by Isabel Wroth
“This one.” he repeated softly.
“WHAT?”
Sixteen
Tarek
Tarek shut the door behind him, pausing to listen to the sounds of the room.
His lips curved in a tired smirk to hear the soft, rhythmic creak coming from the nursery. The weight of his responsibilities melted away as he pushed off and followed that sound, his beast every bit as eager as he was to see Clary, as though it had been days instead of only a few minutes.
He stopped just inside the doorway, the odd melting sensation in the region of his heart still almost overwhelming in its intensity to see Clary with her arms full of his cubs. Well, one of them. Leaning his shoulders against the wall, he watched his mate relaxing in the quiet after having been bombarded with the joyous sounds of the pride, finally celebrating the naming day of the twins.
It had been Clary’s insistence that they postpone the celebration to honor Ne’tare and the loss of his son, not caring that Setar had been a traitor. She had refused to just move on without allowing Ne’tare and his family time to grieve, while shoving their own joy in the elder male’s face.
Tarek still struggled with the knowledge he kept from Ne’tare about Setar’s betrayal. Struggled as a friend, and now as a father, understanding how difficult it would be to know the flesh of his flesh had betrayed him so grievously.
Clary soothed him, offering to support his decision in any way she could, agreeing that the knowledge would serve no purpose now, except to make Ne’tare doubt his place and cause him even more grief. Cause the trusted and loyal friend to withdraw in an effort to prove that loyalty. Tarek knew she understood, even as he knew it hurt her to keep the secret.
He loved her even more for the sacrifice of her silence.
More still, when Tarek had asked who would be the guardians of their offspring, should anything happen to him or Clary. She had not hesitated to name Ne’tare and T’mai both.
When she had first answered, Tarek fought the beast’s instincts that whispered to him of the danger. In days long past, it would not have been uncommon for a sibling or relative to see the cubs in their care as rivals within the pride hierarchy and kill them to solidify their own place.
Clary had waited patiently while Tarek fought those whispers, not a single doubt to be found through their bond to say she feared Ne’tare or T’mai would pose such a threat. Eventually, Tarek had seen the wisdom and the honor in his mate’s decision. Giving his brother and Ne’tare guardianship over the twins, told every single member of the pride the value, esteem, and trust Tarek and Clary had for both males.
One, the sire of a traitor.
The other, a legitimate rival to Tarek’s place as pride ruler despite having so graciously stepped aside.
Tarek smiled as he recalled the shock plain on both T’mai and Ne’tare’s faces when he had asked for their acceptance of guardianship over the twins. Felt his heart clench as it did now when he had placed his firstborn, his daughter, in the arms of his brother and his son in the arms of the male who had raised him.
Tarek had let Clary name their cubs, not caring if she stuck to the tradition of giving the first son born a name that began with the same letter as his sire. But, as she often did, Clary surprised him with her choice.
Wanting him to be part of the Sarazen tradition, despite having been born second, she named their son, Tristan.
And with a bit of her own tradition, she named their daughter, Lyrala.
It was a type of plant, as clary, was a type of plant. All three were the names of a plant called sage. Sage, he learned, was Clary’s mother’s name.
After the birth, Tarek had laughed until tears streamed from his eyes when Clary told him if she ever allowed him to impregnate her again he could name whoever came next. He found himself laughing at odd moments during the day as he recalled the insults his lovely mate had heaped upon him during her labor.
Swearing as the pain gripped her that she would ‘cut his dick off with a dull spoon’ if he ever touched her again. Only to turn into a sobbing mess, flooding their bond with love and joy when Gwen had placed the tiny, screaming body of Lyrala in Clary’s arms.
Then Clary turned right around as she had labored again to birth Tristan, and returned to her threats of dismemberment and death as punishment for Tarek having cursed her with twins.
He had felt the echo of each contraction through the bond that linked he and Clary together. Every pain she felt. Every fearful moment she bravely suffered through. Every delirious moment of joy she experienced. He could not recall having ever suffered that kind of agony on the battlefield and had, for a moment, been astounded by Clary’s resilience at having to suffer it twice.
