“I just walked down the hall toward the gym—”

“We can move some equipment to the house,” Qhuinn suggested. “You know, monitoring stuff. That kind of thing. Besides, it won’t be for long.”

Doc Jane shook her head like she couldn’t believe she’d heard him correctly. “An OR? You think we can move an OR up there? I don’t mean to be alarmist—but she’s carrying twins, Qhuinn. Twins.”

“I know.” Qhuinn’s mismatched eyes locked on the doctor’s. “I’m fully aware of what is at stake. And so are you.”

Doc Jane opened her mouth. Then hesitated. “Listen, I’m going to take these to my office. Meet me there, okay?”

As the doctor took off, Layla stared at Qhuinn. “Who else is down here.”

Qhuinn put his hand on her shoulder. “No one, why do you ask?”

“Please. Just tell me.’”

“It’s nothing. I don’t know what she’s talking about. Let’s get you settled.”

“You don’t have to protect me.”

Those dark brows got so tight, he wasn’t frowning; he was glaring. “Really. Really?”

Layla exhaled and put her hand on her belly. “I’m sorry.”

“Shit, no, don’t apologize.” He pushed his hair back, and for the first time, she got a good look at the black bags under his eyes. “Everyone is . . . you know, it’s the war. It’s so fucking stressful.”

Putting his arm around her shoulders, he led her into her room and back to the bed where he set her down as if she were made of porcelain.

“I’ll come check on you at the end of my—later. Ah, I’ll be back later.” He smiled in a way that did not reach his eyes. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

As the familiar waves of guilt and fear crested over her, Layla couldn’t say anything, her jaw literally locking place and her lips squeezing tight. But what could she do? If she told him that she knew Xcor was here . . .

Well, he’d want to know how. And it would be impossible to lie to him and tell him that it was from her having fed the Bastard all those months before . . . back when she’d been duped by Xcor’s soldier into going out to that meadow to take care of what she had assumed was a civilian fighter working with the Brotherhood. She had already confessed her unintentional sin to the King; what she hadn’t told anyone was that she had gone on to meet Xcor many times after that—ostensibly to keep him from attacking the compound when he’d discovered its location.

In truth, it was because she had fallen in love with him.

And the fact that the visits had ended? The reality that Xcor himself had been the one to terminate the meetings? That hardly mattered.

The truth was that she had craved that time with him. And that was her treason, regardless of how much she had tried to paint herself as a victim.

“Layla?”

With a curse, she shook herself back into focus. “I’m sorry? What?”

“Are you all right?”

“No. I mean—yes, yes, I am.” She put her hands on the small of her back and stretched. “I’m just tired. It’s the pregnancy. But everything’s fine.”

Qhuinn stared at her for a long moment, his mismatched eyes searching her face. “Will you call me? Even if you’re just . . . you know, going stir crazy?”

“I will. I promise.”

As the door closed behind him, she knew what he was going to do. He was going to go talk to the other Brothers—if he hadn’t already done so. And soon, very soon, she was going to find that she no longer sensed Xcor’s presence.

Either because she was relocated or he was.

Putting her head in her hands, she tried to breathe and found that it was impossible. Her throat was tight, her ribs were like iron bars, her lungs were burning. She just kept telling herself that getting upset was not going to help things. It certainly wasn’t going to be good for her or the pregnancy.

Besides, she wasn’t meeting Xcor anymore.

Because that was what happened when you called a male on his feelings. Or at least, a male like him.

And he hadn’t attacked the compound—

Unless that was how he’d been captured? Oh, dearest Virgin Scribe, had he brought his soldiers here with arms? Had that been the chaos of the evening before?

Her mind promptly went into a tailspin, her thoughts merging together in patterns that made no sense thanks to too much velocity, and not enough proper reasoning.

Sometime later, she dropped her arms, and glanced across at the bathroom door. It was a hundred miles away. But she did have to pee, and maybe some cold water on her face would help her calm down.

Shifting her legs off the mattress, she steadied herself on her feet and—

Wetness. There was . . . an abrupt wetness between her thighs.

Her hands went to the front of her nightgown as she looked down.

And screamed.

TWENTY-THREE

Upstairs in his glass house, Assail took a shower that lasted nearly a lifetime.

The black out panels had come down over the windows, so it was dark, nothing but the glowing light switches with their little peach-colored toggle heads orienting him. The water was blistering hot, and as he dropped his head back, he swept his hair flat to his skull. His body was in a post-feeding, post-fucking float, even his addiction quieting down.

Although the latter was probably due to the three lines he’d done as soon as he’d come up here.

Strike the probably.

He had fucked Naasha a number of times, and roughly, too, so his lower back was tight. His cock was exhausted. His balls, empty and then some.

There was no joy in his heart. None. That was not unusual, however. And the shampoo and soap did naught to make him feel cleaner, likely because the dirt he was coated with was not on his exterior. But he could not say that he was unfamiliar with that, either.

Still, all was not lost. There was work to be done.

When Assail had endeavored to come unto the New World, he had not made the trip alone. His cousins, Ehric and Evale, had traveled with him, and they had proven to be steadfast and loyal aides throughout his business endeavors. Staying with him here, they had never failed him—and he was going to need them once again.

For something they were rather likely to enjoy.

Naasha, as want would have it, had several friends of hers in a similar situation—females of the glymera who were unable to be attended to properly by their older hellren and were looking for certain . . . releases . . . that were unavailable to them. And although his cousins had retired to their basement suites by the time Assail had returned home, he was confident that he had volunteered the pair for work they would be quite happy to perform.

Because Wrath had been right.

Things were indeed afoot in the aristocracy.

Assail could sense it sure as a scent upon the night air. He just knew not what yet. Time, and sex, was going to fix that, however.

Stepping out of the shower, he appreciated the thick, warm pile of the bath mat beneath his feet and dried off with a towel heated upon a bar next to the shower enclosure. Indeed, he had purchased the mansion fully furnished from its builder, and all had been considered and attended to in the construction and kitting out of the house. Every luxury provided. Not a penny spared.

The place seemed utterly empty, however, in spite of its three occupants. Rather like the inside of his skin, wasn’t it. A thing of refinement and beauty on the exterior, yet soulless inside.

For a brief interlude, things had not been as such. In both cases.

But that time had passed.

Out in his bedroom, he got in between his silk sheets naked and made a mental note to switch them out at nightfall. Although it was not traditional for a male of his station, he had grown used to attending to his own baths and dressings, changing his sheets, washing his clothes. There was a strange comfort to taking care of such simple things, a start and finish to each endeavor from which he derived a certain satisfaction.