Lord's Fall

NINETEEN

A couple of months later, a very large young man said to Pia, “Mom, you’re just gonna have to trust me. I promise everything’s going to be all right.”

She bit back a smile. Now, where had she heard those words before? Like father, like son. “I trust you, baby,” she told the young man as he lounged against the kitchen counter. “Of course everything’s going to be all right.”

She was in the middle of pouring birthday cake batter into a pan in a bright, airy kitchen with plenty of windows for natural light and a butcher-block island.

Then she stopped. Wait a minute. This wasn’t the kitchen at the penthouse. Where the hell was she this time?

And why was she baking a birthday cake?

She set the batter bowl down carefully and turned to her son, who was killer gorgeous. He had to be nearly as tall as Dragos, broad shouldered and slim hipped, with long, strong legs encased in torn, faded jeans.

Every single one of the gods had to have been in a good mood when this boy was made. His features were not as rough-hewn as Dragos’s, but the strong bone structure was still there, and he had her dark violet eyes. A thatch of white blond hair tumbled down his forehead.

Killer. Gorgeous.

She felt punch-drunk. All she could think of was the robot from the old TV show Lost in Space whenever it waved its arms in alarm and shouted, “Danger, Will Robinson, danger.”

She could see the future coming toward her, like the lights of an oncoming train. They couldn’t take away his car keys. He had wings. They were going to have to institute a citywide curfew, maybe throughout the entire state. Eleven P.M. Lock up all your daughters, folks. No, better make the curfew ten P.M.

In the meantime, who was going to protect this beautiful boy from all the predators that were going to think he was their next tasty morsel? Oh geez, she and Dragos had their jobs cut out for them.

“I guess you learned this dream stuff a couple of months ago,” she said. “Peanut, you are too precocious for your own good. You are a baby. You need to get back into my uterus and stay there for a while.”

“I think my name is Liam,” said the peanut. “At least I like it.” He looked at her uncertainly. “Is that okay with you?”

Liam Cuelebre. Her eyes moistened. “It’s more than okay. It’s beautiful, and I love it. I love you. But why am I baking a birthday cake?”

He hooked a long finger into the batter and licked it. “Because it’s my birthday, and I think I’m going to like cake. Don’t worry, Mom. Everything is going to be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

She pointed the spatula at him. “You are not supposed to say that to your mommy. Your mommy is supposed to say that to you.”

The peanut gave her a sunny, innocent smile.

She plunged awake as the baby gave an especially robust kick, pow, right under her ribs, and as she put a hand over her swollen abdomen, she looked around at the deeply shadowed room, disoriented. She was pretty sure she was awake, but this wasn’t their bedroom in the penthouse either.

Dragos stretched out beside her on the bed, lying on his stomach, fast asleep. His long, powerful body was dark against the pale top sheet that had slipped to his waist, his broad shoulders relaxed. The king-sized bed—they couldn’t sleep in anything but a king-sized bed—took up most of the room. A couple of dressers were against the wall, cosmetics strewn on one and cufflinks and a plain, masculine hairbrush on another. The door to a bathroom was half open, from which a dim night-light shone.

She rolled onto her side and peered over the edge of the bed. A pair of high-heeled ivory pumps lay on the floor, along with a tangled heap of a knee-length, pale chiffon maternity dress. It was her wedding dress from Target, and it had cost all of eighty-nine dollars.

Reality settled into place around her, and it looked a lot like a fat, contented cat.

That’s right. They had gotten married that morning.

She held up her left hand to admire the simple, classic gold band that now nestled beside the outrageous, T. rex–sized diamond ring. Dragos had a gold band that matched hers. She grinned as she remembered how that particular conversation had gone.

It had been short and sweet, and to the point. They had been standing at a jewelry counter at Tiffany while an attendant showed them rings. Pia admired one particularly sleek, elegant set of his-and-hers wedding bands.

“But I collect jewelry,” said Dragos with a frown. “I don’t wear it.”

