by Kyle, Celia
“No, Brodie hasn’t… I mean, we haven’t…” She took a bracing breath and got control of her frazzled emotions. “You’re the father, Rafe.”
As if anyone could have compared to him. He’d ruined her for other men, really. The idea of raising a baby on her own terrified Iris, so when Brodie had broached the subject of a mutually beneficial relationship… Well, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that she was losing herself in the depthless blue of Rafe’s gaze, she couldn’t remember why.
That gaze softened at her words and he inched closer, yet not nearly close enough. “If I’d known, I never would have—” He glanced up at their audience of two—three if you counted Sara peeking around the corner—then back to Iris. “Please come to my home so we can talk about this privately.”
“She already told you no, Santos.” Brodie loomed at the top of the stairs, glowering down at Rafe and growing furrier by the second.
Mateo grabbed Brodie’s arm and tried to pull him back. “Leave them be. They have family matters to discuss which don’t concern you.”
Brodie turned his snarl on Mateo. “Family?” He snorted. “What family? All I see is a man who abandoned his family!”
Mateo took the challenge against his Master very personally. “How dare you!”
“How dare I? How dare he!”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, you drooling furball!”
“Who you calling a furball, you lousy bloodsucker!”
Iris didn’t catch who shoved whom first, but in a matter of seconds, her two protectors were throttling each other’s throats. Only then did Rafe tear his gaze away from her and toward the commotion. Spitting out a string of Spanish curses, he shot a blast of power strong enough to knock both men on their butts.
Iris did her best to keep any hint of laughter out of her scolding tone. “Gentlemen, if you insist on brawling, I’m afraid I’ll have to arrest you both. And I really don’t want to do that. Not for your sake, you understand, but for mine. You would not believe the amount of paperwork involved in that, so howsabout we all just act like adults, hmm?”
“Return to the mansion,” Rafe ordered his Soldier. “You have done well, but I’m here now. I will care for Iris.”
She frowned. “Listen, just like I’ve told Mateo a thousand times, I don’t need anyone to—”
The words, whatever they were going to be, caught in her throat at the way he looked at her. The pure, unfettered need pouring from them caught her off-guard. How could he look at her like that, yet stay away for so long?
“We still must talk privately, querida.”
Brodie took a single step down the stairs, his expression pleading. “You don’t need to go anywhere with him, Iris. You could just… stay?”
He wasn’t wrong, but every part of her screamed that he was. She needed a minute to think. This had all happened so fast.
“Actually, what I really need to do is —” She looked between the three men. “—pee.”
Chapter Four
Iris sat in the handicap stall of the OAJ bathroom—she couldn’t turn around in the others—trying to gather her thoughts and her composure. She needed to think, dammit, and that was nearly impossible with Rafe standing so close to her. In the relative peace of the restroom, she took deep, cleansing breaths and focused on rationality.
Rafe had dumped her on their first night together. He hadn’t even bothered to wake her up, he’d just walked out the door. She’d assumed forever. Faced with the reality of raising a child without the help of the bio-daddy, Brodie’s suggestion that they marry seemed supremely pragmatic. As the Alpha of the Sinclair pack, he had everything going for him. He was intelligent, handsome, strong, protective, and caring. He’d make a wonderful husband and father—if only every instinct in her wasn’t pushing back against the union.
Bottom line, she didn’t love him. She didn’t really even want him. Would she have married him for her child’s sake? Maybe… eventually. But seeing Rafe again made it crystal clear that the only man she wanted in her life was the man who’d knocked her up. And then left her.
Bastard.
Finally leaving the safety of the bathroom behind, Iris found the bastard waiting across the hall, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and eyes trained on the door. Something akin to a smile flickered on his lips as he stalked toward her, a fairy tale prince with golden hair and pale eyes. Too bad he wore nothing but black. A splash of color never killed anyone, not even a powerful vampire Master.
“You’re undressing me with your eyes, mi amor,” he purred, his subtle accent sending trills of desire straight to her core.
“Not exactly. I was actually wondering if you have any other color besides black in your closet?”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips, leaving a trail of fire and ice behind. “You are my… You are the mother of my child. Come with me and you can make me over however you wish.”
Oh, that sly, sly man. He was offering her every woman’s dream. Unfettered access to completely overhaul his closet according to her own taste.
Trying to deflect his manipulation, she looked around the hall. “Where did Brodie go?”
His face hardened. “He wisely excused himself, leaving you in my care.”
“You didn’t hurt him, did you?” she asked, genuine worry sparking inside.
The muscles in his jaw flexed. “No.”
She waited for more of an explanation, but when it was clear none would be forthcoming, she sighed her consent. “Fine, let’s go.”
Before she realized what he was doing, Rafe lifted her into his arms again and headed down the hall. She tensed for a moment, terrified to be so close to him and terrified not to be. Finally, she relaxed and draped an arm over his shoulders.
“You know I can still walk, right? Being preggers isn’t a handicap.” She tried not to think about the fact she couldn’t use any other stall in the bathroom.
“You waddle.”
