FORTY - EIGHT
Every once in a while, Qhuinn's death came back to him. It happened in dreams. In rare moments when he was still and quiet. And sometimes just to fuck his head for kicks and giggles.
He always tried to avoid the collage of sights and smells and sounds like the plague, but though he'd filed for a restraining order with his inner court, opposing counsel was being a little bitch and putting up objections ... so the shit kept popping up.
As he lay in his bed now, the foggy stretch of mental landscape that was neither sleep nor waking was like an open line for that horrible night to phone in, and what do you know, it did some dialing, the memories ringing his bells and somehow forcing him to answer.
His own brother had been part of the honor guard who had come to beat him and the bunch of black-robed bastards had tracked him down at the side of the road as he'd walked away from his family's mansion for the last time. He'd had the few things he'd owned on his back, and he'd had no idea where he was headed. His father had thrown him out and he'd been struck from the family tree, so ... there you go. Rootless. Directionless.
All because of his mismatched eyes.
The honor guard was just supposed to have beaten him for his offense to the bloodline. They were not supposed to kill him. But shit had gotten out of hand, and in a surprising shift, his brother had tried to stop it.
Qhuinn really remembered that part. His brother's voice telling the others to stop.
It had been too late, however, and Qhuinn had floated away not just from the pain but also from the earth itself ... only to find himself in a sea of white fog that had parted to reveal a door. Without being told, he'd known it was the entrance to the Fade, and he'd also known that once he opened it he was donzo.
Which had seemed like a great idea at the time. Nothing to lose and all that ...
And yet, he'd balked at the last moment. For a reason he couldn't remember.
It was the strangest thing.... For all that night was etched in his brain, that was the one piece he couldn't recall no matter how hard he tried.
But he remembered slamming back into his own body: As he'd regained consciousness, Blay had been doing CPR on him, and wasn't that a lip lock worth living for -
The knock that sounded on his door woke him up fully and he jacked off the pillows, willing the lights on so he was sure he knew where he was.
Yup. His bedroom. Alone.
But not for much longer.
As his adjusting eyes slowly slid over to the door, he knew who was on the other side. He could catch the delicate scent drifting in, and he knew why Layla had come. Hell, maybe that was why he hadn't been able to truly sleep - he'd expected to be woken up by her at any moment.
"Come in," he said softly.
The Chosen slipped inside silently, and as she turned to him, she looked like hell. Worn-out. A wasteland.
"Sire ..."
"You can call me Qhuinn, you know. Please do, I mean."
"Thank you." She bowed at the waist and seemed to struggle getting herself upright. "I was wondering if I may avail myself once again of your kind offer to ... take your vein. Verily, I am ... depleted and unable to render myself back to the Sanctuary."
As he met her green stare, something percolated deep in his mind, some kind of ... realization that took root and put out sprouts of I-almost-got-it, it's-just-about-to-come.
Green eyes. Green as grapes and jade and spring buds.
"Why ever are you looking at me thus?" she said, drawing the lapels of her robe more closely together.
Green eyes ... in a face that was ...
The Chosen glanced back at the door. "Perhaps ... I shall just go - "
"I'm sorry." Shaking himself, he made sure the covers were at his waist and motioned her over. "Just woke up - don't mind me."
"Are you certain?"
"Abso, come here. Friends, remember?" He held out his hand, and when she got within range, he took her palm and urged her down into a sit.
"Sire? You're still staring at me."
Qhuinn searched her face and then trolled down her body. Green eyes ...
So what about the damn eyes? It wasn't like he'd never seen them before -
Green eyes ...
He swallowed a curse. Christ, this was like having a song in your head that you could remember everything but the words to.
"Sire?"
"Qhuinn. Say it, please."
"Qhuinn."
He smiled a little. "Here, take what you need."
As he lifted his wrist, he thought, Man, she was so damned thin, as she bent down and opened her mouth. Her fangs were long and very white, but delicate. Not like his. And her strike was as gentle and ladylike as the rest of her.
Which the traditionalist in him thought was only proper.
While she fed, he looked at her blond hair that was twisted into a complex weave, and her spare shoulders, and her pretty hands.
Green eyes.
"Christ." When she made as if to pull out, he put his hand on the back of her neck and kept her at his wrist. "It's okay. Foot cramp."
More like brain cramp.
In frustration, he lifted his head and, in lieu of hitting the wall with it, rubbed his eyes. When he refocused, he was staring at the door ...
... Layla had just come through.
Instantly, he was sucked back into the dream. But not about the beating or his brother. He saw himself standing at the entrance unto the Fade ... standing in front of the white panels ... standing with his hand out, about to reach for the knob.
Reality warped and pulled and went taffy-twisted until he didn't know whether he was awake or asleep ... or dead.
The swirl started to form in the center of the door, as if whatever it had been made of had liquefied to the consistency of milk. And from out of the tornadic center an image coalesced and came forward, more as a sound would carry than as if something visual would take shape.
It was the face of a young female.
A young female with blond hair and refined features ... and pale green eyes.
She was staring out at him, holding his eyes sure as if she had captured his face in her small, pretty hands.
Then she blinked. And her irises changed color.
One became green and the other blue. Just like his.
"Sire!"
At first he was utterly confused - wondering why in the hell the young female had called him that. How did she know who he was?
"Qhuinn! Let me seal you up!"
He blinked. And discovered that he had thrown himself against the headboard, and in the process, he'd torn Layla's fangs from his flesh and he was hemorrhaging all over the sheets.
"Let me - "
He strong-armed the Chosen back and sealed his own mouth on the wound. As he took care of himself, he couldn't take his eyes off Layla.
It was waaaaay too easy to overlay that young female's features on Layla's face and find something so much deeper than similarity.
As his heart started pounding, he took a little time out to remind himself that he'd never done the prescient thing. Unlike V, he couldn't see into the future.
Layla moved slowly as she got off the bed, like she didn't want to spook him. "Shall I go get Jane? Or perhaps it would be best if I just left."
Qhuinn opened his mouth ... and found that nothing came out.
Wow. He'd never been in a car accident, but he imagined the curling dread he felt now was probably the way things went when you saw someone blow a stop sign and come gunning for your side door: You triangulated their direction and their speed against your own and came to the conclusion that impact was imminent.
Although he couldn't imagine a world in which he got Layla pregnant.
"I have seen the future," he said from a distance.
Layla's hands lifted to her throat as if she were choking. "Is it bad?"
"It's ... not possible. At all."
As he put his head in his palms, all he could see in the darkness was that face ... the one that was part Layla's and part his.
Oh, God ... save them both. Save ... all of them.
"Sire? You're scaring me."
Well, that made two of them ...
Except it couldn't be. Could it?
"I'm going to go," she said roughly. "I thank you for your gift."
He nodded and couldn't look at her. "You're welcome."
As the door shut shortly thereafter, he shuddered, a cold, bracing fear settling into his bones ... and going right into his soul.
Ironic, really, he thought. His parents had never wanted him to reproduce, and go fig - the idea of shafting Layla with a defective daughter, or even worse, laying his fucked-up eyes upon an innocent young female, made him embrace his vow of celibacy like nothing else could.
And actually, he should be glad. Of all the destinies he could have seen, this was one hundred percent avoidable, wasn't it.
He just was never going to have sex with Layla.
Ever.
So it was all an impossibility. End of.