She glanced at him. His frown was more bemusement than anything else. He stood very close to her, still dressed in a white shirt and dark suit from his day’s work. He had removed his tie and unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on his shirt. His head was angled as he studied the rings in the black velvet tray, his gold eyes gleaming with acquisitive interest.

She recognized that look. She said telepathically to him, We do not need this whole tray of rings.

His gaze shifted to her. Are you sure?

I’m quite sure. Just beyond his shoulder, she caught sight of a woman standing some twenty feet away from them. The woman was model thin, sleek, intelligent-looking and immaculate. Her makeup, hair and polished nails were color coordinated, and her outfit and accessories hit around the ten-thousand mark. Thanks to Stanford, Pia was getting better at judging that sort of thing.

The woman stared fixedly at Dragos, not even bothering to disguise her naked hunger even though Pia stood right there with him, clearly pregnant, and together they were one of the world’s most recognizable mated Wyr couples.

But neither mating nor marriage had necessarily anything to do with fidelity, and there would always be some sexual predator hoping to get her claws, even for a brief time, into the multibillionaire head of Cuelebre Enterprises.

None of them fazed Dragos for a moment. They were so unimportant to him that they didn’t even register on his radar. Pia wished she could truly be that indifferent, but at best she could only fake it.

Pia turned her attention back to Dragos. She said, “Maybe you don’t wear jewelry as a general rule, but you’re going to wear this ring.”

Amusement played at the edges of his hard, sexy mouth. “You know this because . . . ?”

“Because I get to have everything I want.” And she wanted nothing more in that moment than to put her claim on him so that everybody could see it. Without bothering to lower her voice, she added, “And that includes having lots of fantastic sex whenever I like.”

His smile deepened, and his eyes gleamed molten hot under lowered lids. “That you do.” He bent his head to kiss her, while their attendant grinned and looked away.

Did she do it? Yes, yes, she did. While she sank one hand into Dragos’s silken hair and tilted one foot up, she held up her other hand behind his back, and she flipped up her middle finger as she kissed him. By the time they finished the kiss, the piranha had stalked off.

Dragos wore the ring.

And she did get everything she wanted.

She insisted that she plan the wedding. She told him that he could plan any kind of honeymoon he liked—as long as it was just as they had talked about, some kind of honeymoon where they were truly alone. No household staff, no sentinels, no psychos. No Stanford, no cell phones, no Kristoff “making this one exception” on some business emergency or other. Nobody but them and the peanut.

She could even cook if he wanted. Well, she amended that one pretty quickly. She could reheat any meat that somebody else had precooked for him, if all she had to do was to put a covered package in the oven and then leave the kitchen fast.

By that point, he was laughing at her, and she didn’t blame him. But he agreed to take care of the honeymoon, and she got to plan the wedding of her dreams.

The justice of the peace came to the penthouse for a very simple ceremony. Pia wore the flirty maternity dress she had found at Target, which she loved, even though the sacrilege nearly put Stanford in the hospital. She felt fun and pretty, and she didn’t worry for a minute about spilling anything down the front or ruining a piece of art that had cost a fortune. Dragos wore his best hand-stitched suit, with a silk shirt and platinum cuff links that, he informed her, were not jewelry but simply a necessary part of the suit ensemble.

Eva and Graydon stood as witnesses. Afterward, they had thirty people for breakfast, including the sentinels, Pia’s friends from Elfie’s, the other psychos, and Rune and Carling, who flew in from Miami. From Adriyel, Niniane and Tiago—well, Niniane, who also signed Tiago’s name on the cards along with half a dozen x’s and o’s, and surrounded the signatures with a few hearts—sent a pile of handcrafted presents, richly dyed textiles along with a stunning metal sculpture, all unique Dark Fae designs.

The only shadow that lay over her was knowing what a long, hard road to recovery lay in front of the Elves. Linwe had written her a small, sad note of thanks for all the gifts, and she passed on snippets of information. Beluviel had closed herself off from others and refused to speak of what happened. The Numenlaurian children that had survived were having difficulty with almost everything, and many of the adults were still in a vegetative state. Ferion never seemed to laugh any longer. He worked viciously long hours, and the Wood had not greened at all that spring.

