Yeah, good idea. The whole purpose of this was because Z had been injured badly enough not to be able to dematerialize.
“Qhuinn?” the female said.
“I’m sorry?” Oh, he was in the way. “Here, let me get out of the—”
“No, not Zsadist. You.”
“Huh?”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Am I?”
The doctor turned his hands over. “See?” Sure enough, his palms were dripping red. “You just wiped your face. You have a deep cut on your head.”
“Oh. Okay.” Maybe that was why he felt so spacey? “What about Z—”
“Manny’s already in there.”
Huh. Guess he’d missed that part. “You want to look at me here?”
She laughed a little. “How about we get you back to the house—if you can walk.”
“I’ll take care of him—”
“Let me get him—”
“I’ll take him—”
“Got him—”
The chorus of volunteers was a surprise, and so were all the helping arms that appeared from out of nowhere: He was literally enveloped by thick fighting arms, and all but carried away from the site like someone surfing the crowd at a concert.
He glanced back, hoping to see Blay, praying to meet the guy’s eyes, just to connect, even though that was crazy—
But Blay was there.
That beautiful blue stare was right there, so steady and true as it met his own that he felt like breaking down all over again. And he drew strength from those eyes, just as he’d done back when they’d spent so much time together. The truth was that he wished it were Blay getting him back to the mansion, but no one said shit to the Brotherhood when they kicked in en masse like this. And besides, no doubt the guy would feel like that was too close.
Qhuinn refocused on the way ahead. Holy…shit…
The garden was utterly decimated, half of the ten-foot-high hedge next to the house cut down, all kinds of trees knocked over, bushes mowed through, the remnants of the crash landing scattered around like bomb shrapnel.
Man, there was a lot of debris that looked like aircraft parts.
Oh, check it, a steel panel.
“Hold on,” he said, pulling himself free. Bending down, he picked the sharp-edged fragment out of where it had melted into the snow. He could have sworn the thing was still warm.
“I’m really sorry,” he said to no one in particular.
The king’s voice boomed from in front of him. “For keeping my Brother alive?”
Qhuinn looked up. Wrath had come out of the library with George on one side of him and his queen on the other. The male looked as big as the mansion behind him—and just as strong: Even blind, he seemed like a superhero in those wraparound shades.
“I fucking trashed your yard,” Qhuinn muttered as he went up to the royal male. “I mean…landscaped it in a bad way.”
“It’ll give Fritz something to do in the spring. You know how much he loves to pull weeds.”
“That’s the least of your problems. I’m pretty sure you’re in backhoe territory.”
Wrath came forward, meeting him halfway across the terrace. “This is the second time, son.”
“That I’ve ruined something mechanical in the last twenty-four hours? I know, right—next thing you know, I’ll be blowing up a battleship.”
Those jet-black brows sank low. “That is not what I’m talking about.”
Okay, this had to end right now. He really hated having the attention on him.
Deliberately ignoring the king’s statement, he said, “Well, the good news, my lord, is that I’m not looking for a three-peat. So I think we’re safe from now on.”
There was a lot of grumbling in agreement.
“Can I get him to the clinic now?” Doc Jane cut in.
Wrath smiled, his fangs flashing in the moonlight. “You do that.”
Thank God…he was so done with tonight.
“Where is Layla?” the doctor asked as they stepped into the warmth of the library. “I think you need to feed.”
Fuck.
As the mother hens in black leather behind him started clucking in support of that idea, Qhuinn’s eyes rolled back in his head. One crisis tonight was more than enough. The last thing he was interested in was explaining exactly why the Chosen could not be used as a blood source.
“You look woozy,” somebody said.
“I think he’s going over—”
Annnnnnd that was the last thing he heard for a while.
TWENTY-TWO
Across the river, at Havers’s clinic, Layla finally had to get off the examination table and wander around the little room. She had lost all track of time at this point. Indeed, it felt as though she had been staring at the four walls forever—and would be for the rest of her natural life upon the earth.
The only part of her that remained fresh and engaged was her mind. The unfortunate thing was that it relentlessly churned over what that nurse had said…that this was a miscarriage. That in all likelihood, she had conceived—
When the knock she’d been waiting for finally came, it was unexpected and made her jump.
“Come in?” she said.
The nurse who had been so kind entered…but appeared changed. She refused to meet Layla’s eyes, and her face was frozen in a mask. Draped over her arm was a bolt of white cloth, and she thrust the fabric forward while looking away. And then she dropped to a curtsy.
“Your grace,” she said in a shaky voice. “I…we…Havers…we had no idea.”
Layla frowned. “What are you—”
The nurse shook the robing, as if trying to get Layla to accept it. “Please. Put this on.”
“What is this about?”
“You have Chosen blood in you.” The nurse’s voice quavered. “Havers is…distraught.”
Layla struggled to comprehend the words. So this was not…about her pregnancy? “What— I don’t understand. Why is he…he’s upset because I am a Chosen?”
The other female blanched. “We thought you were…fallen?”
Layla put her hands over her eyes. “I may soon be—depending on what happens.” She did not have the energy for this. “Would someone just tell me what the test results are and what I need to do to take care of myself?”
The nurse fumbled with the draping, still trying to hand it over. “He can’t come back in here—”
“What?”
“Not if you’re…he cannot be in here with you. And he should never have—”
Layla jacked herself forward, her temper flaring. “Let me make myself perfectly clear—I want to talk to the doctor.” At the demand, the nurse actually looked up at her face. “I have a right to know what he found out about my body—you tell him to get in here now.”
There was nothing shrill in her voice. No high-pitched hysteria—just a flat, powerful tone she’d never heard come out of her mouth before.
“Go. And get him,” she commanded.
The nurse lifted the drapery up. “Please. Put this on. He’s…”
Layla forced herself not to yell. “I’m just another patient—”
The nurse frowned and squared her shoulders. “Excuse me, but that is not accurate. And as far as he’s concerned, he violated you during the exam.”
“What?”
The nurse just stared at her. “He’s a good male. A fine male who is very traditional in his ways—”
“What in the Scribe Virgin’s name does that have to do with anything?”
“The Primale can kill him for what he did to you.”
“During the exam? I consented—it was a medical procedure I needed!”
“It does not matter. He did something unlawful.”
Layla closed her eyes. She should have just used the Brotherhood’s clinic.
“You must realize where he’s coming from,” the nurse said. “You are of a hierarchy that we don’t come in contact with—and moreover, should not.”