The Shadows

FORTY-ONE

“No. Here. Put him by the fire—”

Xcor broke himself loose of the holds upon his arms. “I am not an invalid.”

As he limped across the shallow room of the cottage he had bought for Layla, he kept to himself the fact that he was cold to the bone, and he did, in fact, appreciate the warmth of the flames that boiled around the logs at the hearth.

“Your leg is broken,” Zypher said.

Whilst he settled himself upon the sofa, a sharp nausea threatened to empty his stomach, but he buried that response as well, swallowing down the risen bile. “It shall mend.”

“There are victuals here.”

He didn’t know who said that. Did not care. “Where is the liquor?”

“Here.”

As a bottle of God only knew what appeared before him, he took what was proffered, shucked the cap, and brought the open mouth to his lips. Vodka it was, the white bite burning the back of his throat and lighting a second set of flames in his gut.

It had been a very, very long trip home, with him dematerializing mile by mile because they had no motorized conveyances at their disposal. And now, all he wanted was to be left alone—and he feared, given that all of them were here and worrying over him, it was going to take more energy than he had to get his soldier to go in peace.

“You were nearly killed,” Balthazar said from by the door.

He drank more of the spirit. “Yourself as well—”

“Someone is here,” Syphon said by the bay window. “A car.”

Immediately, all guns were unholstered and trained upon the glass—except for his. Beneath his thin jacket, his arm was hanging limp, the joint most likely dislocated.

And he was not putting down the vodka.

“Who is it,” he demanded, thinking it was likely the doggen he had sought to hire.

“’Tis a female,” someone breathed. “And not of the servant class.”

Instantly, Xcor wrenched around and bared his fangs. But he didn’t need visual confirmation. There was only one female who knew about this place, and who would come in a car.

“Leave us,” he commanded. “Now.”

When his Band of Bastards just stood in a semi-circle, transfixed by what was out that fucking window, he released a lion’s growl. “Leave us!”

Zypher cleared his throat. “She is bonny, indeed, Xcor—”

“And she shall be the last sight e’er you behold if you don’t get out of here!”

One by one, the soldiers grudgingly dematerialized . . . such that, when his female knocked upon the door, he was by himself.

Seeking further fortification from the bottle, he drank hard; then rousted himself off the couch, walked over and opened the panels wide.

The second Layla looked at him, she exclaimed, “You’re hurt!”

The shock in her face was such that he glanced down at himself and his bloodstained clothes. “Yes, it would appear I am.” Funny, now that she was before him, he felt no more pain. “Won’t you come and warm yourself by the fire.”

As if there were nothing wrong. As if she hadn’t blown him off when they were supposed to have met at midnight—so she could give him her decision.

He knew her answer, however. Her previous absence was all the reply required—she had clearly come to her senses.

Layla stepped inside, her eyes going up and down his body. “Xcor, what happened?”

“Nothing.” He closed them in. “I thought you indicated you could not get away.”

“I saw what happened downtown. And I had to . . .”

“Had to what? Come here to see if I had died and thus set you free of your obligation?” When she didn’t answer, he chuckled and returned to the couch. “Pardon me, but I need to sit.”

He was acutely aware of that stare of hers tracking him. And no doubt her keen ears caught the groan that he did his best to hide.

“You should go to a doctor.”

Xcor laughed and took another drink from the bottle. “You think this warrants attention? The Black Dagger Brotherhood must have a different standard for injury than we do. I have had much, much worse happen upon me in the course of centuries. This is naught of consequence, nothing that shall not be cured upon the night’s fall.”

“When was the last time you fed?”

Abruptly, his body stilled. “Are you offering.”

As she got busy looking everywhere in the cottage but at him, he laughed softly again. “I’ll take that as a no. Besides, you already aided and abetted the enemy once, and we all know how well that turned out.”

“Why are you baiting me?”

He drank anew, swallowing hard. “Because I feel like it. And I’m a bastard, remember? A bastard who has forced you to come unto my presence night after night whilst you become heavy with another male’s young.”

“You are in pain.”

“Actually, now that you are here, I am no longer.”

That quieted her for a moment.

And then he was shocked when she took steps forward, approaching the couch . . . because as she came forth, she pushed up the sleeve on her right arm.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“I am going to give you my vein.” She stopped before him. Close enough to grab. Near enough so that if he wanted, he could have yanked her into his lap. Found her breasts with his hands, his mouth. “You are worse off than you think.”

“Oh, aye,” he said harshly. “You are right. But not about my injuries.”

She put her wrist to him. “You were hit by a vehicle of the Brotherhood’s, weren’t you.”

“So you feel you owe me this? Interesting change in affiliation.”

“You do not deny it, then.”

“I cannot fathom where you are going with this, female. You had no comfort being treasonous before. What has changed?”

“You didn’t attack them tonight, did you. You had a chance when the fighting happened to go after members of the Brotherhood, but instead of ordering your soldiers to target Manny and Rhage, or the other Brothers who were down there, you left the theater without hurting any of them.”

Aye, he thought. He had gathered that the RV was the Brothers’.

He had caught that scent dematerializing out of it—and no other vampire group could afford such a luxury.

Xcor cracked a hard laugh. “Have you not heard of self-preservation? If I was injured as badly as you think I am, I left to save myself.”

“Bullshit. I know your reputation. You had an opportunity tonight and you didn’t take it. Matter of fact, you’ve had the chance to attack our compound for almost a year and you’ve done nothing.”

“Must I remind you of the nature of our arrangement here?” he asked in a bored tone. “You show up and indulge mine eyes, and I don’t slaughter them all.”

“A vow given to a female would never stop you. You are the Bloodletter’s son.”

Oh, but a vow to you would, he thought to himself.

