Jane’s frown was deep enough to wrinkle her forehead. “V never talks about the past. Ever. And he mentioned only once what happened to his—” She stopped there. In truth, however, there was no reason to go on as Payne knew too well that to which the female referred. “Maybe I should have pressed him, but I didn’t. Talking about deep stuff upsets him, so I’ve left it alone.”
“You know him well.”
“Yeah. And because I do, I’m worried about what he did tonight.”
Ah, yes. The bloodied lovers he favored.
Payne reached out and brushed the healer’s translucent arm—and was surprised to see that where she touched became corporeal. As Jane started, she apologized, but her twin’s mate shook her head.
“Please don’t. And it’s funny . . . only V can do that with me. Everyone else just passes through.”
And wasn’t there a metaphor in that.
Payne spoke clearly: “You are the right
Jane’s voice cracked. “But what if I can’t give him what he needs.”
Payne had no easy answer for that one. And before she could formulate some kind of response, Jane said, “I shouldn’t be talking to you like this. I don’t want you to worry about him and me, or put yourself in an awkward position.”
“We both love him and we know who he is so there is naught to be awkward about. And before you ask, I shall tell him nothing. We became sisters of one blood the moment you mated him, and I shall e’er hold your confidence close to my heart.”
“Thank you,” Jane said in a low voice. “Thank you a million times” over.”
In that moment, an accord was reached between them, the kind of wordless tie that was the strength and foundation of all family whether they be united by birthright or circumstance.
Such a strong female of worth, Payne thought.
Which reminded her. “My healer. What do you call him?”
“Your surgeon? You mean Manny—Dr. Manello?”
“Ah, yes. He gave me a message for you.” Jane seemed to stiffen. “He said he forgives you. For everything. I can only guess you know that to which he refers?”
Vishous’s mate exhaled, her shoulders easing. “God . . . Manny.” She shook her head. “Yes, yes, I do. I really hope he comes out of this okay. There’ve been a lot of memories erased in that head of his.”
Payne couldn’t agree more. “May I inquire . . . however do you know of him?”
“Manny? He was my boss for years. The best surgeon I ever worked with.”
“Is he mated?” Payne asked in a voice she hoped read as casual.
Now Jane laughed. “Not at all—although God knows there are always women around him.”
As a subtle growl pumped through the air, the good doctor blinked in surprise, and Payne quickly silenced the possessiveness she had no right to feel. “What . . . what kind of female does he favor?”
Jane rolled her eyes. “Blond, leggy, and busty. I don’t know if you’re familiar with Barbie, but that was always his type.”
Payne frowned. She was neither blond nor particularly busty . . . but leggy? She could do leggy—
Why was she even thinking like this?
Closing her eyes, she found herself praying that the male never, ever met the Chosen Layla. But how ridiculous was that—
Her twin’s mate gently patted her arm. “I know you’re exhausted so I’m going to let you rest. If you need me, just hit the red button on the rail and I’ll come right to you.”
Payne forced her lids up. “Thank you, healer. And worry not about my twin. He shall return to you afore the dawn’s call of light.”
“I hope so,” Jane said. “I really do. . . . Listen, you rest and then later this afternoon, we’ll start some PT on you.”
Payne bid the female good day and closed her eyes once more.
Left by herself, she found herself understanding how the female felt about the idea of Vishous being with another. Images of her healer around the likes of the Chosen Layla made her sick to her stomach—even though there was no cause for the indigestion.
What a mess she was in. Stuck upon this hospital bed, her mind tangled in thoughts of a male she had no right to on so many levels . . .
And yet the idea of his sharing that sexual energy with anyone but her made her downright violent. To think that there were other females around her healer, seeking what he had seemed prepared to give her, wanting that straining length at his hips and the pressure of his lips against their mouths—
When she growled again, she knew it was for the best that she had let that card with his information go. Else she would have wrought carnage upon the lovers he took.
After all, she had no problems killing.
As history had well proven.
THIRTEEN
Qhuinn entered the mansion through the vestibule. Which was a mistake.
He should have gone into the mansion through the garage, but the truth was, those coffins stacked up in the corner freaked him out. He always expected their lids to open and some kind of
He so needed to get over being a pussy, however.
Courtesy of his case of the nancys, the instant he pushed his way into the foyer, he got a clear shot at Blaylock and Saxton coming down the grand staircase, the two of them all
Frankly, that would have made things a lot easier.
For fuck’s sake, he wished one of the SOBs would RuPaul their shit and go all feather boa and fingernail polish. But no. They just kept looking like two too-hot males who knew how to spend their money at Saks . . . while he, on the other hand, gutter-snaked it up in his leathers and his muscle shirts—and in the case of tonight, sported hair styled by rough sex, and cologne, if you could call it that, from the same line of slut-care products.
Then again, he was willing to bet all that separated them from the state he was in was a hot, soapy shower and a visit to the ol’ closet: Dollars to licks they’d been in a clinch all night. They were looking far too satisfied as they headed for a meal they were no doubt starved for.
As they hit the mosaic depiction of an apple tree in full bloom, Blay’s set of blues shifted over and pulled a head-to-heel on Qhuinn. The guy’s face didn’t show any reaction. Not anymore.
That old flare of pain was nowhere in sight—and not because Qhuinn’s recreations weren’t perfectly frickin’ obvi.
Saxton said something and Blay looked away . . . and there it was. A blush on that lovely pale skin as blue eyes met gray ones.
Avoiding the whole dining room scene, he headed for the door beneath the stairs and put the thing to good use. The instant it closed behind him, the chatty patter of people talking was cut off and silent darkness rushed up to greet him. Which was more like it.
Down the shallow stairs. Through another coded door. Into the underground tunnel that ran from the main house to the training center. And now that he was alone, he ran out of gas, making it only about two feet before his legs stopped working and he had to lean against the smooth wall. Letting his head fall back, he closed his eyes . . . and wanted to put a gun to his temple.
He’d had that redhead back at the Iron Mask.
Had that hetero good and hard.
