Black

by Donya Lynne

  Ronan hesitated, warily eyeing the lycans. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. The evening had taken too much out of his grandson. He needed to get Ronan home, and after a much-needed rest, Rysk could formally introduce him to Argon, the dreck Ronan had come to know only as Digon, the founder of Grudge Match, and explain the truth he had yet to reveal about their bloodline.

  But first, he needed Ronan to give up the ankh. Ronan needed to let go of whatever reason had motivated him to take it in the first place.

  Rysk nodded tightly. “Go ahead, Ro, give it to them.”

  Weaving forward and back on his feet, Ronan slid his hand in his pocket. “I don’t . . . I’m not feeling so goo. . .”

  Then shit went south. Way south.

  As Ronan weakly pulled the ankh from his pocket, blood trickled from under his sleeve and down his hand.

  “He’s been bitten.” The other black-haired lycan rushed forward, catching Ronan under his arms as he went bobblehead and nosedived into unconsciousness.

  “Ronan!” Rysk rushed toward his grandson.

  Rameses’s hand shot out, and the ankh flew from Ronan’s hand to his as if pulled by a magnet. “Priest, our clothes. Get them.” His commands snapped out of him like staccato notes as he secured the ankh in his fist. “Dain, give the boy to Rysk.”

  The blond male with hair from here to Sunday nodded curtly and disappeared in a shimmer of light as the black-haired lycan hoisted Ronan into Rysk’s arms.

  Ronan was out cold, the color rapidly draining from his face. Blood coated the sleeve of his black hoodie. So much blood.

  Rysk shoved up the sleeve and gasped. A dozen festering puncture marks marred Ronan’s forearm. Shit. This was bad. Ronan-could-die bad, being that he had no idea what kind of werewolves they’d come up against that could transition without a full moon. The fact that Ronan was bottoming out faster than a draining barrel didn’t reassure him.

  The puncture marks were already swelling with infection, oozing and bright red. He’d never seen a worse werewolf bite, or one that grew so ugly so quickly, but Ro probably hadn’t even felt it with the adrenaline blasting through his veins.

  The air shimmered again and the lycan Rameses had referred to as Priest reappeared holding a large leather duffel. Rameses’s expression gave nothing away. Was Rameses going to order Ronan’s death? Save him? Abandon him?

  Rameses took a step toward Rysk. “Take the boy to AKM.” He reached behind him as if waiting for Priest to hand him his dinner jacket.

  Priest placed a silver-grey pullover in his hand. Rameses flicked it so it unfolded, and then held it in front of him as if getting dressed in a cemetery was as normal as wearing a cowboy hat in Texas. “We’ll clean this mess up and meet you there. Go.” No critical rush invaded his voice. No sense of excitement. Just straightforward matter-of-fact calmness.

  But Rysk sensed the urgency coming from the trio even if he couldn’t see or hear it.

  Dain shifted back into his lycan form and began gathering the bodies as Rameses and Priest got dressed.

  Speechless, Rysk could only watch, feeling as though he were in a parallel reality. How could Rameses, Dain, and Priest be so calm when his grandson’s life was hanging in the balance?

  Rameses placed his hand on Rysk’s shoulder.

  Rysk lifted his gaze and looked into irises so dark they seemed like pits.

  “You must hurry to your healers. We will meet you there and do what we can to help.” For the first time since he appeared in the cemetery, Rameses allowed a hint of emotion to pass over his face. A shadow of compassion displayed in the microscopic lift of the corners of his mouth. That was probably as much of a smile as anyone would ever get out of Rameses. “You must go now. We’ll be right behind you.” Rameses squeezed his shoulder, lowered his chin, and then turned away, grabbed one of the fallen werewolves by its head of human hair, and dragged it back to the pyramid mausoleum without another word. Dain and Priest were already there waiting for him.

  Rysk shifted his hold on Ronan, stared after Rameses for a moment, and then connected with his grandson’s aura. As he dematerialized, he saw the blue-green light shimmer around the pyramid.

