Chapter 21
Six months pregnant.
Sometimes I still couldn’t believe those words applied to me. That I was here safe and alive, part of something I’d never thought I’d have or that was even possible.
After the attack, Roman had insisted we all leave our separate homes and gather under one roof.
At first, it had felt strange, suffocating even, this constant closeness, this many predators breathing under the same walls.
But the mansion had space, it had endless rooms, endless halls and slowly, we had adapted.
Now it felt like a fortress, a living thing that breathed safety into my skin every time I woke.
I’d grown close to Layla in these months.
She was soft where I was sharp, calm where I was stubborn, and together we found a rhythm.
She’d let me help with Aleksander, the little boy stealing all of our hearts, and I’d found I loved him fiercely.
He was innocence in the middle of blood and war.
When I held him, sometimes I thought of the tiny life inside me, kicking harder every day, reminding me it was real.
Lucien had been… everything. Overbearing, yes. Paranoid, definitely. But caring in a way I’d never known a man could be. He never let me feel alone. Every detail of my comfort, my safety, my happiness had been seen to with a strategist’s precision. And it wasn’t just him.
The other brothers, all of them, looked at me and Layla like we weren’t just mates, but their family too.
Protected, cared for, watched over. Viking had a way of teasing that made me laugh when the weight of everything pressed too hard.
Draugr’s silence was a comfort, a promise that nothing would touch me while he was near.
Volken, sharp and controlled, was the quiet balance Lucien sometimes needed.
And Roman… Roman was their anchor, and by extension, mine.
We weren’t outsiders anymore. We were a family.
I stood at the window now, the night stretching out in silver and shadow. The weight of my belly pressed forward, pulling my spine, making me shift. I sighed softly, pressing my hand against the curve of it.
Warmth slid around me a second later. Lucien. His hand curved over mine, his body caging me, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of my neck.
“You should be resting,” he murmured, his voice a low command laced with tenderness.
Before I could argue, he moved me gently, turning me until he could kneel in front of me. His hands spread over my belly, his head bent, lips brushing over the swell.
“Little one,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it, “your mother is tired. Behave for her.” He kissed again, murmuring, “Don’t wear her out. I’ll deal with you when you’re here. Until then, let her rest.”
My throat tightened, watching the most dangerous man I’d ever known speaking to our child like a prayer.
His eyes flicked up to mine. “You’re pale again. You need more of my blood.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he was right. The bigger the baby grew, the more energy it pulled from me. What had started as once every few weeks had become weekly now, sometimes even sooner. My body simply couldn’t keep up with the strain without him.
“I’m fine,” I said softly.
“No, you’re not.” His thumb brushed along my hip, his gaze fierce. “I can see it. You’re drained so don’t argue because we’ll do it later.”
Before I could answer, a sharp jolt rippled through me. My breath hitched as the baby kicked hard against my ribs. Lucien froze, his hands tightening protectively. “Too strong,” he growled, already on edge. “It’s taking too much from you.”
I cupped his face, forcing him to look at me. “It’s not. It’s just… alive. It’s strong. That’s good, Lucien. Don’t worry.”
His jaw flexed, his eyes still storm-dark, but he leaned into my touch. “I’ll always worry,” he muttered. “About both of you.”
And yet, when the baby moved again beneath his hands, even he couldn’t hide the flicker of awe in his gaze. The baby rolled again, and I winced slightly. Lucien was up in a heartbeat, his arm bracing around me, his stare locked on my face.
“That’s it. No more waiting.” His voice left no room for argument, and this time, I didn’t try.
He guided me to the bed, lowering me onto the edge like I was glass that might shatter. Kneeling in front of me again, his hands smoothed up my thighs, anchoring me. His eyes burned into mine, hunger and devotion tangled together.
“Relax,” he murmured.
I let out a shaky breath. I trusted him now in ways that terrified me. Trusted him with my body, my heart, my child. Trusted that when his fangs sank into me, it wasn’t to take, but to give.