Other than that sadness, Pia was happy, so happy. Nothing was hanging over her head. Dragos had promised her that if the sentinels didn’t learn to get along, he was going to knock them around like bowling pins. The Freaky Deaky was over, the peanut was strong and growing fast, and she was head over heels in love with her new husband.

Even better, her husband was head over heels in love with her. She didn’t have to have faith on that, or rely on the fact that they were mates. The evidence of how he felt lived in his eyes. He followed her with his gaze when she was across the room, frowned whenever she stepped away and watched for her return.

They ate from a sumptuous breakfast buffet and had a lightly flavored, lemon sponge wedding cake. Then for their honeymoon, they traveled by limousine upstate to Dragos’s country estate just outside of Carthage.

Pia had fallen silent when she had looked at the gigantic mansion for the first time. Even though it was March and spring was fast approaching, the entire scene was blanketed in snow and looked like a winter wonderland. She could tell Dragos was watching her expression closely but she couldn’t summon up any other reaction but a wide-eyed stare. She couldn’t think of what to say.

The place was enormous. It had to have at least fifty rooms. If it went on the market, it would probably sell for fifty million dollars and get a write-up in the Wall Street Journal or maybe the New York Times.

And she had offered to cook in there? She wasn’t sure if she would be able to find the kitchen without a GPS.

She finally managed to say, “It’s beautiful.”

And it was, in a stunningly palatial, utterly uncomfortable, totally-not-what-she-had-envisioned-for-her-honeymoon way.

He rubbed her back, and when she was finally able to drag her gaze away from the sight, she found him biting back a smile. “We’re not staying at the main house,” he told her. “We’re staying at the estate manager’s house.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows rose hopefully.

“It has four bedrooms and four baths, and the family room has a fireplace along with a nice view of a private lake,” he said. “That house is much cozier for a stay without any support staff, and I’ve already had the place stocked with food, along with recent releases in paperback and on DVD. There’s Internet and the phones, but we can unplug the phones and choose not to get online, and the manager’s already taken off for his own vacation. As soon as our limo driver leaves, there’ll be no one else around but us for two hundred and fifty acres.”

Somewhere in the middle of all that description, she began to smile. “That sounds like heaven,” she confessed.

“It does, doesn’t it?” He took a deep breath and let it out. She could almost see the longstanding tension that he carried coiled between his shoulders begin to drop away. “The last time I was in the manager’s house was years ago. Let’s go in and see what he’s done with the place.”

The limo took them on a well-plowed side drive to a charming house with a Cape Cod design. Beyond the house, a glimmer of the lake showed in a break between the trees. She said promptly, “I love it.”

Dragos laughed. He would always be a hard-looking male, and he would always carry the blade of his personality in his face, but in that moment he looked happier than she had seen in a long time. He said, “Well, let’s make sure the inside is all right. We can always leave and either stay at the main house or go someplace else entirely, if you want to.”

“I don’t want to.” She didn’t wait for either Dragos or the driver to open her door. Instead she flung it open herself and hurried up the sidewalk. She hadn’t wanted to change out of her fun dress for the trip, so she was careful with her high heels on the frigid pavement, even though it was immaculately clear of snow or ice. When she tried the handle, she found that the door was already unlocked.

Dragos followed at a slower pace, hands in his pockets. She waited just long enough for him to join her, then they went inside to explore the house, which was just as charming on the inside as it was on the outside.

There was large, comfortable furniture, sturdy enough for someone of Dragos’s size to sprawl on comfortably, interesting prints and paintings, a kitchen filled with lots of windows, natural light and an island with a granite countertop, and a beautiful view of the lake from the family room. Their luggage had already been sent ahead. Everything was unpacked and waiting for them, along with more wedding cake and nonalcoholic champagne stored in the refrigerator.

