Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(79)

To give them privacy, he headed for the door, and just as he was

ducking out, Xhex said, "Will you be back?"

At first, he thought she was talking to Rehv but then the male snagged his arm and stopped him. "My man? You coming back?"

John glanced over to the bed. He'd managed to forget his pad and pen

on the little side table, so he just nodded.

"Soon?" Xhex said. "Because I don't feel tired and I want to learn sign language."

John nodded again and then knuckle-tapped with Rehvenge before

heading out into the OR.

As he walked by the empty gurney, he was glad that V had finished

cleaning up and wasn't around. Because for the life of him, John wouldn't have been able to hide the smile on his face.

In silence, Blay walked side by side with Qhuinn through the

underground tunnel that led between the training center and the mansion's foyer.

The sounds of their two sets of shitkickers mingled, but that was it.

Neither he nor Qhuinn said anything. And there was no touching.

Absolutely no touching.

A while ago, before his big admission to the guy, before things had

broken down between them, Blay would simply have asked what was on

Qhuinn's mind because clearly he was in a churn about something. Now, though, what would have once been just an afterthought seemed like an 206

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inappropriate intrusion.

As they came out through the hidden door under the mansion's grand

staircase, Blay found himself dreading the rest of the night.

Sure, there wasn't much left to it, but two hours could seem like a

lifetime under the right circumstances. Or the wrong ones, as the case was.

"Layla should be waiting for us," Qhuinn said as he went to the foot of the stairs.

Oh . . . great. Just the kind of diversion he was looking for.

Not. After having seen the way that Chosen stared at Qhuinn, he just didn't feel up to getting a boatload of that shy crushing again. Especially not tonight. The near miss with Xhex had left him curiously raw.

"You coming?" Qhuinn asked, his frown pulling in the piercing on his left eyebrow.

Blay flicked his stare down to the hoop that rounded the guy's full

lower lip.

"Blay? You okay? Look, I think you need to feed, buddy. Lot been going down lately."

Buddy . . . Christ, he hated that word.

But f*ck him, he needed to get a grip. "Yeah. Sure."

Qhuinn gave him an odd look. "My bedroom or yours?"

Blay laughed harshly and started up the stairs. "Does it really matter?"

"No."

"Exactly."

When they got to the second floor, they went past Wrath's study, the

doors of which were shut, and headed down the hall of statues.

Qhuinn's room was the first they came to, but Blay pressed on,

thinking that something could finally be on his turf, his terms.

Opening the door wide, he left the thing as it was and ignored the soft clicking sound when Qhuinn shut them in together.

In the bathroom, Blay went to the sink, turned on the faucet and bent over, splashing his face. He was drying himself off when he caught the scent of cinnamon and knew Layla had arrived.

Bracing his palms on the marble, he leaned into his arms and sagged.

Out in his room, he heard their voices mingling, the lower and the higher trading places for airtime.

Throwing the towel down, he turned and went to face the music:

Qhuinn was on the bed, his back against the headboard, his boots crossed, his fingers linked over his thick chest as he smiled over at the Chosen. Layla was flushed as she stood next to him, her eyes on the carpet, her smaller, daintier hands twisting in front of her.

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As Blay came in, the two of them looked over at him. Layla's

expression didn't change. Qhuinn's did, though, closing up tight.

"Who goes first?" Blay asked, approaching them.

"You," Qhuinn muttered. "You go."

Blay wasn't about to hop on the bed, so he went over to the chaise and sat down on the foot of it. Layla drifted toward him and sank to her knees before him.

"Sire," she said, offering her wrist.

The TV flipped on and the channels started changing as Qhuinn

clicked the whacker at the screen. He settled on Spike and a replay of UFC

63 Hughes vs. Penn.

"Sire?" Layla said.

"Forgive me." Blay leaned down, taking that slender forearm in his big palms, holding firmly but without too much pressure. "I thank you for your gift."

He struck as gently as he could and winced as she jumped ever so

slightly. He would have retracted his fangs from her to apologize, but that would have required another puncture when he resumed drawing against her vein.

As he fed, his eyes flicked to the bed. Qhuinn was all about the MMA

fight on the screen, his right hand lifted and curled into a fist.

"Fuckin' A," the guy muttered. "That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!"

Blay concentrated on what he was doing and finished up quickly. As

he released, he looked into Layla's lovely face. "You have been so gracious, as always."