Lover at Last (Black Dagger Brotherhood #11) - J.R. Ward Page 0,11

king’s study—

Up ahead, Blaylock, son of Rocke, burst out into the hall of statues, his brows down tight, his body clad in leather from the tops of his shoulders to the soles of his tremendous boots. As he strode forward, he was checking his weapons one by one, taking them out of holsters, replacing them, buckling them in.

Layla stopped dead.

And when the male finally looked upon her, he did the same, his eyes growing remote.

Deep red of hair, and lovely sapphire blue of eye, the fully blooded aristocrat was a fighter for the Brotherhood, but he was not a brute. No matter how he spent his nights out in the field, he remained at the compound a mannered, intelligent gentlemale of fine comportment and schooling.

So it was not a surprise that even in his rush, he bent slightly at the waist in formal greeting before resuming his hurry to the grand staircase.

In his descent down to the foyer, Qhuinn’s voice came to her.

I’m in love with someone….

Layla exercised her new habit of cursing under her breath. Such a sad state of affairs between those two fighters, and this pregnancy was not of aid.

But the die had been cast.

And they were all going to live with the consequences.

As Blay hit the staircase, he felt like he was being chased, and that was nuts. Nobody who was any threat was behind him. There was no masher in a Jason mask, or sick bastard in a bad Christmas sweater with knives for fingers, or killer clown…

Just a probably-pregnant Chosen who happened to have spent a good twelve hours fucking his former best friend.

No prob.

At least, there shouldn’t have been any problem. The trouble was, every time he saw that female, he felt like he got punched in the gut. Which was another case of crazy. She had done nothing wrong. Neither had Qhuinn.

Although, God, if she was pregnant…

Blay booted all those happy thoughts to the background as he crossed through the foyer at a jog. No time to psycho-babble, even if it was just to himself: When Vishous called you on your night off and told you to be out front in your gear in five minutes, it was not because things were going well.

No details had been given during the phone call; none had been asked for. Blay had taken only a moment to text Saxton, and then he’d thrown on the leather and the steel, ready for anything.

In a way, this was good. Spending the night reading in his room had turned out to be torturous, and though he didn’t want anyone in trouble, at least this pulled him into some activity. Bursting out through the vestibule, he—

Came face-to-face with the Brotherhood’s flatbed truck.

The thing was kitted out to look authentically human, deliberately painted with red AAA logos and the made-up name of Murphy’s Towing. Fake telephone number. Fake tagline of: “We’re Always There for You.”

Bullshit. Unless, of course, the “you” was one of the Brotherhood.

Blay hopped up into the passenger seat and found Tohr, not V, behind the wheel. “Is Vishous coming?”

“It’s you and me, kid—he’s still working on the ballistics testing of that bullet.”

The Brother hit the gas, the diesel engine roaring like a beast, the headlights swinging in a fat circle around the courtyard’s fountain and across the lineup of cars parked wheelbase-to-wheelbase.

Just as Blay checked out the vehicles and did the math about the one that was missing, Tohr said, “It’s Qhuinn and John.”

Blay’s lids dropped shut for a split second. “What happened.”

“I don’t know much. John called V for an emergency assist.” The Brother looked over. “And you and I are the only ones free.”

Blay reached for the door handle, ready to pop the thing and dematerialize the fuck out of there. “Where are they—”

“Calm down, son. You know the rules. None of us can be out alone, so I need your ass in that seat or I’m violating my own goddamn protocol.”

Blay slammed his fist into the door, punching hard enough that the sting in his hand cleared his head a little. Fucking Band of Bastards, cramping them all—and the fact that the rule made sense just pissed him off even more. Xcor and his boys had proven to be cagey, aggressive, and completely without morals—not exactly the kind of enemy you wanted to meet up with all by your little lonesome.

But come on.

Blay grabbed his phone, intending to text John—but he stopped because he didn’t want the guys distracted by his trying to get