by Wood, Vivian
“How…” Ivy flushed, unsure how to even finish her sentence.
“Don’t look so surprised, darlin’. You’ll hurt me feelings. Besides, I heard that you wanted a baby, and I intend to give it to ye. Tonight, if I can.”
Elijah kissed her then, and Ivy sighed with wonder. Not only was Elijah going to give her the family she so desperately wanted, but it seemed that she was going to be pleasured for every minute of the experience as well.
For once, Ivy forgot about her diagnosis, forgot about her worry and stress. She melted into Elijah’s arms, realizing that she had found one very bright spot in her otherwise murky future.
It seemed that, for now at least, she could have her cake and eat it, too.
Chapter Thirty-Five
November
Elijah stepped out onto the wide tarmac, rolling his neck to release a little tension as he eyed the sky. He pulled on the jacket he’d carried off the plane, thinking of the temperature difference between the location of their mission and Montana. Half a world and probably seventy degrees in difference, if Elijah had to guess.
“Damn if I’m not glad to be back in this place,” Elijah said, speaking over his shoulder to Garrett as his friend clambered down the steps of their company’s private plane.
“Really?” Garrett asked, chuckling. “I seem to remember your first reaction upon arrival here being a little less positive.”
“The airport here has got one room, and yet the security guards still managed to pull me aside for a detailed search,” Elijah groused. “Last time I’ll ever fly commercial into a regional airport, if I can help it.”
“Still looks a sight better than what we flew into in Libya,” Garrett said, keeping his voice low. The mission they’d just run had been quick, brutally violent, and done with the topmost level of secrecy.
“Shit, what doesn’t? I’m just glad to be back on American soil,” Elijah said.
“Just ready for a bed, I’m sure. Nothing to do with a certain blonde who’s pining away for you out at her ranch?” Garrett teased, arching a brow. He headed to his SUV, parked beside Elijah’s identical vehicle. They both opened the trunks, tossing their gear inside and leaning on their cars. A few more moments of camaraderie before they split up, heading to separate ranches.
“Right, like Kiley doesn’t have you wrapped up with a bow. Remind me… Which one of us had to deplane in Atlanta, just to get his woman some kind of special lotion?”
Garrett gave a good-natured laugh, shrugging his massive shoulders.
“Kiley gets what Kiley wants,” he admitted. “I feel guilty leaving her for missions, so I always bring something home for her.”
Elijah paused for a moment, knowing a moment of uncertainty.
“I brought Ivy some chocolate from duty-free. Should I have done more?” he wondered aloud.
When he looked at Garrett, his friend burst into a howl of laughter, shaking his head and clapping Elijah on the shoulder.
“Now who’s wrapped with a bow?” Garrett wheezed, his amusement only exasperating Elijah further.
“Ah, yeah. We’re both properly fucked,” Elijah sighed.
“You’re damned right,” Garrett said, straightening and moving toward his driver’s side door. “Oh, I almost forgot. Kiley wants you two over for dinner this week. If you’re not too busy celebrating your return.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Elijah flapped a dismissive hand at Garrett, rolling his eyes. “I’ll text you in a few days.”
Sliding into the driver’s seat, Elijah cranked the car and pulled out ahead of Garrett, eager to get back to the house. Eager to see Ivy, if he were honest. Maybe there’d been some news in his absence. Although… he’d only been gone two weeks for this mission, so it was unlikely that things had changed just yet.
Part of him was so damned excited to get home and see Ivy, touch her, take her right there on the living room floor. But part of him was worried, too. They’d coupled for months now, probably consummating a hundred times or more, and still no pregnancy news.
For the first time in his life, Elijah wondered if he should make an appointment to get his sperm count checked. With every monthly blood flow, he could see Ivy’s strained sadness more and more. She really wanted children, and Elijah wanted to give them to her. Badly, so badly.
