She stayed quiet, watching the nebulous, glowing ball within her, the way it swirled and moved. Their baby, she realized with a stifled giggle, looked exactly like Jared in his natural form. Perfect power and movement, unwilling to be contained.
Kelsey shook her head. "I just don't see how I can possibly carry this baby to term."
The doctor shut off the monitor. "My queen, do you realize that this baby is no different from countless other D'Aravnians over the many generations?"
"I know, but … I'm human."
"A perfect genetic match with the Refarians … well, close to ninety-nine percent, that is."
"But I'm not a ball of fire!" she cried, covering her eyes in shame. She should be stronger than this—for Jared and for the people who called her queen.
The doctor laughed softly. "Most of the women who have carried D'Aravnian babies were not beings of fire. Yet most of those children were born, lived full lives. You're healthy and strong, my lady. This baby will come to term." He patted her belly gently. "This is our new heir inside of you, and I have every faith that the baby will be born."
She blinked back at the man, thinking of all the assurances Jared had offered her, too. "What should I expect with such a short gestational period? When will I start to show?"
He stared down at his flip chart. "Oh, give it another two weeks or so."
"Two weeks?" she squeaked. "Not even a month?"
He grinned, almost as if proud of his own species. "Our kind doesn't waste time achieving what nature wants. By four months you'll be uncomfortable and wishing you were full-term."
"You are doing nothing—absolutely nothing—to reassure me, Doctor."
He closed the chart, holding it against his chest. "This baby is desired, no?"
"Of course!"
"Then enjoy this time of your life. You have so many wonderful days ahead of you."
For some reason, it just didn't feel as simple as that. Her entire stomach churned, her body was on fire, and all she could think about was one thing: that she couldn't wait to drag Jared back into bed.
"Thanks, Doctor," she told him with an opaque smile. Good thing that monitor of his couldn't read her internal desires, too.
Hope sat in the overstuffed corner chair in her room and blinked. Blinked and stared, swung her gaze first in one direction, then another. It was almost more than her heart could willingly accept: Her vision had been restored, and completely. No blurriness, no floaters, no occasional bright flashes. She rose to her feet and peered out of the small window, studying a snowdrift piled against it. They were in a basement of sorts, she now realized, because the window was high up and the drift practically blocked out all daylight. Snowflakes were frozen against the windowpane, etched onto the glass like the very fingerprint of God. Lacy, unique … that she could see them at all brought tears to her newly healed eyes.
Next she walked to the sink and stared into the mirror at herself; for the first time in more than a year she could actually glimpse her own face. Man, I've got some dark circles. Have to work on that! And her hair looked limp and tired, just like her body was. She found her brush by the sink and worked it through the straight length of her blonde hair, then rubbed at her cheeks. Being blind meant you didn't think about the absence of makeup, a situation she was going to have to fix right away.
Leaning forward, gripping the sink, she tried to figure out whether she'd gotten any wrinkles since she'd last seen her own face. Oddly enough, she looked relatively … the same. It was as if she'd taken a very long holiday from herself, a break, only to return and find that nothing much had changed. Totally weird, when you got right down to it.
A sound startled her from behind, and she spun to find a tall, brawny guy studying her. For a split second she wondered who it was, but then, breaking into a smile, she cried, "Jake!" and rushed to him, flinging her arms about his neck.
He returned her embrace stiffly, patting her kindly on the back, and she understood—he was already distancing himself. She pulled back, staring up into his startling green eyes, so light they almost seemed to glow against his olive skin.
"You can see perfectly, can't you?" Gently, he peeled her hands off of him.
She nodded. "It's an absolute miracle."
He pushed past her, but she followed right behind. "Did my future self have this same surgery?"
"Long, long ago," he answered solemnly.
"That explains it, then."
He glanced at her curiously. "I don't understand what you mean."
"When I dream about that future, I can always see the details … very clearly. I finally understood it was because that other version of me could see."
He gave her a melancholy smile. "You always had such beautiful eyes, and you still do."
She folded her arms across her chest, shivering in her hospital gown, watching him pace the room in agitation. "You shouldn't leave," she argued. "You don't have to go—you do know that, right?"
He chuckled low, closing his eyes. "Of course I have to leave. There's no place for me here."
"But you don't have to chase down my killer."
"I have to do that, too."
She planted a hand on her hip. "Tell me why."
He headed back toward the door. "I just came to say goodbye, Hope, not defend my actions."
"Just give me one good reason why you have to hunt down Jake Tierny."
He paused at the door, his hand positioned over the knob, and at first she thought he wouldn't answer. "Don't you know?" he finally said in a voice raw with unexpressed emotion.
"I'm not sure that I do. You need to live, be all right, here in this time."
"I need to find your killer, Hope … because I still love you. I will always"—he turned slowly to meet her gaze—"always love you. No amount of time or space or eternity will ever change that fact."
She flinched, walking slowly toward him. "Let me hold you. Just one last time." She opened her arms to him. "Please, Scott, just let me hold you."
He buried himself within her embrace. "Don't call me Scott."
