporeal form when all its component parts had no complaints.
Shifting the covers from herself, she moved her legs over so that they dangled off the edge of the high mattress. Subconsciously, she braced herself for the god-awful sensation of blood leaving her womb. When there was nothing of the sort, she wondered if the miscarriage hadn’t concluded itself. But hadn’t Havers said that it would be another week?
It took courage to stand up. Even though she supposed that was ridiculous.
Still nothing.
Layla went into the bathroom slowly, expecting at any moment for the onslaught of symptoms to return and take her down to her knees. She waited for the pain to strike, for those rhythmic cramps to come back, for that process to once again establish dominance over her body and her mind.
I don’t know whether it will work, but if you’re willing, I’d like to do what I can.
Layla all but ripped off her clothing, shedding what covered her in a mad dash. And then she was on the toilet.
No bleeding.
No cramps.
Half of her went into a sorrow so deep, she feared there was no bottom to the emotion—in a strange way, during the process of the miscarriage, she’d felt as though she’d still had some kind of connection with her young. If it was over? Then the death was complete—even though logically she knew there was naught that had lived or was capable of survival; otherwise, the pregnancy wouldn’t have terminated itself.
The other half of her was struck by a resonant hope.
What if…
She took a shower quickly, in spite of the fact that she didn’t really know why she was rushing, or where she would go.
Looking down at her stomach, she ran her soapy hands over the smooth, flat stretch of skin.
“Please…anything you want, take anything you want…give me this life inside of me, and you can take anything else….”
She was talking to the Scribe Virgin, of course—not that the race’s mother was listening anymore.
“Give me my young…let me keep it…please….”
The desperation she felt was nearly as bad as the physical stuff had been, and she stumbled out of the shower, drying herself roughly and throwing on clean something-or-others.
From what she’d watched of the television, human women had tests they could take themselves, sticks and whatnot apparently designed to inform them of their body’s procreational mysteries. Vampires had nothing of the sort—at least, not of which she was aware.
But males knew. They always knew.
Bursting out of her room, she hurried in the direction of the hall of statues, praying that she ran into someone, anyone—
Except Qhuinn.
No, she didn’t want him to be the one who figured out whether a miracle had happened…or nothing had changed. That was just too cruel.
The first door she came to was Blaylock’s and she knocked on it after a hesitation. Blay had known about the situation all along. And at his core, he was a very good male, a strong, good male.
When there was no answer, she cursed and turned away. She hadn’t checked the time, but given that the shutters were up and there was no scent of dinner being served down below, it was probably in the middle of the night. No doubt he had gone fighting—
“Layla?”
She wrenched around. Blay was leaning through the doorway of his room, his expression one of surprise.
“I’m so sorry—” As her voice cracked, she had to clear it. “I…I—”
“What’s wrong? Are you—whoa, easy, there. Here, let’s get you to sit down.”
As something came up and caught her bottom, she became aware that he’d settled her on the gold-leafed bench just outside his room.
He knelt down in front of her and took her hands. “Can I get Qhuinn for you? I think he’s—”
“Tell me if I’m still pregnant.” As his eyes peeled wide, she squeezed his palms. “I need to know. Something…” She wasn’t sure whether Payne wanted her to talk about what had gone on between them. “I just need to know whether it’s over or not. Can you…please, I need to know….”
As she started to babble, he put his hand on her upper arm and stroked it. “Calm down. Just take a deep breath—here, breathe with me. That’s it…okay…”
She did her best to comply, focusing on the steady, even tone of his deep voice.
“I want to call Doc Jane, all right?” When she started to argue, he shook his head firmly. “You stay right here. Promise me that you won’t go anywhere. I’m just going to grab my phone. You stay here.”
For some reason, her teeth started to chatter. Odd, as it wasn’t cold.
A second later, the soldier came back and knelt down again. He had his phone up to his ear, and he was talking.
“Okay, Jane’s coming right now,” he said as he put the thing away. “And I’m going to hang here with you.”
“But you can tell, can’t you? You can tell, you can scent it—”
“Shhh…”
“I’m sorry.” She turned her face away, dropping it down low. “I don’t mean to drag you into this. I just…I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. You don’t worry about that. We’re just going to wait for Doc Jane. Hey, Layla, look at me. Look at me.”
When she finally glanced into his blue eyes, she was struck by his kindness. Especially as the male smiled gently.
“I’m glad you came to me,” he said. “Whatever’s wrong, we’ll take care of it.”
Staring into that strong, handsome face, feeling the reassurance he offered so generously, sensing the marrow-deep decency of the fighter, she thought of Qhuinn.
“Now I know why he’s in love with you,” she blurted.
Blay went positively white, all the color draining out of his cheeks. “What…did you say…?”
“I’m here,” Doc Jane called out from down by the head of the stairs. “I’m right here!”
As the doctor came running down to them, Layla closed her eyes.
Shit. What had just come out of her mouth.
Downtown, at the warehouse Xcor had spent the day in, the leader of the Band of Bastards finally emerged into the cold darkness of the night.
He had his weapons on his body, and his phone in his hands.
Sometime during the long daylight hours, the sense that he’d forgotten something had finally resolved itself, and he’d recalled that he’d told his soldiers to decamp from the location. Which explained why none of them came before dawn.
Their new lair was not downtown. And upon further reflection, it had been a miscalculation on his part to try to establish a headquarters in this part of town, even if things had appeared deserted: Too much risk of discovery, complication or compromising circumstances.
As they had learned the night before with that visit from the Shadow.
Closing his eyes briefly, he thought it was odd how events could cascade so far beyond one’s original intentions. If it hadn’t been for that Shadow’s intrusion, he wondered whether he would ever have been able to track his Chosen. And if he hadn’t followed her to that clinic, he wouldn’t have learned that she was with young…or made his discovery about the Brotherhood.
Casting himself into the brisk wind, he materialized on the rooftop of the highest skyscraper in the city. The gusts were vicious at the high altitude, whipping his full-length coat out around his body, his scythe’s holster all that kept it on his back. His hair, which had been getting longer and longer, tangled and obstructed his vision, obscuring the view of the city stretching out beneath his feet.
He turned in the direction of the King’s mountain, the great rise distant on the horizon.
“We thought you were dead.”
Xcor pivoted on his combat boots, the wind plastering his hair back from his face.