She danced from room to room. The place was homey, warm and inviting, but she didn’t feel like she and Dragos were intruding. They were all alone, and it couldn’t be more perfect. She said, “I counted five TVs. There’s one in each bedroom, and one in the family room. No wait, six—look, there’s a little one here by the stove too!”

Dragos raised his eyebrows as he followed her into the kitchen. “Is this significant?”

“Yes,” she sang out. “I want to turn on all the TVs, jump on the beds and raid the refrigerator.”

He snagged her wrist as she pirouetted past him. “Stop for a few minutes and kiss your husband instead.”

She did stop to stare at him. “Husband. What a strange word.”

“It’s my word now,” he said.

She grinned. She might have known he would take ownership of that as he took ownership of most things in his life. He yanked her, and she came up hard against his body, hands splayed on his chest as she stared up at him, wide-eyed. He tilted his head and looked down the length of her body, fingering the light, frothy material of her skirt. His breathing deepened, and she felt his erection press against her hip.

As always, just coming up against his body put her on a slow burn. She rubbed against his cock, watching as his lips pulled back in a silent hiss of reaction. “Can I coax you into jumping on some of the beds with me, big guy?”

“I’d rather eat something instead,” he growled, his expression turning hard and hungry. As he kissed her, he bent to wrap an arm around her thighs and lift her up, and he carried her over to the island to perch her carefully on the edge of the counter.

Her slow burn escalated into a fast, hot flame. The peanut had put in a growth spurt over the last two months since January, and as a result, Dragos had become so very careful with her, it was driving her insane. She was as strong and healthy as a horse, just pregnant. Neither she nor the baby would break.

But he wouldn’t listen, and it was only going to get worse as she grew bigger. “Someday, mister, you are not going to be able to use pregnancy as an excuse to slow me down,” she panted against his gentle lips. “And I am going to ride you like a hungry cowgirl at her first rodeo.”

He burst into a guffaw. Still laughing, he hugged her tightly. “You’ve been surprising me with the things you say ever since you left that note about the penny.”

She clapped her hands over her ears. “My worst mistake ever. We should not talk about that penny any more, la la la.”

He pulled her hands down. “We’re never going to stop talking about it. That penny is one of my favorite memories.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Liar! You only liked what came afterward. You hated having your penny stolen.”

“True,” he admitted. “But I loved the note you left me. Maybe we could have found you with the Seven-Eleven security tape alone, but you really hanged yourself with that note.”

Deciding that it was time to change the subject, she grumbled, “Just so you know, this granite countertop is cold to sit on, and it’s putting a damper on my interest.”

His attention shifted, just as she expected it would. “Well, we can’t have that,” he said. He swept her into his arms. “We’d better go eat in bed.”

She settled against his chest with a happy sigh, stuck out a foot and admired one of her pretty wedding shoes as he carried her to the master bedroom. She could have walked. She could have insisted that she walked. But it was so much more fun when he exerted himself on her behalf.

In the bedroom, he eased her down onto the bed. She sat while he slipped her shoes off, first one then the other, and then he coaxed the dress over her head and unhooked her strapless bra until all she wore was a wisp of sheer panties.

“Wife,” she said. “Husband.”

His thoughtful look turned into a slight smile. “Mate,” he said. “Partner.”

He ran his fingers through her hair, freeing it from the loose topknot, and it tumbled about her shoulders. Again, without clothing, the changes to her body were even more pronounced, her breasts fuller and heavier, and the curve of her abdomen wider.

With a sigh, she stretched. “They’re pretty words, but I wonder what they mean.”

“With some patience and forgiveness, we’ll find out,” he said. “We’ll teach each other.”

She considered him from under lowered lids. “Do you think that dress made me look fat?”

For the merest moment outrage flashed across his face, and she almost giggled. Then he looked disgusted. “I can’t believe you got me again.”

“Patience and forgiveness,” she reminded him.