  Cleaning up the mess. That’s what Rameses had said. In other words, they were disposing of the bodies. Probably sending them back to the prison planet they’d come from. Either that, or they were dumping them into the middle of empty space.

  One mess down. A shitload more to go.

  Starting with making sure Ronan made it through the night alive.

  Chapter 12

  Micah shifted his palm on Sam’s stomach and held his breath.

  Oh my God.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  But there was no denying it.

  The strange buzz of energy he was feeling. It was coming from inside her. Coming from inside her belly. It was—

  “Why are you crying?” Sam placed her hand over his. “Am I . . .? Is it . . .? Is there something wrong with me?”

  Was he crying?

  He swiped his fingers under his eyes. They came away wet. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Am I okay?” Desperate worry edged her words.

  He bent forward, kissed her stomach, and stretched his gaze up her body to her glorious, beautiful, enchanting face. “You’re more than okay, baby. You’re pregnant.”

  For a second, she looked back at him like he’d just spewed gibberish in a foreign language she couldn’t understand. Then her mouth fell open as her eyebrows shot up in her forehead.

  “I’m pregnant?” Her head cranked down, and she stared at her stomach like it was going to grow a mouth and start talking to her. “Are you sure? Really? How . . .? I thought—”

  “That I couldn’t get you pregnant without a calling? Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.”

  But there was no denying it. She was carrying his young. That’s where the odd white noise had come from.

  He blinked, bent forward again, placed both hands on either side of her abdomen, and kissed the smooth expanse of skin right below her belly button. “I hear you,” he whispered. Then he looked up, meeting Sam’s glistening eyes. “I hear them.”

  She covered her mouth with her fingertips as a tear dropped off her lashes. “Them? As in . . .?”

  He nodded and tipped his forehead against her stomach. “Twins. You’re carrying twins.” His voice was but a whisper. “My twins. My young. My babies.” God, it felt good to say that.

  He forced himself to breathe slowly, calmly, despite the stinging in the backs of his eyes.

  Pregnant. His precious Sam was pregnant.

  He’d thought for so long that children were never going to happen for him. So long, in fact, that he had assumed he must be sterile. But no. He wasn’t shooting blanks. He’d gotten his mate pregnant without a calling, and that was as far from shooting blanks as a male could get.

  Hallelujah.

  Take that, Lakota! Oh, he of the powerful sperm who could get a female pregnant just by looking at her.

  Everything else Micah had learned tonight faded like fog in the morning sun. His thieving brother. His living father. The ankh that Ronan had stolen from him. None of that mattered anymore. All that mattered was that Sam was carrying his babies.

  Babies! Because as sure as he lived and breathed, Sam most definitely carried not just one child, but two.

  He felt them both.

  Overwhelmed with emotion, he wrapped his arms around her waist as he pressed kisses over her stomach. “My mate, my children.” Moisture licked his eyes as more tears welled and dropped to his cheeks.

  No longer was he the odd man out. Over the past several months, he’d watched his friends announce their own coming bundles of joy. Tristan, Io, and Malek were all going to be fathers, and now that Trace had mated Cordray, he would likely join the father-to-be club sooner rather than later, especially since he was on the verge of his calling.

  Now, Micah could be the one to walk into the room full of proud fertilization fac
tories and proclaim that, yes, he was going to be a father, too.

  Tremendous relief engulfed him, and he tipped his forehead against her stomach as if in prayer as he squeezed his eyes closed and let his tears slide down his cheeks.

  Sam’s fingers smoothed into his hair and cradled his head against her.

  “You’re going to be a father.” She spoke softly, reverently.

  She knew how much he’d wanted this.

  Lifting his gaze to hers, he blinked through the film of moisture blurring his vision to find her smiling down at him. Her own tears dripped from her softly pointed chin.

  “And you’re going to be a mother,” he said.

  The corners of her mouth lifted as she nodded, the smile expanding over her face and brightening her eyes.

