SIXTY-TWO
Qhuinn was pretty certain he was in a parallel universe. Because there was no way that Layla was going into her needing… and turning to him to see her through it.
Nah.
This was just a mirror image of the way the real world was—a world where the biologically pure stuck to themselves so that they created generations of biologically pure and therefore superior young.
“Service me and give us something that is ours—” The hormones in her cranked up to a newer, higher level, cutting off her voice. It soon came back, however, with the same words. “Service me.…”
As he started to pant, it was unclear whether that was the sex in his blood, or the vertigo created by this unexpected cliff he was hanging off of.
The answer was no, of course. No, absolutely not, no children ever, certainly not with someone he wasn’t in love with, certainly not with a virgin Chosen.
No.
No…
Fuck, no, shit, no, God, no, damn it to hell,
“Qhuinn…” she groaned. “You’re my only hope, and I yours.…”
Well, actually, that wasn’t true—at least the first part. Any other male in the house—or on the planet—could take care of this. And of course, right afterward, they would be answerable to the Primale.
Not a conversation he was going to volunteer for.
Except… well, she was right about the second part. In her delirium, in her desperation, she was voicing the same thing he’d been thinking for months now. Like her, he had nothing that was really his, no prospects of true love, no abiding reason to rise each sunset other than the war. What kind of life was that?
Fine, he told himself. Go get a goddamned dog. The answer to all that was
“Qhuinn… please…”
“Listen, let me get you to Doc Jane. She’ll take care of you the right way—”
Layla shook her head wildly. “No. I need you.”
From out of nowhere, he thought, Young were a future that was your own. If you parented them well, they never truly left you—and they could not be taken away from you if you kept them safe.
Hell, if Layla conceived, even the Primale couldn’t do shit, because Qhuinn would be… the father. Which in vampire terms was the ultimate trump short of the king—and Wrath wouldn’t touch something private like this.
On the other hand, if she didn’t fall pregnant, they would likely beat the ever-loving balls off him for soiling a sacred female—
Wait a minute. Was he actually considering this?
“
He could love a young, he thought. Love it with everything he was and ever would be. Love it as he had loved no other, even Blay.
Closing his eyes briefly, he went back in time to the night he had died and gone up to the door of the Fade. He thought about that image he had seen, that little female.…
Oh, Jesus…
“Layla,” he said roughly, as he put her back on her feet. “Layla, look at me.
As he shook her, she seemed to gather herself, focusing on his face as she gripped his upper arms with her nails. “Yes…”
“Are you sure. Are you positive—you need to be sure—”
For the briefest of moments, a completely lucid, rather ancient expression cut through her tortured, beautiful features. “Yes, I am sure. Let us do what we must. For the future.”
He searched her face carefully, just to be sure. Phury was going to be pissed, but then, even Chosen had the right to choose—and she was picking him, right here, right now: As all he saw was an abiding resolution, he nodded once, picked her back up into his arms, and strode out of the kitchen.
His only thought, as he hit the bottom of the grand staircase, was that they were going to conceive in the next few hours, and both the young and Layla were going to live through everything: the pregnancy, the birthing, and those critical few hours thereafter.
He and Layla were going to bring into the world a daughter.
A fair-haired daughter with eyes that were shaped like his, and at first colored like the Chosen’s… before they changed to be as the blue and green of his own.
He was going to have a family of his own.
A future of his own.
Finally.
As Xhex stepped out of the shower, she knew John had returned, because she caught his scent as well as the smell of something frickin’ delicious. Reapplying the cilices she’d removed to get cleaned up, she wrapped a towel around herself and padded out into the bedroom.
“Oh, man, turkey,” she said as he set up a lap tray for her.
Glancing over, his eyes lingered on her body like he wanted to eat her instead, but then he just smiled and went back to his ministrations with what he’d brought them both.
“This is perfect timing,” she murmured as she got on the bed. “I’m starved.”
After everything was set up properly, from the napkin to the silverware to the glass and covered plate, he brought the tray over to her, placing it across her thighs. Then he retreated to the other side of the room to have his own food at the chaise lounge.
Would he rather be feeding her by hand? she wondered as they ate in silence. Vampire males liked to do that… but she’d never had the patience for it. Food was energy for the body, not something to get all Valentine’s Day about.
Guess they were both capable of closing each other out, weren’t they. And something was up: His grid was conflicted, to the point where his emotions were nearly frozen.
“I’ll leave,” she said sadly. “After I check in on my mother, I’ll go—”
“You sure about that.” When he nodded, she had to wonder, given what his grid was up to.
But come on, a couple of hours in the sack were not going to close the kind of distance they had been rocking lately—
Abruptly, he took a deep breath and stopped playing with what was on his plate.
She put down her fork and wondered how bad this was going to hurt. “Okay.”
“What the f— I’m sorry, did I hear you right?” As he nodded, she thought, Right, she’d known there was drama going down in the theater district, but she never would have guessed it was that serious.
“Jesus…” Like the king needed another reason to kill that motherfucker?
Xhex forgot all about the food, adrenaline rocketing through her body. “Oh, man, if I can just get her in range… How long ago did she feed him?”
“Shit. Time’s wasting.” She burst up and went for her leather pants, picking them up off the floor. Damn it,
