by Jessica Sims
"Please--"
I just glare at him.
We are both utterly still for what seems like forever. Both of us are vibrating with tense fury and hurt, and I'm determined not to back down. If he'd have told me that my escape was just a day or so away, I would have tried to hold out longer instead of flinging myself at him.
That's why he never said a thing. And I can't forgive that.
Not now, not ever.
6
Current Day
SAVANNAH
Sometimes, it really sucks to be a woman. I consider this as I sit, curled up on the floor at the office bathroom and press my cheek to the porcelain bowl. Not for the first time, I desperately wish my stomach would voluntarily leave my body.
Morning sickness. Hah. More like morning, noon, night, and anytime-theres-a-strong-smell sickness. It’s horrible.
So far my pregnancy has been anything but easy. It feels as if I’ve been sick since day one, I crave strange and bizarre food combinations, and everything feels swollen from the neck down. Despite not being able to keep much food in my stomach for long, I’m still gaining weight.
To say that I’m not having fun is a gross understatement. ‘Not much fun’ is a description for things like ‘going to get the car washed’ and ‘working late’. This is misery, pure and simple.
And I have Connor Anderson to thank for it.
As if my stomach agrees, I feel a flutter in my belly, a sign that my baby is kicking. “I know, I know,” I tell it. “Your daddy’s a jerk. But he’s an Anderson, so we shouldn’t be surprised.”
The baby kicks a second time in agreement.
I haul myself up off the floor and go to the sink and rinse my mouth out with water and mouthwash. I’ve been sick so often lately that the girls at the office have been keeping a steady supply of mouth rinses for me in the bathroom, and crackers at my desk. It’s thoughtful of them. I rinse and spit and then head back out to my desk.
As I do, I pass by the file room where a TV and a couch has been set up. The strains of ominous music swirl through the room, and then I hear Darth Vader’s voice inform Luke that he’s his daddy.
Three male gasps echo in the room.
“His father?!” Aedan bellows. “It is not possible!”
“Quiet,” hisses Lir. “They’re still speaking!”
The room goes deathly quiet again.
A hint of a smile curves my mouth at that. Everything is new to the Primordials, even Star Wars. I have three of the men at the office with me, since twenty-three primordials in one place is too many for any one person to watch. It’s still strange to think that there are more shifters out there. These particular men came from a pocket dimension controlled by the fae and arrived on our doorstep a few weeks ago with Ryder and her mate Hugh. That was…an interesting week. We learned that Ryder was a changeling - which looks like a dragon crossed with a fairy - and Hugh is a sabertooth tiger. All the Primordials (as we call them) are from an ice age long ago, and they know nothing about modern society.
Hence the need for babysitters. It’s like having an enormous, excited child with the strength and size of a pro-wrestler hanging around you all day. Times twenty-three? No one person can handle it all. Since we Russells volunteered to help acclimate them to the modern world, we split up our charges and rotate them. Today I have Diarmid, Aedan and Lir with me at the office. Sara’s working today, too, but she doesn’t have any Primordials with her - Ramsey gets too protective. I think he worries Sara will be a little skittish around a bunch of men with no boundaries who are eager to have a mate.
Can’t say I blame him.
I sit down at my desk. Sara’s on the phone at the other end of the office, chatting away to a client. Midnight Liaisons is a dating service that caters to the paranormal. Since it’s daylight outside, it’s rather quiet right now, with no clients in the waiting room. An awful smell makes my nostrils flare and I look over at my inbox. There’s a slice of pizza lying on top of one of my files. It’s old and clearly been hidden for a while, because there’s lint stuck to the cheese and the pepperoni has congealed grease on it. I swallow hard and press my fingers to my mouth, determined not to barf.
There can only be one culprit for this. I glance around the corner, looking for a familiar face.
Aha. There’s Diarmid, watching from the hallway, his eyes bright and expectant.
I sigh. “Diarmid, come sit down.” I gesture at the chair across from my desk. “We need to talk.”