  “I had begun to think this would never happen.” He slowly rose to his feet.

  “Why?”

  He studied her shimmering eyes. “Because of Kat. Because I was never able to get her pregnant. And because you didn’t get pregnant when I had my calling. I thought . . . maybe I was the problem.”

  Her eyebrows scrunched into a compassionate furrow as she tilted her head. “Oh, Micah.” She caressed his face. He dipped his cheek into her palm and closed his eyes. “You should have talked to me.”

  “I didn’t want to worry you.” He kissed her palm and placed his hand over her belly again so he could feel the twin life forces stirring inside her. “But now I don’t have to. What I thought might never happen has.”

  She giggled and glanced down at her stomach again as she covered his hand with hers. “I’m going to be a mother?” Her words lilted like a question, but he could see in her mind that she felt more a sense a wonder than disbelief.

  “Yes, baby. You’re going to be a mother. A wonderful mother.”

  His mind shot to what they’d done earlier . . . how rough he’d been with her. She wore the evidence of his harshness all over her body. The bite marks where he took her blood. The bruises on her wrists where he’d restrained her, and between her legs where his body had slammed hard and repeatedly against hers.

  Recoiling, he took a quick step back and inspected her. “Oh, my God, Sam. Look what I did to you. I hurt you.”

  “Huh?” Bewilderment replaced wonder in her expression. “What are you talking about?”

  “This!” He lifted her hands and glared at the bruises around her wrists then stared pointedly at the lingering signs of the bite marks he’d left on her neck and the parts of her breasts that weren’t covered by her tank top.

  He had taken blood from her when she needed it most. When his unborn young needed her at her strongest.

  “What?” She looked at him like he was crazy. “A little bruising?”

  “It’s not a little. You look like you were in battle.”

  She laughed, reaching for his hands even as he continued inspecting her. “Calm down. I’m fine. Really.”

  She couldn’t know what she was talking about. This was his responsibility. He needed to protect her, keep her safe, ensure no harm came to her.

  Shaking his head, he pulled her into his arms and tucked her against him. “I promise to take better care of you. I promise not to hurt you like that again.”

  “Whoa!” She shoved out of his hold and planted her fists on her hips. “Are we back to that?” She cocked her head. “I already told you. You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine. I’m better than fine.”

  “You’re pregnant, and—”

  “And I’m not going to break like a dry twig, Micah. I’m a tough bitch. I can handle you, no matter how rough you get.”

  “As the male, it’s my duty to—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “It’s your duty to take care of me and keep me safe and dote all over me now that I’m your baby mama.” She squared him up in her sights. “Micah Black, I don’t need to be handled like I’m made of paper-thin glass. If we’re going to have kids together, we need to get that straight right now, because I can assure you, if you start treating me with kid gloves, it will hurt me more than anything you’ve ever done to me in bed.”

  He took in her determined, stalwart expression. Sam was a tough female who could dish it out as well as take it. She had moxie and verve, and she thrived on her independence and her ability to roll with the punches. It was why he’d mated her, because he needed a female who could stand up to his overbearing personality and not wilt when he sank into one of his moods. Her strength was what had drawn him to her in the first place. Maybe he needed to have a little more faith in that.

  “Come here,” he said, opening his arms, wanting to feel her again, needing that physical connection.

  She stiffened her shoulders and raised her chin. “Do you understand how important this is to me, Micah? Do you get how important it is for me to know you don’t see me as weak? Because if you don’t—”

  “I do, baby. I get it.” He stepped toward her, arms still out. “I’m sorry. I’m just feeling a little overprotective at the moment. This is all new to me. I’ve never had young, and I got caught up in the excitement.” He slid his palms over her hips. “But give me some leeway. It’s in a male vampire’s nature to tend to his pregnant mate.”

  She uncrossed her arms and gently pressed her palms to his chest as if she wasn’t quite ready to forgive him. “Then tend to me, but don’t coddle me.”

