Lover Reborn

“Have gotten out of there alive.” Blay rubbed the back of his neck. “Holy shit—you saved the king’s life.”

“Nah… lot of people… did that.”

Yeah, he wasn’t so sure about that. Back at Assail’s, it had been total chaos—the kind of out-of-control that easily cut both ways: had the Band of Bastards not retreated shortly after the Brotherhood arrived, there would have been heavy losses on both sides.

Staring down at Qhuinn, he had to wonder what kind of shape Xcor was in. If he looked like this? The bastard was at least the same, probably worse.

Blay shook himself, aware that he had been standing at the edge of the bed in silence. “Ah…”

Back long ago, a lifetime ago, there had never been silences between them. Except… they had been boys then. Not fully transitioned males.

Different standard, he supposed.

“I guess I should leave you,” he said. Without leaving.

This could so easily have gone a different way, he thought. Xcor’s ability to kill was well-known—not by Blay personally, but he’d heard the stories from the Old Country. Besides, for chrissakes, anyone with enough balls not only to talk about going against Wrath, but to actually put a bullet in the king?

Deadly or stupid. And the latter didn’t count in this case.

Qhuinn could easily have been hit by a lot more than multiple fists.

“Can I get you anything?” Blay said. Except, duh, the guy couldn’t eat, and he’d already been fed.

Layla had taken care of that.

Man, if he was brutally honest with himself—and it seemed as if brutally was the word of the day—there were times when he resented the Chosen, even though that was a colossal waste of emotion. He had no right to feel cranked, especially given what he and Saxton got up to on a very regular basis. Especially given that nothing was going to change on Qhuinn’s side.

You almost died tonight, he wanted to say. You dumb son of a bitch, you nearly died… and then what would we have done?

And not “we” as in the Brotherhood.

Not even “we” as in he and John. More like… “me.”

Shit, why did he keep coming back to this corner with this male?

It was just too stupid. Particularly as he stood over the guy, watching as more color came into that mangled face, and his breathing grew less labored, and the bruising faded even further… all thanks to Layla.

“I’d better go,” he said, without leaving.

That one eye, the blue one, just kept staring up at him. Bloodshot, with a cut across the brow above it, the thing shouldn’t have been able to focus. But it was.

“I have to go,” Blay said finally.

Without leaving.

Damn him, he didn’t know what the hell he was doing—

A tear escaped from that eye. Welling up along the lower lid, it coalesced at the far corner, formed a crystal circle, and grew so fat it couldn’t hold on to the lashes. Slipping free, it meandered downward, getting lost in dark hair at the temple.

Blay wanted to kick himself in his own ass. “Shit, let me get Doc Jane—you must be in pain. I’ll be right back.”

Qhuinn called out his name, but he was already turning away.

Idiot. Stupid-ass idiot. The poor male was there suffering on a hospital bed, looking like an extra on Sons of Anarchy—last thing he needed was company. More painkillers—that was what he required.

Jogging down the corridor, he found Doc Jane logged in at the clinic’s main computer, entering notes into medical records.

“Qhuinn needs a shot of something. Come quick, will you?”

The female was on it, snagging an old-fashioned doctor’s bag and going back down the hall with him.

While she went inside, Blay gave them some privacy, pacing back and forth in front of the door.

“How is he?”

Stopping and pivoting around, he tried to smile at Saxton—and failed. “He decided to be a hero… and I think he might have actually been one. But, God…”

The other male came forward, moving elegantly in his bespoke suit, his Cole Haan loafers making soft impacts, as if they were too refined to ever make much noise—even on linoleum.

He didn’t belong in the war. Never would.

He would never be like Qhuinn, jumping out of safety into the thick of a fight, going up against the enemy with his bare, clawing hands to take down an aggressor and serve him his own balls for lunch.

It was probably part of the reason Saxton was easier to deal with. No extremes. Plus the male was intelligent, refined, and funny… had lovely manners, and lots of exposure to the very best in life… always dressed well.…

Was fantastic in bed…

Why did it sound like he was trying to convince himself of something?

As he explained what had gone down in the field, Saxton stopped right up close, his Gucci cologne a calming scent. “I’m so sorry. You must be a mess in the head over it all.”

Annnnnd the male was a saint. A selfless saint. Never to be jealous?

Qhuinn wasn’t like that. Qhuinn was jealous and possessive as hell—

“Yes, I am,” Blay said. “A total wreck.”

Saxton reached out and took his hand, giving it a subtle squeeze and then retracting his warm, smooth palm.

Qhuinn was never that discreet about anything. He was a marching band, a Molotov cocktail, a bull in a china shop who didn’t care what kind of mess he made in his wake.

“Does the Brotherhood know?”

Blay shook himself. “I’m sorry?”

“What he did? Do they know?”

“Well, if they’ve heard about it, it wasn’t from him. John looked upset and I asked him—and that’s the way I heard the story.”

“You should tell Wrath… Tohr… someone. He should get credit for this—even though it’s not his style to care about that sort of nonsense.”

“You know him well,” Blay murmured.

“I do. And I know you just as well.” Saxton’s expression tightened, but he smiled nonetheless. “You need to take care of him in this.”

Doc Jane emerged from the room, and Blay wheeled around. “How’s he doing?”

“I’m not sure—what exactly did you think was wrong? He was resting comfortably when I went in there.”

Well, shit, he wasn’t about to say the male had been crying. But the fact of the matter was, Qhuinn would never have shown that kind of weakness unless he was in some serious pain.

“I guess I misread him.”

Over Jane’s shoulder, Blay happened to notice the way Saxton’s hand passed through the thick blond waves that were sculpted up off his forehead.

It was the strangest thing… Sax may have been related by blood to Qhuinn, but at the moment, he looked a lot like Blay had for years.

Then again, unrequited was the same, no matter the features that reflected the emotion.

Crap.

FORTY-FOUR