Clearly, if the needing was anything to go by, real life faded fast.
The desire to be wanted did not, however—
The knock on the door made her gather herself. “Yes?”
Through the panels, a female voice replied, “It’s Xhex. Mind if I come in?”
She couldn’t imagine what the female was doing seeking her out. Still, she liked John’s mate, and she would always entertain his shellan.
“Oh, please do—hello, this is a welcome surprise.”
Xhex shut them in together, and awkwardly looked everywhere but upon her face. “So, ah… how are you feeling?”
Indeed, she had the sense a lot of people were going to be asking her that in the coming week. “Well enough.”
“Good. Yeah… good.”
Long silence. “Is there something I may help you with?” Layla asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Then by all means, tell me and I shall do whatever I can.”
“It’s complicated.” Xhex narrowed her eyes. “And dangerous.”
Layla put her hand over her lower belly as if to shelter her young in case there was one. “Whate’er do you seek?”
“On Wrath’s orders, I’m trying to find Xcor.”
Layla’s chest constricted, her mouth opening so she could breathe. “Indeed.”
“I know you’re aware of what he did.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I also know you fed him.”
Layla blinked as the image of that cruel, strangely vulnerable face came to her anew. For a split second, she had the absurd instinct to protect him—but that was ridiculous, and not something she would sustain.
“Of course I will help you and Wrath. I’m glad the king has reconsidered his earlier stance.”
Now the female hesitated. “What if I told you Wrath couldn’t know about it. No one could, especially not Qhuinn. Would that change your mind?”
John, she thought. John had told his mate what had transpired.
“I realize,” Xhex said, “that I’m putting you in a terrible position, but you know what my nature is. I’ll use anything at my disposal to get what I want, and I want to find Xcor now. I have no doubt that I’ll be able to protect you, and I don’t have any intention of getting you anywhere near him. I just need the general area where he settles at night, and I’ll take it from there.”
“Are you going to kill him?”
“No, but I’m going to give the Brotherhood the ammunition to do so. The weapon that was used to shoot at Wrath was a rifle with a long-range scope—not the kind of thing anyone would take into the field on a normal night. Assuming they haven’t destroyed it, they’ll leave it behind when they go out. If I can get ahold of it, and we can prove what they did, things are going to take their natural course.”
Kind eyes, she thought… the male had had such kind eyes when he’d stared up at her. But in fact, he was the enemy of her king.
Layla felt her head nod. “I shall help you. I shall do anything I can… and not say a word.”
The female came over and put a surprisingly gentle hand on her shoulder. “I hate putting you in this position. War is an ugly, ugly business that specializes in compromising good people such as yourself. I can feel how this is tearing you up, and I’m sorry that I’m asking you to lie.”
It was lovely of the symphath to offer concern, but her conflict was not with giving false testimony to the Brotherhood. It was the fighter she would be helping to kill.
“Xcor used me,” she said, as if trying to convince herself.
“He’s very dangerous. You’re lucky to have come out of meeting him alive.”
“I will do what is right.” She glanced up at Xhex. “When do we leave?”
“Right now. If you’re able to.”
Layla called upon deep recesses of strength. Then nodded. “Allow me to get my coat.”
SIXTY-FIVE
Hours later, as Marissa sat at her desk at Safe Place, she answered her cell phone and couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “It’s you again.”
Butch’s Boston-accented voice was full of gravel. As usual. “When are you coming home?”
She looked at her watch and thought, Where had the night gone? Then again, it was always this way at work. She came in as soon as the sun was safely below the horizon, and before she knew it, the light was threatening in the east, and driving her back to the compound.
Into the arms of her male.
Hardly a chore, that was.
“About forty-five minutes?”
“You could come now.…”
The way he drawled those words suggested an altogether different meaning to that verb than “return home.” “Butch—”
“I didn’t make it out of bed tonight.”
She bit her lip, picturing him naked in the sheets that had been messy when she left. “No?”
“Mmm, no.” He drew out the syllables—at least until his breath caught. “I’ve been thinking about you.…”
His voice was so deep, so raw, that she knew exactly what he was doing to himself, and for a moment she closed her eyes and indulged in some seriously beautiful mental pictures.
“Marissa… come home.…”
Snapping herself together, she pulled out of the spell he knew damn well he was weaving around her. “I can’t leave quite now. But I’ll start getting ready to check out—how about that?”
“Perfect.” She could hear the grin on his face. “I’ll be here waiting for you—and listen, all kidding aside, take as long as you need. Just come back here first before you go to Last Meal? I want to give you an hors d’oeuvre you won’t forget.”
“You’re pretty unforgettable already.”
“That’s my girlie. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
As she ended the call, that big, fat, happy smile stayed on her face. Her mate was a traditional kind of male, “old-school,” as he called himself, with all the biases that came with that mental set: Females should never pay for anything, open a door, pump gas into their cars, step through a mud puddle, carry something larger than what could fit in a sandwich bag… you name it. But he never got in the way of her job. Ever. That was the one area of her life where she called the shots, and he never complained about her hours, her workload, or her stress level.
Which was just one of the many reasons she adored the Brother. The displaced females and children who stayed at Safe Place were a kind of family to her, one that she was the head of: She was in charge of the facility, the staff, the programs, the resources, and, most important, everything and everybody who was under its roof. And she loved her job. When Wrath had given her the charter to run the charity, she had nearly balked, but she was so glad she had fought through the fear to find her professional purpose.
“Marissa?”
Glancing up, she found one of the newer counselors standing in her office’s doorway. “Hi, there. How was group tonight?”
“Really good. I’ll be filing my report in about an hour—right after we finish making cookies down in the kitchen. I’m sorry to interrupt you, but there’s a gentlemale here with a delivery?”
“Really?” She frowned at the calendar on the wall. “We don’t have anything scheduled.”
“I know, so I haven’t unlocked the door. He said you’d know him, but he didn’t give his name. I’m wondering if we shouldn’t call the Brotherhood?”
“What does he look like?”
The female reached a hand up over her head. “Very tall. Big. He’s got dark hair with a white stripe in front?”
Marissa jumped up so fast her chair let out a squeak on the floor. “Tohrment? He’s alive?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I’ll handle this. It’s okay—you head back to the kitchen.”
Marissa shot out of her office and went down the front set of stairs. Pausing by the main entrance, she checked the security monitor that V had installed, and then immediately yanked open the door.