by Tessa Dawn
Truth be told, both Ramsey and the king seemed utterly perturbed with the entire event, the fact that the two besties were having babies at the same time. What had started out as a grand idea had quickly evolved into a royal pain in both of their necks. One moment, the women wanted to play cards; the next, they were irritated and eager to go for an outdoor stroll. An hour later, they had sudden cravings for odd human foods, sending Saxson and Santos on numerous trips to local establishments to pick up pickled pears, movie-theatre popcorn, and chocolate-covered cheesecake. Still, a couple hours later, they demanded to be alone, to talk in private, a request neither vampire-husband would grant, and in the middle of the night—the first night and the second—there was no place comfortable outside of Kagen’s personal hot tub. And so, the hospitable couple had obliged them with much more alacrity than their mates.
Now, staring into Ramsey’s tired—and slightly irritated?—eyes, Tiffany hoped to lighten the mood. After all, they would be parents soon, and despite the fact that they were still getting to know each other as a couple, still feeling their way through each other’s moods, inclinations, and idiosyncrasies, there was absolutely no doubt that they were in it together… for the long haul.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Tiffany whispered.
Ramsey sniffed. “Now, what would I want with a penny?”
Tiffany huffed.
How rude.
The male really did require at least eight hours sleep a day—she had so much yet to learn about him. Just the same, she could be the bigger person, both literally and figuratively at the moment. She would simply ignore the less-than-amiable remark and press on. “So, I’ve been thinking more about names, and I think I’ve come up with a good one, something catchy and strong, something familiar, but also unique.”
Ramsey raised his perfectly arched brows, and despite his obvious fatigue, Tiffany couldn’t help but find him gorgeous. He was truly a stunning, albeit intimidating, work of art. She cleared her throat and spoke the word with enthusiasm: “George.”
The room fell silent.
Ramsey didn’t say a word.
He didn’t light up, and he didn’t frown.
He just sat there like a stone statue until, at last, his brow creased in thought. “George?” he echoed, as if maybe he hadn’t heard her correctly.
She flashed a tentative smile, and then her mood turned on a dime. She couldn’t help it. Her hormones were fluctuating wildly, as if all nine months’ worth of a typical pregnancy’s fluctuations were being packed into these last few hours. Whatever the reason, she didn’t like that sardonic look on his face. “What’s wrong with George?” she asked, in a tone far too loud for his proximity.
Ramsey drew back in surprise, quickly raising a placating hand. “I didn’t say anything,” he murmured.
She frowned. “You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your indignant, smug face.”
Once again, he twisted his features, but to his credit, he didn’t engage with a hormonal woman. Rather, he rotated his neck on his shoulders, popped it a couple of times in the process, and then scooted closer to Tiffany on the bed, still holding her hand in a firm yet gentle grasp. “George?” he repeated.
“Yes, George.”
He nodded, and then he looked off into the distance.
What was he staring at? The wall, behind her? How interesting was that? “Well?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m just thinking.”
“About what?” she insisted. “George is a nice name. It’s reflective of American culture, and it has a solid, pleasant ring to it.”
Ramsey snaked his tongue from one corner of his mouth to the other, almost as if he were searching for a missing toothpick, and then he pursed his lips. “It’s a perfectly good name.” His voice was monotone. “I’m just considering… the broader picture… you know, like when he goes to the Academy or the University, that type of thing.”
Tiffany suddenly felt like crying. And just why was that? It was only a name! Holy cow, she was truly on edge. “I don’t understand.” She tried to keep her tone affable. “I mean, why would that be a problem at school? It’s not like the teachers couldn’t pronounce it.”
Ramsey nodded thoughtfully, this time biting his bottom lip. Would somebody—please—give the male a toothpick? He was clearly having an oral crisis.
“Well?” she pressed. He smiled that overtly endearing and devilish grin of his, but it wasn’t doing a thing for her at the moment. “Explain,” she prompted.