  His thoughts jumped to Kat. I detest coddling. That’s what she’d said to him that night. Now Sam was warning him not to coddle her, either. The two most important females he’d ever welcomed into the most intimate corners of his life were alike in so many ways. Maybe they weren’t one in the same, but they were certainly spiritual twins.

  “Why are you smiling like that, Black?” she said, arching one eyebrow as she fought back a smile of her own. Her hands smoothed up his chest to his shoulders.

  Shaking his head, he tightened his grip on her hips and tugged her closer. “I’m just happy. You make me happy.”

  She allowed the smile to blossom over her face as she acquiesced and leaned into his body. “Good answer.”

  “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She sighed and angled her head to one side. “Yes. I’m fine. You don’t need to give me a blood transfusion or anything.”

  “Funny.” Lacing his fingers over her rump, he pulled her against him as he flicked his gaze to the kitchen. “You hungry?”

  “A little. I just had that peanut butter, but I could eat. Why?”

  “Because it’s kind of an honor for a female to eat from her male’s hand, especially when she’s pregnant.”

  “This is going to be a thing with you, isn’t it?” She brushed her mouth gently over his.

  He licked her taste from his lips. “Yep.”

  One delicate brow raised into a shallow arc as her eyes twinkled. “Okay, fine. I’ll let you feed me . . . on one condition.”

  Oh, how he adored her, always negotiating her will into his. “Anything.”

  She stepped into him and ran her hands down his arms. “You have to let me take a few bites on my own, too.”

  The embers in his soul began to smolder again as heat rose within his body. “Then I will feed you”—he leaned in and kissed the curve at the base of her neck—“and then I’m going to make love to you”—he crossed to the other side of her neck and kissed her there—“and then I’m going to bathe you”—he kissed her nose—“and then I’m going to hold you while you sleep.” He planted a chaste but burning kiss on her lips then broke away and pulled a plate from the cabinet.

  “You are, are you?” She leaned her hip against the counter, watching him.

  He nodded. “I most definitely am.” He gathered cheese, crackers, a small bunch of purple grapes, and a knife, piling it all on the plate before taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom.

  “And you don’t think this is coddling?”

  He pushed open the bedroom door with his foot. “Absolu
tely not.”

  She resisted the smile pulling at her mouth. “Then what do you call it?”

  “I call this ‘Micah milking the newfound knowledge he’s going to be a father to its fullest extent, because his little soldiers are as badass as he is to get you pregnant without a calling.’ That’s what I call it.”

  She laughed and let him pull her to the middle of the bed, where they sat cross-legged, facing each other. He rested the plate between his knees and picked up the block of cheese in one hand and the knife in the other as she opened the paper sleeve filled with buttery Keebler goodness.

  “How am I going to survive the next nine months with you?” she said, giggling as he cut off a piece of cheese and held it out to her.

  She leaned forward and parted her lips, taking the nibble of cheese into her mouth. A sensation like butterflies taking flight erupted inside his chest at the way her tongue swirled around the tip of his finger. Her teeth grazed his skin as she slowly pulled away then moved on to his index finger.

  The breath blew out of his lungs, and he let out a quiet groan. “How am I going to survive the next nine seconds with you performing fellatio on my fingers?”

  She giggled seductively, inching closer as she plucked a grape and popped it in her mouth. “I call this ‘Me milking your overactive hormones to their fullest, because I’m an opportunist who knows how to push your buttons to get what I want.’ What do you think of that?”

  He sliced off another bite of cheese and leaned closer as he held it in front of her. “Wicked female. Taking advantage of me like that.”

  She took the morsel of food into her mouth, briefly letting her lips close around the tips of his fingers before easing away. “You bet your pants I’m taking advantage of you.” She ate another bite, took the knife and cheese from him, moved the plate to the nightstand, and then scooted closer until her knees rested on top of his. Her hand slid up the inside of his thigh to his erection. “Especially when you’re so much fun to take advantage of.”

  Resting his hands on her hips, he glanced at the abandoned plate. “I thought you were hungry.”