The Chosen

The recoil would have been comical if Qhuinn hadn’t been up to his elbows in baby poop.

The attorney let out a cough. Or maybe that was a gagging noise. “Dearest Virgin Scribe, whatever are you feeding them?”

“Enfamil formula.”

“And this is legal?”

“For the most part, yes. Although depending on the digestive tract it goes into, clearly there are military applications.”

“Indeed.” The male shook his head as if he were trying to reprioritize his brain away from his respiratory requirements. “Ah, I have what you requested.”

“Great. Thanks. Will you put it in Rhamp’s carrier? No, wait—actually, the diaper bag. As you can see, I’ve got my hands full over here.”

“Yes, I believe no one in this house would wish your attention be diverted. Make that the eastern seaboard.”

As Qhuinn tucked the dirty diaper under his son’s butt and started pulling out wipes from the warmer like he was going to make a parachute out of them, he wondered what he was going to do with that Pampers. Maybe burn it in the backyard?

Probably would flame green. Hell on that theory, he should shut off the lights and see if it glowed in the dark.

“Qhuinn.”

“Yeah, man?”

When the guy didn’t say any further, Qhuinn glanced over his shoulder at the precisely dressed, bow-tied solicitor. “What?”

“Are you certain? About this?”

“Yes, I am absolutely positive that this diaper needs to be changed. And thanks, you’ve been so helpful. I mean, great. Just really great.”

Guess that was his new good-bye. Praise that he honestly felt and meant, but that was designed to end conversation and move people along and away from him.

And yet again, it worked.

Saxton didn’t linger much longer, and then Qhuinn was restrapping his son in the carrier, throwing the duffel over his shoulder, and picking up the matched set of baby-delivery devices.

Immediately, he set them back down. Opened the door Saxton had shut behind himself. And then tried again with the whole cash-and-carry out of the room.

’Cuz it was kind of hard to work a frickin’ doorknob when you didn’t have a free palm.

As he walked past all the marble statues, he felt an abiding exhaustion and figured it could be one of a number of things. He hadn’t slept all day long, his mind consumed with thoughts about Blay, anger at Layla, and anxiety over what the hell Rhamp and Lyric were doing. Plus the Xcor thing. And then there had been the infant Olympics of getting the kids ready to go out just now.

Hell, maybe he also had anticipatory depression over the prospect of having to get the damn carriers into the bases he’d strapped in the back of the Hummer. He’d done a dry run right at nightfall and had nearly lost his IQ trying to get the plastic pieces of shit aligned with where they had to click into—and that had been without actually having Rhamp and Lyric in their bucket seats.

Why the idiot humans who had made the things couldn’t construct them so the two parts fit was a Sherlock Holmes problem. You’d figure if those rats without tails could put a motherfucker in a space suit on the moon, they could make it so parents didn’t have to fight with car seats.

It was really just that simple.

As he hit the grand staircase, he let his mind continue on its various rants, giving his gray matter all kinds of leeway to bitch about kid accoutrements.

It was better than worrying about whether Blay was going to be at his parents’ or not. Or whether they were going to make it through this. Or not.

Much better.

As Layla re-formed on the back porch of the ranch, she triggered the motion detectors, lights coming on and illuminating her. That was fine, though. None of the humans would have seen her arriving from out of nowhere because she’d materialized into a deep pocket of shadows by the fence.

Heading for the sliding glass door, she crunched through the thick snow, the sadness of leaving her young behind and her worry that Qhuinn might do something crazy like kidnap them being replaced with anxiety about whether or not Xcor would be waiting for her. Her mind was so scattered, she had barely been able to dematerialize, and she couldn’t seem to sense him on the premises.

On the keypad by the handle, she entered a code, heard the lock disengage, and pulled open the door.

Warmth greeted her, and so did silence.

She’d left the light on over the stove, and also one in the living room by the front door. Everything seemed in order—no, wait, the trash had been emptied.

“Xcor?”

She closed the glass door and listened. Breathed in deep.

A piercing disappointment stung her sternum as she got no reply and did not scent him. Curious about who had emptied the kitchen bin, she went across and checked the refrigerator. It had been completely restocked … and she was willing to bet that the bedroom downstairs had been refreshed as well.

Clearly, the doggen staff had been in to clean up after Xcor had left for the night. And further, the male obviously hadn’t spent the day under this roof.

Sitting down at the circular table, she put her hands on the polished top and spread her fingers wide. Then she closed them. And spread them wide once again.

She had assumed that he would be here when she returned. Hadn’t they made that plan? Perhaps it had only been on her side. She could not remember.

Oh, God, what if he had been killed during the previous night or day. But no, that was paranoia talking … right? Or … had he found his males? Had they taken their vows to Wrath already and left without Xcor saying good-bye?

As she listened to the silence in the house, the quiet broken by nothing save the sounds of warm air whistling out of the vents and the occasional tumble of ice falling inside the freezer, her heart pounded from both sorrow and fear.

And then, as time passed, she was struck by the fact that, like the ranch, so, too, was her life so very, very empty. Without the young to attend to, without Xcor to enjoy, what did she have?

Considering that he would be leaving very soon—assuming he hadn’t already—and also that there was little chance she was going to go back to live at the mansion ever again, she realized it was time to find something for herself, something that wasn’t tied to being a mahmen or a mate. When she had functioned as a Chosen, she had had plenty to occupy her mind and her time, all sorts of duties to perform. Here, in the outside world, though? In the post–Scribe Virgin era?

With freedom came the obligation of self-discovery, she supposed. After all, how could you exercise choice if you didn’t have a clue who you were? Labels weren’t going to do it, titles like “mahmen” or “shellan” weren’t really going to help you. You needed to dig into yourself and find out how to fill your hours with pursuits that were meaningful to you and for you, as a person, an individual.

Too bad that what should have been viewed as an adventure of exploration and enlightenment struck her as a burden.

As her stomach let out a growl, she glanced over at the refrigerator door. There had been all kinds of things in there, but little that interested her enough to have her even cross the floor, much less get out pots and pans. And takeout? She had heard of it, but she had no cash, no credit cards, and no interest in tangling with humans—

Knock knock knock—

Layla jumped and twisted around to the slider. And then she smiled. Smiled big.

Smiled huge.

Leaping from the chair, she sprang the lock on the glass door and looked up, way up, at the face that had been in her mind for the past twenty-four hours.

“You came back,” she breathed as Xcor stepped inside and shut them in together.

His eyes narrowed on her mouth. “Where’er else would I go?”

Layla was tempted to make him swear that he wouldn’t leave for the Old Country without a proper good-bye, but now that he was in front of her, she didn’t want to mar even a second of their together-time with thoughts of the split that was coming.

Rising on her tiptoes, she leaned forward until she went off balance, sure that he would catch her—and he did, his arms solid and strong around her.

“Tell me,” he said before he kissed her, “are the young well? Are they all right? Are you?”

For a moment, she closed her eyes. The idea that he would ask about the offspring of a male who had paid him no honor was such a kind and generous thing to do.