The Chosen

Qhuinn glanced at his friend. “You and I are supposed to be paired up tonight.”

John nodded and took his hands back out. I don’t think we’re going anywhere.

“They won’t let me out into the field?”

No, the snowstorm. Record fall. Unheard of for this time of year.

Qhuinn let his head fall back so it hit the plaster behind him. Just his frickin’ luck. There was no way he could stay all night in this house while his kids were with that female, Blay was not speaking to him, and his brothers were still pissed off over the whole Xcor-escaping-the-Tomb thing.

Fuck this shit, he thought. He wasn’t in a prison. He didn’t have to—

Wrath spoke up from the throne. “So let’s get this over with.”

Qhuinn crossed his arms over his chest and got ready for another round of how horrible he was.

“We know where Xcor is,” the King announced. “And he is going to bring the Bastards to me.”

Instantly, the room exploded with talk and cursing, the brothers stamping their shitkickers, everybody on their feet—and Qhuinn did some shocked-to-the-balls of his own. Was the male back in custody? Surely, someone would have told him—

He thought of the mess he’d made in the Tomb and decided … nah, the Brotherhood was pretty much done with him and Xcor for right now.

“He is mine!” Tohr yelled over the din. “He is mine to kill!”

That is fucking debatable, Qhuinn thought—but he kept it to himself. Finders, killers, and all that shit.

If he got to that sonofabitch first, he was going to slaughter him and to hell with—

“No, he’s not,” Wrath ground out. “He isn’t anyone’s to kill.”

As the King’s words sank in, everybody shut up, and V stepped in behind Tohr like he was prepared to put a choke hold on the brother.

Wait … say what? Qhuinn thought.

“Do you understand me,” the King ordered. “No one is killing him.”

And then, as if to drive the command home, Wrath looked first at Tohr … and then directly at Qhuinn himself.

THIRTY-THREE

In the Brotherhood’s safe house, Xcor was in the shower, his face turned to the rush of water, his body regaining further strength by the minute. As soon as night had fallen, he had left Layla asleep in the bed they had shared and gone up to the kitchen, where he had located all manner of calories and set about consuming them. It mattered not to him that the combinations were unappetizing: He had orange juice with mint chocolate chip ice cream, chili out of a can without bothering to warm it, a loaf of bread with a stick of butter, both whole, all of the cold cuts and sliced cheese, and both of the pizzas from the freezer.

Which he had had to cook in the oven because he couldn’t bite into them when they were frozen.

He was going to need to replenish the supplies, although he knew not how. He had never handled his group’s money and thus had no access to any bank accounts or financial resources. And he was not a thief any longer.

Throe had always controlled their funds. He had been among them the best face to put forward when contact with the human world was required—

Xcor sensed Layla’s presence the moment she appeared in the open doorway of the bath, and as he shifted to look at her, he nearly fell to his knees. She was gloriously naked, her high, pink-tipped breasts and her lovely hips, her long legs and perfectly made sex, bared for him, and him alone, to see.

His cock hardened instantly.

But he shielded it from her. Even though they had made love throughout the day, he folded the length up onto his belly and held it there with both hands.

She padded silently over the marble floor, opening the glass door and joining him.

Her eyes flicked down to where his palms were. “Why do you not show me yourself?”

Indeed, he had kept his clothes on all night, pulling the sweats down when he entered her, returning them unto his hips when he cradled her against him afterward.

“Xcor?” she whispered as the steam billowed around her and her skin sparkled from drops of moisture. “Why do you not want me to see you?”

Shaking his head, he preferred not to speak. It was just too difficult to put into words how hard it was to have her sight upon his flesh. She had never seemed bothered by his defect, never appeared to notice it or judge him the lesser because of it—still, clothes were a mask that he preferred to wear in her presence. It had been different when he’d wanted to repel her from him, when he had sought to challenge her with his ugliness in hopes that she would turn away and stop the torture for them both. But now …

He had been rejected all his life. None of that would matter in the slightest, however, if she turned away from him—

Layla sank down on her knees with the grace of moonlight falling from the heavens. And his first instinct was to help her back up, as he didn’t like the idea of her on the hard tile. Yet when he went to bend unto her, she stopped him.

Leaned in toward his palms.

Extended her tongue …

… and slowly licked up the middle finger of his right hand.

Her tongue was slick, slick as the water, and soft, soft as velvet. And he collapsed back against the shower’s wall.

Layla’s eyes stared up his body as she repeated the movement—and then sucked his finger into her mouth. Swirling tongue, hotter now, just like the inside of her …

“Layla,” he begged.

One by one, she sucked at his fingers, loosening his hold on his erection, making him so weak that his hands fell away from his sex not because he willed them as such, but because he lacked the strength in his arms to do aught else.

Freed from constraint, his cock jutted straight out from his hips, the water from the shower making the proud length glisten. Fates, he wanted her to do what she was about to, craved the feel of her lips on his head, his shaft, wanted the suction and the—

“Fuck,” he groaned as her mouth captured him.

She didn’t take all of what he had to offer. She concentrated on his tip, teasing him, backing off, then taking him in a little again—and just as he thought he was going to lose his ever-loving mind, she extended her tongue and ran it around his head, slowly, oh, so slowly. And the entire time, her green eyes looked up at him, and the water fell on her, too, dripping off her nipples, falling down her stomach, disappearing between her split thighs.

Xcor had to grab onto whatever he could find to stay on his feet, his palms squeaking down the glass, but finding a home of sorts on the marble wall.

“Oh, God, Layla …” He had to close his lids. “Too much …”

She didn’t stop, though. She finally sucked him in whole, taking all of him even though he had to be down her throat.

He had to look. And the second he saw her lips stretched wide around his girth, he started to come.

“I’m … oh, fuck …”

Even though he tried to push her back, just in case she didn’t know what was happening, she wouldn’t let him. She found a rhythm with the sucking and accepted his orgasm into her mouth, her hands going between his legs and cupping his balls.

Xcor ended up on his ass. Literally.

His thigh muscles gave out, and it was all he could do not to fall in a heap and crush her as he went down. And still she pleasured him as she repositioned with him, making him find another release right after the first, his legs cranked wide to accommodate her, his hands going to her wet hair, his head and neck getting squeezed in the corner of the shower.

When she was finally finished, she lifted herself up and licked her lips. Meanwhile, all he could do was just catch his breath and stare at her, his skull lolling on his spine, his arms flopped loose, the shower spraying him with warm rain like he was a rock in the forest.

“I want to do the same to you,” he said in a guttural voice.

She sat back on her heels and smiled at him. “Do you?”

He nodded his head. Like a dumb-ass.

“You look a little tired, warrior,” she murmured. “Have I worn you out?”

Xcor was about to deny it when she eased back, fitting her shoulders into the far corner, mirroring his pose. As her lids dropped low, she brought her knees up … and then spread them, giving him a stunning sight.