"It's who you are. No amount of time or space or eternity will ever change that fact, either."
"I'm so sorry I kissed you, let us get intimate—I never meant for that to happen between us."
"I can't imagine how you could hold back."
She felt dampness form against her cheek, his tears—Scott's tears—like that very first night he'd come upon her in the medical hallway. Very gently she stroked his hair, shushed him, and whispered words of never-ending love. "I will always love you, too," she pledged. "You've got to know that."
He nodded at last, pulling back, tears glinting in his light green eyes. "That's why I have to leave. I can't possibly stay."
And she got it then, understood completely—it was best for both of them, Scott included. So long as he stayed around camp or even nearby, her heart would always be torn in half. She'd feel a pull toward this melancholy man, one with whom she could never again share a future, and he would feel drawn back to her elusive promise as well.
"Please be careful in Texas." She stroked his cheek. "Don't do anything stupid, and let me know that you're okay—at least every once in a while."
He bent low, pressing a chaste kiss against her brow. "You can count on it."
And with that, Scott Dillon's other self swept out of the room, never looking back.
Scott paced outside the doorway of Hope's room, trying to figure out a way to simply go to her. He should have visited her in the hospital, should have been at her side while she underwent the surgery. Should have done, should have done. Already so many regrets for such a young relationship.
Shelby had directed him up here, to Hope's quarters, explaining that her eyesight was fully restored, and that she was feeling strong and healthy—but not without also letting him know that Jake Tierny had definitely made a point of paying a visit of his own.
Sometimes, truthfully, Scott knew he could be a total loser. Like with all the women w
hose beds he used to warm, but whom he'd always left so easily before daybreak. Yet Hope was anything but a one-night stand. So why did the thought of seeing her terrify the living hell out of him?
Simple: She'd never actually seen him. The idea that, if he chose to knock on her door, she'd look upon him completely … well, it was worse than being cornered in the most brutal of firefights. Worse than being trapped in reflexive metal. In fact, it might be more than he could possibly overcome.
Human women seemed to find him plenty pleasing—he wouldn't have had such good luck around the bars and getting into bed with them if that weren't the case. But this was Hope—his beloved Hope. What if she laughed in his face, as Anna had once done? What if she found him hideous? He was average at best, but he could make up for that fact in bed, as he had proven many times over. Still, one look at him might be enough to change Hope's feelings permanently.
And so he paced. And paced. And dithered, and thought he might absolutely expire from the terror of the whole proposition.
"What in All's name are you doing out in this hallway?" Anna called to him.
"Trying to figure out my next strategy."
She planted herself in front of him, blocking his movements. "Just stop it. Right now, sir, stop this asinine behavior."
"I'm sorry?"
"Stop all the obnoxious self-loathing and go in and see that girl. She loves you, for crying out loud. You don't need to overanalyze this thing."
"Excuse me, Lieutenant, but what makes you think you have the first clue as to what I'm thinking at this moment?"
She leaned in close, grasping him by both arms. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
"I don't think so."
"Our little roadside dance—you in your ghost state, me in my bird one. I followed you for miles while you chased her down." She pointed toward the closed bedroom door. "And you know what? She needs you right now, so don't be a selfish prick."
"I'll take that as an official dressing-down." He folded his arms over his chest, wondering where, exactly, friendship ended and impertinence began.
"Right indeed, sir!" She stuck her chin out proudly, her dark eyes twinkling.
"What makes you so sure you know the drill here, huh?"
"Let's just say I've gotten to know your pal Jakey quite a bit these past couple of days."
Scott groaned. "Oh, him."
"Yeah, him. And he's given me some new insights into my very good friend and superior officer, also known as you,sir. Ones that have helped me see a few things in a new light."
"Such as?"
"Why you're lurking out here in the hallway and not just going to her, sir. Especially when she needs you … and you so clearly love her."
Scott glanced up and down the hallway, praying they weren't being overheard, but before he could argue further, Anna blustered ahead. "Listen, you've got some pretty major misconceptions about yourself, sir. Vain ones, at that."
This time he really did buck up. "You're treading on thin ice, Lieutenant."
She leaned in close to him, seizing him by both shoulders, and—stepping up onto her tiptoes—whispered in his ear. "I didn't laugh when you kissed me because I thought you were ugly." Scott jerked back, but she wouldn't let him go. "I laughed because I thought you handsome. You are handsome, sir. Now go to her."
Then, just as quickly as she'd released her ballistic missile, she stepped apart from him, smiling smugly. What Anna couldn't know was that in his deepest heart, he always knew there was a hulking, monstrous Antousian hiding just beneath the surface—it was his other skin, as hard and hideous as the rough hide that covered that form's body.
He shook his head. "No idea what you're talking about."
She rolled her eyes, still grinning at him. "Just keep on telling yourself that, sir. Now go to her. Go, and know that every last woman in these ranks thinks you're gorgeous." She turned, shaking her head, then fired a final, parting shot. "How you could have ever thought otherwise is way, way beyond me. Don't you own a mirror?"
