To Claim His Heir by Christmas

by Victoria Parker

  ‘May I join in?’

  She flinched at Thane’s low, masculine tone and rocked back on her knees to peek up at him.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, her stomach hollowing at the pain that darkened his eyes. At the way he shunted frustrated fingers through the swarthy mess of his hair.

  When his hands plunged to his sides her gaze snagged on his raw swollen knuckles and air hit the back of her throat.

  ‘Thane?’

  Lord, had he hit Lucas? Reaching up, she dusted over his torn skin.

  ‘Did you fight?’ she whispered.

  ‘No.’

  He snatched his hand away and she curled her fingers in her lap. He’d closed himself off to her. Emotionally. Physically.

  Natanael—oblivious to it all—said, ‘Sure, you can help. You can build the moat of the castle if you want. That’s a biiig job.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Thane said easily, sinking to his knees. ‘Where do you think I should put it?’

  ‘Right there.’

  Nate pointed to a slope that was close to him, Luciana noticed. As if he wanted Thane closer, in his space.

  That was a big enough clue for her and she shuffled backwards, giving them some room, some time together, while her heart lodged itself in her throat. It was like watching a fantasy she’d replayed in her mind, but reality was even more incredibly beautiful.

  ‘Is your name really Thane? Like the warrior?’

  Those broad shoulders seized up. ‘Yes. But…’

  Dark turbulent eyes darted her way in a silent plea that said he didn’t want Natanael to call him Thane. Of course he didn’t.

  ‘Do you want to tell him now?’ she whispered.

  Incredible as it was, he blanched—as if drowning in pure fear. Almost as if he expected a rejection.

  She couldn’t abide it. This was her doing and she didn’t want him hurting any more than he already was.

  ‘Nate…’ she began. ‘You know how Auntie Claudia is Isabelle’s mamá and Uncle Lucas is his papá?’

  ‘Mmm-hmm.’

  ‘Well…’ She licked lips salty from the sea breeze. ‘Thane is…your daddy. He’s your papá.’

  His dark head jerked up. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  A huge smile stretched his face as he looked at Thane, then back to her. ‘Oh, wow—my daddy is a New Warrior.’

  ‘He is,’ Luciana agreed, fighting tears. ‘He saved me once. Many years ago.’ Her throat felt thick, and it burned as if aflame. Stung so badly her words came out on a choked whisper. ‘He’s a real superhero.’

  She could feel Thane’s eyes searing into her cheek, but before either of them could exchange a glance or say a word Nate launched himself at Thane like a cannonball, almost knocking him over.

  Luciana watched those big, strong, protective arms curl around their son, wrapping him in instantaneous instinctual love. And knew, no matter what the future held, she’d done the right thing.

  So while she kissed goodbye to any chance of a loving marriage those glorious sounds of male bonding were sure to keep her warm at night. And as Nate tugged on Thane’s hand, to coerce him down to the water’s edge, half of her felt as if she’d lost her little boy. The other half reasoned that there had merely been a part of her son that was never hers to begin with. That part was solely for his daddy.

  As for her and Thane… Some things were meant to be. And some things were not.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HIS SON NEVER stopped talking, Thane realised, not even to take a breath. And within three days he had the entire household wrapped around his tiny butterscotch pinkie finger.

  He said, ‘Christmas tree!’ and Pietro was lugging ten-feet-tall firs into the main lounge, trailing dirt across the antique Persian rugs. The biggest monstrosity Thane had clapped eyes on was deftly smothered with garish ornaments and enough twinkling lights to illuminate the Taj Mahal.

  To say Thane didn’t ‘do’ Christmas was the understatement of the millennia, since it ordinarily tainted his mind with an abundance of achingly dark memories. But he couldn’t seem to say no to Nate any more than anyone else could.

  Luciana included.

  Which was how now, fresh from his shower and dressed to kill in sharp business attire at the ridiculous hour of seven in the evening, he’d known where to find them. Known she’d be clearing the debris in the kitchen after baking Nate his favourite white chocolate cookies for supper while he happily munched and drank his milky way into bed.

