Jo laughed. “You’re about to.”
He snarled at his sister. “Stop reading my mind.”
I pressed on. “Sam, Aurora is the goddess of dawn or sunrise. Look at her eyes. There’s fire in them. And we can call her Rorie.”
A long tense silence stretched between my husband and me.
Finally, he pushed out a sigh. “I like Rorie.”
“Is that a yes?” I wholeheartedly agreed that naming our children was important and had to have meaning. But we both had to agree.
His dimples emerged. “Yes. The more I look at her, the more I can see her as Aurora.”
“It’s settled. Elara or Ellie, Orion, Luna, and Aurora or Rorie Mason,” I said in a yawn. Ellie and Rorie were our redheads, and Luna and Orion had hair as dark as a starless night.
Sam patted my head. “You should rest. I’ll help you back in bed.”
“No. Not yet. I’m fine.” I was enjoying my daughter, who was still sucking down formula. “You’re the one who needs sleep, vampire. Jordyn can help me.”
Jo rose, glancing at Sam as if they were speaking telepathically, then walked around the room, burping Luna like Jo had several kids under her belt.
“What have I missed?” I felt compelled to ask. Sam still hadn’t answered me about whether Jordyn was okay. What could’ve happened in the middle of the night other than my sister wandering the compound to sneak into the prison to exact revenge on Fred Emery?
9
LAYLA
Sam sat in the rocker Jo had been in and clutched the back of his neck with both hands.
The fact that neither Sam nor Jo was answering my question was beginning to stir my ire. I wasn’t pregnant with a weak heart anymore. The days of dancing around me, afraid I might croak, were over. If Sam had any plans to treat me with kid gloves, I would squeeze his nuts until he was doubled over in pain.
“Look, you two,” I said in a scolding tone, “here’s the skinny. Don’t either of you dare keep anything from me. Especially about my sister. I can’t tell you how maddening that is. I’m a big girl, and don’t forget I grew up killing vampires. Not that I’m threatening anyone here.” I was quick to add. “Just making a point that I can handle shit.”
Sam chuckled, sitting back in the rocker. “We’re not keeping things from you. And I don’t plan to either. But you just came out of surgery, and I wanted to meet my children before I brought you up to speed on what has happened.”
I suddenly felt like a bratty bitch. That wasn’t who I was. “I’m sorry. When you speak to each other telepathically, it’s unnerving. And months of coddling me drove me insane.” Truth.
Jo regarded me from her spot near the bassinets. “No need to apologize, Layla. Your hormones are out of whack.”
They had been for the last few months, and I was sure they would still be for a while. Doc’s healing elixir took care of wounds, not hormones. And come to think of it, my mom had suffered from postpartum depression with my sisters and me.
Fun times ahead.
Jo gently set Luna in her bassinet, then kissed her niece. “I’ll give you two some space. I’ll be back to help with my nieces and nephew.” Then she was out the door as if an explosion was about to happen.
“Jordyn. Is she okay?” I’d been rocking Rorie, and the motion was making me sleepy like it had my daughter.
Sam studied me. “Jordyn is in a prison cell.”
I flinched hard as if he’d dropped a bomb. He had, in a way. “For real? Why? Please tell me she didn’t kill anyone.” I hadn’t forgotten that she wanted to cut off Fred Emery’s head.
His hard green gaze pinned me to the chair. “She pulled the fire alarm as I was rushing you up here.”
I locked my jaw in retaliation—like that would hurt Sam. I couldn’t react the way I wanted to with Rorie in my arms. “That isn’t a crime.” Or was it?
“Layla.” His tone was abrasive. “Whether it is or not, I believe she was the cause of you passing out. And when alarms go off on base, we shut down the gates. That means people like Dr. Martin can’t come in. Luckily, Tripp jumped into action, and Dr. Martin was able to get through but not in time before you died.” His voice cracked on the last word. “What she did is unacceptable.”
He came over to me, crouched down, and grasped my hand. Instantly, a bolt of electricity zipped up my arm, and I wasn’t talking goose bumps and flutters and gooeyness from holding my husband’s hand. Rather, it was a feeling of magic and mayhem and a connection that could probably fry everything in this room to a crisp.