He stared slack-jawed after the departing soldier, gesturing, still searching for some sort of return parry, but all he could think to do was curse his future self for having such a loose tongue. Damn it all to hell, the man had betrayed his heart's secrets. Then again, he supposed, they were Jake's secrets to tell as well.
With a slow and measured gesture, he raised his hand and knocked on Hope's door.
Jared moved quietly about their quarters, not wanting to wake Kelsey, who lay sprawled on their bed, sleeping. She was going to need a great deal of sleep in the coming months; of that much he was certain—growing a baby inside her belly would take every ounce of strength and energy his lovely wife possessed.
"Stop tiptoeing," she called out to him, and he froze right beside his desk.
"You need to rest."
"Want to see a picture of your baby?" She eased up in the bed, plopping a pillow behind her.
"Of course—is that even possible?" He couldn't help sounding breathless.
Reaching underneath the pillow beside her, she produced a small piece of paper, and he took it from her, staring down at the colored image in his hands. Their baby! A lovely, glowing D'Aravnian, bright and powerful already. "Really?" he asked, daring to meet her twinkling eyes.
"Pretty amazing, huh?"
He nodded, still studying the image, turning his head first one way, then another, to truly get a full view. "Ah, so lovely." Then he looked up again, seriously studying his queen. "Are you still angry with me?"
She tilted her head. "About what?"
"Your father, and how I didn't want you to phone him."
"Are you saying that I can? That you won't argue with me about it?"
Jared settled on the side of their bed. "After aligning with the air force and the FBI, I'm beginning to think the risk might not matter nearly so much."
"Good," she told him, but there was a slight chill to her tone, so he rushed onward.
"I want you happy, sweet wife. I want you to be with me, but not as my prisoner or this Rapunazel you mentioned."
"Rapunzel. She got locked in a tower for most of her life."
"This base of mine shouldn't be your tower; it should be your home," he pressed, waving the piece of paper. "Just as this babe will make a home with each of us."
She leaped toward him, wrapping her arms about his neck. "You're saying I have your blessing about calling my dad?"
"Yes, love. I don't want to hide you away or make you less than what you are—besides, I also think you might be right. His connections could be very valuable to all of us."
"Thank you, Jared." She showered his face with kisses. "Thank you so much."
"Tomorrow we will discuss the best way to go about approaching him—your phoning him, I mean. We will figure it all out together."
She reached for his hand, placed it squarely over her abdomen and, with sparkling eyes, said, "We are definitely in this together. All three of us."
Scott took cautious steps into Hope's room, thankful that it was mostly dark inside. It was on the lower level of the cabin, so there was never a lot of light filtering into the interior, and given today's gloomy weather, it was darker than the last time he'd been in her quarters.
"So you finally decided to come see me?" She lay propped on her lower bunk, a book clasped within both hands.
"You're reading." He could hardly suppress a smile. She must be seeing perfectly well already.
"I haven't read a book in two years—it was sort of one of the things I had to do right away."
"What book is it?"
"Some Shakespearean sonnets that Kelsey gave me. A collection of Jared's."
"Of course." His king adored Shakespeare—the plays, the sonnets, it hardly mattered which.
"Not my usual thing; I'm more of a Julia Quinn or Lisa Kleypas kind of girl."
"I'm not familiar with their work."
"I didn't figure you would be." Hope giggled, and he didn't quite understand the reason why, b
ut put her reaction down to human proclivities.
Scott hung back, propping his hands on the top bunk rather than drawing much closer so Hope could get a good look at him. "How are you feeling?"
He cursed himself for seeming so dull. Way to go, Dillon. That's an interesting opener.
She closed her book, dropping it onto her knees. "You're just going to hang way back there?" Great, she'd seen right through his bullshit.
He deigned to take another step closer. "I'm concerned about you."
"So concerned that"—she sat upright in bed—"I went through my surgery, then recovery, and actually got dismissed before you came to see me?"
"I'm sorry." He grunted.
"I want to know why, Dillon." He shook his head, and she continued. "Because I know how you feel about me—really do know, deep down in my spirit—so for you to stay away … well, I figure it must have cost you quite a lot."
He dropped his arms away from the top bunk, swinging much closer toward her. "I wasn't ready," he admitted throatily.
She sat up in the bed, her clear gray eyes wide. "For what? To be with me? To make a life together, like you've led me to believe we would?"
"That's not it. Not at all."
She eased her legs off the bed, scooting closer to him. She had those amazing eyes of hers fixed right on him, had to be able to see every detail of his cursed face. "Then please—honestly, please—tell me what the problem really is."
"I'm not that good-looking, Hope." He met her steely gaze, never blinking or looking away. "This is me, with my once-broken nose, and my fair skin, and … and," he sputtered, "I'm an average-looking guy. I couldn't deal with you seeing me. Really seeing me, close like this."
"Oh, I get it," she said, drawing her words out, but never looking away. "When I was blind, I was a sure thing—"
"I'm not saying that."
"Then what, exactly, are you saying?"
He dropped his head. "You felt my other form at the warehouse. You saw, in your own way, the truth of my nature. That's one thing, and the other.… None of my own people find me the least bit attractive."
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