  Pandering to his every whim. As if she yearned to be needed. As if she had to keep busy or she’d shatter to smithereens. Not that her outward regal poise had faltered, but he didn’t trust that cool façade of hers. It wasn’t the real Luciana and it set his teeth on edge. Though he only had himself to blame. By creating this ever-widening gulf between them.

  But, Dios, he’d felt so volatile after her revelation. Drowning in emotions he was ill-equipped to handle. So angry. Betrayed and devastated. So black inside he’d been petrified to go anywhere near her. Unsure whether he wanted to yell and vent or bury his pain inside her. Beg her to touch him, make him forget—which felt tantamount to an insult to his pride. So conflicted. Torn. His usual ruthless decisiveness obliterated until he felt weak. Less of a man. At the whim of dangerous emotions that no hardened commanding warrior should feel.

  Every day he waged an internal war. Knowing that in many ways her arguments held weight. They’d been enemies for centuries. He had almost assassinated her father. And for the last three nights he’d been engaged in political warfare with his uncle, who was going to extreme lengths to keep Thane from his throne. Instigating trouble left and right. Leaving Thane uneasy, in no doubt that he needed to get Luciana down the aisle—preferably yesterday. Needed to claim his heir before Christmas. Ensure his absolute safety.

  And if this was the way she’d felt years ago—afraid, panicked, verging on desperate to shield their son—Thane would have to be made out of stone not to understand her predicament. His uncle’s reputation wasn’t founded on fresh air, and nor was Thane’s. He was lethal even in his sleep. So, prevaricating aside, could he honestly blame her or hate her for doing what any mother would? No.

  But all the reasoning in the world wasn’t eradicating the ache. Or helping him forget that he’d missed four years of his son. Lost the sound of his cry when he came into the world. Had Nate’s first word robbed from his ears. Missed the amazing sight of his first step. And the thought that he couldn’t get any of that back drenched his heart in sorrow. Coated his mind with resentment and fury.

  It was taking everything he had to switch off, just so he could function like a rational member of society, wrestle for control where he could and pave the way for their future.

  Leaning against the kitchen doorframe, he crossed his arms over his chest and did a swift recon of his flour-bombed kitchen. Only to be hit with bone-deep longing, wishing he was a part of the warmth that pervaded the room. But, no matter how much time he spent with Nate, at times like this he felt like an outsider looking in. Unable to breach the dense walls of their love. As if they were the family and he the dark intruder who didn’t belong. Unworthy as he was. And envy was so thick and poignant it pervaded his chest, making it hard to breathe.

  Then one look at Luciana and he was back to battling in the internal war. Distrusting her. Still wanting her.

  Wrapped in a long, thick wheat-coloured cardigan, chocolate-brown leggings and socks that scrunched around her ankles, she looked so young, so adorable. So hatefully sexy. All that lavish honeycomb hair was pinned in a messy knot atop her head, the odd stray tendril curling, caressing her cheek, and when she lifted one hand to brush it away with her wrist she left a smear of creamy buttery sugar streaking her flawless skin.

  He wanted to lick it off. Taste the honeyed sweetness of her skin. Let it saturate his tongue.

  Damn him to Hades for allowing her to beguile him.

  Nate’s voice yanked Thane from his turmoil and
he watched him swipe at his milk moustache with his Batman pyjama sleeve.

  ‘Eight sleeps until Christmas, Mamá. What would you like from Santa?’

  Luciana plopped down into the seat beside him and dabbed his mouth with a tissue. ‘I want you to be happy. Are you happy here?’

  So loving she was with him. Selfless. Protective. So much like his mother. And Thane realised then that never had he thought so much of his childhood since Luciana had stormed back into his life. Something else to mess with his head, shove him to the edge of sanity.

  ‘Yep. I like living on the beach, and my new dogs, and my new daddy, and my room isn’t great…it’s awesome.’

  That would be the room that now resembled outer space, with a galaxy of stars painted across the ceiling that shone in the dark.

  ‘You won’t fit into my new spaceship bed tonight, Mamá, so will you sleep with Daddy, like Auntie Claudia with Uncle Lucas?’

  Luciana closed her eyes for a beat. ‘Er…no, I don’t think so, darling. Maybe I’ll sleep in the suite next to yours, in case you need me.’