At Clary’s order, her vehement order, Gwen was currently working on something called an epidural. Tarek had no idea what that was, but if it helped Clary or any of the other soon-to-deliver females through their births, Gwen would have every resource Tarek could provide.
That is, if Ga’rae didn’t beat him to it.
Tarek watched Clary as she held Tristan to her breast, the cub’s hand curled in a tiny fist around her finger, a tiny little purr accompanying his ravenous suckling. Bright red tufts of hair curled wildly all over Tristan’s head, peeking out from the edge of the blanket Clary had wrapped him in.
The boy looked exactly like his mother, from those bright curls to the sparkle of mischief already present in his green eyes. The only bit of his father he seemed to have thus far, were the faint black stripes that darkened with each day, proving the line of the Blackpaw clan ran true through his tiny body.
Lyrala, on the other hand. Well, she took after her father in every way. Aside from the obvious difference of certain anatomical bits. Fair hair, golden eyes, her clan markings more delicate than her brother’s, but already they were a stark and solid black against her fair skin. Perfection.
As if sensing his presence, Lyrala began to cry.
*****
Clary looked up from her awe-filled study of the baby in her arms, smiling in amusement when Tarek rushed to pick up his screaming daughter. He was such a pushover, and his little princess had him wrapped around all ten of her tiny little fingers. She rolled her lips together to stem the laughter that bubbled up watching him coo and purr at Lyrala, her baby body looking so tiny in his enormous hands.
He looked so proud of himself when the baby almost immediately stopped crying, reverting instead to grunting and making little growling noises as she kicked her legs and waved her arms. Fussing until Tarek turned her over to cup her cheek in his palm, the length of her body wrapped around his forearm. For some reason, that was Lyrala’s favorite position to sleep, looking like a little caterpillar clinging to tree trunk.
Clary shook her head even as she lifted her face to accept the kiss Tarek bent to give her. Turning positively mushy when he bent further to kiss the fiery red curls of his son’s hair. Tristan growled with his mouth still attached to her breast, making his father chuckle at the sound of baby possessiveness. As though his food was being threatened.
“They always look so much smaller when you hold them.” she murmured.
“That is because they are small. But they will grow, won’t you, my little ones?” he rumbled at the babies. Her heart utterly melted in reaction to the look of happiness so bright in her mate’s eyes.
“Done for the day?” Clary asked, shifting to lean back against the thick rope of the swing to alleviate some of the ache in her back.
Tarek hummed an affirmative sound, standing up to pull her from the swing. He completely ignored how she protested that she was fine, all but pushing her to the extra wide lounge in their bedroom to sit with her propped against him. She did honestly prefer this, the heat of his body soothing the aches and pains brought on by the weight of her milk-laden breasts.
It seemed like the only time she got relief from the swollen, achy feeling of being overinflated were the few moments after both of the twins had fed. So far, that was the worst
thing she had to deal with post-pregnancy.
And swollen ankles.
That sucked.
Tarek, however, seemed to know just when she needed a change of position. Or a foot rub. Or when she needed a few minutes to herself to bathe or eat something. He’d take both cubs and disappear with them for an hour or two so she had some time to relax. Well, not disappear.
He would take the babies with him to his study, showing them off to the other warriors like trophies gained from a mighty battle. Sharing his experience as a father with the other soon-to-be dads and telling them horror stories about diaper changes. It seemed no matter the species, diapers were the equivalent of dirty bombs. Having explained what a dirty bomb was to Tarek once, he now referred to his children’s bowel movements, as ‘bombings’.
It never failed to make her laugh whenever he came striding into the nursery with one of the babies held at arms length, his face twisted in disgust to declare, “Your son has bombed us all to oblivion. Beast’s Fur, what are you feeding them?”