He pushed away the ideas of inadequacy. Werewolves were, with the exception of a few rare genetic conditions, much healthier than humans. They were almost never sick or diseased, and he’d never heard of a wolf being unable to produce offspring. It was only a matter of time; it took time for a female wolf to conceive, just as it might with a human woman.
Elijah took a deep breath to strengthen his resolve as he turned onto Ivy’s long driveway, and by the time he stopped the car he was in much better spirits. He left his bag in the car, unable to restrain himself from breaking into a run when he hit the porch steps.
He stopped at the front door, giving a warning knock as he swung it open. There was a faint trace of roasted chicken in the air, as if Ivy had cooked hours earlier. There were unlit candles on the table, laid for two. Elijah cocked his head, trying to piece together the puzzle. Had something happened to Ivy?
No wine decanting, which made his heart skip a beat. No wine could mean…
He shook his head to stop the wild conclusions filling his head. It was probably nothing, just that Ivy had forgotten to open a bottle. Elijah looked around for the woman in question, but she wasn’t in the main room. He needed to lay eyes on her, to know that she was alright.
He headed down the hallway, noting the soft light pouring from her open bedroom door. The second before he stepped into the room, he heard a tiny, miserable sound, and his heart lurched.
Ivy sat on the edge of her white four-poster bed, head bowed as she cried. She was in a set of pink flannel pajamas, hair thrown up in a ponytail. It was a far cry from her usual look; even when she was relaxing, she always looked very put-together.
“Ivy,” Elijah said, keeping his voice soft so he wouldn’t startle her.
She still jumped a little, her blonde head snapping up to reveal her tearstained face. Those big grey eyes, so expressive, caught him fast. Rather than the pleasure that he expected to see there, though, she gave him a bleak and uncertain look.
“I’m not pregnant,” she said, her voice roughened from crying.
“Oh, darlin’,” Elijah sighed, coming to stand before her. He noticed that there were several empty pregnancy test kit boxes on the bed, along with a thick sheaf of papers sticking out of a white file folder.
Ivy sniffed and pulled her hands from his, surprising him. Ivy was a touchy person, affectionate in every waking moment. She’d never once withdrawn from him, physically or emotionally, choosing instead to give herself wholeheartedly.
“Ivy, it’s fine. It might take some time, that’s all,” he said, trying to console her. When she didn’t respond, he tried another approach. “Look, it might be my fault. I’ve been injured a lot at work, you know. I’ll make an appointment this week to get myself checked out, make sure everything’s working…”
Ivy let out a sour bark of laughter.
“You’d better hope it’s not you,” she said, pinning him once more with her stormy gaze. “Otherwise you stand to lose… what, thirty million?”
Elijah’s mouth opened and then closed, opened and then snapped shut again. What the hell was she talking about? He’d never mentioned his family’s money, preferring to see his choice to start a family as wanting to retain his legacy. He wasn’t chasing the money, that was certain.
“Ivy, I don’t know what you’ve heard—” he started, but Ivy scowled and shot to her feet, cutting him off.
“It’s all been spelled out perfectly for me, in very small words so that I can understand it all,” she said, crossing her arms.
“By whom?” Elijah asked, confused.
“Not by the one person who should have told me,” she snapped. “No. Instead I get a call from some asshole lawyer
with an accent even thicker than yours, threatening me with all kinds of things. We’re not mated, Elijah. We don’t have a child, not yet. And you’re already hiding things from me, and your family…”
She threw her hands up in the air, grabbing the file folder from the bed and shoving it at him.
“Ivy—” he tried again, but she wasn’t hearing it.
“No. I’ve worn myself out, now. I ruined the dinner I was cooking, and I drank all the wine hours ago. I’m going to bed. Alone.”
She gave him a meaningful look, and Elijah backed up, giving her space.
“We can talk about this in the morning,” Elijah agreed.
Apparently that wasn’t the right thing to say either, because she growled and practically pushed him out of the room.
“Goodnight, Elijah,” she snipped, shutting the door in his face with a neat click.
