Lover at Last (Black Dagger Brotherhood #11)(123)
Author: J.R. Ward

Blay kept two guns out.

As Manny and Butch rode up beside them, the other Brothers and John Matthew dematerialized at regular distances, appearing at the sides of the two parallel tracks.

It took a hundred years.

Blay literally thought they were never going to get out of there. It seemed as though the high-pitched, whining engines, and the blur of the dark forest, and the brilliant white patches of clearings were going to be the last things he saw.

He prayed the entire way.

When the big, boxy hangar structure finally came into view, parked right next to it was the single most beautiful thing Blay had ever seen.

V and Butch’s Escalade.

Things moved lickety-split from there: Qhuinn pulling up alongside the SUV, Luchas transferred into the backseat, snowmobiles reloaded onto the trailer hitched to the back, Qhuinn going over to the passenger seat of the vehicle.

"I want Blay to drive," he said before getting in.

There was a heartbeat of a pause. Then Butch nodded and tossed the keys over. "Manny and I will be in the back back."

Blay got behind the wheel, moved the seat to accommodate his legs, and powered up the engine. As Qhuinn settled next to him, he looked over.

"Put on your seat belt."

The male did as he was told, stretching the nylon strap around his chest and clicking it into place. Then he immediately cranked himself around to focus on his brother.

A feeling of single-minded determination set Blay’s shoulders and tightened his hands. He didn’t care what he had to mow over, take down, or leave grille marks on; he was going to get Qhuinn and his brother to the training center and into the clinic.

Hitting the gas, he didn’t look back.

Chapter Sixty-three

Trez frowned at the adding machine he’d been punching numbers into. Reaching out for the white tongue of paper that hung over the side of his desk, he tried to see the column of numbers he’d been making.

He blinked.

Rubbed his eyes. Reopened them.

Nope. The shimmering circle in the upper right-hand quadrant of his vision was still there, and it was not a function of glare.

"Fuck…me."

Shoving the receipts he’d been totaling aside, he looked at his watch, then put his head in his hands. As he squeezed his eyes shut, the aura was still in place, the pattern of interlocking geometrics sparkling with all the colors of the rainbow.

He had about twenty-five minutes before all hell broke loose – and he was not going to be able to dematerialize.

Fumbling for his office phone, he hit the intercom. Two seconds later, Xhex’s voice came out of the speaker, tinnier than usual. Which meant the sensitivity to sound was kicking in.

"Hey, what’s up?" she said.

"I’m getting a migraine. I gotta bounce."

"Oh, man, that sucks. Didn’t you get one just a week ago?"

Whatever. Not the point. "Can you take over?"

"You need a ride home?"

Yes. "No. I can make it." He began gathering his wallet, his cell, his keys. "Call me if you need me, ‘kay?"

"You got it."

Trez took a deep breath as he cut the connection and got to his feet. He felt perfectly fine – for the moment. And the good news was, he was no more than fifteen minutes from his apartment – even assuming he hit all red lights. Which would leave him about ten minutes to get into sweats, line up a wastepaper basket and a towel beside his bed, and prepare for total digestive collapse.

Six, seven hours from now? He was going to feel better.

Unfortunately, the here-to-there was going to suck.

On his way to his office’s closed door, he slung his jacket onto his shoulders and braced himself for the music on the far side.

When he stepped out, he walked right into the wall of iAm’s considerable chest.

"Gimme your keys," was all his brother said.

"You don’t have to – "

"Did I ask you for an opinion?"

"Goddamn Xhex – "

"Right behind your brother," the female cut in. "And I know you meant that as a compliment."

"I’m fine," Trez said, as he tried to angle his vision so that his head of security was out of his blind spot.

"You have how many minutes before the pain hits?" Xhex smiled, flashing her fangs. "Do you really want to be wasting any of them arguing with me?"

Trez bitched his way out of his club, and the instant the cold air hit his sinuses, his stomach seized up – like it was getting ready to go to town early.

Sliding into the passenger seat of his own BMW, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. The aura was getting larger, the original line of shimmer splitting into two and fanning outward, moving slowly toward the edge of his vision.

During the trip home, he found himself feeling glad iAm wasn’t a talker.

Although it wasn’t as if he didn’t know what the guy was thinking.

Too much stress. Too many headaches.

He probably needed to feed as well – but that was not happening for a while.

As his brother drove with alacrity, Trez passed the time picturing where they were in the city; what traffic lights they were going through or stopping at; what turns they were making; where the Commodore was, its towering length looming higher and higher the closer they got.

A sudden decline told him that they were going into the parking garage – and that he’d fallen behind in his mental mapping: as far as he’d known, they were still a couple of blocks away.

Lot of left-hand turns came next as they spiraled down three floors and parked in one of the two spots they were allotted.

By the time they filed into the elevator and iAm punched the eighteenth button, the aura had wandered off the confines of his vision, disappearing as if it had never been.

Calm before the storm.

"Thanks for driving me home," he said. And meant it. He hated relying on anyone else, but it was pretty damn hard not to hit anything when you had a neon sign flashing in the back of both eyeballs.

"I figured it was better this way."

"Yeah."

He and his brother hadn’t talked about the high priest’s visit since it happened, but that hi-how’re-ya from AnsLai was still very much between them – but at least iAm had put aside the pissed off long enough to get him back here.

Trez’s first clue that the headache was gearing up was the way the subtle ding that announced its destination shot through his brain like a bullet.

He groaned as the doors slid open. "This is going to be bad."

"Didn’t you have one last week?"

He wondered how many more people could ask him that.

iAm took care of the lock on the door, and Trez dumped his jacket three feet into the apartment. He shed his black cashmere sweater on the way down to his bedroom, and was unbuttoning his silk shirt as he walked into –