“With a little discipline thrown in now and then, for good measure,” he said. The late afternoon shadows were deep across his hard, dark face as he looked at her, his humor darkening into intent. He yanked at his shirt buttons and jerked loose his tie.

She tried to laugh. It came out husky and breathless. “What—what kind of discipline?”

“The kind that comes with restraint,” he said, his voice deepening.

Oh yay, he was going to tie her up? She loved that game. She almost clapped her hands, but then he stripped off his shirt and jacket, and the sight of his immense, muscled chest stole all of her IQ points again. Greedily she stroked her fingers over his hair-sprinkled skin, reveling in the taut, velvet-soft skin over iron muscles. They were so different from each other, so different, yet he pulled the deepest kind of responses out of her, and she wanted him all the time, so much so that it turned her inside out.

He eased her back down on the bed and came down beside her, his long, large body infinitely stronger than hers, a steady haven from all the ills that existed in the world.

His shadowed gold gaze flashed as he brought his mouth down to hers, touching her lips lightly. “I saw you standing in the middle of that forest fire with blood all over you, and the sight damn near pulled my heart out of my chest,” he said roughly against her lips. “And when you were talking to Gaeleval in a fucking dream, the top of my head damn near came off. Pia, you might just make me one of the happiest men alive, if you don’t kill me first.”

There were times when it just wasn’t possible to have a logical conversation. So instead of pointing out that none of those things were her fault, she said gently, “I’m sorry.” She fingered his silken short hair and stroked his face. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You always scare me, goddammit,” he growled. “I’ve faced monsters and demons and nightmares that most people have never even heard of, but you have always scared me the most. We might make a list of pretty words that we can call each other or use for our relationship, but I don’t feel pretty things for you. I feel things for you that are volcanic and dangerous, and I’m not safe at the best of times.”

She nestled her cheek against his bicep, watching his face as she listened. “What makes you think any of that might be bad?” she asked. “I didn’t fall in love or mate with a safe man, because I didn’t want to.”

He fell silent and looked at her with narrowed eyes. “What are you talking about?”

She stroked his face. “Living this lifestyle with you goes against everything I have ever been taught. I had to fight my instincts every step of the way to get here, and the only way I had the courage to do that was because of you. Because you’re the meanest, strongest, toughest son of a bitch I know, and if you decide to go after someone you are not going to stop until he’s both sorry and dead, and I mean all of that as a total heartfelt compliment.”

“I’ll be sure to take it that way.” He gave her a wry, sidelong look, but she could tell he was really listening.

She told him softly, “Sometimes the world is uncertain and it can be downright nasty, but I feel safe with you, and I trust you. And I do feel prettier things for you too—I love you, and I like you, and you make me laugh, and my God, the two of us generate so much heat together, somebody should slap a hazard warning on us.”

His chest moved in a silent laugh. “Truth.”

“But I think none of that would matter, if I couldn’t feel safe.” She tapped his nose until he lifted his head, and she could look deeply into his eyes. “That’s my bedrock and my bottom line. I know that you will protect me and the peanut. I don’t just have faith, and I don’t hope that you will. I know it. Dragos, I don’t think I knew what it felt like to be safe before I got together with you.” She smiled sadly as she thought of Calondir and Beluviel’s exquisite, soul-killing politeness toward each other then she eased them gently from her mind. “So all those volcanic and dangerous things you feel when you’re around me? Bring ’em on, buddy. The absolute worst thing you could do is feel indifferent to me.”

“That isn’t ever going to happen,” he whispered, circling her throat with one hand. “What I feel for you approaches the maniacal. There isn’t a single shred of indifference in any part of what I feel for you.”

“See why I’m such a happy girl?” she murmured. She wriggled against him, luxuriating in the sensation of his warm, bare chest. “Do we get to work on the discipline and restraint stuff now?”

“Absolutely,” he whispered. “My discipline, my self-restraint.”

Wait a minute. That wasn’t how she thought this was going to go. She tried to sit up, but he wouldn’t let her. Ooh, that was more like it.

