Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last

you.”
    “Well, lasagna would make you the best mother in the universe.”
    “I’ll start boiling the noodles now.”
    As he closed his eyes, the return of the easy back-and-forth that had been the hallmark of their relationship seemed extra special.
    “So tell me more about Qhuinn’s bravery. I love to hear you talk about him, you get so animated.”
    Man, Blay refused to think about any of the whys on that one. Hejust launched into the tale, with some judicious editing so he didn’t divulge anything the Brothers wouldn’t want on the airways—not that his mother would ever say a thing to anybody.
    “Well, we were out scoping this area, and…”

    “Do you need aught else, sire?”
    Qhuinn shook his head and chewed as fast as he could to clear his mouth. “No, thanks, Fritz.”
    “Mayhap some more roast beef?”
    “Nah, thanks—oh, okay.” He backed out of the way as more of the perfectly cooked meat hit his plate. “But I don’t need—”
    More potatoes. More squash.
    “And I’ll bring you another glass of milk,” the butler said with a smile.
    As the old
doggen
turned away, Qhuinn took a bracing breath and tucked in to his round two. He had a feeling that all of this food was Fritz’s way of saying thank you, and it was odd—the more he ate, the more he started to feel hungry.
    Come to think of it…when was the last time he’d had a meal?
    As the butler delivered more moo, Qhuinn drank up like a good little boy.
    Damn, he hadn’t meant to waste this time in the kitchen. His original intention, when he’d come up from the clinic, had been to go right to Layla’s room. Fritz, on the other hand, had had other ideas, and the old guy hadn’t taken no for an answer—which suggested that it had been an order from on high. Like from Tohr, as head of the Brotherhood. Or the king himself.
    So Qhuinn had given up and given in…and ended up sitting at this granite counter, getting stuffed tight as a piñata.
    At least surrender was delicious, he thought a little later as he put his fork down and wiped his mouth.
    “Here, sire, something for your dessert.”
    “Oh, thanks, but—” Well, well, well, what do we have here: a bowl of coffee ice cream with hot fudge sauce all over it—no whipped cream or nuts. Just the way he liked it. “You really didn’t have to.”
    “It is your favorite, no?”
    “As a matter of fact, yeah.” And look, here was the silver spoon.
    You know, it would be rude to let the stuff melt.
    As Qhuinn started in on dessert, the stitches that Doc Jane had put in over his eyebrow began to throb under their bandage—and the pain reminded him of what a crazy-ass night it had been.
    It seemed surreal to consider that an hour ago he’d been on the verge of death, dancing through the dark sky in a rattletrap piece-of-crap airplane he had no idea how to fly. Now? It was a case of Breyers’ best. With hot fudge.
    And to think he was actually relieved there were no nuts or whipped cream to shave off lest his palate be ruined. Because, yeah, that was a serious-ass problem right there.
    As his adrenaline glands burped and a shot of anxiety trembled along every nerve in his body, he knew damn well the aftershocks were going to come and go. Kinda like whiplash for his nervous system.
    But dealing with a case of post-disaster heebs was helluva lot better than going up in flames. Or down, as the case would have been.
    After part two of his meal was finished, he did his best to help clean up before he went to see Layla, but Fritz got into a flutter about him even trying to carry his bowl and spoon anywhere near the sink. Giving in yet again, he headed out through the dining room, and paused to look around at the long table, picturing everyone sitting in their usual chairs.
    All that mattered was that Z was back safely in the arms of his
shellan
—and no one else had been injured—
    “Excuse me, sire,” Fritz said as he hustled by. “The door.”
    Up ahead in the foyer, the
doggen
went to the security check-in screen. A second later, he sprang the lock on the interior of the vestibule.
    And in came Saxton.
    Qhuinn hung back. The last thing he wanted to do was tangle with that male right now. He was going to check on Layla, and then crash out—
    The scent that drifted over to him wasn’t right.
    Frowning, he went over to the archway. Up ahead, his cousin chatted with Fritz for a moment and then started to walk toward the grand staircase.
    Qhuinn inhaled deep, his nostrils