Page 61 of Lover Forbidden (The Black Dagger Brotherhood #23)

Lyric arrived first to her grandparents’ house, and the instant she walked through the front door, she could smell the death.

As she breathed in, the surface scents were all the same, the floor cleaner, the Windex, the coffee, the shampoos, and that horrid medicinal tint, everything she was used to, but now there was a deeper undertow to the familiar, a musty calling card that, though she had never had it in her nose before, some ancient part of her was able to identify.

As she shot down to the kitchen, she stumbled to a halt.

There were so many people in the house, clustered in the family room, gathered over the counter by the sink, seated at the table.

Faces turned to her, and looked at her with love and sadness—yet she couldn’t place them even though she had known each all of her life.

Smothering a cry, she wheeled toward the first-floor bedroom, her sloppy boot falls echoing the chaos in her mind. She had known this was coming. They all knew this was coming. So why was this such a shock—

The door was closed, but she didn’t knock. She burst in, broke in, fell in—

Lyric pulled up short. Her granmahmen was lying back against the pillows, her eyes closed, her face drawn and nearly gray, the smocked front of her flannel nightgown showing only the frailest of breaths.

She was still alive. Barely.

Kneeling by her side on the bed, Rocke had one of her hands in both of his, his stricken visage pale and tearless, for undoubtedly he had no more tears to cry. And at the dying female’s feet, Lyric’s fathers were crouched together, Qhuinn holding Blay, who was just staring down—

Loud footsteps rushing in had Lyric glancing over her shoulder.

Rhamp all but mowed her over as he arrived, but she didn’t have the energy to bicker about being shoved out of the way.

Especially as her twin stopped short like he’d forgotten how to move.

Blay looked up. “Hi, guys. Come on in.”

As if they were young once more, they did as they were told, and shut the door quietly. But when they didn’t approach the bed, Rocke smiled and motioned at them.

“Get closer, so that she knows you’re both here. I have a feeling… I think she’s aware of us. All of us.”

Lyric took a step forward—and when Rhamp didn’t follow, she hooked her arm through his and brought him along. At the bedside, there was space to sit a hip down, and she took advantage of it, opposite her grandfather.

“Hi, Granmahmen ,” she choked out. Then she looked at her dads. “What happened? What changed?”

Blay took a deep breath. “About fifteen minutes ago, her heart stopped while I was checking her oxygenation. It started again on its own. Then stopped a couple of minutes later… it’s just time. Ehlena and Doc Jane said they could try and give her stimulants, but…”

Through the lump in her throat, Lyric addressed her namesake: “We’re here, too, Granmahmen . Rhamp and I are here.”

She expected her brother to chime in. When he didn’t, she glanced at him. He hadn’t sat down, but rather was hovering on the periphery, his eyes on the wall across the way, his body tense as a statue.

“Rhamp,” she whispered. As he looked at her, she nodded at their granmahmen . “Rhamp’s here, too,” she said more loudly.

He shook his head and took a step back, his hand dragging down his face.

Lyric refocused on their granmahmen and saw more clearly what her frantic first glimpses had missed. The elder Lyric’s mouth was slack and blue-tinted, her sunken eyes ever so slightly open but surely not seeing anything, her hollow chest barely inhaling… barely exhaling…

“I love you,” Lyric said roughly as she stroked the thin white hair.

She thought back to just nights ago, when she had stretched out next to the female. Those moments had seemed important, then. Now? They were precious beyond any earthly wealth, for they were the last ones she was to have.

Sniffles percolated up, and she realized they were coming from her.

And then she looked at her granmahmen ’s free hand as it lay on the flowered quilt, so still, the purple veins and white bones showing through the paper-thin skin.

She looked at Rhamp. “You need to say goodbye—”

He shook his head once more.

“No,” she intoned. “Come here. Sit with me. And talk to her.”

Rhamp took yet another step back, and she thought of their youth. He was the one who had always protected her, even before his change, when he’d been small. And then after his transition, when he’d come through things, he’d been so big, big enough not just to fight, but to win against the enemy.

Whereas she had been… a Barbie.

She was still pissed at him for that crack.

Except that wasn’t what was on her mind now.

The only thing she was remembering… was what he would do when they’d been young and the thunderstorms had come during the day, and the rumbling had been so loud and deep, that it had vibrated down even into the underground.

He had always turned to her then, and been the one to seek her comfort when he’d been scared.

For all his courage in the field, he was scared now.

“Rhamp,” she said with force. “You’re going to regret this for the rest of your life. Come and sit with me, and tell her you love her.”

Extending her arm, she kept their eyes locked. “It’s going to be okay. Come here, brother mine.”

There was stillness all in the room, her fathers and grandfather watching them in silence. And she could positively feel the emotion weaving through the air that was tainted with the harbinger of death—

That’s what he is frightened of , she thought. The scent.

“It’s still her,” she commanded. “Breathe through your mouth, not your nose. Forget the smell, and join me here. There’s not much time left.”

His Adam’s apple—so prominent in his thick throat—undulated. And then he finally stepped forward.

Rearranging herself so there was room for him, she pulled him down beside her.

“We’re all here,” Lyric said as she stroked her granmahmen ’s wrist.

The skin was dry and cool, too cool.

“Tell her,” she prompted her brother.

It was a while before Rhamp responded, and as the moments ticked by, she got more and more anxious.

But then he cleared his throat, and in the voice of the young he hadn’t been for so many years, Rhamp said, “I love you, Nana.”

Lyric brushed a tear from her eye at the old name, the one he’d called their granmahmen because when he’d been young, he’d had a little speech impediment, and hadn’t been able to handle the big word.

“Everyone’s here, Granmahmen ,” she whispered as she took a deep breath. “We’re all with you. It’s okay… for you to go.”

She braced herself for the last breath, just as everybody else did. And when that didn’t come, she glanced around at the males surrounding the bed. They were all staring at the person who had kept them together, these many years.

“It’s all right, Granmahmen ,” she repeated. “You can… go. It’s okay.”

The chest continued to haltingly go up and down.

Lyric frowned, and thought of how she and her granmahmen had always been the only females in the household here, and how the elder Lyric had always been in charge: Four strong males, who were loved so dearly by so many, three of whom fought for the species, were sustained—had always been sustained—by the female who had run everything.

And that was when Lyric realized…

“I’ll take care of them,” she said hoarsely. “ Granmahmen , don’t worry. I will take care of the family, of all of them, in your absence—”

A deep breath was sucked in. And then the exhale came, long and slow… ending on a quiet catch.

And with that very characteristic lack of fuss, with her message having been received, their matriarch was gone.