No, wait.
He was passing out.
His last conscious thought was that it was really cool of Blay to catch him as he went over like a tree in the forest.
In the context of the English language, there were many more important words than “in.” There were fancy words, historic words, words that meant life or death. There were multi-syllabic tongue-twisters that required a sort out before speaking, and mission-critical pivotals that started wars or ended wars…and even poetic nonsensicals that were like a symphony as they left the lips.
Generally speaking, “in” did not play with the big boys. In fact, it barely had much of a definition at all, and, in the course of its working life, was usually nothing but a bridge, a conduit for the heavy lifters in any given sentence.
There was, however, one context in which that humble little two-letter, one-syllable jobbie was a BFD.
Love.
The difference between someone “loving” somebody versus being “in love” was a curb to the Grand Canyon. The head of a pin to the entire Midwest. An exhale to a hurricane.
Now I know why he…
As Blay sat on the floor of the exam room with Qhuinn’s loose-as-a-goose body in his lap, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what Layla had said next. Had it been “loves you”? In which case, well, yeah, he knew that the guy loved him as a friend and had for decades. And that didn’t change a thing.
Or had it been with the addition of the “in.”
In which case, he was kind of considering taking Qhuinn’s lead and having a little TO on the tile.
“How’s my other patient doing?” Doc Jane asked as Layla collapsed back on the exam table.
“Breathing,” Blay replied.
“He’ll come around.”
One would hope, Blay thought as he focused on Qhuinn’s face—like those familiar features, even though he was out of it, could somehow answer the question one way or the other.
The Chosen couldn’t possibly have said “in love.”
Couldn’t have been it. He simply refused to let two bouts of great sex rewrite someone else’s words.
“Are you sure this is okay?” he heard Layla say to Doc Jane.
“The throwing up? According to what Ehlena told me earlier, it can most certainly be part of the symptoms of a successful pregnancy. In fact, it can be a sign that things are progressing well. It’s the hormones.”
“I don’t have to return to Havers’s, do I?”
“Well, Ehlena’s coming back from visiting her father tonight. So we need to find out how much she’s comfortable treating—and then see where you’re at. I won’t lie…I think this is a miracle.”
“I agree.”
While the females spoke, Blay kept his eyes on Qhuinn’s closed lids. It was a miracle, all right. Straight up—
As if on cue, the guy came around, those thick, dark eyelashes batting as if they were trying to decide how serious he was about staying conscious.
“Layla!” he shouted as he burst upright.
Blay pushed himself backward, letting the guy go. Feeling a little stupid.
Especially as Qhuinn shot to his feet and went to the female.
Blay stayed where he was, settling back against the closed cupboards under the sink, his knees up, his hands on his thighs. Even though it tore him to pieces, he couldn’t help but watch the two of them together, Qhuinn’s dagger hand impossibly gentle as he smoothed the blond hair away from Layla’s face.
He was saying something to her, something soft and reassuring.
Before Blay knew it, he was out in the hall, walking somewhere, anywhere. As hard as it was to accept compassion from Qhuinn…it was downright impossible to witness it being imparted on someone else—even if they more than deserved it.
The idea that Layla had been given in her needing exactly what he’d had for the last two days made his chest ache—but what was worse? It appeared that with her, the pneumatics had served their biological purpose. She was pregnant—and thanks to Payne, he had a feeling she was going to stay that way.
Overall, he’d done the right thing in going to V’s sister the day before. Assuming that that had been the cause of the amazing turnaround. But still, and even though it didn’t make sense, he felt—
“Are you okay?”
He stopped immediately, Qhuinn’s voice a shock. One would figure the guy would have stayed with the Chosen.
Bracing himself, he shoved his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath before turning around.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just figured you two would want some privacy.”
“Thanks for catching me.” The male lifted his palms. “I don’t know what happened in there.”
“Relief.”
“I guess.”
There was an awkward moment. Then again, they had specialized in them, hadn’t they.
“Listen, I’m going to go back to the house.” Blay tacked on a smile and hoped the guy bought it. “It’s good to have a night off.”
“Oh, yeah. Saxton’s probably waiting for you.”
Blay opened his mouth, but then caught the “why” that was about to fly out from between his lips. “Yup, he is. Take care of your girl. I’ll see you at Last Meal, maybe.”
As he strode off and ducked into the office, he knew he was being a coward for hiding behind a nonexistent relationship. But when you had a bad cut, you needed a Band-Aid.
Christ, no wonder Saxton had broken up with him.
What a fucking romantic.
FORTY-EIGHT
As Assail drove through the grand gates of an estate in the wealthy part of Caldwell, he was annoyed. Exhausted. On edge. And not just because he’d been doing cocaine regularly and not eating.
The cottage was over to the left, and he parked the Range Rover grille-first beneath one of the cheerful little windows. He would have preferred to have dematerialized here—so much less complicated. But after he’d dropped the twins off by that Goth club, the Iron Mask, he’d had to face the reality that if he didn’t feed, he was not going to be able to go on.
He hated this. It wasn’t that he minded the money it cost. It was more that he wasn’t particularly attracted to the female—and did not appreciate her attempts to change that.
Swinging his door wide, he got out, and the cold air hitting his face slapped some awareness into him, making him cognizant of just how logy he’d been.
At that very moment, a car went by out on the street beyond, some kind of domestic sedan.
And then the quaint portal of the cottage opened.
Assail’s fangs tingled as the female in between the jambs registered to his senses. Dressed in something black and lingerie-esque, she was ready for him, the heady scent of her arousal marking the air, although that wasn’t what got his lust going. It was her vein, nothing more, nothing less…
Assail frowned and looked beyond the cottage, into the forest that rimmed the estate.
Through the skeletal trees, the rear lights of the car that had just passed by flared red. Then whoever it was turned the vehicle around, the headlights swinging in a fat circle—and then extinguishing.
Immediately, Assail went for his gun. “You go inside. We’re not alone.”
The female promptly canned the come-on and disappeared into the cottage, shutting the door with a bang.
Dematerializing into the woods would have been the best move, but of course, he was too damned starved for that—
Abruptly, the wind shifted direction and came at him, and his nostrils flared.
Assail growled softly—and not in a warning. More like a greeting, of sorts.
As if he would e’er forget that particular combination of pheromones.
His little burglar had turned the tables on him, doing to him what he had done to her the night before. How long had she been on his trail? he wondered, a shaft of respect driving through his chest at the same time he grew frustrated.
He did not like the idea that she might have seen him under the bridge. Knowing her, though, he couldn’t rule that out.
Drawing in a long, slow breath, he caught nothing else of significance. Which meant she was alone.