He lopes over to the chair and plops into it. I can hear the wood creak as he does, because he’s so big that normal furniture has a hard time holding him.
Diarmid is one of the Primordials, and one of the more determined ones to find a mate. Any mate. Their pocket realm held no women, and now that they’re free in this world? They’re determined to catch themselves women and love them and hug them and kiss them and call them George. Or something.
For some reason, they think the key to tricking a woman into being your mate is feeding her pizza. I could smack Hugh for showing them a porno. Now they seem to think that pizza is bait for women.
“We should talk,” I say, keeping my voice modulated and sweet.
“Are you not hungry?” He pushes the pizza toward me with avid interest.
“Where did you get that?” I don’t mention the fact that it looks like it’s been hiding in someone’s shorts for hours. Or days.
He shrugs and picks it up. “Shall I feed you?” His big hand holds it out to me.
I push it away before it touches my face and I projectile vomit everywhere. “Diarmid, there’s a few things we need to discuss. Number one is that giving a woman pizza doesn’t mean she wants to mate you.”
He snorts, clearly not believing me.
That’s one of the problems with showing the Primordials movies. They don’t grasp the concept of ‘story’ versus reality. “I swear, I’m not lying to you. Just because you have pizza and a woman is single doesn’t mean that she will want to become your mate. That’s not how it works. I promise. I’m not lying to you.”
He gestures at my belly. “But you need a mate.”
Hoo boy. I hear a stifled giggle and shoot Sara an unhappy look. So she caught that, did she? Turd. I notice she pretends to look real busy. “I can have a baby without having a mate,” I explain to Diarmid. If I have to explain the birds and the bees to him, I’m going to let the floor swallow me up whole, I think.
“Yes, but I shall be proud to mate you and raise your child.” He sits up straighter, all wild, dark hair and blue eyes. His face is tanned and rugged, and he’s built. If I was into hulking brutes, he’d definitely be my type.
As it is, I keep thinking about Connor, and that pisses me off.
“I don’t need a mate,” I snap at him.
“But you have no mate mark on your neck,” he points out. “That means you are available to be mated, does it not? I shall be happy to put my mark upon you and claim your babe as mine.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Mate marks are one of the things that the Primordials are a bit shocked by - and titillated, too. They find it barbaric that ‘modern’ shifters bite their mates on the neck to show their claim…and yet they are quick to volunteer to do it to me. “I know you mean well, Diarmid,” I say, determined to keep my cool despite my raging hormones that want me to snap at him. “But please believe me when I say that if I decide I want a primordial to be my child’s father, you will be the first one I shall call upon, okay?”
He seems satisfied with this. With a slow nod, he takes the pizza back and stuffs it into his pocket.
Hoo boy. That was gonna be a rank laundry find later.
“While you’re here,” I said, picking up one of the books on my desk. “Do you have a moment for me to ask you a few questions?”
He nods. “Of course.”
Sara hangs up the phone and stands up. “Ramsey’s meeting me for lunch. You want me to bring you guys back anything?”
“Pizza,
” Diarmid says immediately.
“Not pizza,” I yelp.
She giggles. “Burgers, then?”
My stomach growls at the thought. “You want burgers, Diarmid? Meat sandwiches with the bread around them?” He nods and I give Sara the go ahead. “Enough burgers for my three friends,” I agree. “And two for me. Rare. Hold the vegetables.”
Diarmid looks amused. “You should hold vegetables for Lir and Aedan as well. They are many-fangs.”
Right. That was the Primordial word for ’wolf’, and they didn’t eat their veggies. “You?”
He shrugs. “I’ll eat anything.”
“Got that, Sara?”
“Lots of burgers with no veggies, extra rare. Fries?”
“Yes for Diarmid, no for the other two. And no fries for me, just meat,” I tell her. The thought of greasy potatoes makes my stomach revolt. “Thank you.”
“Be back soon,” she says, and pulls out her phone. “It’s gonna be a big order so I should probably call it in.” The door clangs as she pushes her way out, and a moment later, I hear her greet her mate.