Something flashed in his eyes, something that might have been a warning, a vampire’s way of saying, You need to watch your step, but whatever it was, it was gone as fast as it had appeared. Rather than glower at her, he locked his thoughtful hazel gaze with her suspicious green one and spoke in a clear, rational tone. “So let’s say he’s taking a class with the other kids his age, say Medieval Weaponry or Mind Control… ”
Seriously?
Were those the types of classes Tiffany’s young son would be taking?
She wanted to ask, but now was not the time to interrupt. Besides, she was dying to hear what he had to say. What was wrong with George?
“And let’s say the instructor is calling the boys out, one by one, for some reason,” he continued, shrugging in a noncommittal manner. “You’ve got Keitaro, Nikolai, Phoenix, Sebastian, Lucien, Ryder… and… George.” He quickly threw up both hands to allay any friction. “I’m just saying he might feel a bit out of place.”
Tiffany could hardly contain her scowl. Oh, so now he thought she was an idiot? She yanked her hand free of his grasp, crossed both arms over her enormous belly, and plastered an unforgiving scowl on her face. “Was all that really necessary?”
“All what? I was just—”
“Lucien, Nikolai, Sebastian… and George. I’m a highly educated woman, Ramsey. I don’t really require Name Categories for Dummies.”
Ramsey’s jaw went slack and his mouth fell open. He leaned toward her and placed a light hand on her thigh to compensate for the hand-holding contact she had just removed—in order to continue blocking her discomfort, some form of touch was absolutely necessary. At least he seemed committed to that aspect of their union. “Baby,” he drawled softly, “you know what? I think you just need to rest for a while. This pregnancy is about as advanced as it’s gonna get, and—”
“You know what I think?”
He clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.
“I think you would be happier with some aboriginal, feudal name, perhaps something more antiquated, like Kristoff or Munchauser or—I know—we could name him Beelzebub after his father.”
Ramsey visibly flinched. “Damn.” His brows furrowed in surprise. “That was a bit harsh, don’t you think?” He shook his head in a forceful, brisk manner, as if he were trying to flush out his hearing.
Tiffany grew very quiet, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. Oh gods, she was an utter failure at this whole vampire-wife, speed-dating-through-the-process-of-pregnancy thing; and now, Ramsey would probably keep the baby and cast her out, deposit her on a hillside somewhere… with a horse.
What—in—the—hell—was—wrong—with—her?
Seeming to sense her sudden, and latest, change of mood, Ramsey reached for her hand once more and cradled it between his palms. “It’s okay, angel,” he crooned, almost as if she were a child. “It’s all good. It’s all gonna work out.” He brought her hand up to his striking, bad-boy mouth and kissed her knuckles softly. “Can I just ask one question?” His voice was infinitely patient and kind.
“What?” she whispered, still trying to rein in the lunacy.
“What the hell kind of name is Munchauser?”
Tiffany burst out in laughter, and then she began to cry. “I don’t know,” she droned between sobs.
Ramsey repositioned himself on the bed, wrapped a strong, reassuring arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against his chest, cradling her in his arms. “Sh… c’mon, now… don’t do that.
No tears allowed.”
She sniffled and wiped her nose on his sleeve, leaving a goopy streak behind. “I think I’ve gone crazy. Seriously crazy. I’m certifiable, Ramsey; aren’t I?”
He cocked his head to the right and grimaced. “Ah… not so much.” He tilted it back to the left. “Okay… little bit, but”—he rushed the next words, giving her a playful, supportive squeeze—“it’s almost over, and you’ll be stable again soon. Very soon. Thank the gods.” He murmured the last three words beneath his breath, held her for a while longer, and then extended an arm to fluff the pillows behind her head before gently laying her back against them. He tapped her ever-expanding belly, and his vivid hazel eyes brightened. “I tell you what: You liked my father’s name, right?”
She swallowed to lubricate her throat. “Santiago?”
“Yeah.”
She nodded. “I do, very much.”
“We could go with Santiago George.”
Tiffany perked up. Was he serious? He would actually do that, for her? She shook her head in remorse. “I can’t do that to our child.”