He held her down by the neck, gently, gently, as he ran his hand along the sensitive curves and hollows of her body. Then he took her nipples in his mouth, one at a time, suckling at the plump, distended flesh, until flickers of invisible lightning danced across her body. Afterward, he nibbled his way all over her, biting at the tender flesh at the back of her knees, licking the base of her spine.

She couldn’t lie still. Her legs shifted restlessly, as an urgent, empty pulse started between her legs. But he wouldn’t touch her clitoris or come anywhere near the moist, fluted flesh of her sex. He touched her everywhere else instead, until she lost all self-control.

“Stop it,” she panted. “Stop teasing me.”

“No,” he told her with a cruel smile, until she screamed in his face.

“Just fuck me, dammit!”

Then it was as if she had laid a whip across him, he reacted so violently. He reared back and yanked her up and around, until she was on her hands and knees, and she was there ahead of him, as she reached one hand between her legs and ripped her own panties off.

He froze for a moment, then muttered, “That’s got to be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen you do.”

“Shut up,” she sobbed, groping for his penis.

“Ease up, sugar,” he whispered. “Let me do it.”

She yanked a pillow to her and buried her face in it, trembling, as she felt his long, hard fingers probe at her tender, swollen flesh gently. He drew out more of her natural moisture, and there, there, she rocked against him as he rubbed the head of his cock against her, preparing her. Then he pressed into her, slick, hot and hard, hissing as she tightened her inner muscles around him. One final push and he was all the way home.

Her skin was damp, and she shivered all over. “You make me crazy,” she whimpered, rocking back against him as she rubbed her teary face in the linen. She didn’t know why making love often made her so weepy these days, unless it was her damn pregnancy hormones running amuck.

“Shh,” he whispered. He lowered himself down so that he covered her as completely as possible as he rocked inside of her. He rubbed his whiskery cheek against her back and pressed his lips against her shoulder blade. “I love you.”

She stilled and her head lifted. That was the second time he had said it, and instinctively, she knew that it wasn’t going to be something he said very often. She tried to look at him over her shoulder, but her damn hair was everywhere, and she could only see when he brushed the mass of it to one side for her.

And there he was, looking into her eyes with a completely wide-open, unbarriered gaze as he moved inside of her. He was one of the hardest creatures she had ever met, and yet for her, he set all of his hardness aside. When her climax came, it didn’t even feel physical it was so full of emotion.

I love you.

I love you, I love you.

After making love, they napped until the last of the afternoon melted away into evening.

When she woke up, she smiled as she curled her body along Dragos’s warm body and remembered the details of the day.

And that strange, wonderful dream with the peanut!

Liam. She loved that name.

Her stomach growled. Maybe she would sneak out and raid the fridge after all. At nine months, she was nowhere near the size of full-term, human pregnancies, but she was definitely beginning to feel ungainly. She rocked a little to get some momentum going then rolled off the edge of the bed and onto her feet. She wanted another piece of that nomilicious lemon sponge cake.

Cake. Birthday.

She frowned.

Bam! The baby kicked again, harder than he had ever kicked before, and she doubled over as warm liquid gushed between her legs.

Bracing herself with one hand on the edge of the bed, she stared down at herself in bewilderment. Her legs, feet and the rug she was standing on were all soaked, and strangest of all, she felt more hugely swollen than she had ever felt before.

What had just happened?

She said, “Dragos?”

He took a deep breath and stretched. In a lazy, sleep gravelly voice, he asked, “What are you doing out of bed?”

She told him in a small voice, “I think I’m having the baby.”

No matter how diffidently she said the words, they still rocketed through the room like a thunderclap. For one split second Dragos remained unmoving. Then he surged off the bed and stared at her, gold eyes blazing.

She stared back. She had never seen such a wild expression on his hard-edged face before.

“What did you just say?” he asked.

“My water just broke,” she said.

“It can’t do that,” he told her. He sounded completely calm and looked entirely insane. “The baby isn’t supposed to come for at least another year. He’s too premature.”