“Excuse me?” She gasped, pulling back in his arms to glare at him. “You are aware that a pregnant witch has extra-special powers to kick ass, right? Next time you should be…” She looked around and realized he wasn’t heading for the tunnels, but rather the main entrance to OAV.
“Wait, where are you going? The tunnels are back there.”
“I’ve decided we should speak at your apartment,” he said blandly, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “You’ll be more comfortable there.”
“Maybe, but… the sun’s still out.”
Vampires and the sun weren’t the best of friends. The whole holy water and cross thing were myths, but if so much as a single ray of sunlight hit a vampire’s flesh… Well, she’d seen the aftermath of such an accident once, and it wasn’t pretty.
He didn’t even break stride. “True. Maybe you should do something about that.”
Her heart beat faster as the main entrance doors came into view. Their glass panels created a bright, airy atmosphere in the lobby, which would kill Rafe in about three seconds.
“You want me to do something about the sun?”
He gave her a gentle smile. “No, mi amada. Not the sun, but its effects. Unless you want me to turn into the vampire version of fried chicken. Not that I could blame you.”
That was the closest he’d come to an apology so far, and she didn’t want to miss the real thing, if it was to come. She’d never get any satisfaction from a pile of vamp ash. If she’d had more energy, she might have thrown a few choice words at him, but it had been a tiring day of casting one too many spells. All she wanted to do was stretch out on her couch and maybe guilt him into making her a sandwich before she kicked his ass to the curb. And the only way for that to happen was for her to cast a protective spell over him.
It was easier than she’d thought it would be. Her magic reached out to him eagerly, jumping to encase him in protection almost as if it realized he was her… She couldn’t say the word. Couldn’t not say it. Because over
the months, she’d buried the knowledge so deep she didn’t want to admit he was…
Her Resonate.
* * *
As strong as Rafe was, he was surprised at the increase in his Beloved’s weight. It surprised him and filled him with a joy he’d never expected. He wasn’t just carrying Iris; he was carrying his child as well.
It was a strange sensation to move in the full light of the sun. He hadn’t in many, many centuries. Yet with Iris’s strong spell protecting him, he felt no fear. Even if she was angry with him, allowing harm to come to him would be unthinkable to her. Just as it would be if the tables were turned.
She gratefully handed over the keys to her small car, which he expertly drove through rush hour traffic. He’d only heard stories of such hell but experiencing it firsthand wasn’t as bothersome as he’d assumed it would be. Probably because she was by his side, where she should have been all along.
Gathering her from the passenger seat, Rafe relished the feel of her in his arms. He didn’t want to let her go but knew he’d have to eventually. As an Arcane Sentinel, Iris would be capable enough of taking care of herself, even in his absence. In fact, it was her subtle aura of strength, her direct gaze, and her confidence that had attracted him in the moments before her scent had first identified her as his Beloved.
It was inconceivable that she didn’t recognize their connection, but she behaved as if there was nothing more between them than their brief, passionate encounter. Perhaps witches didn’t feel the bond as acutely as vampires. If so, he’d just have to do everything in his power to convince her.
He followed his nose to her door and used her keys to open it. Part of him wanted to kick it open, but he suspected his Beloved wouldn’t appreciate such a show of masculinity. Instead, he opened the door gently and carried her to a long, sumptuous couch, where he laid her down. Only then did he take a moment to appraise his surroundings.
As professional as Iris was, he’d expected sleek, modern furnishings, and he wasn’t disappointed. But gentler touches had been thrown around as well. Plush, colorful pillows softened the sharp angles of the couch. A weathered quilt scented with magic and age lay draped over a well-used rocking chair. Nestled on the seat sat a teddy bear with glittery fur, dressed in a fluffy pink ball gown and golden shoes. He prayed it was a toy for his baby. Instead of fine art on her walls, framed photographs crammed every square inch as tight as could be. Iris smiling with friends, Iris hugging an older couple, Iris floating in a kayak and holding her paddle high over her head in victory. Of course, not all of the photos were of her, but those were the only ones which interested Rafe.
He couldn’t help comparing her small, homey apartment to Clan Santos’s mansion in Spain. By anyone’s standards, the apartment couldn’t compare in luxury and beauty to the mansion, yet Rafe felt more at home here than he’d ever felt there. When he’d become Master of the Santos clan a few hundred years earlier, he’d furnished the sprawling estate with all of the most modern and most expensive furniture that could be made in Europe. Every last piece was worth a small fortune now, some were even priceless, but they held no emotion for him, no sentiment. Iris’s apartment was all sentiment. No doubt every item displayed held tremendous meaning to her, and he envied that. The comforting warmth of her place appealed to him in a way he never would have expected.
“Goddess, I’m starving,” Iris said as she labored to stand up.
“Stay where you are,” he instructed before heading for the kitchen. It had been many years since he’d been in one. “Just tell me what you’d like, and I will prepare it for you, mi amada.”
The idea that her wolf suitor would know exactly what to cook for her bothered him. But Rafe was no fool. He could follow written instructions, just like anyone else. And he’d be damned if he’d allow the shifter to seem more valuable to Iris than him.
She considered him for a moment, then lay back on the couch and sighed happily. “There’s deli meat in the fridge. Bread’s in the cupboard next to it.”
