Any one of them would have laid down his life for her or that young in her womb.
It was enough to make a male have to blink a little faster.
As Wrath held his female, he found his hand making a circle on her rock-hard belly and his brain reverted back to just before sunset. Once he’d gotten over his hang-up about sex, things had gone back to the way they’d been right after they’d met.
Hormonal surges being what they were and all.
This late in the game, they had to do it with her on top, and that was more than fine with him. He loved palming her now-heavy breasts with his hands and feeling her core take him in a new way because of the way her body had changed shape.
Matter of fact, maybe there was time for a quickie before—
“Hey, Abes.”
“Yo, Ab.”
“Whassup, Albacore?”
Naturally, Lassiter was the one who refused to get that name right.
As Abalone stuttered through his greetings, you had to smile. The guy still couldn’t quite get used to the brothers, but they were used to him. And so was Wrath.
“My lord, my lady, good evening.”
“Abalone, how’s your daughter,” Beth said.
“Yeah, Abe, how’d that date go last night?”
Pin-drop time. The Brotherhood had adopted the male and his only young, and woe was the young Turk who took the girl out and didn’t treat her right.
“Well, I don’t believe it was a love match. But she was returned a full thirty minutes before curfew.”
“Good.” Wrath nodded. “That means he can keep his legs. So what have we got on deck for us tonight?”
“It’s a full roster,” the aristocrat reported. “The first couple we’ll see have just had a grandyoung, and they want to ask you if they may bring the mother in with the wee one. Their daughter is not married to the father, however, and they are concerned it will offend you.”
“Absolutely not.”
Abalone’s tone remained calm. “But it’s important to them that they ask permission and acknowledge this in person with you.”
“Fine. Cool. When do I get to meet the kid?”
Abalone laughed. “Tomorrow evening?”
“I’ll be here. And who’s after that?”
“A cousin of mine, actually. He’s seeking permission to…”
As the gentlemale went on and on, detailing the family interrelationships, Wrath was once again in awe. Abe was so low-key and respectful, never once stepping out of place, and yet every single fucking night he provided this wellspring of knowledge and compassion.
It was damn impressive.
And as Wrath sat back and listened to all the preamble, he was struck by how he could do this for fucking ever. He really could.
Especially with his shellan front and center, his dog next to him, and his brothers surrounding them all.
With a feeling of great dread, Anha put her hand upon her swelling belly, and watched her mate gird himself for the night ahead.
In the flickering light from the hearth and the candles, everything was different about him. She had noticed the change coming over the last number of months, but on this eve, all that had been subtle appeared to have coalesced at once, the culmination having arrived.
His body was different now, harder, more defined. Larger.
And his expression was not the same. At least, not when this new mood of his settled upon his shoulders.
As if sensing her regard, he looked over at her.
“How long will you be gone?” she asked. “And do not lie. I know for what purpose you are leaving.”
He turned away from her, to the oak table on which clothing she had never seen before had materialized, brought in by the Brotherhood. Everything was black.
“I shall return at dawn.”
His voice was lower than normal, colder than normal. And then she realized that he was putting on a leather strapping o’er his chest. Just as the Brothers wore.
“You are going to fight?” she whispered through a closed throat.
When he finally answered her, it was after he’d put two black daggers, handle down, over his heart. “I shall return at dawn.”
“You’re going to kill them, aren’t you.”
“Do you want me to answer that?”
“Yes.”
Wrath, her mate, her love, the father of her nascent young, approached her where she sat afore her vanity mirror. When he got down upon his knees, it was a relief, because he was almost familiar that way. Especially as he looked into her eyes.
“I shall do what needs doing,” he said.
She put her hands on his face, tracing the features, thinking back to all the dawns he’d come home bloodied and limping, swollen and stiff. But lately he had kept to his schedule with the males, and not returned injured.
So she should have known it was time.
“Be safe?” she implored. “We need you.”
“I will come back unto you. Always.”
At that, he kissed her hard, and then he left through the chamber door. Before it closed behind him, she saw that the Brothers had lined up on either side of the stone corridor, each with a torch.
They bowed to her hellren as he walked out.
Alone …
Dropping her head into her hands, she knew that all she could do … was pray.
SEVENTY-ONE
As Wrath saw the first of his appointments, Beth snuck out into the kitchen and snagged a bowl of fresh strawberries that Fritz had bought for her at the local Hannaford.
Man, after the past number of months, she had gotten used to the spoiling—a benefit Bella had told her to enjoy, but which had taken some time to become chill with: Everyone had been, and was being, so kind, the Brothers and their mates, the staff, John Matthew, the Shadows. It was incredible.
Just like the pregnancy.
By some miracle, she was trending exactly like a normal human pregnancy, well into her eighth month and feeling great. She had plenty of stamina, no swollen ankles, no stretch marks, and a baby that did laps under her rib cage every time she ate. Especially if there was sugar involved.
It was nothing that she had prepared herself for.
Disasters? Shit yeah, she’d been all about them. After that initial shock at the doctor’s, she’d naturally gone right to the Internet and terrified herself stupid with all the different things that could go wrong. The one saving grace had been that, by that point, she’d already gotten herself out of that hairy first trimester when most miscarriages happened—although unfortunately, that needing that had kicked in was a wild card that she hadn’t been able to fully relax about for another month.
But, yeah, the worry had mostly passed now that she was pulling into the final four-week lap. And sure, labor was going to be a bitch—but no, she wasn’t going to try to white-knuckle it with a no-drug birth plan. And anytime she got a little rattly? She just reminded herself that millions upon millions of women and females had done this all before her.
What her birth plan did entail was iAm and Trez both being available at the drop of a hat for the next four weeks. Dr. Sam had promised to make herself free no matter the hour, day or night—a little commitment she suspected iAm had instilled with a mental sleight of hand.
He had worked a number of those, discreetly, of course.