Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(174)

fulfilled.

Nostalgia dropped its rose-tinted lens and through it he saw back to all those nights at Blay's, the two of them sitting on the floor at the end of the bed, playing PS2, drinking beer, watching vids. There had been serious and important shit to talk about then, things like what was doing in training classes and what game was coming out over the human Christmas season and who was hotter, Angelina Jolie or anybody else in a skirt.

Angelina had always won. And Lash had always been an *. And

Mortal Kombat had still ruled back then.

God, they hadn't even had Guitar Hero World Tour out in those days.

The thing was, he and Blay had always seen eye-to-eye, and in

Qhuinn's world, where everyone hated his ass, having someone who

understood him and accepted him as he was . . . It had been a shaft of tropical sunlight in the North f*cking Pole.

Now, though . . . it was hard to comprehend how they'd started out so 442

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close. He and Blay were on two different paths. . . . Having once had everything in common, now they had nothing except the enemy--and even there, Qhuinn had to stick with John, so it wasn't like he and Blay were partners.

Shit, the adult in him recognized that this was the way some things

went. But the child in him mourned the loss more than--

There was a click and the breaking of a weather seal.

From out of a dark room that was not his own, Blay stepped onto the

terrace. He was wearing a black silk dressing robe and was in bare feet, his hair wet from the shower.

There were bite marks on his neck.

He stopped as Qhuinn stood up from the balustrade.

"Oh . . . hey," Blay said, and immediately glanced back as if making sure the door he'd come through was shut.

Saxton was in there, Qhuinn thought. Sleeping on sheets they'd

messed up royally.

"I was just going back inside," Qhuinn said, jabbing over his shoulder with his thumb. "It's too cold to be out here for long."

Blay crossed his arms over his chest and looked out over the view.

"Yes. It's chilly."

After a moment, the guy stepped over toward the balustrade and the

scent of his soap burrowed into Qhuinn's nose.

Neither of them moved.

Before he left, Qhuinn cleared his throat and threw himself off a

bridge: "Was it okay. Did he treat you right?"

God, his voice was hoarse.

Blay took a deep breath. Then nodded. "Yeah. It was good. It was . . .

right."

Qhuinn's eyes shifted away from his buddy--and just happened to

measure the distance down to the stone patio below. Hmm . . . doing a swan dive onto all that slate might just get the images of those two out of his head.

Of course, it would also turn his brain into scrambled eggs, but really, was that such a bad thing?

Saxton and Blay . . . Blay and Saxton . . .

Shit, he'd been quiet awhile. "I'm glad. I want you to be . . . happy."

Blay didn't comment on that, but instead murmured, "He was grateful, by the way. For what you did. Thought it was a little overkill, but . . . he said you always were secretly chivalrous."

Oh, yeah. Totally. That shit was his middle name, riiiiiight.

Wonder what the guy would think if he knew Qhuinn wanted to drag

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him out of the house by all that gorgeous blond hair. Maybe stretch him flat on the pea gravel by the fountain and run him over with the Hummer a

couple of times.

Actually, no, gravel wasn't the right surface. Better to drive the

Hummer right into the foyer and do it there. You wanted something really hard beneath the body--like you would if you were pounding a cutlet on a cutting board.

He's your cousin, for godsakes, a small voice in him pointed out.

And . . . ? the larger half of him countered.

Before he totally freaked out and rocked a multiple personality

disorder, he stepped back from the balustrade--and the whole homicidal thing. "Well, I'd better go. I'm heading out with John and Xhex."

"I'll be down in ten minutes. Just need to change."

As Qhuinn looked at his best friend's handsome face, he felt as if he'd never not known that red hair, those blue eyes, those lips, that jaw. And it was because of their long history that he searched for something to say, something that would get them back to where they had been.

All that came to him was . . . I miss you. I miss you so f*cking bad it hurts, but I don't know how to find you even though you're right in front of me.

"Okay," Qhuinn said. "See you down at First Meal."

"Okay."

Qhuinn got his ass in gear and walked over to the door to his room. As he slid his grip around the cold brass handle, his voice rang out of his throat, loud and clear: "Blay."

"Yeah?"

"You take care of yourself."

Now Blay's voice was hoarse to the point of cracking. "Yeah. You, too."

Because of course, "take care of you" was what Qhuinn always said when he was letting someone go.

He went back inside and shut the door. Moving mechanically, he got

the holsters for his daggers and his guns and picked up his leather jacket.

Funny, he could barely remember losing his virginity. He recalled the female, of course, but the experience hadn't made any kind of indelible impression. Neither had the orgasms he'd given and gotten since. Just a lot of fun, lot of sweaty gasping, lot of targets identified and realized.