Rafe thought hard for a moment, scanning his memory for the exact item she wanted using those ingredients. “A sandwich! I know what that is!”
He pulled the correct foodstuffs from her icebox—fridge, she’d called it—drawing on his memories to identify sliced meats, cheese, and the grass that food eaters liked to pile in between bread. No, not grass… lettuce.
As he worked, he noticed a half-empty mug in her sink and a stack of food magazines on her counter. The towel draped over her oven handle depicted plump pies. It felt like a home, a place where someone lived. Truly lived, not just laid their head down or conducted business.
Rafe lifted a jar of creamy white goo that looked vaguely familiar. There was a picture of a dancing sandwich on it, so it had to be important to his task. “Mayonnaise?”
“Extra, please. There’s an avocado somewhere too. Dark green, wrinkled, delicious.”
The only thing he found in the “fridge” that came close to green was an almost-black oval thing that didn’t look like food at all. Then again, he’d been out of that game for nearly a millennium. Once all the ingredients were laid out before him, he suddenly realized he wasn’t sure what to do with them.
Spying a tablet sitting on a stand in the corner, he touched the screen. It flickered to life and he accessed the internet, searching for videos on how to make a sandwich. Glancing surreptitiously into the living room, he muted the sound.
“Food Network has great tutorials,” she called out without moving or even turning her head. How’d she know?
Turned out she was right. Three videos later, Rafe had created something that vaguely resembled what the final product should look like. Setting the plate down on the coffee table next to the couch, he looked down on his Beloved and his heart flipped inside his chest. Even in repose, she stole his breath away.
Dark circles colored the flesh under her eyes, which remained closed even though he sensed she was fully aware of him watching her. Her face looked rounder than he remembered, but no less beautiful. Her dark hair seemed thicker, her breasts and hips fuller. Obviously, her belly was rounder, and it was all Rafe could do to hold himself back from placing a hand there.
“Wanna touch it?” she asked softly, gazing up at him with light brown eyes that got his heart beating faster than he thought possible.
A smile touched his lips as he laid his cool palm on her warm stomach. His hand felt a taut drum of flesh, but his soul connected with his child’s, causing it to flutter under his touch. Iris giggled and laid her hand atop his, sending electricity coursing through him. Unsure if his knees would support him, he dropped to the table and sat watching her stomach, as if it might actually do something interesting.
“I know we’re supposed to talk,” she said, her tone exhausted and raspy, “but I’m so tired and hungry, not to mention sore all over.”
“You eat,” he said, moving to the end of the sofa and pulling off her shoes.
“Oh, you don’t want to see those monstrosities,” she said as she took a big bite and tried to pull her feet away from him.
But Rafe held firm—gently, but firmly—and examined her feet and ankles. They were profoundly swollen, even her toes.
“Pretty gross, huh?” she mumbled through her food.
Rafe caught her gaze. “These feet bear the weight of my child. They’re beautiful, just like their owner.”
She eyed him as if she didn’t believe his words, so to prove himself, he kissed each toe in turn, then began massaging her foot. The sandwich dropped from her hands to the plate as her eyes fell closed and she moaned.
“Oh, god, right there, yesssss,” she cooed, reigniting the embers of his desire.
There was never a moment when he didn’t want Iris, but the task of caring for her had pushed aside all other thoughts. Now they roared back to the surface. The moans reminded him of her breathy sighs when they’d made love. His body stirred and he grit his teeth—now was not the time. He’d neglected her for months, an
d despite the fact his intentions had been noble, it was now time to make up for his absence, to remind her that he was the best man to care for her, now and forever.
“So,” she said, wiping a glob of the odd white goo from the corner of her mouth, “do you have any questions?”
“That can wait.”
She stirred as he switched feet. “No, it can’t. I’m feeling better, and that’s why you brought me home in the first place. To talk.”
“It seems very comfortable here.” There, that was a nice, neutral opening.
“Thanks, I think so.”
“Were you planning on staying here when the baby is born?”
She gave him a funny look. “Where else would I stay?”
“Granted, I am not well versed in the care of women and infants after childbed, but I assume being by yourself wouldn’t be optimal.”
She bristled, and he wasn’t sure why. “I won’t be alone. I’ve hired a postpartum doula and my coven sisters will help too.”
“And, um, when will that be?”
She must have caught his nervous tone because she smiled at him. “In two months. I have ultrasound pictures if you want to see.”
He inhaled. “Pictures of the baby? That’s possible?”
“Uh, yeah. You do live in this century, right?”
“No need for sarcasm, mi amada. I would very much like to see the pictures later, after you’ve rested.” He chose his next words very carefully. “And your job?”
“The Arcane council is being very supportive. I’ll have all the leave I need while she’s young. “
Rafe’s stomach clenched with unexpected happiness. “The baby’s… a girl?”
She smiled, head tilting. “I don’t actually know. I just don’t like to call the baby ‘it,’ so I alternate pronouns.”
He wasn’t an emotional man, and as a Master vampire, he certainly wasn’t comfortable expressing his thoughts and feelings to others, but there was no way for him to hide the joy blossoming in his chest. A little girl. He might soon have a daughter.
