The Beast

SIXTY-THREE

Vishous stood outside of the gym, looking through one of the steel doors that had the glass windows with chicken wire running through them.

Rhage and Mary were dancing in the empty space, twirling around, the female’s smaller body held tightly and led by her male’s much, much larger one. They were looking at each other, staring into each other’s eyes. Shit, you could swear there was a quartet or maybe a full orchestra playing in there, the way they moved so well together.

He wasn’t much of a dancer himself.

Besides, you couldn’t waltz to Rick Ross or Kendrick Lamar.

Taking out a hand-rolled from the ass pocket of his leathers, he lit up and exhaled as he leaned a shoulder on the jamb and continued to watch.

You had to respect the two of them, he thought. Going after that kid, trying to make a family happen. Then again, Rhage and Mary were always on the same page, nothing ruffling their relationship, everything always perfect.

Which was what happened when you paired a levelheaded therapist with Brad Pitt and Channing Tatum’s love child: cosmic harmony.

God, in comparison, his and Jane’s relationship seemed kind of . . . clinical.

No dancing in the dark for them, not unless it was the horizontal kind—and when was the last time that had happened? Jane had been flat-out at the clinic, and he’d been dealing with all kinds of shit.

Okay, this was weird. Even though he was not one for envy—it, along with so many emotions, was just a waste of fucking time—he did find himself wishing he was a little closer to normal. Not that he apologized for his kink, or the fact that he was predominantly a head guy, not a heart guy. Still, when he stood like this on the outside looking in at what his brother had, he did feel broken in some unnamed way.

It wasn’t that he wanted to turn into the male version of Adele or some shit.

Yeah, file that under Good-bye.

But he did wish . . .

Oh, fuck, he didn’t know what the hell he was going on about.

Changing gears—before he ended up with a pair of lace panties on—he thought of Qhuinn’s daughter, of that tiny little thing that had come back from the dead.

How had Payne known what to do? Shit, if she hadn’t . . .

Vishous frowned as a memory of Mary surfaced and refused to sink back down. She had been talking about when she had saved Rhage’s life . . . when she had moved the dragon around to the center of his chest so his beast could somehow heal the gunshot wound.

I don’t know how I knew what to do, she had said to him. Or something to that effect.

He thought of himself confronting his mother as Rhage had been dying, demanding that she do something before he’d stormed off, all pissed and shit. And then he recalled the demand that he’d sent out as he’d worked on the lifeless body of Qhuinn’s daughter.

Shit.

Leaning down, he stamped out his half-smoked cigarette on the sole of his boot and tossed the butt in the trash.

Closing his eyes . . .

. . . he dematerialized up to the courtyard of his mother’s private quarters, re-forming in front of the colonnade.

Instantly, he knew there was something off.

Looking over his shoulder, he frowned. The fountain that had always run with crystal-clear water . . . was still. And when he walked over to its basin, he discovered that the thing was bone-dry, its pool empty sure as if it had never been full.

Then he glanced over at the tree that had held the songbirds.

They were gone. All of them.

As warning bells started to ring in his skull, he broke out into a run, crossing over to the entry to his mahmen’s private quarters. He pounded on the door, but not for long—once again he braced a shoulder and slammed himself into the panels.

This time, the thing broke free of all its hinges, falling flat as a dead body onto the stone floor beyond.

“Mother . . . fucker.”

Everything was gone. The bedding platform. The dressing table. The one chair. Even the double-locked cell where Payne had been kept behind drapes was exposed, the white fabric swaths that had hung on runners no longer in place.

Closing his eyes, he let his senses sweep the room, probing for clues. His mother had just been here. He knew it in his blood, some remnant of her energy source remaining in the space as a scent might linger after someone departed. But where had she gone?

He thought of the crowd down below in the training center. Amalya, the directrix, had been among them, standing with Cormia and Phury, and all the other Chosen who had come to pray for, and witness, the births.

The Scribe Virgin had waited until she was all alone before leaving.

She who knew all, saw all, had deliberately picked a moment of crisis down on Earth, when everyone who might have had reason to be up here was otherwise occupied.

Vishous bolted out of the private quarters. “Mother! Where the fuck are you?”

He didn’t expect an answer—

A sound rippled to his ears, emanating from somewhere outside of the courtyard. Following it, he went to the door that opened into the Sanctuary and looked across the verdant land.

Birds.

It was the songbirds singing somewhere off in the distance.

Falling into a jog, he tracked the dulcet harmonies, crossing over the cropped green grass and passing by empty marble temples and dormitories.

“Mother?” he hollered across the barren landscape. “Mother!”

