Lover Enshrined (46 page)

“How?”

“After he’d been through the change, I washed him, but he denied me. I have been trained to serve sexually and was prepared to do so, and he denied me.”

Whoa. Okay. TMI.
“And you think that means I won’t choose you?”

“The Directrix insisted that I come to you, but it was a measure of respect for you, to give you leave over all Chosen. Neither she nor I expect you to elevate me to First Mate.”

“Did John Matthew say why he didn’t . . .?” Because most males were horny as hell right after their changes.

“I left when I was asked to. That is all.” Her eyes flipped up to Phury’s. “Verily, the Master John Matthew is a male of worth. It is not in his nature to detail the faults of another.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t because of—”

“Please. May we depart from this subject, your grace?”

Phury exhaled a stream of coffee-scented smoke. “Fritz said you were up in Cormia’s room. What were you doing there?”

There was a long pause. “That would be between sisters. Of course, I would tell you . . . should you order me to do so.”

He couldn’t help but approve of the quiet reserve in her voice.

“No, that’s okay.” He was tempted to ask if Cormia was all right, but he knew the answer to that one. She wasn’t. Any more than he was.

“Would you like me to go?” Layla asked. “I know the Directrix has two of my sisters prepared for you. They are eager to come over and greet you.”

Just like the other two who’d been to see him the night before. Excited. Ready to please. Honored to meet him.

Phury brought the blunt to his lips again and inhaled long and slow. “You don’t seem too thrilled with this.”

“With my sisters coming to see you? Of course I—”

“No, with meeting me.”

“On the contrary, I am eager to be with a male. I have been trained for mating and I want to serve as more than a blood source. Rhage and Vishous do not require all my services, and it is a burden to be unused. . . .” Her eyes went to the books. “Indeed, I feel as though I am shelved. That I have been given the words to the story of my life, but that I remain largely unread, as it were.”

God, he so knew what that was like. He felt as though he had been waiting forever for things to settle down, for the drama to end, for him to be able to take a deep breath and start living. How ironic. It sounded as if Layla was feeling the way she was because nothing was happening in her life. He felt unread because too much had been going on for too long.

Either way, the end result was the same.

Neither of them was doing more than just getting through the day.

Well, cry me a river, mate
, the wizard drawled.

Phury went over to an ashtray and stabbed out the blunt. “Tell the Directrix she doesn’t need to send anyone else to me.”

Layla’s eyes shot to his. “I beg your pardon?”

“I choose you.”

Qhuinn pulled the black Mercedes up in front of Blay’s house and put the thing in park. They’d waited for hours at ZeroSum, with John texting Blay every now and again. When they kept hearing nothing back, John had pulled up stakes and here they were.

“You want me to open your door,” Qhuinn said dryly as he cut the engine.

John looked over.
If I say yes, would you do it?

“No.”

Then by all means, open my door.

“Damn you.” Qhuinn got out of the driver’s seat. “Ruining my fun.”

John shut his door and shook his head.
I’m just glad you’re so manipulate-able.

“That’s not a word.”

Since when have you been in bed with Daniel Webster? Hello? “Gigunda”?

Qhuinn glanced to the house. He could just hear Blay’s voice filling in,
That would be Merriam-Webster.
“Whatever. ”

The two of them went around to the back of the house, going up to the door that went into the kitchen. The place was a big brick colonial, real formal-looking in front, but it had a cozy rear side, with kitchen windows than ran from floor to ceiling, and a stoop with a friendly wrought-iron lantern that hung down.

For the first time in his life, Qhuinn knocked and waited for an answer.

Guess it was a humdinger of a fight, huh
, John signed.
Between you and Blay.

“Oh, I don’t know. Sid Vicious behaved worse than I did, for example.”

Blay’s mom answered the door, looking exactly as she always did, all Marion Cunningham from
Happy Days
, from the red hair to the skirt. The female was everything that was round and lovely and warm about the fairer sex, and Qhuinn realized as he stared at her now that she, not his chilly swizzle stick of a mother, was the standard that he held females up to.