Diarmid watches her go, and I see the longing in his gaze. I feel a twinge of pity that I had to turn the poor guy down. All he wants is someone to love and love him in return. I hate that I can’t be that person for him. He’d be easy to love, because he’s so eager to please.
Too bad I’m all mixed up inside.
“All right,” I say, pulling out the children’s book I keep on my desk lately. “Which one of these do you shift into?” I open the book and start to page through, pointing out the animals. Most of the names that the Primordials have for their animals are things like “Long fangs” and “Grizzled Snout” and doesn’t mean anything to anyone.
And since I’m the one that’s been spending the most time with the Primordials lately, I’ve taken it upon myself to record as many details about them as possible.
Diarmid touches the pages, frowning. “This doesn’t look right,” he tells me, pointing at a saber-tooth tiger. “Where are the stripes?”
“It’s not going to be totally accurate,” I tell him. “Just let me know if you see something that resembles your animal, okay?”
“I could shift and show you?” He looks excited at the thought.
I shake my head quickly. “Just point at the pictures, okay?” The Primordials have a hard time grasping the whole ‘don’t shift in public’ thing. Actually they don’t seem to grasp that shifters are a secret race, full stop. Plus, having a sabertooth or a cave bear in the office is kinda dangerous on the furniture.
He grunts unhappily but pages through the book, and I pull up my Primordials spreadsheet. “So, Diarmid, do you have another name you go by?”
He shrugs. “Diarmid is the only one I can remember.”
I note that in my spreadsheet. It’s the same story with most of the Primordials. They’re so old and the pocket dimension messed with their memories to the point that they don’t recall their true names, just the ones that the fae gave them. It’s sad, really. For so many years - centuries! - they were lied to and manipulated by the fae. Now they’ve come to our world to start a new life and everything’s weird to them. “Do you remember how old you are?”
“Old.”
“I see. And are you related to any of the other Primordials?”
He shakes his head, then stabs one big finger at the book. “This looks like it.”
I peer over at the book. “A peccary?” Also known as an Ice-Age Razorback, the book states in childish lettering.
Diarmid blinks at me. “Pecca-what?”
I wave a hand, trying not to smile. He’s a widdle piggy. “Never mind. I’ll write that down.” I log ‘peccary/razorback’ in my book as his animal. The Primordials seem to be meat eaters for the most part, but some of them have unusual animals. Artur is a massive grazer called an elasmotherium, which pretty much looks like a cross between a rhino and the ugliest unicorn you can possibly imagine.
“Huh,” says Diarmid, still looking at the book. “Here are Lir and Aedan’s many-fangs.”
I glance over at the book. Dire wolves. Right. Wolves. I should have guessed that. When I was with Connor, he always liked nothing but meat with his meals—
My baby kicks again, and the queasy feeling in my stomach returns.
I’ve been craving a heck of a lot of meat lately. My hand touches my belly. What if my child is going to be a wolf shifter instead of a cougar? The pack will demand he be given to them to raise.
I can’t let that happen.
Worried, I pick up the phone and smile at Diarmid. “Why don’t you join the others with the movie? I have to make a few calls. Sara will be back with the food soon.”
He nods and gets up, and I immediately dial my doctor and schedule a check-up appointment. By the time he’s got me squeezed in for the day, my nerves are jangling, which makes me have another round of the barfs, and that distracts me for the next hour or so.
When Sara returns with food, the Primordials dig in and I immediately put on a new movie for them - Dances With Wolves. A nice, long movie. They eat and watch TV, fascinated, and I grab my paper bag of burgers and my purse.
“Hey Sara,” I call. “I’m going in for a check-up,” I tell her. “Can you hold down the fort with those three until I get back?” I gesture at the back room.
“Um,” she says, and bites her lip. “Ramsey won’t be happy.”
“Please,” I ask, holding the bag of burgers against my rounded belly. “Have Ramsey come hang out for a few hours? It’s important and I don’t want those three at the doc’s office with me when they put me in stirrups.”