The first time Lyrala had ‘bombed’ the front of Tarek’s shirt, Clary had almost peed herself laughing. She wished she had gotten his look of shock and horror to so unexpectedly be covered in princess poop, on video. It made her giggle now just thinking about it.
“Why are you laughing, my one?”
“Just thinking. How’d it go?”
Tarek sighed, wrapping his arm beneath hers, helping her to support Tristan’s weight while Tarek set his chin on her shoulder to watch his son feeding.
“As well as it could have. Cassie is speaking to Falken again. They have worked tirelessly to decode the information the retrieved off the data-cube. The amount was staggering and their conclusions more so. It is likely this ridiculous Original Council was in fact The original council. As in, the council of my great grand-sire.
“Cassie and Falken have shifted their search to include those members and any known offspring or associates. They are considering because first Ohlen’s sire was implicated, now Falken’s, the traitors possibly may have inherited their positions.”
Clary let her head fall back over Tarek’s arm to look up at him. His brows were pulled together in a serious frown, but Lyrala gave a little purr of sound and Tarek was right back to smiling.
“What do you think about that?”
Tarek gave a hum. “It is a logical assumption, so I am inclined to agree. Cassie wishes to return to S7 to complete her work, but Falken is refusing due to her pregnancy. Something about the levels of electromagnetic energy interfering with necessary communication.”
“I don’t blame him. It would be awful if Cassie went into labor or they needed help, but the transmission couldn’t get through.”
“Mm.” Tarek grunted. “Apparently Tara is working on some kind of device, at Cassie’s demand, to boost the com signal from the archive in order to render Falken’s concern irrelevant. In the meantime, the two of them have gone to spend time with Falken’s mother. I would not be surprised if Cassie tries to talk Amreet out of her decision.”
After Farro had confessed his involvement in the attacks made on the hybrid mates, his involvement with the Original Council and having used his position as a merchant to smuggle illegal weapons and goods in and out of Sarazen territory, Tarek had sentenced him to imprisonment in a stasis chamber. Indefinitely.
On one hand, Farro was getting off easy. He would go into stasis, sleep, and be none the wiser about his imprisonment. He wouldn’t suffer for his crimes.
On the other hand, Tarek was being fair by not punishing Amreet, for the crimes of her mate.
The Sarazen female was guilty of not having come forward sooner with her suspicions, but the data-cube Amreet had provided was filled with logs and records of those illegal goods being moved through Sarazen controlled territory. Logs and records that had implicated over fifty more accomplices and two more of the Original Council members.
As one of those accomplices had been found responsible for disabling the outgoing transmission of Falken’s ship, preventing him from communicating during his assignment to bring in Commander Valek and Medic Ramaj back to S1, Tarek had been satisfied the information Amreet collected was worth leniency. He had been willing to allow Amreet to go home, under guard to keep an eye out for the mate sickness that might have befallen her.
Amreet had without protest or hesitation agreed to the guards, stating that they were unnecessary, as she and Farro had been living apart for decades and no sickness or blood-lust had presented itself.
The morning following Tarek’s decision, Amreet had changed her mind and asked to be put into stasis as well. She claimed she did not wish to be an ever-present reminder to Falken of the shame she and his sire had brought to him.
Clary felt like there was something else bothering Amreet, but it was for Falken to handle now that he and Cassie were home.
Speaking of those two, “I still don’t understand why Falken waited so long to tell Cassie about their new addition, or why he made all of you promise not to say anything.”
Tarek hummed softly, turning his lips to her cheek. “Knowing how certain Cassie was that she would not get the opportunity to have cubs, it was Falken’s hope Cassie would figure it out for herself first. He thought it would make her happy.”
Clary snorted, “Happy thinking he was keeping some huge, ugly secret from her?”
“It wasn’t exactly a secret, my heart.”
“When everybody but you knows something that directly involves you and they don’t tell you what it is because someone else told them not to? I’d say that’s about the definition of a secret. Especially knowing how badly it hurt Cassie to think the only kids she had, or would have had, died? It was dumb. Beyond dumb. Especially for someone as smart as Falken.”
