I release a shaky exhale and lower my gaze to the new bump. “I don’t know. No? Maybe?” I touch it again. “It can’t be Marcus’s, can it?” I peer up into his steady expression. “Would it be yours?”
“Demons can’t reproduce with humans, contrary to popular fiction.”
At least one question is answered.
But the bigger one I really want to ask remains, the one cutting serrated edges into the soft tissues of my esophagus, refusing to be asked. The probabilities are too fast. The outcome too uncertain, but I have to know.
“Is it my boys’?”
“Is that what you want?”
I nod without even considering it because it’s all I want. It’s all I can hope for. A piece of them, alive with me.
Without a word, he scoops me up into his arms. I’m lifted like a child against his chest and moved to the bed.
The sore, exhausted part of my brain is already hoping he isn’t going to try getting intimate. I already know I will need several days before I can have him or Marcus inside me again.
“Relax,” he murmurs as if reading my thoughts. “That isn’t my intention.”
I say nothing as I’m placed gently on the cool sheets. He claims the place at my hip, and to my surprise, he settles his hand across my stomach. Heel to fingertip, he practically covers the entire surface. It’s gentle. A tender cradling that steals my breath.
“This baby will be deeply cherished,” he tells me quietly. “Cared for. They will want for nothing and wield unimaginable power.”
I feel the prickle.
That faint flutter at the back of my brain urging me to delve deeper, to ask more questions.
“So, I am?” I verify, needing him to say it.
“Yes,” he answers softly.
Even braced, the confirmation hits me in the chest.
“It has to be my boys’ right? I’m too far along for it to be Marcus’s.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, too long for such a simple question. Or maybe, he doesn’t know. He’s not a mind reader. He can’t possibly know…
“According to your human medicine, that would be the answer.”
The odd play of words does not go unnoticed, but he’s also correct. All medical facts would suggest this baby was conceived by Eliah and Ames.
I laugh.
Excitement bubbling up my throat with the first surge of happiness I’ve felt in weeks.
“Our baby,” I breathe, touching the curve. “I have to tell them.”
Veyn doesn’t stop me when I roll off the bed and pad quickly to the closet. I locate a loose, burgundy slip and a loosely knitted sweater to pull over top. Veyn is still where I left him when I emerge, but the solemness in his face has me pausing.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, hooking my hair from my collar and freeing the strands around my shoulders.
The edges of his mouth lift in a faint quirk. “Nothing. You’re just so beautiful.”
Heat prickles my cheeks. “Thank you. I’ll be back.”
I considered asking him to come with me, but this is a private moment between me and my boys. Something personal. Even if they won’t understand and aren’t here to celebrate with me, this is between us.
The chapel is still.