“Apparently he disagrees.” A squeezing pain gripped her, along with panic, and she sank to her knees. Oh God, oh God. She sobbed, “He told me his name is Liam.”

Dragos crouched, and with an immense spring, he cleared the bed to land right beside her. Carefully he gathered her up in his arms and strode out of the room. “What do you mean, he told you his name was Liam?” he said. “He can’t talk. He’s a fetus. And there’s no one around for fucking miles. No Wyr doctor, no nurse. No neighbors. There’s nobody here, Pia.”

She breathed through the vise that gripped her around the middle and said between her teeth, “Yeah, I got that.”

He carried her to another bedroom, flipped the light on with his elbow and eased her gently down onto the bed. Then he leaned over her, stroking her hair back from her face. His hands were shaking. “I could call people and have them fly in,” he said roughly. “But you need a hospital. I’ll get you wrapped up and fly you out.”

Finally the viselike grip in her abdomen eased and she sucked in a deep breath. “Wait a minute,” she said, gripping him by the wrist. “We’re panicking. We need to calm down and think about this.” She looked down at herself and whimpered. “Why am I so big?”

He stared down at her, breathing heavily. Then he placed both his hands on her swollen belly and she gasped as he sent a spear of Power piercing into her. His gaze turned inward for a moment, and he said, “The baby’s shapeshifted. He’s in his human form now. I’m guessing he’s around seven pounds.”

She sagged back down against the pillows. “Oh, thank God.”

“He feels strong and healthy.” Dragos’s gold eyes were red rimmed and worried. “Is that all right?”

Her mind whirled from one thought to the next. Since she had never expected to be able to come into her full Wyr form, she knew rather more about human babies than most Wyr did.

The baby was now in his human form, and she was nine months pregnant. Liam was much too small to be born as a dragon baby, but in his human form, he appeared to be just right. And if she could give birth to him in his human form, it meant she didn’t need to have a C-section. As long as he stayed in his human form he would be fine, until his dragon form had matured enough for him to maintain it independently.

Don’t worry, Mom. Everything is going to be fine. I’ll make sure of it.

“Seven pounds is a little on the small size, but for a human baby, it’s good.” Her own gaze dampened. “It’s a really good size. It’s normal. I think everything’s going to be all right.”

Dragos expelled a pent-up breath and hung his head. He stroked her belly with both hands. He still had not stopped shaking. “Okay. That’s good. Do you want to get dressed before I take you to the hospital? I’ll still wrap you in plenty of blankets.”

She patted his shoulder as she calmed down. “We’re not going to the hospital.”

His head came up. “What?”

“I said we’re not going to go to the hospital,” she told him. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and pushed herself to a sitting position. Wow, oh wow, did she feel ungainly. How did human women go through an entire month like this? “I’m going to take a shower,” she said. “And then I want to put on one of your T-shirts, and we’re going to have the baby right here.”

“Pia, no,” he said.

“Dragos, yes,” she told him. “Liam has surprised us, but he told me everything was going to be all right, and I believe him. Besides, I like it here. It’s peaceful and quiet, and I want to look out at the lake.”

“What do you mean, he told you, and you believe him?” Dragos roared, “He’s a fetus!”

She pointed to the door. “All the big voices go outside now.”

“PIA, GODDAMMIT!”

“I mean it, Dragos! It’s my pregnancy and my body, and I’m having the baby right here. Now, you can go outside and wait until it’s done, and you’ve got two hundred and fifty acres that you can rip to shreds if you have to.” She shook her finger at him. “But you do not come back inside until you can talk in a quiet voice. Do you hear me?”

He stared at her with his mouth open. Oh, she wished she had a photo of that look. Then his mouth snapped shut. “Okay,” he said, and glory be, he sounded marginally calmer and much more quiet. “It’s your pregnancy and your body, but you’re my mate—my wife—and that’s my son. I’m not going anywhere. Give me a few minutes to make a few phone calls, and then I’ll help you with the shower. I don’t want you to have one of those . . .” He rotated a hand at the wrist. “. . . One of those birthing spells . . .”