Yeah . . . it was fine and dandy to ball chicks and guys in bars, but he would mate someone like Blay’s mother. A female of worth. And he would stay true to her until the end of his days.

Assuming he could find someone who would have him.

Blay’s mother stepped back to let them in. “You know you don’t have to knock—” She looked at the platinum chain around Qhuinn’s throat, then at the new tat on his cheek.

Glancing at John, she murmured, “So that’s how the king fixed it.”

Yes, ma’am,
John signed.

She turned to Qhuinn, threw her arms around him, and hugged him so hard his spine shifted. Which was so what he needed. As he held on to her, he took his first deep breath in days.

In a whisper, she said, “We would have kept you here. You didn’t have to go.”

“Couldn’t do that to you.”

“We’re a stronger lot than you think.” She loosened her hold on him and nodded to the rear staircase. “Blay’s upstairs.”

Qhuinn frowned as he saw a stack of luggage next to the kitchen table. “Going somewhere?”

“We have to get out of the city. Most of the
glymera
are staying, but with . . . what’s happened, it’s too dangerous here.”

“Wise idea.” Qhuinn shut the kitchen door. “You going upstate?”

“Blay’s father is looking for some vacation time, so the three of us are going to make the rounds of family down south—”

Blay appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Crossing his arms, he nodded at John. “Wassup.”

As John signed a greeting back, Qhuinn couldn’t believe his buddy hadn’t mentioned anything about leaving the city.
Shit.
Was he just going to take off and not say where he was going or when he was due back?

Well, duh.
Wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?

Blay’s mom squeezed Qhuinn’s arm and whispered, “I’m glad you came before we left.” In a louder voice, she said, “Okay, I’ve cleaned out the fridge, and there’s nothing perishable in the pantry. I think I’ll go get my jewelry out of the safe.”

Jesus
, John signed as she took off.
How long are you guys going to be gone?

“Don’t know,” Blay said. “A while.”

In the long pause that followed, John looked back and forth between the two of them. Eventually he made a snorting noise and signed,
Okay, this is stupid. What the fuck happened between you two?

“Nothing.”

“Nothing.” Blay nodded over his shoulder. “Listen, I gotta go up and finish packing—”

Qhuinn quickly jumped in. “Yeah, we hafta get go—”

Oh, hell, no
. John marched over to the stairs.
We’re going to your room and sorting this out. Right now.

As John put sole to step, Qhuinn had to follow the guy, thanks to his new job, and he figured Blay went along probably because his inner Emily Post couldn’t handle not being a good host.

Upstairs, John shut the bedroom door behind them all and put his hands on his hips. As his stare went back and forth, he was like a parent standing over two recalcitrant children and a mess on the floor.

Blay went over to his closet, and as he opened it, the full-length mirror on the back side caught Qhuinn’s reflection. Their eyes met for a moment.

“Nice new piece of jewelry there,” Blay murmured, looking at the chain that marked Qhuinn’s new station.

“Not jewelry.”

“No, it isn’t. And I’m happy for you two. I really am.” He took out a parka . . . which meant the family was either going “down south” as in Antarctica, or the guy intended to be away a long time. Like, into winter.

John stamped his foot.
We’re running out of time here. Hello? Assholes?

“I’m sorry,” Qhuinn murmured to Blay. “For what I said in the tunnel.”

“You tell John about it all?”

“No.”

Blay dropped his coat on his Prada duffel bag and looked at John. “He thinks I love him. As in . . . in love with him.”

John’s mouth slowly fell open.

Blay’s laugh flared and stopped short, as if his throat got tight. “Yeah. Go fig. Me in love with Qhuinn . . . a guy who, when he’s not moody, is a slut and smart-ass. Except you want to know what the most fucked-up thing is, though?”

Qhuinn tensed as John nodded.

Blay glanced down at his duffel. “He’s right.”

Well, didn’t John look like he’d been nailed in the foot with a spike.

“Yup,” Blay said. “That’s why I could never get into the females all that much. None of them compared to him. No other guys do either, by the way. So I’m fucked royal, but then, that’s my biz and not his or yours.”

Christ,
Qhuinn thought. Wasn’t this the week for revelations.