“Hi, mahmen, you’re awake now.”

As Layla heard the male voice above her, she realized that, yes, her eyes were open, and yes, she was alive—

“Young!” she shouted.

A sudden burst of energy had her trying to sit up, but gentle hands eased her back down. And as a flare of pain clawed its way across her lower belly, Qhuinn put his face in front of hers.

He was smiling. From ear to ear.

Yes, his eyes were red rimmed, and he was pale and a little shaky, but the male was smiling so widely, his jaw had to hurt.

“Everybody’s okay,” he said. “Our daughter gave us a helluva scare, but both of them are okay. Breathing. Moving. Alive.”

A tidal wave of emotion swamped her, her chest literally exploding with a combination of relief, joy, and the afterburn of the terror she’d felt before they’d put her under. And as if he knew exactly what she was feeling, Qhuinn started hugging her, wrapping her in his arms—and she tried to hug him back, but she didn’t have the strength.

“Blay,” she said roughly. “Where’s—”

“Right here. I’m right here.”

Over Qhuinn’s big shoulder, she saw the other male and wished she could reach for him—and as if he were aware of that, he came in, too, all three of them wrapping up in an embrace that left them wobbly, and yet somehow stronger, too.

“Where are they?” she asked. “Where . . .”

The males inched back, and the way Qhuinn looked at Blay made her nervous. “What,” she demanded. “What’s wrong.”

Blay took her hand. “Listen, we want you to be ready, okay? They’re very small. They’re really . . . very small. But they’re strong. Both Doc Jane and Manny checked them over—Ehlena, too. And we video-conferenced with Havers and reviewed everything with him. They’re going to be here for a while on the water ventilators, until their lungs mature and they can breathe and eat on their own, but they’re doing great.”

Layla found herself nodding as she swallowed a load of fear back down into her gut. Looking at Qhuinn, she teared up again. “I tried to keep them in—I tried—”

He shook his head firmly, that blue-and-green stare dead serious. “It was an issue with your placenta, nalla. There was nothing you could have done or not done to prevent it from happening. It was exactly the same thing that happened with Beth.”

She put her hands on her much-flatter stomach. “Did they take my womb?”

Blay smiled. “No. They got the young out and stopped the bleeding. You can have more young if the Virgin Scribe provides.”

Layla looked down her body, feeling a rush of relief. And also sadness for the Queen. “I was lucky.”

“Yes, you were,” Qhuinn said.

“We were all lucky,” she corrected, glancing at them both. “When may I see them?”

Qhuinn stepped back. “They’re right over there.”

Layla struggled to sit up, taking the fathers’ arms. And then she gasped. “Oh . . .”

Before she knew it, she was getting off the mattress, even though it hurt, and in spite of the fact that she was connected to about a hundred and fifty thousand pounds of medical equipment.

“Shit,” Qhuinn said. “Are you sure you want to—”

“Okay, we’re moving,” Blay interjected. “We are up and moving.”

With a single-minded focus she had never known before, she didn’t pay any attention to anything other than getting over to her young: not the way the males scrambled to organize the rolling monitors, or how much she had to lean on various arms and shoulders, or how much pain her abdomen hollered about.

The incubators were up against the wall, side by side, separated by about three feet. Brilliant blue lights were shining down on the tiny little forms, and oh . . . Fates . . . the wires, the tubes . . .

That was when she got a little light-headed.

“Don’t you love the sunglasses,” Blay commented.

Suddenly, she laughed. “They look like mini-Wraths.” Then she got serious. “Are you sure . . .”

“Positive,” Qhuinn said. “They’ve got a ways to go—but, shit, they are fighters. Especially her.”

Layla inched closer to her daughter. “When can I hold them?”

“Doc Jane wants us to give them a little time. Tomorrow?” Blay said. “Maybe the night after?”

“I’ll wait.” Even though it would be the hardest thing she would ever do. “I’ll wait for however long it takes.”

She turned the other way and looked at her son. “Dearest Virgin Scribe, does he look like you, no?”

“I know, right?” Qhuinn shook his head. “It’s just crazy. I mean . . .”

“What are you going to name them?” Blay asked. “It’s time for you two to think of names.”

Oh, indeed, Layla thought. In the vampire tradition, youngs’ births were not anticipated by any kind of planning. There were no showers as humans did, no lists of boy names and girl names, no stacks of diapers, racks of bottles, or even bassinettes and booties. For vampires, it was considered bad luck to get ahead of oneself and assume a healthy birth.

“Yes,” she said, refocusing on her daughter. “We must have a naming.”

