A Warm Heart in Winter(61)

Taking a deep breath, Blay caught the faded scents of cleanliness and habit.

Death was so strange. When it claimed its prey, there was a hard stop to the heart, the lungs, the body itself. But the artifacts of a person had a kind of kinetic motion that kept them going forward, at least for a little while. Clothes, shoes, medicines, bath products, subscriptions to things . . . all of that detritus of life was like loose objects in a car that had hit a brick wall, still banging around the interior.

Until they were dealt with, given away, put to use by someone else, thrown out, canceled.

Life should be more permanent than a tube of toothpaste with three inches left in its belly, he thought.

Blay rubbed the ache in the center of his chest. Then again, that was what the heart was for. The dead were immortal in the souls of those they left behind, and the payment for that permanence was pain.

As his phone went off with a text, he turned back to Manny. “Just make sure no one gets in here, okay? Please.”

Manny placed his right hand over his sternum. “You have my word.”





Qhuinn was sitting by the side of the tub when he heard the bedroom door open and close. The footfalls that came across the Persian carpet were soft, and there was a hesitation before Blay leaned inside the marble expanse.

The sight of that red hair and those blue eyes, of the clothes that Qhuinn had watched the male put on earlier in the night, of his mate’s expression of wary sadness, made a wave of emotion crest. But he fought the feelings back, stopping the weakness by recalling that when the dressing had occurred, when he had enjoyed the sight of his mate’s naked body in the walk-in closet . . . everything had been different.

The world had been totally altered.

Luchas had been dead for nearly twenty-four hours then frozen in the snow in that black robe. Just no one had known it yet.

Abruptly, Qhuinn had a chilling thought. How many other horrible truths were lurking around the corners of time, waiting to jump out into his path and ruin his sense that life was okay? Disease, an errant bullet in the field, someone else’s choices that cratered his own— Lyric let out a string of babble, and Blay’s stare went over to her.

“It’s our bath night,” Qhuinn said roughly. “I didn’t want you to miss it.”

“I am so glad you texted me.”

Blay kicked off his loafers and came in on bare feet. Lowering himself down at the other end of the tub, he cupped some water and poured it over Rhamp’s shoulders.

“Have you done shampoo?” he asked.

Even as the question was posed, Qhuinn knew his mate was already well aware of the answer. Blay would have smelled the Aveeno if it had been used . . . but sometimes, when there was too much to say, words were hard to come by.

So you just tossed some out there because it was the best you could do.

“No, not yet.” Qhuinn nodded at the baby wash. “Do you want the bottle?”

“Sure.”

Qhuinn passed the thing over. “Where did your socks go?”

“What?” Blay looked at his feet. “Oh. Um . . . they’re around somewhere.”

“You never wear socks in the summer with those shoes. In the winter, you always do.”

“I was unaware of being so consistent.”

“It’s one of your best traits.” Qhuinn patted the water with his palm in front of Lyric, and in response, she mimicked him. “And not one of mine. I’m sorry I pushed you away. Down in the foyer.”

“There’s no need to apologize.”

“Yes, there is. I just . . . I wasn’t in my right mind.”

However, he had no regrets about lashing out at the angel. Every time he thought about Luchas’s choice unfairly locking the male out of the Fade, he felt that fury threaten to return.

“It’s okay,” Blay said as he flipped the baby blue top open. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now.”

“Neither can I.” Lyric grabbed his thumb and played at the surface of the tub with his hand. “Sorry, that makes no sense, does it. I mean . . . I’m not even sure where I am at the moment. That’s why it’s good to have bath time. I know bath time.”

The Aveeno made a whoopee cushion noise as Blay squeezed the bottle over Rhamp’s head, and the young laughed and reached for it.

“Close the top and let him have it,” Qhuinn said. “Let’s see what he does with the thing.”

Sure enough. Right in the mouth.

“Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best idea. Should have seen that coming.”

“I don’t think it can hurt him,” Blay hedged.

“Neither do I.”

Blay sat up on his knees and got with the washing program, sudsing up that dark cap of hair, rinsing things with the soft pitcher that was pink. Then it was time for the washcloth, Rhamp’s sturdy little body getting a vigorous scrubbing.

“She took them to see him,” Qhuinn murmured.

“Huh?” Blay doused the kid with more water, pouring it over Rhamp’s shoulders. “What was that?”

“Layla took them to Luchas.”

Blay paused. “She did . . . ?”

Qhuinn nodded. “Bless her. She’s a good female. Xcor is a lucky male.”

“He is.” Blay lowered the pitcher. “Did she say anything about . . . how he was?”