Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last

skull for specifics to break through.
    No idea where he was going.
    Man, it was cold.

    Sitting in the flatbed, Blay focused on the lit end of his cigarette, the little orange glow going back and forth like a guitar string.
    Guess his hand was shaking.
    The whistle that went off next to him was John’s way of trying to get his attention, but he ignored it. Which got him slapped in the arm.
    This is a really bad stretch for him
, John signed.
    “You’re kidding me, right?” Blay muttered. “You’re absolutely fucking kidding me. He’s always wanted a conventional mating, and he’s knocked up a Chosen—I’d say this is a great—”
    No, here, right here.
John pointed out to the asphalt.
Here
.
    Blay shifted his eyes to the windshield only because he was too tired to argue. Out in front of the flatbed, the headlights illuminated everything, the snow-covered landscape blindingly white, the figure walking at the side of the road like a shadow thrown.
    Red drops of blood marked the path of the footprints.
    Qhuinn’s hands were bleeding from when he’d bashed up the dash—
    Abruptly, Blay frowned. Sat up a little higher.
    Like puzzle pieces sinking into their proper slots, the random details about where they were, from the bend in the road, to the trees, to the stone wall beside them, came together and completed a picture.
    “Oh, shit.” Blay banged his head back against the rest. Closing his eyes briefly, he wanted to find another solution to this, anything other than him going out there.
    He came up with a big, fat
nada
.
    As he pushed open the door, the cold rushed into the warm interior of the truck cab. He didn’t say anything to John. No reason to. Things like going out into a snowfall after someone were self-explanatory.
    Taking a deep drag, he clomped through the accumulation. The road had been plowed earlier, but that was a much-earlier kind of thing.
    Which meant he probably had to act fast.
    Here in this rich part of town, where the tax base was as broad as the rolling lawns, you’d better believe that another one of those house-size yellow muni plows was going to come by right before dawn.
    No need to play this out in front of humans. Especially with the pair of leaking, dead-and-gones in the Hummer.
    “Qhuinn,” he said roughly. “Qhuinn, stop.”
    He didn’t yell. Didn’t have the energy. This…thing, whatever it was between them, had gotten exhausting long ago—and this current side-of-the-road showdown was just one more episode he didn’t have the strength for.
    “Qhuinn. Seriously.”
    At least the guy slowed down a little. And with any luck he was so pissed off, he wouldn’t put all the clues to their location together.
    Jesus Christ, what were the chances, Blay thought as he glanced around. It was right about in this next half mile or so where that Honor Guard had done their business—and Qhuinn had nearly died from the beating.
    God, Blay remembered tooling up that night, a different set of headlights picking out a dark figure, this time bleeding on the ground.
    Shaking himself, he gave the name game one more shot. “Qhuinn.”
    The guy stopped, his shitkickers planting in the snow and going no farther. He didn’t turn around, however.
    Blay motioned for John to kill the headlights, and a second later all he had to deal with was the subtle orange glow of the truck’s parking lights.
    Qhuinn put his hands on his hips and looked up to the sky, his head tilting back, his breath escaping upward in a cloud of condensation.
    “Come back and get in the flatbed.” Blay took another drag and released the smoke. “We need to keep moving—”
    “I know how much Saxton means to you,” Qhuinn said gruffly. “I get that. I really do.”
    Blay forced himself to say, “Good.”
    “I guess…hearing it out loud is still a shock.”
    Blay frowned in the dim light. “I don’t understand.”
    “I know you don’t. And that’s my fault. All of this…is my fault.” Qhuinn glanced over his shoulder, his strong, hard face set grimly. “I just don’t want you to think I’m in love with her. That’s all.”
    Blay went to take a hit off his Dunhill, but didn’t have enough draw in his lungs. “I’m…sorry—I don’t get…why…”
    Well, that was an awesome reply.
    “I’m not in love with her. She’s not in love with me. We are not sleeping together.”
    Blay laughed harshly. “Bullshit.”
    “Dead serious. I serviced her in her needing because I want a young, and so