Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last

about, and if he was right? Even just twenty minutes into the kidnapping, he might well be too late.
    In which case, a certain business associate of his was going to learn new lessons in pain.
    And Assail was going to be the man’s teacher.

EIGHTY
    L ayla stayed in the Mercedes. It was warm in the interior, and the seat was comfortable, and she felt safe within the confines of the great steel cage around her. And she had a landscape of sorts to ponder: The headlights shone brightly in front of the car, the beams reaching out into the night quite some distance before fading.
    After a while, flurries began to float downward through the illumination, their lazy, circuitous routes suggesting that they didn’t want their descent from the clouds above to end.
    As she sat in silence, cycling the engine on and off as Qhuinn had taught her to do during cold weather, her mind was not blank. No, her mind was not empty at all. Although she stared straight ahead and took note of the silent snowfall, and the straightaway of the road, and the peaceful farmland…what she saw was that fighter. That traitor.
    That male who seemed always with her, especially when she was by herself.
    Even as she sat alone in this car out in the middle of nowhere, his presence was tangible, her memories of him so strong, she could swear he was within reach. And the yearning…dearest Virgin Scribe, theyearning she felt was nothing she could share with any of those whom she loved.
    It was such a cruel fate to have a reaction like this to one who was—
    Layla jerked back in the seat, a shout breaching her lips and resonating through the interior of the car.
    At first, she was unsure whether what had materialized in the beams was in fact real: Xcor appeared to be standing with his boots planted on the road ahead, his huge, leather-clad body seeming to absorb the twin beams of light as a black hole would.
    “No,” she barked. “No!”
    She wasn’t sure who she was talking to, or what she was denying. But one thing was clear—as he took a step forward, and then another, she knew that the soldier was not a figment of her mind or her terrible desires, but very much real.
    Put the car in gear, she told herself. Put it in gear, and hit the gas pedal hard.
    Flesh and blood, even as terrifyingly fierce as his, was no match for an impact like that.
    “No,” she hissed, as he came ever closer.
    His face was exactly as she had remembered: perfectly symmetrical, with high cheekbones, narrowed eyes, and a permanent frown between his straight brows. His upper lip was twisted up, such that he appeared to be snarling, and his body…his body moved like a great animal’s, his shoulders shifting with barely restrained power, his heavy thighs carrying him forward with the promise of brutal strength.
    And yet…she was not afraid.
    “No,” she moaned.
    He stopped when he was but a foot from the car’s grille, his leather coat blowing out to the side of him, his weapons gleaming. His arms were down at his sides, but they did not stay that way. He reached up, moving slowly….
    To remove something from his back.
    A weapon of some kind. Which he laid upon the vehicle.
    And then his hands, those black leather-clad hands, went to the front of his chest…and he took two guns out from under that coat. And daggers from the holster that crossed his pectorals. And a length of chain. And something that flashed but which she didn’t recognize.
    He put it all on the hood of the car.
    Then he stepped back. Held his arms aloft. And turned in a slow circle.
    Layla breathed hard.
    She was not of a warring nature. Never had been. But she knew instinctively that within the code of the warrior, to disarm yourself before another was a kind of vulnerability not easily taken. He remained deadly, of course—a male of his build and training was capable of killing simply with bare hands.
    He was offering himself to her, however.
    Proving in the most visible way possible that he meant her no harm.
    Layla’s hand went to the row of buttons on the side panel beside her and froze there. She was not still, however—she breathed heavily, as if she were in flight, her heart pounding, sweat dotting her upper lip….
    She unlocked the doors.
    The Scribe Virgin help her…but she unlocked the doors.
    As the punching sound reverberated around the interior, Xcor’s eyes closed briefly, his expression loosening, as if he had been given a gift he had not expected. Then he came around….
    When