Phobos observed the lines of space soldiers. “Great. They’d already started some training under Houston’s orders. They are used to obeying commands and striving to do their best. It’s their initiative that will be hardest to develop.”
“Thrym said Nancy has plans to work on that, too.”
“Already coordinated with her, mother hen?”
Romy groaned. “Please don’t.”
“They say it all day; it’s kind of hard not to think of you that way after eight hours of constant ‘mother hen’ this, ‘mother hen’ that.”
“Try,” she said in a flat voice.
“We may as well train instead of standing here.”
“Maybe in a bit; I want to hit the treadmill.”
Romy laced her black sneakers tight and straightened the waistband of her black shorts before bounding up onto her favourite treadmill. The good thing about short hair was that she didn’t need to tie it back. Though her hair was long enough to grip on to now.
Bumping the treadmill to a cruisy ten kilometres an hour, she settled into rhythm, feet pounding on the belt. Running always served to remind her of what she wanted in life. She wanted to run outside. She wanted to see the world. But first, she had to make sure everyone she loved was safe.
Wiping at her forehead with the back of her hand, she increased the speed.
Did she want to include Deimos in that future or not?
A huge part of her baulked at his explanation. How could he have even fallen far enough into that dark state to distance himself from his knot? Yet wasn’t she doing the same right now because she believed so strongly he shouldn’t be let off the hook? Would she continue distancing herself, unable to move past her deep hurt and anger?
Deimos hadn’t been able to and look where it got him.
Ugh.
She increased the speed again, long legs now well warmed up and striding out in her regular pace, which was just shy of a sprint. The thing was, despite not wanting to for the last six weeks, Romy did love Deimos. Making that go away seemed like an insurmountable task, and one she wasn’t sure she wanted to begin.
The future of their knot was in her hands. She could let them fall apart. Or she could do her best to move on.
The rest of her run passed in a zoned-out thudding bliss, and Romy managed to evade Phobos’s notice on the way out, so she didn’t have to put on a show for the space soldiers.
She set out for the library.
She’d become a frequent visitor here since her brain had settled down and she could read again. The library wasn’t a large room, only eight times larger than the rooms they slept in, but it was filled to the brim with sorted books.
There was one subject in particular she wanted to look at.
P . . . pe . . .po . . . pr . . . pra . . . pre . . . pregnancy!
“Five books on it,” she mumbled to herself. Romy loaded the books into her arms and left the room, peeking over the top of the stack as she made her way down to the closest elevator.
She shoved her foot between the elevator’s closing doors and squeezed inside. No way was she waiting—the elevators took ages.
“Rosemary,” a stiff voice said.
Why me? “Hi, Gwenyth,” she said in a pleasant voice. “How are you doing today?” Romy shifted the books away to look at Atlas’s mother.
“Fine, I—” Gwenyth broke off, blinking at the books in Romy’s arms.
“Are you okay?” Romy said, in real concern.
The older woman’s mouth bobbed open and shut. “Y-yes, dear. Yes.”
The elevator pinged and the doors retracted. Romy hovered in the doorway to her level. “Are you sure?” She’d heard of this kind of thing happening when people worked their bodies too hard and then retired and broke apart.
Gwenyth’s grey eyes fell to Romy’s arms and then raised again. Suddenly, her face split into a broad beam that transformed the harsh lines of her face into the carefree woman she might have been. “Quite sure, dear. You rest up now.” She winked and Romy nodded in shock, stepping off the elevator and letting the waiting crowd on.
Weird. Had Gwenyth just called her ‘dear’? Twice? Romy frowned. And what did she mean by rest up?
Shaking it off, Romy set off for their room and pushed the door open. Placing the pile of books on the small table next to the single bed, she kicked off her boots, slipped under the covers and grabbed the book on top.
Eventually, hours later, a flurry of knocks boomed at the door.
“Romy, are you doing it in there?”
She winced. “Come in, Elara!” Before anyone else hears you.
Elara burst in, Thrym in her wake, with Phobos not far behind.
“Hey, we didn’t bring Deimos.” Phobos’s green eyes were sad. Damn, magical eyes.
“Is he in the passage, Phobos?” Romy asked patiently.
Phobos gave her a guilty look. “Well, I just thought if you did decide he could come in, it would be annoying to walk all the way to his room, so. . . .”
Here goes nothing. “Deimos can come in.”
Her knotmate’s smile was so big his ears lifted. “I’ll get him.”
Elara sniggered under her breath as whispers erupted in the hall. Twenty seconds later Deimos and Phobos trotted in, all innocent green eyes. Had Romy ever stood a chance resisting this? Maybe not.
She placed the third book back in the pile, having resolved to have a serious talk with Elara based on the information contained in the pages there. To say she was highly concerned about the baby was an understatement. She’d read some horrifying statistics about what an increase in body temperature could do to a foetus. Maybe they should move somewhere where it was winter.
“Hi,” Deimos said with a small wave.
She nodded. “Hello, Deimos.”
“I brought cards and twigs,” Thrym announced. He began to set up a poker game.
