No.
No. . .
Fuck, no, shit, no, God, no, damn it to hell, no. . .
"Qhuinn. . . " she groaned. "You're my only hope, and I yours. . . . "
Well, actually, that wasn't true - at least the first part. Any other male in the house - or on the planet - could take care of this. And of course, right afterward, they would be answerable to the Primale.
Not a conversation he was going to volunteer for.
Except. . . well, she was right about the second part. In her delirium, in her desperation, she was voicing the same thing he'd been thinking for months now. Like her, he had nothing that was really his, no prospects of true love, no abiding reason to rise each sunset other than the war. What kind of life was that?
Fine, he told himself. Go get a goddamned dog. The answer to all that was not to lie with this Chosen.
"Qhuinn. . . please. . . "
"Listen, let me get you to Doc Jane. She'll take care of you the right way - "
Layla shook her head wildly. "No. I need you. "
From out of nowhere, he thought, Young were a future that was your own. If you parented them well, they never truly left you - and they could not be taken away from you if you kept them safe.
Hell, if Layla conceived, even the Primale couldn't do shit, because Qhuinn would be. . . the father. Which in vampire terms was the ultimate trump short of the king - and Wrath wouldn't touch something private like this.
On the other hand, if she didn't fall pregnant, they would likely beat the ever-loving balls off him for soiling a sacred female -
Wait a minute. Was he actually considering this?
"Qhuinn. . . "
He could love a young, he thought. Love it with everything he was and ever would be. Love it as he had loved no other, even Blay.
Closing his eyes briefly, he went back in time to the night he had died and gone up to the door of the Fade. He thought about that image he had seen, that little female. . . .
Oh, Jesus. . .
"Layla," he said roughly, as he put her back on her feet. "Layla, look at me. Look at me. "
As he shook her, she seemed to gather herself, focusing on his face as she gripped his upper arms with her nails. "Yes. . . "
"Are you sure. Are you positive - you need to be sure - "
For the briefest of moments, a completely lucid, rather ancient expression cut through her tortured, beautiful features. "Yes, I am sure. Let us do what we must. For the future. "
He searched her face carefully, just to be sure. Phury was going to be pissed, but then, even Chosen had the right to choose - and she was picking him, right here, right now: As all he saw was an abiding resolution, he nodded once, picked her back up into his arms, and strode out of the kitchen.
His only thought, as he hit the bottom of the grand staircase, was that they were going to conceive in the next few hours, and both the young and Layla were going to live through everything: the pregnancy, the birthing, and those critical few hours thereafter.
He and Layla were going to bring into the world a daughter.
A fair-haired daughter with eyes that were shaped like his, and at first colored like the Chosen's. . . before they changed to be as the blue and green of his own.
He was going to have a family of his own.
A future of his own.
Finally.