“Delilah?” Concern furrowed Gallagher’s brow. He squeezed my hand.
“I’m fine. I was just thinking about the man in the woods. The man I killed. I can’t get him out of my head.” Yet even that was better than thinking about Oliver Malloy.
The bed shifted as Gallagher stood and headed into the bathroom, where he ran cold water into the cup from the countertop. “Who was he?”
“I don’t know. He looked familiar, but I don’t know where I would have seen him before.”
“On television?” He handed me the cup and sank onto the edge of the bed next to me. “Or maybe you met him once? Was he a customer at the Spectacle?”
I took a long sip, then let my head fall back against the wall behind the bed. “I don’t think so. None of that feels right. But I’ve seen himsomewhere.”
“Why don’t we fish around in the memory for more detail? Where did this slaughter happen?”
I sat up again, scowling at him. “Could you please not call it that? I’m having enough trouble dealing with the fact that I killed someone, without the graphic descriptors.”
“Delilah, if thefuriaekilled that man, he deserved it. And if the baby did it, you are not responsible. You have nothing to feel guilty about. Because you’re right.Youare not a killer.”
“But our child might be.”
He gave me an odd look. “I certainly hope so.”
“Okay, this is just too weird and morbid. And it can’t happen again.” I heaved myself off the bed.
“That may be beyond your control. If the baby needs blood, I will make sure you’re not out there feeding our child’s bloodlust alone, where anything could happen to either of you.”
“You said ‘if the baby needs blood,’ not ‘if the baby needs to kill.’ Does that mean we can just give her blood? Can you soak your cap in blood you didn’t shed? Will that sate the urge?”
“Yes.” But he didn’t look happy about where I was clearly taking the conversation. “In a pinch, that would keep me alive, but I doubt it would satisfy the need to rend flesh and break bones.”
“Again with the graphic descriptors.”
“Killing is an art, Delilah.” He gave me a grim smile. “Describing the act properly is a skill that requires colorful words.”
“I remember a time when you didn’t speak much. Fondly.” I propped both hands on my hips.
Gallagher chuckled. “I suppose soaking up blood from another source is worth a try. Claudio and the pup hunt nearly every day, if you’re thinking of a squirrel or a rabbit, but I’m not sure the blood of an animal killed for food would work. I suspect that’s sidestepping the actual principle of bloodlust. And I don’t think you could keep up with the shifters, in your condition.”
Of course I couldn’t race through the woods with a couple of werewolves while I was nearly eleven months pregnant. Or...ever. “Not squirrels or rabbits, Gallagher. Men. People. You have to kill, anyway, and I have as much reason to want Oliver Malloy dead as you do. You would share your kill with your child, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course. That’s common for parents of young redcaps. But are you sure you want to watch?”
Valid question. Though I’d seen the result several times, and I’d seen him pitted against many beasts in the ring at the Spectacle, I’d only actually seen him kill one person. And it was beyond disturbing. But I was bonded to Gallagher for life, and I was carrying his child. A child who would likely inherit both his craving and need for shedding blood.
The time for squeamishness had passed.
“Yes. Especially if that’ll mean I don’t have to do the killing. Will you help me get my shoes on?” It had been so long since I’d seen my own feet that if I couldn’t feel them swelling, I wouldn’t even be sure they were still there.
Gallagher pulled a fresh pair of socks from the top dresser drawer, then he fished my boots from beneath the bed with a smile. August wasn’t really boot weather, but I’d learned the hard way not to wear sandals in the woods, and we had no idea what kind of landscape we’d encounter at Oliver Malloy’s house.
“I never expected to have a child,” he said as I sat on the bed and lifted my legs onto the mattress for him. “And I will admit that when I did consider that possibility, I always assumed I would partner with a much...sturdier woman. Someone who would pass on a thick frame and strong musculature to our offspring.”
I glanced pointedly at my bulging stomach. “Onlyyouwould complain that I’m too small.”
“I’m not complaining. I’m just thinking about how strange fate can be. Yet how shrewd. You are not physically strong, but you have the heart and mind—and the mouth—of a warrior.”
“Well, thanks. I think. But this wasn’t fate, Gallagher. This was a crime. Which is why the universe owes us this baby. And we owe this kid a long, safe, happy life.” Even if that meant killing and...
He frowned at my obvious confusion. “What’s wrong?”