Her voice grew strong. “You are not going to agress on them, are you. Not tonight. Not tomorrow night. Not a year from now. And not because I’m coming here to see you—otherwise, you would have killed one or more of them in the alleys this eve. That would be outside the scope of our agreement, would it not?”

As he stared up at her, her eyes were so shrewd that he felt diminished in stature—and not because he was sitting down and she was standing over him.

“For whatever reason, they are no longer a target for you, are they,” she said. “Are they.”

As Layla stood above Xcor, she spoke aloud the realization that had formulated in her head during the drive from the Brotherhood compound here to the cottage.

It was as if she had been walking at a steep incline and had suddenly reached a clearing in the brush that showed her the vista that she had been a part of, and yet unaware of.

“Answer me,” she demanded.

He cocked a brow. “You said I am a male of no honor, that the vow to a female would not curtail my actions. Why do you want me to give you any reply when it cannot be trusted.”

“What’s changed? I know it has nothing to do with me, but something has shifted.”

“Since you are so good at filling in my responses, I believe I shall just sit back and allow you to hold both sides of this conversation.”

As he continued to stare up at her, his face as calm and composed as a mask, she knew he was going to give her nothing further. And perhaps he was right: She could not trust what he said.

She would, however, put faith in his actions.

“Take from me,” she said, extending her wrist. “And heal.”

“You are a perverse female. What about your young?”

“Females can safely feed a male, provided they do not take overmuch.”

She had fed Qhuinn and Blay up until about a month ago, when they had switched to Selena out of an over-abundance of caution. And anyway, she herself had taken a vein a mere twelve hours ago, so she was at her very strongest.

And he was not.

“You have not fed properly since you took my vein, have you.”

His eyes flicked away to the fire. “Of course I have.”

“You lie.”

“Please make use of that car of yours and spirit yourself back to the Brotherhood.”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed to a glare as he looked back at her. “You are trying my patience.”

“Because I’m right about all of this—”

Just like that, he was up on his feet, and even though he had a limp, he still managed to press himself against her, forcing her to take a step back or fall off her heels. And another. And another.

Until she was up against the wall.

And held there by his body.

“You might want to rethink your conclusion, Chosen.”

Layla found it difficult to breathe, but not because he was putting any direct pressure on her chest. “I know something else.”

“And what might that be.”

She thought back to over-hearing what Blay and Qhuinn had said about the night before, about how Rhage, V, and the twins had gone out to where the Band of Bastards had stayed.

“I know that you had yet another chance to kill them. I know they went to the house you had been living in, and you didn’t leave anything behind that could hurt them. You could have either ambushed them there, or set up some kind of offensive, and you did not.”

At that, he broke off from her.

It was painful to watch him limp around, see his bloodstained, torn clothes, witness the exhaustion.

Grimly, she said, “So I’m not exactly feeding the enemy anymore, am I?”

Eventually, he stopped before the fire. Putting one hand upon his hip, he stared down at the flames and seemed curiously defeated.

“Just go,” he said.

“Why would you choose to hide what for me is good news?” The idea that he might not be trying to kill the Brotherhood or Wrath anymore would be a tremendous relief. “Why?”

“If we did not have our arrangement, would you come and see me.”

Layla felt a strange warmth come over her, and she was dimly aware that they were, once again, approaching some kind of divide.

All of their nights thus far had been a dance defined by the role of manipulator and victim.

And there had been a perverse safety for her in the position she took.

It meant she could hide behind doing a duty for the Brotherhood.

It meant she could pretend that she was forced into this.

The truth . . .was far more complicated than that.

An image of him from the night before, standing where he was now before the hearth, made her want to take off her fleece; if she had been hot before, she was now afire.

Xcor looked over his shoulder. As the flickering light filtered over his features, his facial deformity seemed even more prominent. And yet though he might have been ugly to some . . . he was not to her.

She tried to picture him without his clothes on.

“So,” he taunted. “Would you still come here? And do not worry about hurting my feelings. The very female who birthed me did not want me. I am well familiar with feminine disregard.”

After further silence, he slashed his arm through the air. “I believe that is your answer, then—”

“I would,” she said forcefully. “I would come to see you.”

She found herself putting her hands to her swollen belly, and wishing she could spare her unborn young this reality.

His eyes flared in shock. Then narrowed. “Why.”

His voice was strident, a demand that challenged her to speak some other truth.

“I don’t know why.” She shrugged. “But reasoning doesn’t change the fact, does it.”

There was another long silence.

When Xcor spoke next, it was so softly that she was unsure what he said. But it sounded like, “I wasn’t looking to be transformed.”

She didn’t bother to ask him to repeat whatever it was. No doubt, if he had intended her to hear the words, he would have made things louder.

“Take my vein.”

In issuing the order, she knew there was no going back. Having crossed into this realm that lacked pretense and was all about choice, she was very aware that her destiny was changing. But at least it wasn’t through some random and irrelevant decision to go left or right.

This was conscious. So conscious that it was as if the cozy room in this picturesque little cottage had been bolded with color and infused with scents more vivid than her nose could handle. Her hearing, too, was acute to the point of pain, every crackle from the fire or breath from her mouth or his resonating into some great canyon’s echo.

This time, when he came over to her, it was not fast and it was not with aggression.

His eyes were on her, but they were wary, as if the predator was now in fear of his prey.

Stepping in beside her, Xcor offered his forearm. When she just looked at it, he said, “I saw them once do this. A gentlemale to a female of worth?”

“Yes,” she said roughly. “It is done thusly.”

After she slipped her own arm into his, he led her over to the sofa and sat her down on the worn cushions. Then he turned around and left the room.

“Where are you going?” she called out.