Carmen walked over and sat down on her bed, watching us with a happy grin on her face.
Neither of us heard the door open.
“Stefani?” Velik’s deep voice held more than one question.
Shit. Not exactly the sit-him-down and explain things slowly idea I’d been working on. Too late now.
Still sitting, I twisted around until I could look up at him, my heart pounding. “Velik. Come here. I’d like you to meet your daughters.”
He looked from me to the twins, his gaze taking them in, every detail. Their green-gold eyes that were an exact match for mine. Their dark hair. Their happy gurgling as they both tried to wiggle their way over to me.
I watched the expression on his face change from confusion to shock. Then rage. Despair.
Love.
Tears pooled in my eyes as his gaze filled with pure love. It hurt, watching him love them so much, a hard, stabbing pain behind my eyes.
I’d made the right decision. He would be a good father. Whether we were together or not—and I was undecided, despite the hot sex—he would dote on them. Protect them.
Still looking at my handsome warlord, his hair the exact same shade as the girls’, I leaned my head to each side, toward each of my daughters as I introduced them to their father. “This is Terra… and Alena. They’re twins, Velik. Six months old.”
His gaze darted between them. Back to me.
He stepped forward…
I’d never seen an Atlan faint before. But that’s exactly what he did. The big, bad Atlan warlord toppled like he was a tree, and I’d swung the axe.
13
Stefani, Three Days Later
* * *
I had a book in my lap, but I wasn’t reading. I couldn’t take my eyes off the gorgeous warlord reading Atlan poetry to his daughters.
* * *
A warlord mighty, a force to be reckoned,
On the battlefield, his rage beckoned.
His armor heavy, his heart light,
He fought with all his strength and might.
* * *
They didn’t understand a word of it, and I decided that was a very good thing. Their father apparently loved poetry. He was very expressive, voice rising and falling dramatically, hands swinging through the air making wide arcs. He made faces at them as well, playing peek-a-boo over the top of the tablet he’d used to download the alien literature.
If I’d known how horrible Atlan writers were, or how bloodthirsty, I would have banned it from my house. Velik, however, insisted that in his native language the words were beautiful, like his girls.
When he said shit like that, I let him get away with murder. Well, when it came to the twins. Not with me. I knew he meant all three of us, but I decided to pretend he referred to only two, small, exquisite infants.
He stood a few steps in front of our daughters, a captive audience strapped into their highchairs, eating a snack before their afternoon nap.
Velik walked to Terra first, then Alena, placing a sweet, gentle kiss on top of each girl’s head. Then, he leaped back, dropped into a low, exaggerated bow that made Alena laugh—Terra was too busy throwing a cracker on the floor to properly appreciate the theatrics—and lifted the tablet.
“Warlord’s Sacrifice. This is a good one.