They both chuckled, and the much-needed release eased the tension.
“Well, what was your second choice, then?” he asked.
She tapped her fingers on the bed. “Roman. I think I like Roman.”
“Okay, so Roman Santiago or Santiago Roman? You choose.”
Tiffany couldn’t help but smile. Good gracious, who was this guy? Beneath that gritty, exterior, pit-bull shell was a genuine vampire with a heart of gold. Could it actually be true? Had her horrible luck with men finally changed? Could Tiffany Matthews actually be lucky?
Blessed?
She sighed. “We’ll name him Santiago Roman, after your father, but we’ll call him Roman, so he has his own identity.”
Ramsey demonstrated his consent with a nod, and the male looked utterly content. “Done,” he said.
She beamed. And then her attention turned to a more serious matter, something that had been niggling her since the moment of conception, something she could no longer afford to put off or avoid: Despite all the frequent mood swings and bizarre behavior, Tiffany was well aware of the fact that this was Ramsey’s Blood Moon, and it had been brought about by both a blessing and a Curse. While the timing of her pregnancy had been a mutual choice, it had also been mandatory. And by the end of the thirty days, there had to be a sacrifice, an exhibition of atonement made by Ramsey—and now her—in restitution for the original sin of his ancestors. The Blood would demand and take the soulless child, the Dark One, born without a conscience or hope of salvation. While he… it… might look human, even act and pretend to be a rightful son, it was something altogether different, predestined… malevolent. If nothing else, asking Ramsey about Julien’s story the night before, then hearing the morbid tale, had driven that point home. Tiffany had no intentions of watching the Blood come for Ramsey, nor was she stupid enough to get herself murdered by a ten-year-old “child” in the future. She was not about to mistake evil for good. No, Ramsey had to do what he had to do. He had to hand the dark child over to the Blood, but the real question was this: Would she be able to follow through when the moment of truth arrived?
She narrowed her gaze and spoke in a serious tone. “There is one other thing, Ramsey.”
He raised his brows with interest, saying nothing.
“I can’t… I don’t… ” She placed both hands on the fullest part of her belly and sighed. “There’s just no way—”
“I’ve got it,” he said. “So it can go one of two ways: You tough it out, and I wipe the memory; or the moment the dark twin arrives, you go to sleep. I make that happen.”
Tiffany nodded. She was not a wimp, not by anyone’s standards, at least not once she got past all of her initial fears and impulsive antics, and she was coming to understand, all too well, that Ramsey Olaru was a man’s man. He wasn’t just tough on the outside. He was as strong as an ox on the inside. He didn’t just pretend to bear the weight of the king’s safety and the Vampyrs’ laws on his powerful shoulders; he virtually carried them everywhere he went. Hell, the male had HOJ, house of Jadon, literally inscribed on his heart. He could, and would, do whatever was required of him, and he would do it with an iron spine.
But that was just it.
Ramsey had always stood on his own two feet, no matter how capable they were.
Only now, he had her, and she was beginning to believe—to actually hope—that she had him, too. That they were truly in this together.
She stared at him for a moment, admiring the placid strength within his eyes. “If you need me to be there, to experience all of it with you, then”—she paused to make sure every word she spoke was truth—“then I can do it. I will do it.”
Ramsey’s approving smile was positively breathtaking. He nodded and stroked her arm with appreciation. “I know that, Miss Matthews.” He leaned forward then, pressing a soft kiss on her belly. “Just as you know, by now, that taking care of you… protecting you… standing in the gap isn’t just what I do. It’s who I am. This might sound a bit messed up, when it really isn’t, but all I’ve ever wanted from a life with a destiny, from a life with you, is for the gods to give me a woman who’s strong enough to submit, to let me be her sentinel. Not always. Not in all things. Not blindly or without question, but yeah, I’m cut from a fairly protective cloth. You fighting me or going through unnecessary discomfort in order to hold me up? Nah. There may be times when that’s needed, but honestly, baby girl, I want you to want me to handle it. Does that make a lick of sense?”