“I’m sorry, Blay,” he said, because he had no idea what else to do.

“Yeah, I bet you are. Makes things hella awkward, huh.” Blay palmed the parka and slung the Prada bag up onto his shoulder. “But it’s all good. I’m getting out of town for a while, and you two are solid. So cool. Now I gotta go. I’ll text you in a couple of days.”

Qhuinn was more than willing to bet that the
you
there was referring only to John.

Shit.

Blay turned away. “Later.”

As his best friend in all the world showed them his back and headed for the door, Qhuinn opened his useless lips and prayed that the right thing would come out. When nothing did, he prayed that something would jump free. Anything—

The scream that came up from the first floor was high-pitched.

Blay’s mother.

The three of them were out of that bedroom like a bomb had gone off in it, shooting down the hall, thundering down the stairs. In the kitchen, they found that the nightmare of the war had come home.

Lessers
. Two of them. In Blay’s motherfucking house.

And one of them had his mother up against his chest in a choke hold.

Blay let out a primal yell, but Qhuinn caught him before he surged forward. “There’s a knife against her throat,” Qhuinn hissed. “He’ll slice her where she stands.”

The
lesser
smiled as he dragged Blay’s mom across the kitchen and out of the house, toward a minivan that was parked by the garage.

As John Matthew dematerialized out of sight, another slayer came in from the dining room.

Qhuinn let Blay go, and the two of them went on the attack, plowing first into that slayer and then engaging another as it walked in the back door.

While the hand-to-hand went wild and the kitchen got trashed, Qhuinn prayed like hell that John had taken form inside the open van and was rolling out one fuck of a two- fisted welcome.

Please let Blay’s mom not get taken down in the cross fire.

As yet another slayer came through the door, Qhuinn head-butted the
lesser
he was trading punches with, palmed one of his brand-new spanking forty-fives, and rammed the muzzle under the bastard’s chin.

The bullets decimated the fucker’s head, blowing the top of it clear off—which gave Qhuinn plenty of time to stab the thing in the heart with the knife he had at his hip.

Pop! Pop! Fizz-fizz! Oh, what a relief it is.

As the thing disappeared in a flash of light, Qhuinn didn’t pause to enjoy his first
lesser
kill. He spun around to check on Blay and was shocked to his balls. The guy’s father had come pounding into the room and the two were hauling ass. Which was kind of a surprise, as Blay’s dad was an accountant.

Time to back up John.

Qhuinn beelined it out the back door, and just as his boots hit grass, a brilliant flash of light from the minivan told him that help wasn’t going to be necessary.

In a smooth move, John jumped out of the Town & Country and slammed the door shut; he pounded on the quarter panel and the thing reversed at a dead run. Qhuinn caught a brief impression of Blay’s mom white-knuckled behind the wheel as she shot backward down the driveway.

“You okay, J-man?” Qhuinn said, hoping like hell that John Matthew didn’t get killed on Qhuinn’s first night as his
ahstrux nohtrum
.

Just as John lifted his hands to sign, there was a crash of glass.

The two of them wheeled around to the house. Like something out of a movie, a pair of bodies flew out of the family room’s picture window. Blay’s was one of them, and he landed on top of the
lesser
he’d tossed out the house like a stained mattress. Before the slayer could recover from the impact, Blay grabbed on to its head and cracked the fucker’s neck like a chicken.

“My father’s still fighting in the house!” he yelled as Qhuinn tossed him the knife. “Down in the cellar!”

As John and Qhuinn shot back inside, a third flare of light went off, and then Blay caught up with them at the basement stairs. The three of them rushed to where new sounds of fighting came from.

When they got to the bottom of the stairwell, they stopped dead. Blay’s father was facing off with a
lesser
, a Civil War sword in one hand, a dagger in the other.

Behind his Joe Friday glasses, his eyes were lit like torches, and they flicked over for a split second. “Stay out of this. This one’s mine.”

The shit was done faster than you could say,
Ninja Dad
.

Blay’s father went Ginsu on the slayer, carving the thing up like a turkey, then stabbing it back to the Omega. As the glare from the extermination faded, the male looked up with frantic eyes.