Elijah stared at her door for several long seconds before he gave himself a good shake, snapping out of his momentary shutdown. He went back to the living room, clutching the folder in his hand, and headed straight for the small bar. Ivy had set it up for him after she’d found out that he loved a nightcap of fine whisky or Scotch, though she didn’t drink either herself.
Skipping over the bottle of Hakushu Japanese whisky and the smoky Laphroaig Scotch, he went straight for the Pappy van Winkle 12 year and poured himself a healthy dram.
“Shite,” he said, taking a long sip. The bourbon burned a silky trail of fire into his stomach, calming him a hair.
Ivy’s desk chair was pulled out, the wooden secretary rolled up to reveal her desk, the only untidy spot in the entire house. Elijah sat down at her desk, dropping the file folder there like a burning brand. He wasn’t ready to look at it just yet.
He sipped his whisky and thought about Ivy’s discussion with the family lawyer, Craig Donnal. The man was in his seventies, still sharp as a dagger, and mean as a wounded bear. Hell, Elijah avoided Donnal if at all possible, and he had a much thicker skin that sweet, trusting Ivy did.
Elijah stood and poured himself some more bourbon, thinking that a little pacing might help him work out the problem.
And what was the problem, exactly?
Well, he’d hurt Ivy. He hadn’t lied to her about anything, of course. But when she asked about his family or his history, he’d simply let it be known that he and his father didn’t walk the same path, and that he’d rather not talk about it. He’d left the money out altogether. After all, he was only receiving a small cut of the family’s money. He owned his own house and his own company, and he was well off enough not to need a handout from his family, however fat the check might be.
He was getting off track. Taking another sip of his drink, Elijah thought about Ivy again. It killed him to see her so hurt, though he hadn’t meant it. Would never hurt her, would never let anyone else do it, either. Hell, he was half in l—
Elijah stopped dead.
That was the real problem. He’d never formalized anything with Ivy, but in just a few short months he’d grown more than infatuated with her. She was so sensible, and well-dressed, and elegant. But she was also very sweet, and spontaneous, and so damned sexy. She balanced Elijah’s brashness and temper with a perpetual smile, and she’d won him over without even trying. Perhaps without wanting to, even.
The fact was, Ivy had never mentioned taking him as a mate. She’d rejected his attempts to “woo” her, saying that she preferred to just spend time together. How could any man resist a woman so perfect with no pressure, no underhanded secrets, no heavy expectations?
Except, of course, the one thing he still hadn’t done: give her a child. It really did kill him that he hadn’t at least done that for her, the one thing she seemed to want so desperately, asking nothing in return…
Elijah eyed his whisky glass. If he was starting the self-loathing already, he’d better slow down his drinking now. Otherwise he risked doing something truly stupid, some ridiculous emotional display on his knees in Ivy’s bedroom in the middle of the night, managing nothing but to anger her further.
He returned the glass to the bar, resolving to clean it up before he headed to bed. Turning to Ivy’s desk, he sat again and turned his attention to the papers in the folder.
A prenuptial document, outlining dozens of scenarios, most of which began with Elijah’s death or permanent vegetative state. It went far beyond the scope of the family’s estate, even so far as to outline the godparents of any of Elijah’s children, what might happen to Elijah’s personal monies and assets, and of course that should anything happen to him, the children would immediately be brought to the Buchanan fold for rearing.
The documents made clear that Ivy was to receive nothing, would keep nothing of his, including gifts he’d made to her. Including his children; the papers made certain to state that the parental rights were his alone.
Though red hazed his vision, Elijah read through the document twice to make sure he’d absorbed every bit of it. Though he was certain that some of the egregious overstepping of boundaries was probably the fault of that damned lawyer, his father’s fingerprints were all over it. Most of it was likely dictated straight from Adam Buchanan’s spiteful lips straight to paper, signed and sealed with a satisfied smirk.
For all his father’s threats that he wanted grandchildren and he wanted them now, Adam Buchanan might just have ended Elijah’s best chance at fulfilling that wish, the desire that had now become Elijah’s own.
