Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Serenity
Someone gently shook my shoulder and I groaned, burrowing deeper into the pillow, wanting desperately to sink back into my dream about Noelle. My perfect baby girl with Angelo’s dark eyes and my smile, safe in my arms where no demons could reach her.
“Serenity, wake up. We have company.”
Angelo’s voice pulled me reluctantly toward consciousness.
My eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, and I turned to my side.
Angelo stood beside the bed, fully dressed in a dark suit with a crimson tie that matched the subtle red that flickered in his eyes when he was worried.
His dark hair fell perfectly over his shoulders, and even through my sleepy haze, he looked devastatingly handsome.
But there was something in his eyes—a tightness around the corners, a tension in his jaw that made my stomach clench with unease.
I rubbed at my face, trying to shake off the fog of sleep. “Who’s here?” Morning light filtered through the curtains, but it felt too early. Way too early.
“Tinker Bell and Prudence.”
That woke me up faster than any amount of coffee could have.
I braced my hands on the mattress and struggled to sit up, but my belly—massive and cumbersome—wasn’t cooperating.
It was like trying to maneuver around an overinflated basketball strapped to my torso.
I huffed out a frustrated breath, my muscles straining.
Angelo was there in an instant, his cool hands sliding behind my back, supporting me as he helped ease me upright. He arranged the pillows behind me with the careful efficiency of someone who’d done this a dozen times in the past week.
“Why are they here?” I searched his face, my heart beginning to pound. “Angelo, what’s wrong? Is it the baby? Is something—“
“The baby’s fine,” he said quickly, his hand coming to rest on my belly as if to prove his point. Our child responded with a roll. “But we need to talk. All of us.”
The way he said it—careful, controlled—sent fear through my veins. This wasn’t a social call.
This was about the nightmare.
I looked around the room, suddenly aware of how quiet it was—too quiet for a house full of vampires and their mates. “Where are they?”
“Downstairs. Everyone is up.”
“You woke up the whole house?” Dawn had barely broken. The entire household—Dimitri, Enzo, their mates, probably half the staff—all roused from sleep because of my nightmare.
Angelo’s expression didn’t waver, his dark eyes holding mine with an intensity that stole my breath. “I would shake the halls of heaven to keep you and our baby safe.”
The words hit me square in the chest—fierce, absolute, terrifying in their honesty. There was no use arguing with him when he was in full protective mode. When he looked at me like that, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
I sighed and wiggled on the bed, trying to maneuver my unwieldy body toward the edge. Every movement felt like a negotiation with gravity these days.
“I can bring them up here—” Angelo started, already moving as if to block my path.
I held up my hand, cutting him off. “No. I’m not helpless.” The words came out sharper than I intended, frustration bleeding through. I hated feeling weak, hated being treated like I might shatter.
He nodded solemnly, his jaw tightening, but I could see it in his eyes—the argument he was swallowing, the protests dying on his tongue. He wasn’t going to let this drop. I knew him far too well, especially when it came to me. Especially a pregnant me carrying his child.
“I need to get dressed.” I gestured at my rumpled nightgown, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable.
“You can just—”
I gave him a sharp glare, pouring every ounce of my remaining dignity into it.
Angelo’s hands came up in surrender, and blessedly, he backed off. “Fine.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips despite the tension. “I’ll help you.”
He moved to my side of the bed with that preternatural vampire grace, his hands sliding under my arms as he carefully helped me to my feet.
I clung to him, my fingers digging into his suit jacket because it was getting more and more difficult to get in and out of bed.
My center of gravity had shifted somewhere around my seventh month, and now I felt like a ship listing in rough waters.
Angelo held me steady, one arm wrapped securely around my back, the other hovering protectively near my belly. “Easy, tesoro,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
I hated needing the help. But God, I was grateful for it.
I waddled over to the bathroom, my gait more penguin than graceful these days. Angelo was right behind me like a second shadow, his presence so close I could feel the vampire stillness and cold that marked him as mine.
I stopped at the threshold and turned—or tried to. Turning required effort now. “Angelo, I have to pee. Do you mind?”
He scowled, that stubborn set to his jaw I knew all too well. “Keep the door open.”
“A crack. Nothing more.” I didn’t mean to be so grumpy, but I wished he would have at least asked me before waking up everyone in New Orleans to discuss my nightmare like I was some fragile damsel who couldn’t handle my own fears.
He relented with a tight nod, but I knew—knew—he was standing right outside like a sentinel, probably with his arms crossed and his supernatural hearing tuned to every sound I made.
I took care of business then caught sight of myself in the mirror as I washed my hands. My nightgown clung to my skin, damp with sweat. My face was flushed, my hair plastered to my neck and forehead. I looked—and felt—like I’d been baked alive.
The shower called to me like a siren song.
I turned on the water, not bothering to wait for it to warm up. Being pregnant made me feel like a walking furnace, radiating heat at all hours. The cool spray was exactly what I needed.
I stepped under the stream and nearly groaned in relief as the water sluiced over my overheated skin. I quickly lathered up and washed my hair, my fingers working through the tangles while the temperature helped clear the fog of sleep—and fear—from my mind.
For just these few minutes, I could breathe. I could think.
And I could prepare myself for whatever conversation was waiting for me downstairs.
When I got out of the shower, there were clothes arranged on the warming rack.