  Aversion constricted his throat. Was that how it would be between them? Separate suites? Strangers who shared a house? A son? The thought made him cold to his bones.

  ‘I’m a big boy now,’ said Nate, all Guerrero fierce pride. ‘You can go further down the hall with Daddy.’

  Thane couldn’t think of anything worse. Luciana lying beside him in that slippery, silky, lacy black camisole and shorts, that vanilla and jasmine scent taunting his senses. So close yet unable to touch. Bad, bad idea. He didn’t trust himself not to reach for her when his defences were low. When his anger was asleep. When he craved oblivion from the pain.

  Frankly, she didn’t deserve to be used in such a way. Since he doubted she still shared their fatal attraction. Since she’d moved in with Nate and shrank from him the odd time he accidentally touched her. As if he were some dangerous predator who would maul her at any moment. And he could hardly blame her for that since it was exactly how he felt. Toxic. Lethal.

  Luciana, who was clearly reading from the same map, said vaguely, ‘We’ll see.’

  Nate gave an immense cat-like yawn, hair flopping over his brow, and Luciana stroked the ebony tufts back and smiled indulgently. ‘Come on, sleepy-head. Time for bed.’

  Heavy eyes blinked up at her. ‘Can I have a carry?’

  Thane pushed himself off the doorframe. ‘I believe that is my job.’

  Luciana glanced up and for a split second he was sure he saw pleasure light a fire in her brandy eyes, but then she trailed that gaze down over his attire and the flames flickered and died. He took a scissor-kick in his stomach and when he drew up close suffered another swift jab. She looked like an exhausted Botticelli angel—the violet smudges beneath her eyes a vivid contrast against her unusually pale skin.

  And right then he realised they couldn’t go on like this much longer. While he’d never wholly trust her again, completely forgive and forget, he had to try and move on—for all their sakes. He just wasn’t sure where to start.

  Nate found a burst of energy to bounce in his chair and raise his arms. ‘Daddy! Will you give me a carry downstairs?’

  ‘I certainly will.’

  Down they went, Thane stealing a hug on the way, inhaling that glorious warm bathtime scent, loving those fragile arms wrapped around his shoulders trustingly, giving him a ‘squeezy cuddle’ right back. He’d been initiated into the realms of squeezy cuddles yesterday, and found they were strangely addictive displays of affection.

  Luciana pulled back the star-encrusted navy bedcovers and Thane eased him down and kissed his brow, stroked the back of his finger down that cherubic cheek. ‘Sleep well.’

  ‘You too, Daddy.’

  He walked to the door as Luciana fussed.

  ‘Love you, tiger,’ she said.

  Nate mumbled sleepily, ‘Love you too, Mamá.’

  Thane leaned against the hallway wall outside his room, telling himself to leave now. Avoid confrontation. Any kind of temptation.

  His traitorous feet didn’t like that idea—suddenly had a mind of their own, wanted to be with the woman that haunted his body and his mind.

  Luciana pulled the door closed and warily met his gaze. Dios, she was so beautiful. Made his heart ache. And he couldn’t fathom that any more than he could understand anything else he was feeling.

  Nate’s words from earlier penetrated his brain, and before he knew it he said, ‘He expects to see a marriage like your sister’s.’

  Her eyes drifted downwards to where she scuffed the parquet with the toe of her fluffy sock.

  ‘He does. But all marriages and families are different. He’ll learn that too.’ Her husky voice teemed with yearning. ‘Claudia’s marriage is…unique, I suppose. They love each other intensely. Talk constantly. Wouldn’t dream of being in separate beds. They married for love, not because of duty or a child. Ours won’t be that kind of marriage.’

  He knew that, so why a dagger lanced through his heart was a mystery.

  ‘I suppose ours will be more like my parents’. They always had separate beds. It didn’t affect me…’

  A small furrow lined her brow as she nibbled on the pad of her thumb.

  He didn’t believe her. Not one iota. Began to wonder if the revered Verbault union was more myth than fact and had affected her in ways he couldn’t see. Throw in the longing in her voice and he was more certain than ever that their marriage would be a far cry from what she truly coveted. Which was why he didn’t trust her not to run again.