Her eyes widen. “That sounds like a nightmare. Okay.” She pulls out her phone and starts texting her mate. “I’ll get Ramsey to head over.” She glances up at me as she types, her thumbs flying over the surface of her phone. “You okay?”
“Just…worried.” I chew on my lip, thinking. Sara’s a wolf, and I know she feels guilty when it comes to me and the baby. She was the one that Connor’s uncle Levi tried to forcibly enlist into their pack. Sara slipped from their grasp, but only after she mated Ramsey, who’s the biggest surliest were-bear I’ve ever met. She’s still considered part of the Anderson pack, but only as a fringe member.
But she knows about wolves. And I’m dying to ask her questions.
“What is it?” She asks. When I’m silent, she ventures, “Is it Connor?”
I’m startled to hear his name - and even more startled at the traitorous flush that moves through my body at hearing it. I shake my head. “I haven’t talked to him recently.” I’ve been doing my best to keep him as far away as possible, actually. Him close by means a whole lot of confused feelings on my part. I’m still angry that he lied to me and used me. I’m mad that I’m knocked up when this all could have been handled if he’d told me the others were coming for me.
And I’m mad at myself because deep down inside, I still want him.
“You should,” Sara says in a soft voice. “I know he worries about you and the baby.”
That makes my back go up. “Then he should have thought a little harder about that before he used me.”
She says nothing.
I sigh and touch my stomach. “I just…I need to talk to the doctor. About what the baby might be.”
Her brows furrow. “You mean like a boy or a girl?”
“I mean like a wolf or a cougar.”
“Oh.” She taps her pencil on her desk. “What are you going to do if it’s…you know? The wrong one?”
I shake my head, because I have no clue.
7
SAVANNAH
Dr. Lamb is the shifter doctor. Part veterinarian, part family doc, he’s the one we all go to when we have problems. You can’t just go to a regular doctor for things if it can be avoided, because we tend to show weird stuff on blood tests. So we all go to Dr. Lamb.
And Dr. Lamb’s kind of a jerk. But that’s what happens when an otter-shifter’s in charge of fam
ily medicine. They’re not the most serious shifters on the block.
“So tell me which one you feel like chasing,” he says, and wiggles a stick in his left hand, and a furry mousie in his right. “Do you feel like a good boy or a bad kitty?”
I glare at him. “It’s a serious question.”
He chuckles and tosses the stick aside. “You’re grumpy. It must be a cat.”
I snarl at him.
“Seriously, though,” he says, picking up my chart. “We can run some blood tests and I can compare to the shifter charts to see if the make-up of the blood matches wolf or cat more closely. Beyond that, it’s just guessing. Babies don’t shift in the womb, or it’d make my job a lot easier.” He chuckles. “You wanna know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“No,” I say glumly, wiping the petroleum jelly off my stomach from the sonogram. I tug my shirt down and sit up as he puts his equipment away. “As long as it’s healthy, I guess it doesn’t matter.”
“That’s right,” Dr. Lamb says in a cheery voice. “And I need you to take your pre-natals. You’ve been skipping them, haven’t you?”
“They make me barf.” Everything makes me barf, actually, but the prenatals are especially bad.
“Try taking them anyhow. Take it at night if you can’t stomach it in the morning, and make sure that you’re eating a lot of iron. I see that with a lot of my wolf mommies. We don’t want you becoming anemic, do we?”
I grumble a response. Wolf mommies. Shoot me now. “Anything else?” I ask as I slide off the table.
He makes a few marks on my chart. “I’m going to give you a prescription for the nausea, and I recommend you have a nice little chat with the baby daddy if you can.”
I frown at him. “What? Why?” He knows that I’m not with Connor.
Dr. Lamb can’t stop grinning. “Because you’re having twins. There’s two heart-beats in there.”
Oh jesus. I’m glad I’m sitting down when I hear that, because the world spins around me.