Romy sat to pull on her boots again. The concrete floor was cold. She threw a pillow at Elara, who gave a grateful smile and shoved it under her butt.
“What are you reading?” Deimos asked. He swooped in and plucked a book before she could shove him away.
“Nothing,” she blurted.
His eyes moved across the title What Hole Will My Baby Come Out Of? and the smile dropped from his face. Mouth open, he stared at her. “You’re pregnant.”
The room went quiet and Romy shot Elara a panicked look.
“What!” Phobos roared. “You’re pregnant?”
He, Thrym, and Deimos crowded around her, waving their arms in a flurry and speaking over her head.
“No,” she said.
“—she won’t be going to Dublin, I tell you right now—”
“—I knew she was acting weird—”
Deimos reached out a hand and hovered it over her tummy. “But you’re so little,” he said, tears in his green eyes. “How is there a baby in there?”
“I’m not pregnant,” she blurted, brushing their hands away.
“Romy.” Thrym glanced at the books and back at her, brows raised. “Come on. You can tell us.”
“We’ll have a niece or nephew!” Phobos said. He and Deimos grabbed each other and jumped around in circles.
“You’ll have a son, or daughter,” Elara said from behind them.
The twins stopped jumping and stared at her.
“I’m pregnant,” she added when they didn’t make a peep. “Stop staring at me like I’m diseased!” Elara stamped her foot.
Phobos let his hands fall. “You’re pregnant? You?”
Do not screw this up. Romy held a finger up to her lips for Thrym’s and Deimos’s sake.
“Yes,” shouted Elara, shoving him. “I found out the day after you ran off, you big, stupid meteor face.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he shouted back. “It’s been nearly two weeks.”
“Because I didn’t want to,” she snarled.
He paused. “How pregnant are you?”
“A month.”
His mouth repeated the word silently. “With a baby?” he clarified. “Our baby?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
Phobos stumbled toward her, shouting a short laugh. “We’re having a baby girl,” he said and swept her into his arms.
“A boy,” she agreed.
The couple clutched each other tight as Thrym and Deimos looked on with the most joy she’d seen on their faces in . . . on Earth.
This was the moment to forget what had happened and what might have been and focus on what was happening now instead.
Romy would forgive Deimos for what their knot could have if she did, and because the love she had for him apparently couldn’t be undone. Though he’d have to earn her trust back.
Romy picked up a second pillow and, winding back her arm, she hit Deimos around the face with it as hard as she could.
“What are you doing?” Thrym said, wrenching the pillow out of her grasp.
She ignored him, watching Deimos recover. A glint entered his green eyes as he straightened and picked up Elara’s abandoned pillow.
“To the death?” he asked.
“To the death,” she replied.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Atlas walked back in three hours later. Romy watched as he took in the room scattered with white pillow fluff, and the five members of Knot 27 sprawled over the concrete floor.
His eyes found Romy’s, where she lay with her head on Phobos’s legs. She smiled and his frown disappeared. The others turned to face him and the talk in the room came to a halt.
Thrym stood. “I guess we better get to sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
“I don’t know,” Deimos said. “Maybe we should stay.”
Atlas grinned.
“Yeah, maybe we should stay,” Phobos agreed.
The twins fixed their eyes on Atlas, and his grin widened.
Romy stood, sweeping her hands down her front to dislodge the pillow fluff off of her thighs. “No, you should definitely go.” Her voice was firm.
“Come on, guys.” Elara gave her a slow wink, and Romy cringed.
The grumbling male members of Knot 27 made their way out behind Elara, and Thrym shut the door behind them, leaving Romy and Atlas in silence.
Atlas made his way to the sink, and Romy watched through her peripheral vision.
“It’s about to begin,” he said.
“What?” Romy began picking up the bits of fluff, certain the pillows hadn’t had this much in them to begin with.
“Your knot is going to start messing with me.”
“No.” Romy disregarded his remark. “They wouldn’t do that.” She trailed off at Atlas’s half smile. “Well, not in the middle of a war.”
He dried his face. “This war could go on for a long time.”
“I’ll speak to them.” She sat on the bed.
“No, don’t do that,” he said, making his way over to her. “I knew it would happen eventually. Though I wondered if I’d gotten away with it when Deimos left.” His grey eyes glinted.
“You’re looking forward to it,” she accused.
He shrugged, kicking off his boots. “I like chess.”
Romy groaned at the excitement on his face. “I still think you’re wrong.”
“Wait and see,” Atlas said. “Just wait and see.”
Something else occurred to her. “Hey, your mother was acting really strange in the elevator today. I’m worried something is wrong with her.”
He pursed his lips. “I had a visit from my mother, probably about three minutes after she saw you.”
Romy bent to unlace her own boots, turning away as Atlas rose to change into his pyjamas—a fresh set of cargo pants. Perhaps it was a commander thing; Easiest to always be dressed when odds were someone would wake you up to deal with something. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Is your mum okay?”
“I would say it has something to do with those books you have on the nightstand.”
