The Beast

FIFTY-FIVE

Layla returned to Earth and regained consciousness in her physical form, her eyes opening to focus on the low ceiling of her hospital room. Her hands went immediately to her belly, and as she shifted her legs and took a deep breath, there was movement there, reassuring, strong, vital movement.

She’d left the light on in the bathroom with the door mostly closed, as was her habit whenever she tried to sleep, and her stare gravitated to the illumination. Then she looked at the clock. Eleven thirty-four p.m.

She had been up in the Sanctuary for quite a while.

When she had proceeded from the Temple of the Sequestered Scribes to the library, it had taken her a while to find what she was in search of. And then she had studied the particular volume for some time. As well as others.

Pushing herself up higher on the mattress, she rubbed her temples.

She should not have gone into Xcor’s history.

Then again, if his story had been different, if his true sire’s identity had proven to be that of another, it wouldn’t have mattered as much, she supposed. Such a shock. Indeed, she had even cross-referenced what she had found, going into the sacred annals of the Black Dagger Brotherhood, pulling out volumes, searching for some inconsistency, some contradiction in the sire’s records.

There had been nothing of the sort. In fact, there had been a confirmation.

And now she could not un-learn what she had discovered.

With a groan, she sat up further, swung her legs off the side, and noted that her ankles were so swollen, it was as if her calves ran directly down into her feet.

She should not have gone hunting for any information.

For now what did she do? How did she explain why she had looked?

Pushing herself onto her feet, she pulled her nightgown down and moved her hair back behind her shoulders. With a curse, she took one step forward—

Wetness. Down the insides of her legs again.

Great. Just what she needed in the middle of all this.

Waddling forward, she was preoccupied with Xcor and irritated with her bladder. But at least she could take a shower and relax knowing that everything was okay with the young. And didn’t they make adult diapers for this sort of thing?

She was pivoting around to shut the bathroom door when she looked back—

Blood. Blood on the floor . . . bloody footprints on the floor.

Lifting her gown, there was blood on the inside of her legs.

As she screamed, someone came running—and Ehlena burst in.

The nurse took one look at what was going on—and immediately went into professional mode. “Come with me. Back to bed. Back to bed we go.”

Layla was dimly aware of the female taking her by the arm and depositing her back on the mattress.

“The young—what about the young—”

“Hold on, I’m calling for Doc Jane.” Ehlena hit the summoning button. “I’m just going to hook you up to the machines, okay?”

Everything happened so fast. Wires set upon her, monitors engaged, Doc Jane rushing in. The ultrasound rolled into the room. Manny arriving. Qhuinn and Blay nearly breaking down the door as they came in.

“The young,” she moaned. “What about the young . . . ?”

It was as the wind blew o’er the land.

Consciousness returned to Xcor in the manner of a gust that traveled around and over a landscape, bypassing some things, rustling others, penetrating through still more. Accordingly, he was aware of many aches, and yet there were great patches of numbness, too—he could feel measures of agony and stretches of tingles . . . twitches and jerks . . . but then nothing at all in great swaths of his flesh.

Smell registered with acuity, however.

The scent of dirt confused him.

Behind his closed eyes, he oriented himself as best he could using his ears and his nose. He was not alone. There was the scent of one—no, two other male vampires with him. Further, they were speaking in low tones—well, one of them was. The other said naught that Xcor could ascertain.

He did not know them. Or, more accurately, he did not recognize them as being his soldiers—

The Brotherhood. Indeed, yes, he had scented them before. When the Brotherhood had come to speak unto the glymera at that meeting of the Council.

Had he been captured?

Hazy details of the night came back to him. Of him being in that alley next to that burned-out car shell. Of him following a food truck . . . following where? Where had he gone?

Was this a dream?

Images filtered across his mind’s eye, but they did not stay long enough for him to grasp—

“He’s frowning,” the male voice said. “His hands are moving. Are you awake, bastard?”

He could not have answered if his life depended upon it—and in fact, his life did depend on it. If he had been captured, the how’s and where’s were—

Campus.

He had not followed the food truck. No, he had been on top of the vehicle, riding through the night as the slayers he had been hunting had proceeded out of downtown, past the suburbs, unto an abandoned college or preparatory school’s campus.

Whereupon he had witnessed the aftermath of a great battle, a devastating loss for the Lessening Society.

Waged by the Brotherhood.

He had found a human. Upon a roof.

And then he himself had been struck upon the back of the head.

How long had he been unconscious? His body ached all over, not as if it had been beaten, but rather as if it hadn’t been used in a while.

“Are you finally awake?” the voice demanded.

Finally . . . ? Yes, it must have been some time that he had been unconscious. In fact, he felt as though he had been lying in this position for a prolonged period.

What was that beeping—

Ringing. All of a sudden there was ringing—cell phones going off. The male who had been doing the speaking answered.

“What? When? How much? Oh, God . . . yes. Right away. Can Lassiter come and sit with him? Where is he? We’ll both come then.” There was a pause. “John—yes, it’s happening now and they need us for blood. We have to go. I don’t want to leave him, either, but what are we going to do? No, I don’t know where Lassiter is.”

There was some shuffling, as if they were gathering up supplies.

“No, they want both of us. She’s in labor. The young are coming and it’s too early.”

Layla!

Without thinking, Xcor’s lids popped open. The two fighters had turned away and were leaving, thank the Fates, so they caught him not.

“I’m terrified, too,” the one with the red hair said. “For her, for Qhuinn. And he’ll be fine. He’s going nowhere.”

The sounds of their footfalls decreased until there was a clanking, as if a gate or perhaps some chains were being moved. And then there was a repeat of all that.

Xcor blinked wildly. When he went to sit up, he found that, indeed, he was not going anywhere. There were steel bands at his wrists and ankles, and even around his waist. Moreover, he was too weak to do much more than hold his head up.

Craning around, he saw that he was surrounded by vessels of some description or another . . . they were jars, jars that were set upon shelves that ran from floor to ceiling. In a cave? And yet there was monitoring equipment keeping tabs on his bodily functions that were of complex and electronic nature.

“Layla . . .” he said in a voice that cracked. “Layla . . .”

Collapsing back against the bedding he was strapped down on, his will to escape and go to her was great though he knew not where she was or even where he was. His body had other plans, however. As night eclipsed the illumination of the daytime hours, darkness descended upon him once again.

Owning him.

His last thought was that the female he both loved and feared needed him, and he wanted to be there for her . . .