Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last

Bieber display counted.
    What are you going to have?
John signed.
    Qhuinn shrugged and kept looking around. As John’s
ahstrux nohtrum
, he was responsible for making sure the guy came back to the Brotherhood’s mansion every night in one piece, and after well over a year, so far, so good….
    God, he missed Blay.
    Shaking his head, he randomly reached forward. When his arm came back at him, he’d snagged some sour cream and onion.
    Looking at the Lay’s logo, and the close-up of a single chip, all he could think of was the way he and John and Blay used to hang out at Blay’s parents’ house, playing Xbox, drinking beers, dreaming of bigger and better posttrans lives.
    Unfortunately, bigger and better had turned out to be only the size and strength of their bodies. Although maybe that was just his POV. John was, after all, happily mated. And Blay was with…
    Shit, he couldn’t even say his cousin’s name in his head.
    “You good, J-man?” he asked roughly.
    John Matthew snagged a Doritos old-school original and nodded.
Let’s get drinks.
    As they headed deeper into the store, Qhuinn wished they were downtown, fighting in the alleys, going up against either of their two enemies. Too much downtime on these suburban details, and that meant too much dwelling on—
    He cut himself off again.
    Whatever. Besides, he hated having any contact with the
glymera
—and that shit was mutual. Unfortunately, members of the aristocracy were gradually moving back to Caldwell, and that meant Wrath had gotten inundated with calls about so-called slayer sightings.
    Like the Omega’s undead didn’t have better things to do than stalk around barren fruit trees and frozen swimming pools.
    Still, the king wasn’t in a position to tell the dandies to go F themselves. Not since Xcor and his Band of Bastards had put a bullet in that royal throat.
    Traitors. Fuckers. With any luck, Vishous was going to prove without a shadow of a doubt where that rifle shot had come from, and then the bunch of them could gut those soldiers, put their heads on stakes, and light the corpses on fire.
    As well as find out exactly who on the Council was colluding with the new enemy.
    Yup, user-friendly was the name of the game now—so one night a week, each of the teams ended up here in the neighborhood he’d grown up in, knocking on doors and looking under beds.
    In museum-like houses that gave him the creeps more than any dark underpass downtown.
    A tap on his forearm brought his head around. “Yeah?”
    I was going to ask you the same thing.
    “Huh?”
    You stopped here. And have just been staring at…well, you know.
    Qhuinn frowned and glanced at the product display. Then lost all train of thought—as well as most of the blood from his head. “Oh, yeah…ah…” Shit, had someone turned up the heat? “Um.”
    Baby bottles. Baby formula. Baby bibs and wet naps and Q-tips. Pacifiers. Bottles. Some kind of contraption—
    Oh, God, a breast pump.
    Qhuinn did a one-eighty so fast, he got faced by a six-foot-high stack of Pampers, bounced back into the land of NUKs, and finally ricocheted out of infant airspace thanks to an A+D rebound. What ever the hell that shit was.
    Baby. Baby. Baby—
    Oh, good. He’d made it up to the checkout counter.
    Shoving a hand into his biker jacket, Qhuinn pulled his wallet free and reached behind for John’s finger food. “Gimme your stuff.”
    As the guy started to argue, mouthing the words because his hands were full, Qhuinn snagged the Mountain Dew and Doritos that were clogging up communication.
    “There ya go. While he’s ringing us up, you can yell at me properly.”
    And what do you know, John’s hands flew through the positions of ASL in various I-got-this combinations.
    “Is he deaf?” the guy behind the cash register asked in a stage whisper. As if someone using American Sign Language was some kind of freak.
    “No. Blind.”
    “Oh.”
    As the man kept staring, Qhuinn wanted to pop him. “You going to help us out here or what?”
    “Oh…yeah. Hey, you got a tattoo on your face.” Mr. Observant moved slowly, like the bar codes on those bags were creating some kind of wind resistance under his laser reader. “Did you know that?”
    Really. “I wouldn’t know.”
    “Are you blind, too?”
    No filter on this guy. None. “Yeah, I am.”
    “Oh, so that’s why your eyes are all weird.”
    “Yeah. That’s right.”
    Qhuinn took out a twenty and didn’t wait for change—murder was just a