Tiffany squeezed the hand that was now holding hers. If she hadn’t been so aware of her topsy-turvy emotions, and so determined to control them, she might have started crying again. “I don’t want to endure the experience just to lose the memory. I’d rather be put to sleep.”
“You don’t need to see him?” he whispered. “For closure?”
She shook her head. “No.”
He locked his gaze on hers. “Consider it done.”
*
As excited as Ramsey was for the birth of his son—and after all these centuries—he was equally serious about the Curse: all business, no play. He understood intrinsically that there was a whole lot of future, and past, and obligation riding on these next critical moments, that he had a critical role to fulfill, and Tiffany was counting on him to keep his promise.
As the dimly lit room filled with tiny prisms of light, and miniature, translucent rainbows began to oscillate through the air, glistening directly above Tiffany’s protruding belly, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and spoke the necessary cryptic prayer in the old language, the invocation that would call his offspring forth from his destiny’s womb.
He immediately sensed a dark, disharmonious energy, and he knew instinctively that the Unnamed One was coming first. Locking Tiffany’s expectant gaze with his own, he nodded slowly, bent forward to brush the backs of his fingers along her anxious jaw, and whispered a silent command: Sleep. As her eyes drifted closed, he sent a telepathic call to his brothers: It’s time. Since they were waiting just outside the door, it only took Saxson and Santos an instant to materialize inside the room, each warrior standing on an opposite side of Tiffany’s bed. “The Dark One is coming first,” Ramsey said, without preamble.
Saxson inclined his head. “I’ll take him to the Chamber of Sacrifice and Atonement and wait for you there.” His matching hazel eyes were stark with determination.
Santos held his tongue. Heck, he appeared to be holding his breath. The Olaru brothers had pre-orchestrated the events, at least as best as they could: Saxson would remove the Dark One from the room immediately, and Santos would remain with Tiffany when Ramsey departed to complete the necessary ritual. Both males were clearly focused and on board.
Ramsey pressed closer to Tiffany’s abdomen as a powerful, rushing sound, like a train dashing into a station, filled the room with surround-sound acoustics and gravelly undertones. The halo that arced above the cres
t of Tiffany’s belly was muddy and angry, for lack of a better word, and the particles that flickered outward were anything but golden. They were an inky yellow-green. Ramsey bit down on his lower lip and held out one hand, and just like that, the child materialized: dark, malevolent, and thoroughly ticked off.
It was almost as if he knew.
It knew.
His novice fangs were fully developed, and he lunged, sinking them deep into the palm of Ramsey’s waiting hand, as if the dominant show of aggression would somehow buy him clemency from his father, as if the aberrant act of bonding could somehow change the Curse.
Ramsey whistled low beneath his breath, refusing to meet the dark child’s glowing, demonic eyes. “Take him,” he said to Saxson, wrenching his hand free from the tiny demon’s bite. The Blood had certainly contrived a cruel and twisted, everlasting torment…
Saxson didn’t hesitate. He reached out with a firm pincer grip and secured the Dark One’s neck with one hand, while bracing the child’s torso against his chest with the other, making sure that he couldn’t break free.
The tiny creature hissed.
He tried to throw back his head, without success, and his red-and-black banded hair began to undulate around his scalp like a twisted ball of serpents. That was the last thing Ramsey saw as Saxson and the infant vanished from the room.
Ramsey cocked his brows and gave Santos a knowing glance. “Glad that’s over.”
“The first part,” Santos reminded him, his solemn eyes brimming with intensity.
“True,” Ramsey uttered, and then a wave of relief swept over him as a beautiful, multicolored halo returned over Tiffany’s belly in a graceful arc, and the space above her naval filled once more with shimmering particles of dust; only this time, they sparkled a glorious, brilliant gold. “Wake up, baby girl,” he said softly.
Tiffany blinked several times before her soft sea-green eyes opened. She tried to sit up, was immediately restricted by the weight and size of her belly, and fell back into the pillows, all the while seeking Ramsey’s gaze. “Is it—”