Lucien brushed my hair back from my shoulder, his lips grazing the sensitive skin there before he looked up again. “Say it,” he said softly, his voice rough. “Tell me you trust me.”
“I trust you,” I whispered, the words pulling free easier than I expected.
His expression softened, a rare vulnerability flashing in his eyes before the predator returned. Then his mouth lowered, his fangs piercing gently into my skin.
The sting was sharp, but fleeting. Heat followed, spreading like fire through my veins, the bond between us thrumming alive. I gasped, my hand clutching at his shoulder, not from fear but from the surge of energy, the rush of strength flowing back into me.
Lucien growled low against my skin, not a sound of hunger but of restraint, of control.
He drank just enough, just what he needed, and then pulled back, his tongue sweeping over the wound in a tender seal.
He then bit deep into his wrist and placed it over my lips, “Drink baby, take as much as you need.”
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his lips pressing over the bite. “You’re so goddamn strong. My perfect girl.”
I exhaled slowly, my pulse steadying as the warmth of his blood spread further, easing the ache in my limbs, chasing away the exhaustion that had dragged at me all day. My body hummed with life again, renewed.
He didn’t move away. He kissed my shoulder, then my collarbone, then higher, his hands cupping my face. His forehead pressed against mine, his breath uneven.
“Every time I do this, I’m reminded,” he whispered, “that you are mine. Not in chains. Not in fear. But in this. In blood. In bone and in love.”
I touched his jaw, feeling the fierce tremor there. “And you’re mine,” I answered softly. “Even when you scare the hell out of me.”
His laugh was low, broken, raw. He kissed me then, slow and deep, and when he finally pulled back, he laid me down, curling around me protectively. One hand splayed over my stomach, the other cupping the back of my head.
“Rest now, Sorcha,” he murmured. “I’ll keep watch. Always.”
And with the steady sound of his voice and the echo of his blood still singing through me, I drifted into sleep.
When I stirred again, the room was darker, the air cooler. Lucien wasn’t beside me, but I could still feel him close. His voice carried low through the slightly open door, a deep rumble that made the walls seem to vibrate. Another voice answered, sharper, steadier. I recognised Volken’s voice.
I lay still, listening, my heart tightening.
“…the Irish don’t move like this on their own,” Lucien was saying, his tone clipped, dangerous. “They’re sloppy when left to their own devices. But this…these coordinated strikes, the timing, the precision, this is something else.”
Volken’s reply came calm and exact, as always.
“They’ve been in bed with the demons longer than we first thought.
There is a trail of supplies, information even safe houses.
But even demons don’t have this kind of foresight.
Malakai is brutal, yes. Cunning, sometimes.
But this?” A pause. “This feels orchestrated.”
Lucien growled low. “Then who’s pulling the strings?”
“We don’t know yet. It’s fucking frustrating but we’ll find out,” Volken answered.
His words carried that sharp certainty of his, but beneath it, I heard the same unease that had lived in Lucien’s voice for weeks now.
“What matters for now is keeping your mate safe. And the child. They’re the weakness that the enemy will exploit if they can. ”
A silence fell, heavier than their words. I pressed a hand over my belly, rubbing gently as if to soothe the restless life inside me.
“Don’t worry, little one,” I whispered softly, my voice low so they wouldn’t hear. “Daddy will protect us. He always does.”
The baby kicked lightly beneath my palm, and I smiled faintly through the knot in my chest.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” I went on in a hushed murmur, tracing circles over the curve of my stomach. “He’s strong enough for all of us. Even when he scares me, even when he goes dark… he’s ours. And he won’t let anyone take us.”
Outside, Lucien’s voice rose again, a snarl edged with steel. “I’ll tear through every Irish bastard and every demon they crawl to before I let them touch Sorcha or my baby.”
I closed my eyes, breathing deep. Somehow, even with the storm gathering just outside the door, I felt safe. Because he was mine, and I was his.