“You have a very low standard for communication.”
“What may I do for you.” ’Twas not a question. No reason to encourage a response.
“Actually, it’s what I can do for you.”
“With all due respect, I prefer to take care of business myself.”
“A very good policy. And as much as I know you like your ‘business,’ that isn’t why I called. I thought you might like to know that the Council met with Wrath tonight.”
“I believe I resigned during our last conversation. So I fail to see what this has to do with me?”
“Your name came up at the end. After everyone had left.”
Assail arched a brow. “In what capacity.”
“A little birdie said you set Wrath up with the Band of Bastards at your home this past fall.”
Assail’s grip tightened on his phone. And during the brief pause that followed, he chose his words with extreme care. “Wrath knows that isn’t true. I was the one who gave him the vehicle he got away in. As I told you before, I am not, and never have been, connected with any insurgency. In fact, I removed myself from the Council precisely because I do not wish to be embroiled in any drama.”
“Relax. He did you a favor.”
“In exactly what manner.”
“The individual said it in front of me.”
“And again, I inquire, how does that equate to a—”
“I knew he was lying.”
Assail became quiet. It was, of course, a good thing that Rehvenge knew the statement to be untrue. But how?
“Before you ask,” the male murmured darkly, “I’m not going to go into exactly why I’m so sure of it. What I will say, however, is that I’m prepared to reward your loyalty with a gift from the king.”
“A gift?”
“Wrath is a male who’s aptly named. He understands, for example, how an individual would feel if he were to be wrongly accused of treason. He knows that someone who would falsely implicate another with information not widely known is likely trying to shift blame for his own actions—particularly if the person talking had a…well, shall we say, an affect…that indicated not just deceit, but a certain level of scheming. As if he were paying you back for something he considered indicative of disloyalty or bad judgment.”
“Who is it,” Assail breathed. Even though he knew.
“Wrath is not asking you to do any kind of dirty work. In fact, if you choose not to take action, the individual will be dead within twenty-four hours. The king just feels, as I do, that your interests are not only aligned with ours, in this case, they supersede them.”
Assail closed his eyes, vengeance boiling his blood in much the same manner in which the sexual instinct had just done. The end result, however, was going to be oh, so very different. “Say the name.”
“Elan, son of Larex.”
Assail popped his lids and bared his fangs. “You tell your king I shall take care of this with alacrity.”
Rehvenge laughed darkly. “That I’ll do. I promise it.”
FIFTY-SIX
Blay was antsy as he paced around his room. Although he was fully dressed for fighting, he was going nowhere. None of them were.
After the Council meeting, Tohr had ordered the Brotherhood to stay in on a just-in-case. Rehv was reaching out to the Council members, connecting outside of the mansion, getting a sense of where the glymera were. As the guy couldn’t very well show up with a six-pack of Brothers on his ass—at least, not if he wanted to preserve some pretense of civility—they had to chill. But given the political climate, it was important that backup was ready in case the Reverend needed it.
Not that he went by that name anymore…
The door to his room opened wide without a knock, a hello, a hey-are-you-decent.
Qhuinn stood in between the jambs, breathing hard, like he’d run down the hall of statues.
Damn, had Layla lost the pregnancy after all?
Those mismatched eyes searched around. “You by yourself?”
Why the hell would— Oh, Saxton. Right. “Yes—”
The male took three strides forward, reached up…and kissed the ever-loving shit out of Blay.
The kiss was the kind that you remembered all your life, the connection forged with such totality that everything from the feel of the body against your own, to the warm slide of another’s lips on yours, to the power as well as the control, was etched into your mind.
Blay didn’t ask any questions.
He just held on, slipping his arms around the other male, welcoming the tongue that entered him, kissing back even though he didn’t understand what had motivated this.
He probably should care. Probably should pull away.
Shoulda, woulda, coulda.
Whatever.
He was vaguely aware that the door was open into the hall, but he didn’t care—even though things were going to get pretty goddamn indiscreet pretty quick.
Except Qhuinn abruptly put the brakes on, ending the liplock and separating them. “Sorry. This isn’t why I came.”
The fighter was still panting, and that, as well as the burn in that incredible stare, was nearly enough for Blay to say something along the lines of, That’s fine, but can we finish what we started first.
Qhuinn walked back and shut the door. Then he shoved his hands into the pockets of his leathers—like it was either that or he was worried they might latch on again.
Fuck the pockets, Blay thought as he tried to subtly rearrange his erection. “What is it?” he asked.
“I know you went to see Payne.”
The words were spoken clearly and slowly—and they were the one thing that Blay couldn’t really handle. Breaking eye contact, he wandered around his room.
“You saved the pregnancy,” Qhuinn announced, the tone in his voice too close to awe for comfort.
“So she’s still okay?”
“You saved the—”
“Payne did.”
“V’s sister said it never would have dawned on her to try—until you went and talked with her.”
“Payne’s got some serious talent—”
Qhuinn was suddenly right in his way, a solid wall of muscle that there was no going through. Especially as the male reached up and brushed Blay’s cheek. “You saved my daughter.”
In the silence that followed, Blay knew he had something he was supposed to say. Yeah…it was right on his tongue. It was…
Shit. With Qhuinn looking at him like that, he couldn’t remember his own name. Blaysox? Blacklock? Blabberfox? Who the fuck knew…
“You saved my daughter,” Qhuinn whispered.
The words that came out of Blay’s mouth were ones he would later regret—because it was especially important, in light of the sex that seemed to be happening from time to time, to keep a distance.
But linked as they were, stare-to-stare, he was powerless to stop the truth. “How could I not try…it was killing you. I couldn’t not try something. Anything.”
Qhuinn’s lids closed briefly. And then he gathered Blay in an embrace that connected them from head to foot. “You’re always there for me, aren’t you.”
Talk about bittersweet: The reality that the male was going to form a family with someone else, with a female, with Layla, bit into the center of Blay’s chest.
It was his curse, in so many ways.
He released his arms from Qhuinn’s back and stepped off. “Well, I hope it—”
Before he could finish, Qhuinn was in front of him yet again, and those blue and green eyes were burning.
“What,” Blay said.
“I owe you…everything.”
For some reason, that hurt. Maybe because after years of trying to give himself to the guy, the gratitude was finally earned by helping him have a kid with someone else.
“Whatever, you’d have done the same for me,” he said roughly.
And yet even as he put that out there, he wasn’t sure. If someone attacked him? Well, sure, of course Qhuinn would back him up. But then again, the tough-edged SOB loved to fight and was a natural hero—that wasn’t anything about Blay.
Perhaps that was the point of this emptiness. Everything had always been on Qhuinn’s terms. The friendship. The distance. Even the sex.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Qhuinn asked.
“Like how.”
“As if I’m a stranger.”