Desire for children, yes. But also desire for Ivy. Desire for… a mate.
Elijah pushed the papers aside, rubbing the bridge of his nose to ward off a burgeoning headache. No wonder Ivy was disgusted by the sight of him. If he’d been in her place, he might have locked the front door and never spoken to him again. Though he didn’t deserve it, exactly, he didn’t understand why she wouldn’t just run screaming like any other woman.
He stared idly at Ivy’s desk for a long time before he noticed that one shelf was crammed full of strange items. A couple of medical journals, a book on genetic diseases, pages marked with brightly colored paper strips. Legal file folders, just like the ones laid before him.
Elijah knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help himself. He pulled out the book first, letting it flop open to the most-used page. Huntington’s disease. Diagnosis, prognosis. Frowning, he pulled out the medical journals. They were both marked with articles about the same disease, one referencing a drug trial and the other one about palliative care for Huntington’s patients.
Elijah was puzzled, and now he couldn’t stop himself from searching the rest of the documents.
He found Ivy’s will, written out with neat instructions for the care of her assets and children. A handwritten sheet on the front read:
Kiley and Garrett = Godparents?
Ask them!!
Add NOW and Planned Parenthood
To charities list.
Add Elijah???
Looking at her will gave Elijah a faint chill, goosebumps raking his skin. He knew her mother had died young, but this was just creepy. She’d said in the beginning that she only planned for them to stay together for a couple of years, and for visitations after that. Elijah wasn’t planning to let that happen, but Ivy didn’t know that.
So if she was planning on adding him to her will, she probably wasn’t looking forty or more years out. More like… a few years out, at best.
Elijah’s mind whirred. Maybe she was just being cautious. She was very organized in every other aspect of her life. Ivy could just be making sure she was prepared, especially with children in the picture. People died all the time, hit by buses and lightning and who knew what else.
He looked back at the journals and the medical book. Maybe those were research, for a friend or a relative. Or just plain curiosity.
Elijah’s eyes slid up to the last thing on the shelf, a green plastic accordion file. He licked his lips, mouth gone dry. He reached up and slowly drew the file down, stomach churning.
“Please
don’t yours,” he said aloud, opening the file.
The folder was divided into names. “Dr. Asheby”, “Dr. Melcomp”, “Dr. Singh”. Six doctors, each section full of medical charts, all with Ivy’s name printed prominently at the top.
The first one he pulled out was nonsense for a few pages, until he reached a section marked “CONCLUSION”. Underneath, the words he desperately didn’t want to see were scrawled.
Genetic test shows full penetrance allele, positive for Huntington’s gene. Asymptomatic, clean MRI. Advised patient of 10+ years for onset.
“Shit,” Elijah said, disbelieving. “No, no, no no no!”
He pulled out another, flipping through it, and then another. In a matter of minutes he’d gone through all of them. On the very last, he finally saw the words he feared most.
Diagnosis: Positive for Huntington’s Disease gene. Progression and onset information unavailable. Patient has been given all relevant information, and will return for consult upon onset of symptoms.
With shaking hands, Elijah opened the medical book again and looked at the symptoms for Huntington’s Disease. Loss of motor skills, cognitive impairment, dementia, pneumonia, increased rate of suicide, heart disease…
Elijah shoved to his feet, knocking the chair over, and hurled the accordion file across the room. Ivy might be mad at him for not telling her about his family, but she was hiding something much bigger. She had one of the few genetic diseases that could affect werewolves, and she was counting the days she had left, measuring them like grains of sand.
It all made sense now. Her desperation for a family, her lack of desire to “tie down” a mate, the fact that she hadn’t fled even when his family had repulsed and mistreated her, the jokes about “not having time” to be courted…
Ivy, the woman he’d foolishly let himself fall for, was going to die.
A little voice inside him told him to relax, not to overreact, that everyone was going to die. But that little voice was drowned out in the crashing roar of anger and grief that rose in him like a tidal wave, driving him straight out of the house.