At that moment, the little tiny infant girl moved her head and seemed to look up, through the sunglasses and the Plexiglas, past the distance between mother and child.

“She’s going to grow up to be beautiful,” Blay murmured. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“Lyric,” Layla blurted. “She shall be called Lyric.”

Blay recoiled. “Lyric? You know, that’s my . . . do you know that’s my mahmen’s . . .”

As the male stopped speaking, Qhuinn started to smile. And then he bent down and kissed Layla’s cheek. “Yes. Absolutely. She’ll be called Lyric.”

Blay blinked a couple of times. “My mahmen will be . . . incredibly honored. As am I.”

Layla squeezed the male’s hand. “Your parents shall be the only granhmen and father these young will e’er know. It is fitting that one of their names be represented. And for our son—mayhap we shall petition the King for a Brother’s name? It seems fitting, as their sire is a brave and noble member of the Black Dagger Brotherhood.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Qhuinn hedged.

“Yes.” Blay nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

Qhuinn started shaking his head. “But I don’t know if—”

“So it is settled,” Layla announced.

When Blay nodded, Qhuinn put his palms up. “I know when I’m beat.”

Layla winked at Blay. “He’s a smart one, isn’t he.”

Outside the birthing room, Jane reviewed the chart Ehlena had just handed her, flipping through pages that detailed the blood slave’s progress. “Good, good . . . his vitals are really improving. Let’s continue to push those fluids. I want to keep him on the IV for a little longer, and then let’s see if we can get a Chosen here to feed him.”

“I’ve already asked Phury.” Rehv’s shellan winced. “I honestly don’t know how that’s going to go, though. That male is in really bad shape. Up here.”

As Ehlena indicated her head, Jane nodded. “I talked to Mary about it. She said she’s ready to speak with him as soon as he’s medically more stable.”

“She’s awesome.”

“Too right.”

Jane gave the folder back, trading it for Layla’s. Yes, she could have easily transitioned to all-electronic medical records, but she had been trained back in the days before everything was computerized, and she’d always preferred good, old-fashioned paper.

She had to smile as she thought of Vishous’s disapproval. He was dying to get a halfway decent computer system going down here, but he respected her prerogative, even as he was frustrated by her. And they did enter summary notes into a database, something that Jane liked to spend Sunday afternoons on when everybody was quiet.

It was a meditation exercise as much as anything else.

“So how’re our kids doing?” she murmured as she ran through the notes Ehlena had made during the latest hourly check. “Oh, you go, girl. Look at those oxygen stats. Right where we want them.”

“There’s something special about that little girl. I’m telling you.”

“Absolutely agreed on that.” Jane flipped another page. “And, Mom, how you doing—oh, good. Very strong vitals. Urine output is perfect. Blood counts great. I’d like to get her to start feeding as soon as she can.”

“I know the Brothers are dying to help. I had to kick them out. I swear, I thought they were going to stay down here for however long it took to get those kids off to school.”

Jane laughed and closed the folder. “I’ll do a quick check on everyone while you start Luchas’s PT.”

“Roger that.”

“You’re the best—”

“Hey, partner.”

Jane glanced up. Manny was striding down the corridor, his hair wet, his scrubs clean, his eyes alert. “I thought you were taking off the next six hours?”

“Can’t stay away. Might miss something. You going in there?”

“You want to join me on the visit?”

“Always.”

Jane was shaking her head at herself as she put her hand on Layla’s door and pushed. Medical people were always the same. Just couldn’t leave well enough alone—

She stopped in the jambs.

Across the room, the new mom was standing at the incubators, Blay on one side of her, Qhuinn on the other, the three of them staring at the babies and talking softly.

The love was palpable.

And, for the moment, all the medicine that was needed.

“Something wrong?” Manny asked as Jane backed up and re-shut things.

Jane smiled. “It’s family time right now. Let’s give them a minute, ’kay?”

Manny smiled back. “High five, Doc. You were a helluva surgeon in there.”

As she clapped his palm, she nodded. “And you saved her uterus.”

“Don’t you love good teamwork?”

“Every night and every day,” she said as they wandered back down the hall, taking their time for once. “Hey, you want something to eat? I can’t remember the last time I ate anything.”

“I think I had a Snickers bar last Wednesday,” her buddy murmured. “Or was that Monday?”

Jane laughed and bumped him with her ass. “Liar. You had a milk shake. Two nights ago.”

“Riiiiiiiiiight. Hey, where’s your man? He should sit with us.”

Jane frowned and looked back and forth down the empty hall. “You know . . . I have no idea. I thought he wandered off for a smoke—but he was supposed to be coming right back?”

Where had Vishous gone?