The past was truly gone.
"Hello?" Max answered when Kristina finally called him. It was 6:05 and she could tell by the background sounds that he was cooking dinner.
"Hi," Kristina said with a smile in her voice. "This is a mysterious woman from your recent past."
He laughed. "The meter maid who gave me a parking ticket this morning?"
"No," Kristina replied in a naughty undertone. "The one you spent the weekend in bed with."
"Oh, that one." There was hope in Max's voice now, as well as humor.
"I was wondering if you could come over. There are some things we need to talk about."
"Just give me half an hour to round up a babysitter," he replied.
He arrived in twenty minutes flat.
Kristina pulled him inside, wrapped both arms around his neck, and kissed him soundly. It was a greeting, that kiss, but it was an invitation, too. If she had her way, they would be upstairs, in her bed, very soon.
"'Did you mean it when you said you wanted to marry me?" she asked when it was over, and Max was standing there, still in his coat, with snow in his hair. His mien was one of pure, dazed confusion.
"I did indeed," he said. "But you had other plans, if I remember correctly."
"They've changed."
"You're not going to marry the warlock?"
"I'm going to marry you, if you'll have me. But there's something you have to know first—something that might make you feel trapped. And I only want a willing husband, Max Kilcarragh."
"What?" he asked in a voice so tender that it brought a lump to Kristina's throat and tears to her eyes.
"I'm pregnant. With your baby."
For a moment Max looked as though she'd struck him with a blunt object. She was just beginning to worry when a grin flicked up one corner of his mouth and then slowly spread until it seemed to cover his whole face.
"That's the second best news I've heard all day," he said, and despite his smile, there were tears shining in his eyes.
"What's the first best?" Kristina asked, unzipping his jacket, slipping her arms inside to embrace and warm him.
"That you're going to marry me. Oh, God, Kristina—I love you."
She took his hand. "Upstairs," she said, pulling him in that direction. "If we don't start now, we may end up making love right here in the entry hall, or on the stairs—"
They made it as far as Kristina's bed, but just barely.
In the attempt to undress each other, they became entangled in each other's clothes and finally landed on the mattress in a laughing, twisted knot of flesh and fabric.
Soon enough they'd sorted that out, and Kristina lay on her back with Max poised over her, gazing down into her eyes.
"Hurry, Max," she whispered.
He smiled. "No way," he answered, and bent his head to her breast, teasing the nipple unmercifully with the tip of his tongue.
Kristina began to writhe and moan. "Max," she said with a gasp, "we don't need foreplay—I've been thinking of nothing but this for three days!"
He moved to the other breast, subjected a second nipple to slow, sweet torment. "Good," he said. "That ought to make it all the better."
With that, he suckled in earnest. There were long interludes where he teased her with his fingers and with his tongue. He whispered shameless, wicked things in her ear and nibbled at her lobes.
Kristina was out of her mind with need, her body drenched in perspiration, when Max finally parted her legs and gave her just the tip of his shaft. When she begged—and he made her do it prettily—he finally entered her in a slow, deep thrust.
She pleaded some more, and the thrust quickened, deepened, but only slightly.
Finally she shouted out what she wanted, not caring who might hear, and with a sound that was part chuckle and part animal need, Max took her in earnest. Placing his strong hands under her buttocks, he raised her high to receive him, and she undulated against him, her hands moving restlessly, feverishly, up and down his muscle-knotted back.
They reached a simultaneous climax, their bodies arched high off the bed and slick with sweat, and hung there, suspended, flexing spasmodically, for what seemed like forever. Finally, replete, exhausted, they tumbled to the mattress and lay entwined in each other's arms and legs, struggling to breathe, transported.
"Tell me what changed your mind," Max said sometime later, when shadows filled the room. "About marrying me, I mean."
She explained about Valerian's intercession, but left out the near-miss with Benecia and Canaan. There was no need for Max to suffer over that—the incident of Bree and Eliette's disappearance had been erased from his mind, and that was for the best.
"Did you know I've been waiting for you? That that's why I finally became completely mortal?''
He kissed the tip of her nose. "Was I worth it?"
She smiled. "So far, so good," she replied, and pulled his head down so that his mouth found hers.
* * *
EPILOGUE
« ^
SEATTLE
10 MONTHS LATER…
The question of whether or not Jaime Maxwell Kilcarragh had been blessed—or cursed—with magical powers was as yet unresolved. He was a healthy, strapping boy, however, greatly loved by his parents, two elder sisters, and a weird but devoted extended family.
Downstairs in the large family room of the house Max and Kristina had bought together shortly before their marriage, Valerian heard happy laughter. Daisy, Esteban, Maeve, and Calder were all there, along with Max and Kristina, of course, and their daughters, Eliette and Bree.
The great vampire closed his eyes for a moment, listening, nearly rapt, for the sound was like music. It courted the ear, then went deeper to swamp the soul, causing a sweet ache there.
As he watched, the babe awakened. The room was dark, except for a small night-light near the crib itself, and the flow of autumn moonlight through the window. Valerian knew this child was safe, and yet he felt compelled to look out for him, just as he had for Kristina and, once, a long time ago, for Aidan Tremayne.
He closed his eyes briefly, for the thought of Aidan was still poignant, if not actually hurtful.
When Valerian looked again, he was no longer alone in the room. Esteban stood beside him, a sturdy, solemn-eyed lad, ready for school.
"Papa?" he asked softly, taking Valerian's hand. He'd come so far, this beautiful little one, in a short time. He spoke clearly, worked his lessons, no longer slept on the floor or hid stashes of food all around the house.
Valerian lifted Esteban into his arms, sensing his uncertainty. "Shhh," he said against the boy's small temple, where dark, gossamer hair grew, fine as fairy-floss, and a warm heartbeat pulsed. "We mustn't wake the baby."
"We are going to have cake," Esteban confided in an accommodating whisper, his brown eyes very wide. Daisy seldom allowed such treats; she was into health food.
There were times when Valerian was more than grateful that he wasn't required to eat the way mortals did.
"Don't you want some?" the child prodded, glancing back once, at the babe.
"What's the real question?" Valerian prompted. They understood each other more than passing well, this father and son.
Esteban sighed. "Do you like him better than me?"
Valerian shook his head. "No."
Reassured, Esteban began to squirm. He was probably thinking of the cake, perhaps fearing that the others would consume it all before he had his share.
With a chuckle, Valerian set the boy on his feet, and Esteban ran off again.
Valerian went to the crib side and looked down at the handsome babe, who returned his gaze directly. Then, with the slightest smile, Jaime Kilcarragh shifted his gaze to the teddy bear at the foot of his small bed, and raised one tiny hand, wriggling his fingers. The toy had been summoned, and it came obediently to lie beside Jaime, who snuggled close and went back to sleep.
Smiling slightly, Valerian turned and walked out of the nursery.
The
adventure wasn't over, he thought. No, indeed—it had only begun.
* * *
LINDA LAEL MILLER is the award-winning author of many bestselling novels. A favorite of romance readers, Ms. Miller has expanded the scope of the traditional love story with her unique vampire romances, Forever and the Night, For All Eternity, and Time Without End, and has contributed a time-travel story for the romance anthology Timeless.
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