My favorite red Christmas smock—the one with Santa and Rudolph embroidered across the front in sparkly thread—along with my most comfortable black maternity pants and fresh undergarments, all laid out like he’d been planning a museum display.
Some of my anger melted away, my chest tightening with a different emotion entirely. Angelo always took care of me like this, in quiet ways that spoke louder than words. He seemed to know my heart better than I knew it myself sometimes.
I toweled off as quickly as my ungainly body would allow, which was tedious at best. Bending, reaching, balancing—everything took twice as long and three times the effort.
I gave up on properly drying my hair and just towel dried the blonde strands until they stopped dripping down my back, then I squeezed out the excess water over the sink.
I caught my reflection again as I reached for the lotion bottle.
My belly was enormous, stretched tight and round, a roadmap of faint silvery lines already beginning to appear along the sides.
I smoothed lotion over my arms and legs first, then grabbed the cocoa butter Prudence had given me at my last appointment.
The rich, sweet scent filled the small bathroom as I rubbed it in slow circles over my stomach. “It will help with stretch marks,” Prudence had said in her warm, practical way, pressing the jar into my hands like it was precious.
Angelo had a different take. I thought of last week, when I’d stood in front of the mirror, nearly in tears over the changing landscape of my body.
He’d come up behind me, wrapped his arms around me, and pressed a kiss to my shoulder.
“If you get any more,” he’d murmured against my skin, “they’ll be a badge of courage. Proof of what you’re doing for us.”
I blinked hard against the sting of tears—damn pregnancy hormones—and kept rubbing the cocoa butter in gentle, methodical circles.
Our baby shifted beneath my hands as if responding to the touch.
“We’re okay,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if I was reassuring the baby or myself. “We’re going to be okay.”
I pulled on my underwear, fastened my bra, and tugged on the soft maternity pants before carefully slipping the Christmas smock over my head. Just as I was trying to smooth it down over my belly, there was a soft knock on the bathroom door.
“Serenity?” Angelo’s voice was gentle. “May I come in?”
“Yes.”
He entered, and his eyes immediately swept over me, taking in the red smock with its cheerful Santa and Rudolph. Something in his expression softened—that look he got when he forgot to be the vampire king and was just... mine.
“You look beautiful,” he said, crossing to me.
I laughed, gesturing at my enormous belly straining against the fabric. “I’m huge.”
“With my child.” He lifted my hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles one by one with reverent tenderness. “You’re carrying our baby, tesoro. You’re still my heart’s desire. More so now than ever.”
My throat tightened with emotion. He drew me into a kiss, one hand cupping my face while the other rested gently on my lower back, careful not to put any pressure on my belly.
I sighed against his mouth, melting into him despite all my earlier frustration. My hand slid up to stroke his neck—that spot I knew drove him wild. My fingers traced the line where his hair met his collar, and I felt him shudder slightly.
He pulled back reluctantly, his forehead resting against mine. “You’re tempting me, amore.”
“I know.” A small smile curved my lips, and I rubbed my belly with both hands. “It will give us something to look forward to once she’s born.”
He went very still. Then he pulled back enough to look at my face, surprise flickering across his features. “She?”
“Yes.” I placed my hand on his chest, right over his still heart. “I’ve been dreaming about her. Our daughter. Noelle.”
Something shifted in his expression—wonder, fear, and such fierce protectiveness it almost stole my breath. “A daughter,” he repeated, dropping his forehead against mine. “I’ll have to have armed guards around her at all times. Starting from birth.”
Despite everything—the fear, the nightmare, Balthazar’s threat—I laughed. I kissed him softly on the chin. “You mean like you did with Gianna? That worked out well.”
He groaned. “Gianna was always rebellious. From the moment she could walk, she was sneaking out and getting into trouble. Drove me insane for centuries.”
“And now she’s mated to Dimitri,” I pointed out, a knowing smile playing at my lips.
His jaw tightened instantly. “Don’t.”
“You tried everything to keep them apart,” I continued, unable to resist. “All those guards, all that protection. And she mated with him anyway.”
He had tried. I knew the story—how he’d objected to Dimitri being a born vampire rather than made, how he’d wanted something safer, more controlled, for his sister.
“That was different,” he said tersely.
“Was it?” My hand came up to cup his face, my thumb stroking his cheek. “You couldn’t control who Gianna loved, Angelo. And you won’t be able to control our daughter either.”
I patted my belly affectionately. “You don’t think this one will be just as headstrong? Just as determined to make her own choices?”
He looked down at where our child grew, protected beneath my heart. Half vampire, half angel. Born of blood and grace. With my stubbornness and his... everything else.
“God help me,” he muttered, but he was smiling despite himself. “She’ll be worse. She’ll have your divine fire and my temper. And if she’s anything like Gianna...”
“And your protectiveness,” I added softly. “And my wings.”
And Balthazar will come for her—he’ll want to use her power for himself.
The thought crashed back over us like a wave of ice water. I saw it in Angelo’s eyes—the same fear that had been clawing at me since the nightmare. His expression hardened, all the lightness evaporating.
He pulled me closer, as close as my belly would allow, and pressed his lips to my forehead. “No one will touch her,” he promised against my skin, his voice dropping to something deadly. “No one will touch either of you. I swear it on my immortal soul.”
I believed him. And that terrified me almost as much as Balthazar did—because I knew exactly how far Angelo would go to keep that promise.
“Come with me,” he said, pulling back and clasping my hand. “They’re waiting.”