She raised her eyebrows. “Contractions?”

He snapped his fingers. “. . . Contractions, where you might run the risk of slipping and falling. You’ll wait for me to get back, do you understand?”

She smiled. “Yes, I’ll wait.”

He rushed out of the room and leaped downstairs to the ground floor, and she did wait for him, sort of. She could hear him snorting and seething on the phone as she went into the bathroom off the master bedroom, where she washed her face and brushed her teeth. She had to put down the toilet lid and sit as she waited through another contraction. Was her hair all right? Yes, it was clean enough. She had washed it just that morning.

From the doorway of the bathroom, Dragos said, “Good gods, you’re putting on makeup.”

He hadn’t bothered to get dressed yet. Even though she was in the middle of labor, his nude, muscled body was worth a moment of reverent silence.

“What?” she said, turning back to look at herself in the mirror and holding her lips stiff as she stroked on lipstick. “It’s our son’s birthday. I want to look nice.”

“Makeup.”

She noted that while he put emphasis on the word, he did not speak too loudly. She gave him a pointed look. “I could hear what you did downstairs. How many phone calls did you make? I lost track at ten.”

“Every one of those goddamn phone calls was necessary,” he growled.

They were going to have to do something about his swearing, as little pitchers grew big ears. Actually, they were going to have to do something about her swearing too.

She shrugged. “My makeup is necessary too.”

“Right.”

Despite what he said, his hands were gentle and patient as he helped her into the shower. She had been planning to sluice off quickly from the neck down and was thankful for his help when another contraction hit in the middle of it. Gritting her teeth, she groaned and leaned on him, shaking, while warm water pattered against her back and swirled down her legs.

“Dr. Medina said to breathe into it,” he whispered into her hair as he held her, rubbing her back. “Are you all right? Do you need to sit down?”

She shook her head silently, pressing her cheek against his damp, bare skin. She was glad he had stopped shouting. She didn’t want to send him outside.

“Pia?” He angled his head, trying to look at her face. “Can you say something?”

“In a minute,” she muttered. “I’m a little busy.”

“Okay, darling,” he said gently. “Take your time.”

Two “I love yous” and one “darling.” She smiled and decided she would start her own collection of priceless jewels, only hers would be memories of everything he had ever said to her.

The warm water seemed to help. As soon as the contraction was over with, she washed quickly. In a few minutes she was clean and dry, and wearing one of his T-shirts that fell down to her knees. He had taken a moment to throw on clothes too, dressing in worn, soft jeans and another T-shirt.

“How do I look?” she asked, her face tilted up to him.

For some reason the silly question seemed to hit him much harder than it should have. He took his time looking at her, from her pinned-up hair and carefully made-up face to the voluminous T-shirt that gapped at the neck and arms. Then he gave her a slow smile that would never have the same kind of innocence in it that his son’s smile had in the dream.

But this one smile of Dragos’s had every bit as much of the brightness. Every bit as much, and it was all for her.

“You are the most beautiful thing in the world,” he said deeply. “How would you like to go downstairs to the family room and look out at the lake?”

“I would really love that,” she said, her face lighting up.

He carried her down the stairs and settled with her on the couch. She sat between his legs, with his arms wrapped around her. They looked out at the dark blue and silver moonlit lake.

In true keeping with the spirit of their honeymoon, Liam was born a short while later, a good fifteen minutes before the army of attendants, staff and medical personnel that Dragos had ordered arrived on the estate. Dr. Medina gave baby and mother a quick checkup and pronounced them both flawless.

Afterward, Dragos sent everybody away to stay at the main house. While his exhausted wife slept with her head in his lap, he cradled the miniscule miracle that was his son and watched the sun rise over the sparkling water.

He might be Powerful as shit and older than dirt, but no matter how many countless times he had seen the dawn before, somehow there had never been a newer, more perfect day.