Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(163)

Could recite the days of her history thus far.

And yet, she felt as though she had not a clue as to who she truly was.

In many ways, more than she took comfort in adding up, she was naught but this echo on the surface of the pool, an image that lacked depth and

substance . . . and would leave nothing of permanence in her wake when she departed.

As Layla came up from behind her, she met the female's eyes in the

mirror of the water.

Later, she would consider that Layla's smile was what changed

everything. Even though of course, 'twas more than that . . . but her sister's radiant expression was what ultimately cast her upon the winds of change, the subtle push that had her tumbling off the cliff.

That smile was real.

"Greetings, my sister," Layla said. "I have been searching for you."

"And alas you have found me." Payne forced herself to turn about and stare up at the Chosen. "Please. Sit and join me. I infer from your good cheer that your time with the male continues apace."

Layla lowered herself for but a moment, and then her kinetic joy had

her up on her feet again. "Oh, yes, indeed. Indeed, yes. He is to call me anon this day and I shall go to him again. Oh, dearest sister, you cannot

imagine . . . what it is like to be held within a circle of fire and yet emerge unscathed and o'erjoyed. 'Tis a miracle. A blessing."

Payne turned back to the water and watched as her own brows

tightened. "May I ask you something intrusive."

"Of course, my sister." Layla came over and settled once more on the pool's white marble edge. "Anything."

"Are you thinking of mating him? Not just mating with him--but

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becoming his shellan?"

"Well, yes. Of course I am. But I am waiting to find the right time to broach it."

"What shall you do . . . if he says no?" When Layla's face froze, as if she had never considered such a thing, Payne felt as though she had crushed a rosebud in her palm. "Oh, damn me... I don't mean to upset you. I just--"

"No, no." Layla took a bracing breath. "I am well aware of the construction of your heart and you have not a cruel chamber within it.

Which in truth is why I feel as though I may speak with such candor to you."

"Please forget I asked."

Now Layla stared into the pool. "I . . . we have yet to actually have relations."

Payne's brows popped. Verily, if just the precursor to the actual event was eliciting such elation, the act itself must be incredible.

At least for a female like the one before her.

Layla brought her arms around herself, no doubt because she was

remembering the feel of another, stronger set. "I have wanted to, but he holds back. I hope . . . I believe it is because he wishes to mate me properly first, in ceremony."

Payne felt the awful weight of premonition. "Beware, sister. You are a gentle soul."

Layla got to her feet, her smile now saddened. "Yes, I am. But I would rather my heart be broken than unopened and I know that one must ask if one is to receive."

The female was so certain and steadfast that in the shadow of her

courage, Payne felt small. Small and weak.

Just who was she? A reflection? Or a reality?

Abruptly, she stood up. "Will you permit me my leave?"

Layla seemed surprised and bowed low. "But of course. And please, I mean no offense by my ramblings--"

On impulse, Payne embraced the other Chosen. "You have given

none. Worry not. And best of luck with your male. Verily, he would be blessed to have you."

Before anything more could be said, Payne walked off, moving

quickly past the dorm and surmounting with ever gathering speed the hill that led up to the Primale Temple. Going beyond that sacred bedding place, which was never used anymore, she entered her mother's marble courtyard and strode down the colonnade.

The modestly sized door that marked the Scribe Virgin's private

quarters was not what one would expect to herald such a devine space. But 417

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then when the whole world was yours, you had nothing to prove, did you.

Payne did not knock. Given what she was about to do, the

inappropriateness of bursting in uninvited was going to be so far down her list of sins, it was barely going to count as one.

"Mother," she demanded as she stepped into the empty white room.

There was a long wait before she was answered and the voice that

came to her was disembodied. "Yes, daughter."

"Let me out of here. Now."

Whatever consequence came upon her head from this renewed

confrontation was better than such a castrated existence.

"Throw me out," she reiterated to the blank walls and the nonair. "Let me go. I shall never return herein if that is your wish. But I shall not stay here anon."

In a flash of light, the Scribe Virgin appeared before her without the black robing she usually wore. Indeed, Payne was quite sure no one ever saw her mother as she truly was, energy without form.

Bright no longer, however. Dim now, barely more than a ripple of

heat to the eye.

The difference was arresting and tempered Payne's rage. "Mother . . .