Tarek sighed, his tone taking on the edge it did when he thought she just didn’t get it.
“Do you remember how you reacted when I told you I could smell the change in your body?”
“That was totally different!”
“You immediately doubted my word as truth and demanded proof.”
“Yeah? And you gave it to me.”
“That is not the point I would make, my one.” Now Tarek just sounded amused.
If he hadn’t been cuddling their daughter, Clary would have shot her elbow back to nail him in the chest. “So, make it already.”
“Cassie has questioned the validity of her bond with Falken. Questioned his feelings for her. Questioned everything about their relationship up until she finally accepted their bond for what it was and gave in to her own feelings. Falken was attempting to let her come to her own conclusion about her pregnancy.”
“Well, it was obviously a very bad idea. He could have just taken her to Ga’rae for a scan and let her see the evidence with her own eyes, like a normal person, and avoided a week of the silent treatment.”
Tarek didn’t bother to try and curb his laughter. “To hear Zarak tell the story, Cassie stormed out of the master suite threatening to ‘rip Falken a new asshole.’ She was so angry that the warriors came running, thinking an enemy had somehow gotten past their perimeter, weapons drawn, only to find Cassie heading for the shuttle and Falken following with no more than a sheet to clothe himself with. Zarak claims Cassie demanded that someone take her back to the larger ship or bring it to the property, her intent to come back here to see Ga’rae for a scan-”
“See? Falken should have just gone with that first. Cassie would have been thrilled.”
Tarek went on like she hadn’t interrupted him. “And when she was told that it would take a rev or two to get underway, she marched right out the door and started walking. Falken obviously went after her, and according to Zarak, for the second time Cassie had her tirade ruined by an episode of vomiting. Apparently if her blood pressure gets too high, she gets nauseous to the point of regurgitation.”
Clary snorted, carefully switching Tristan from one breast to the other. “I don’t know why you think that’s so
funny, Tarek.”
“She can’t get mad, or yell, as is her preferred method of venting her anger, without vomiting.”
Okay. It was slightly funny. But puking your guts up due to a growth on your uterus was no laughing matter. It was the most discomforting feeling in the world, to be fine one second, then hot, cold, sweaty and dizzy all at once in the next second.
“No doubt why she reverted to the silent treatment.” Clary muttered, still thinking Falken was dumb. She got that he was trying to be sweet and let the whole thing be a surprise. He just shouldn’t have let a whole month go by before giving in and telling Cassie.
“No doubt.” Tarek agreed with a chuckle.
“But she’s talking to him again?”
“Mm hm. Falken was understandably distressed in reaction to his mother’s request.”
“Distressed?”
“I suppose angry might be a better description. I regret to tell you, my one, upon hearing his mother’s desire to be put into stasis, Falken grabbed the nearest object to him and threw it at the wall with all his might. That hideous sculpture Te’sha’s mate gave us as a mating gift was completely destroyed.”
Clary’s lips wiggled as laughter threatened to explode from inside her. She knew exactly which sculpture Tarek was referring to, and it was, had been, hideous.
“That’s um…that’s a shame.”
Tarek gave a sleepy hum, both of them exhausted with the uneven cycle of the twin’s sleeping habits. Up and down all night, add to that the stress of Tarek’s daily battle to ferret out the rest of the traitors, which thankfully he had begun to delegate a little better, and it was a wonder neither one of them had dropped dead on their feet.
“So, what’s going to happen with Amreet?” Clary asked around a yawn.
Tarek yawned back and shifted to better cuddle her and the babies, wrapping all of them up in his strong arms. “I will ask tomorrow.”
Clary watched him tilt his head back to rest on the lounge and within seconds, her mighty warrior was fast asleep and snoring softly. Tristan finished his afternoon snack and released his hold on her breast, smacking his lips together as though satisfied with the meal provided. His bright eyes were filled with far too much knowledge, staring up at her with an awareness that often slightly disturbed her.
