“Here’s Baby A.” She moved the wand across Layla’s swollen belly to the side. “And here’s Baby B.”

Whumpa-whumpa-whumpa . . . plus an arm was moving—which was something she could also feel.

Layla collapsed against the pillow. “Blessed Virgin Scribe.”

“So, yes, I’m sure,” the doctor concluded. “When you stood up, you lost control of your bladder and that was the wetness you felt. It’s not uncommon at all—as the babies get bigger, they press on things that don’t appreciate it, and there you go.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be getting out of bed at all.”

Doc Jane removed the reader thingy, wiped it off, and returned the wand to the machine’s little holder. Then she typed a couple of notes on the keyboard and shut the ultrasound down. Taking some tissues, she mopped up Layla’s stomach with careful, firm strokes.

“I think you’re doing fine. Clinically, everything is where it needs to be. I wouldn’t suggest taking up beach volleyball, but I don’t think stretching your legs down here twice a day increases your risk for early labor. I really don’t want you moving up to the big house, though.”

Closing her eyes, Layla told herself to believe the healer. Doc Jane had never steered anyone wrong, and the female did know what she was talking about.

“Layla, if I honestly thought there was something going on, I’d tell you. I treat my patients the way I’d want to be treated, and if there’s a threat to your health or that of those babies in there? You’d be the first to know.”

“Thank you.” Layla reached out and put her hand on Doc Jane’s arm. “Don’t tell, Qhuinn, okay? I just . . . I don’t want to alarm him.”

“There’s nothing to be alarmed about.” Doc Jane gave her a pat and stood up. “So there’s nothing to tell him. Hey, guess what—I got two early Christmas presents. I know it’s a human holiday, but do you mind if I show them off?”

“Indeed, please do.” Layla grunted as she sat up and closed the halves of her robe across her enormous belly. “What are they?”

“Stay here.”

Layla laughed a little. “As if I am going anywhere fast?”

As the doctor disappeared through a side door, Layla shifted her legs off the exam table and stared at the ultrasound machine. Even though there was nothing showing on the monitor, she pictured what she’d seen there. The life inside of her. The two lives.

All was well. And that was all that mattered.

“Ta-da!”

Glancing over, Layla straightened. “It’s a . . .”

“Neonatal incubator.” Doc Jane made like Vanna White, showing off the features of the equipment—which rather looked like a large warming drawer with clear plastic sides. “Climate-controlled. Blue light up here. Ready access. Built-in scale. It’s the next-best thing to your tummy and I have two of them.”

Layla swallowed. “I should have liked a bassinet.”

“Oh . . . shoot.” Doc Jane started rolling the thing out. “I’m so sorry. The physician in me—”

“No, no!” She held her hands forward. “I’m just—no, it’s good. Honestly! Safety first—I don’t get a bassinet at all if they don’t make it after the birth, do I.”

Doc Jane laid a hand on the lid. “This is state-of-the-art equipment, Layla. I’m thrilled because we all want those two out and safe, to use Butch terms.”

“Thank you.” Layla put her palm over her heart. “I really can’t thank you enough for everything. I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful.”

“Let’s save the gratitude for when everyone survives and thrives.” Doc Jane looked down at the belly she and everyone else was so concerned with. “You’re right on the cusp. If you can keep them in a little longer, their lungs will be developed enough so that if you do go early, they’ll have a fighting chance. I’ll feel better if you can make it another ten days or two weeks—that’s all. Then if anything happens? I’m confident we can see them through. After all, although vampire pregnancies are typically eighteen months, according to Havers, at nine months, the lungs can function if they have to.”

“That’s good news.”

“And listen, if we have to bring Havers in, we will. In fact, I think Butch would love to put a bag over the guy’s head and drag him here—preferably behind a car.”

Layla laughed. “Yes.”

Doc Jane grew serious. “There are risks, Layla. But I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure you have both of those young safely.”

“That makes two of us.”

Doc Jane came over and the two of them hugged. And as the doctor was pulling away, Layla meant to let the female go on about her duties.

Instead, she heard herself say, “May I ask you something? Is there . . . is someone else down here? I mean, aside from Luchas and myself?”

The doctor’s face went professionally pleasant, her smile belying a certain distance. “What makes you say that?”

Definitely not a “no.” “When I went for my stroll, Qhuinn redirected me away from the shooting range. It seemed like the Brothers were guarding someone down there? And last night I heard a lot of commotion out in the corridor. I know Rhage was recovering from the beast having come out, but wouldn’t a prisoner or something like that explain all the coming and going?”

“Actually, Rhage was shot in the chest—and died for a moment on the battlefield.”

Layla recoiled. “Oh . . . dearest Virgin Scribe, no!”

“He’s fine now, though.”

“Thank goodness. He is indeed a male of great worth.” Layla narrowed her eyes. “But there is someone else down here, isn’t there.”

“I’m afraid I really can’t comment.”

Layla ran her hands over her belly. “The Brotherhood’s business affects all of us. And I really resent the idea that just because I’m a female I somehow can’t ‘handle it.’ Protection is fine, but total insulation is an insult.”

Doc Jane cursed. “Look, Layla, I get where you’re coming from. But if you’re worried about your safety, don’t be. The male is in a coma right now, and V says they’re moving him at nightfall. So you and Luchas will be perfectly safe. Now, you need to eat. Let me call Fritz. And don’t be concerned about those babies. You’re doing great—”

“What kind of injuries does he have? The male. Who’s here.”

Doc Jane shook her head ruefully, as if she knew she wasn’t going make it out of the room without divulging some information. “He was struck on the head. And it’s likely he’s had one or more strokes.”

“Is he going to die?” Layla blurted.

Doc Jane shrugged. “I don’t honestly know. But prisoner or not, I’m going to treat him according to standard medical practice—even though, considering what the Brotherhood will do to him if he recovers, it may be better for him to pass on.”

“That’s . . . terrible.”

“He put a bullet in Wrath’s throat. What do you think he deserves? A tap on the wrist?”

“It’s all so brutal.”

“It’s the nature of war.” Doc Jane waved her hand in the air as if she were erasing the conversation. “This is getting morbid. And besides, it’s nothing either one of us has to worry about. This is out of our hands, and I, for one, am glad.”

“Maybe there’s a way to rehabilitate him or—”

“You are a very kind female, you know that?”

As the doctor rolled out the incubator, Layla looked around at the tiled room, noting the glass-fronted cabinets full of medicines and wraps, the computer showing a screensaver of bubbles over on the desk, the back-less chair that had been rolled off to one side.

No, she wasn’t kind.

She was in love with that Bastard.

Putting her face in her hands, she shook her head at the terrible reality she was in. And also because Doc Jane was right. If Xcor survived his injuries?

The Brotherhood was going to kill him.

Slowly.

TWENTY-SIX

The following evening, Mary got herself into her office clothes and went down to First Meal with Rhage by her side. Like her, he was dressed for work, wearing leathers and a muscle shirt, and carrying a leather jacket in one hand, and a cache of weapons on holsters in the other. His black daggers were already strapped onto his chest, and she could tell by the hard cast to his jaw that he was ready to fight.