  ‘Where did you sleep last night, Thane?’

  Wrapping her arms around her gorgeous curves, she frisked her gaze down his midnight Italian suit, his ice-blue shirt, and he’d swear a shiver rustled over her skin.

  ‘Are you going there again?’

  ‘Si. Galancia Castle,’ he said easily, unsure why that would sadden her, or wreak the anxiety he could see clouding her brandy gaze.

  He had to grind his jaw to stifle the explanation hovering on his tongue. He didn’t want her knowing there was trouble afoot. Didn’t want her worrying for their safety. He’d prove to her he could protect them if it was the last thing he did. She hadn’t believed in him five years ago, so this time he’d move the planets out of alignment to ensure she did. And if that meant he was running on two hours of sleep, constantly looking over his shoulder in the hellhole that was his birthplace, so be it.

  ‘Guards will be posted here, upstairs and down.’

  ‘All right,’ she said, her body deflating as she gazed down the hallway and out of the west-facing double doors, towards Arunthia, in a way that dropped an armoured tank on his chest.

  Heart-wrenchingly familiar, it said she wanted to be a million miles away from here. From him. It said she wanted to be with her family, with people who truly loved her. Not a black hearted prince. It was a look he remembered well. The look of a woman imprisoned.

  Dios, he couldn’t bear it. Didn’t know how to get rid of it. He’d never been able to with his mother, had he?

  He pushed off the wall. Hardened his body into the emotionless indestructible weapon it had been honed to be. Focused on what he could control with some semblance of rationality.

  ‘Nate has asked to see Santa Claus and the Christmas fête is in Hourana this weekend. I was thinking we could all go as a family. For Nate.’

  He knew that would sway her so he used it abominably. But they had to go out and paint a united front. Play happy families. Deflect his uncle’s attempts at undermining him. Word of his impending marriage had spread like wildfire and his people were in a celebratory mood. It was the perfect time to introduce them.

  ‘For Nate. Right.’

  She gave him a short nod and forced one of those serene smiles that sparked his temper. Made him want to shake it out of her.

  ‘I’m sure he’d enjoy that.’

  Another victory. But no relief in sight. ‘Good. I’ll see you in the morning.’

 
; He stepped towards the staircase, stopping when her fingers tentatively touched his sleeve, sending a fresh arrow of heat through his veins.

  ‘Thane? Please wait. Don’t go yet. We need to talk. About when I can go back to Arunthia.’

  Never.

  ‘I need to leave now. Maybe we’ll talk tomorrow.’

  A soft sigh slipped past her lips. ‘I can’t marry you without tying up my life at home. I have my own responsibilities. And you said we’d talk about it yesterday, when you dropped the “we’re getting married on Christmas Eve” bomb on me. As you were walking out of the door, I hasten to add.’

  That spark of temper ignited in the pit of his stomach and raged through his body, firing his voice to a blazing pitch. ‘Si, well, you owe me four years, so I’m damn sure you can wait another day.’

  Guilt thrashed him and he instantly wanted the words back. He was unsure why he’d said them with such a vicious lash of his tongue. Maybe because she’d called Arunthia home. Maybe because he knew she didn’t want to marry him, only wanted to leave, no matter what excuse she gave herself. Henri was quite capable of tying up her life. She wanted her freedom. Something he could not, would not give her. His son was here to stay.

  Moreover, the date was set, their marriage arranged. She would become his wife in less than a week. And if the thought that they had to perform for the crowds tomorrow wasn’t enough to convince him to tame his tongue and start building bridges, the way she flinched as hurt darkened her beautiful eyes certainly was.

  * * *

  Luciana knew regret when she saw it. Though it still failed to lessen the strike of his words—each one like a knife-blow to her chest.

  At the searing impact, his deep pained frown vanished behind her eyelids and the sound of his retreating footsteps gave way to the forlorn thunder of her heart.

  Three days of this and she was ready to crack. Living on a knife-edge while a red river screamed through her blood, chanting for her to escape. Sleep was a fool’s dream. One day blurred into the next. And stone-cold silences caromed off the oppressive walls until she felt a relentless ache of loneliness that refused to abate.