She glanced to the right. “They’re books for Elara.” Poacher poop! Romy gasped and covered her mouth. “I was carrying them when I was talking to her. You don’t think—”
“Yes, she did think.”
Romy gasped again, mortified. A shrill laugh punched through. “But I can’t be pregnant! e haven’t. . . .”
He nodded. “I am painfully and daily aware of that fact.”
Avert the eyes.
“I corrected my mother.”
Another giggle escaped her, and then a full laugh. Gwenyth thought she was pregnant? That was why she’d been so nice? Char had been right about the grandchild thing. . . . Did that mean Gwenyth would go back to being mean to her? Maybe they could have kept the charade going a while longer.
Atlas’s eyes were heavy on her. “I also told her that I want to have many children with you, if we get there one day.”
Romy brightened. That might do the trick.
Then Atlas’s words sank in. “W-what?” she asked.
“I want to have children with you one day.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s . . . a while off, isn’t it?”
“Probably,” he said.
“I want to travel the world first—if the war goes away.”
“I don’t think that’s what happens to wars.” He returned to the bed, moving over her to occupy the space closest to the wall.
“You know what I mean.”
He ran a thumb over her cheek and pulled her against him. “I do.” He kissed her gently. “I guess I better get busy making that war go away, then.”
* * *
“Atlas told me he wants kids,” Romy said.
Elara’s cupid mouth parted. “Please have kids. I want mini-Romys. They would be the cutest thing.” Her face fell into a scowl. “I’ll kill anyone who hurts them.”
Her brows rose. “Well, I’m not into all that yet, or for a long, long time. But it’s a good sign, don’t you think?”
“A good—” Elara snorted. “A good sign? Do you have comets in your head or something? That man is head over freakin’ heels for you. Sometimes I wonder if the only reason he’s leading the Amach is because of you, to get the job done so he can multiply with you.”
Romy blinked. Elara had a way of making love a little gross. “I did ask if he could make the war go away.”
“What did he say?” Elara leaned forward, hazel eyes huge.
Deimos and Phobos entered, and Romy stilled as she saw the twins fist-pump, evil matching grins upon their faces.
“What have you been doing?” she demanded.
Their faces smoothed and they switched the innocent eyes on. Oh, crap.
“Nothing, Ro,” Deimos said, blinking at her.
“Why do you always think we’re doing something bad?” Phobos asked, giving her a sad look.
Romy’s anger melted.
“How will we ever become better people if you always expect the worst?” Deimos added, sighing as though the world was on his shoulders.
She gave them each a pat on the hand. “I’m sorry. I do believe in both of you.”
“Oh brother,” Elara muttered. “Every time.”
Thrym jogged on-board last and shouted to the pilot they were good to leave.
There were twenty in their craft today. Atlas had combined two teams together for added protection for the Dublin trip. The usual people were there, and ten of the top fighters and shooters in the Irish Amach. Romy hadn’t said a word about it, sensing he needed to overdo her security detail for his own peace of mind.
Tina beckoned Romy from the front as soon as the craft was in the air. “You aren’t wearing what I told you to wear.”
“I didn’t want to,” Romy said. The clothing would make her stand out, and she’d already stand out enough where they were headed.
Tina threw her two coal-black garments. “Put it on, or you’ll ruin my plan. You’ll be in plain sight today, and I’m sure some of it will be screened. Quick, we’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Rom
y sighed. “I don’t want to look different than everyone else.”
“You are different. The sooner you get used to that, the better.” Tina surveyed her. “Or, put another way. I could tell Atlas I don’t believe you should be on active duty because of your Critamal problem. I can tell him you’ve come near death five times and begged me not to tell him.”
“You wouldn’t.” Romy narrowed her eyes.
Tina cackled. “You know I would. On. Now.”
“Pain in me ‘ole.” Romy borrowed Charlee’s euphemism, and snatched the tight black garments from Tina. She joined Elara in the cockpit to change.
Five minutes and a lot of pulling and huffing later, Romy glanced down at the outfit. The clothing wasn’t that much different from the navy coveralls they all wore. . . .
Elara whistled. “Whoa, that is way different from what we wear. I want a set. It looks like you have boobs.”
“I don’t.”
“I know, but it looks like it.”
The pants weren’t so bad. They reminded her a little of Atlas’s, actually. Black cargo pants, crisp and snug, but comfortable. The black top, however, was skin-tight. The shiny material tucked into the waistband of her cargo pants, and was taut across her toned stomach, chest, and arms.
At least she got to keep her black combat boots.
“You look totally badass,” Elara said. “Kind of like a female Atlas. Cute.”
Romy made a face at her.
Tina poked her head around. “Ready?”
“What exactly am I doing today?”
“What you do naturally,” Tina said. “Walk with grace and elegance. Be kind. Smile, and make people feel extra super-duper great about themselves. And whatever else I tell you to do.”
Yeah, right. “What might that include?”
“Shaking hands with a Mandate member on camera.”
Romy folded her arms and stopped when Elara’s eyes fell to her chest. “No way. I’m not doing that.”
The Reprisal Page 10