Aurora woke up sore, but in that amazing way that made her want to stay in bed all day. Except that Hawkyn wasn’t in bed with her.
Rubbing her eyes, she sat up. He hadn’t left a note, but he’d clearly showered and dressed. Where was he? And how the hell had he done all of that without her waking up? She’d always been a heavy sleeper, but geez, she must have been exhausted.
Which made sense, given that she’d barely slept since Drayger had captured her. Closing her eyes meant seeing the things he did to her on the backs of her eyelids. Sleeping meant nightmares. But she hadn’t had any last night.
Maybe sleeping in the arms of an angel kept the bad things away.
She could get used to that.
Yawning, she climbed out of bed and headed toward the bathroom, but after a couple of steps she swayed, a wave of nausea rocking her hard. Whoa. Maybe the vodka had been stronger than she’d thought. Another hot wave hit her, and she stumbled into the bathroom, her head spinning, her gut rolling. What was happening? Was it something she ate? Sketchy Memitim pancakes?
Bracing herself on the edge of the sink, she turned on the faucet and splashed icy water on her face. Much better.
“Aurora?” Hawkyn tapped on the door. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she called out. She looked into the mirror and cringed at the crazy case of bedhead and the dark circles under her puffy eyes. “Fine” might have been an overstatement.
“Breakfast is ready. I can bring up a tray if you don’t want to eat in the great hall.”
“No,” she said, reaching for a towel. “Go on down. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”
“You sure?”
“I managed going down the stairs when you were passed out.” She turned off the water. “I think I’ll be okay.”
His deep chuckle filtered through the door. “I’ll have coffee waiting.”
Her stomach rebelled, but she thanked him anyway. She spent the next ten minutes getting cleaned up, and by the time she was dressed in the navy leggings, belted cream tunic, and casual flats she’d packed, she was feeling a hundred percent again. Well, ninety-nine, at least. She still didn’t think coffee sounded good.
She found Hawkyn in the great hall, seated at the end of one of the two trestle tables lining the walls. A few Memitim were gathered around him, full of questions—mostly about Azagoth and Sheoul-gra, if the number of times those names were thrown around was any indication.
Aurora’s heart squeezed painfully. She couldn’t help but feel sad for them, and she vowed to call her parents soon, if for no other reason than to tell them she loved them. She couldn’t imagine not knowing her father, who had patiently taught her math and how to fish, or her mother, who had been liberal with hugs and jokes. But then, she couldn’t imagine having the Grim Reaper as a parent. She had to give Hawkyn credit, though; as angry as he was with Azagoth, he didn’t badmouth him to his siblings. If anything, he downplayed his own issues with his father and encouraged everyone to decide for themselves.
It made her admire him even more.
As she approached the group, she turned her attention to the trays of fruit and pastries that crowded the center of the table. Even better, the mouthwatering aroma of eggs, cheese, and ham wafted from two steaming warmers and a platter.
The sight of the coffee pitcher, however, turned her stomach. Wendy, the barista at Hot Beans down the street from Aurora’s place, would be shocked. Aurora couldn’t pass the place without a triple-shot caramel cappuccino.
Hawkyn turned to her, his lips curved into a secret smile. The things those lips had done... God, he could do them over and over.
“Aurora, hey, I saved you a—” He broke off, his mouth open, his face draining of blood.
“Holy shite!” A red-haired Memitim who couldn’t be older than twenty gaped at her, his freckles standing out starkly against his ivory skin. “She’s...she’s...”
“What?” She looked down at herself, searching for evidence that she’d grown another limb or a horn or an all-over body rash, but she couldn’t see anything unusual. But now everyone was staring. Staring like she’d, well, grown another limb, a horn, or a rash. “What am I?”
Then she saw it. Her fingernails. They were turning silver, as if she’d applied a coat of glittery nail polish. She gasped, a thread of panic wrapping around her like a noose. This was bad. And...impossible.
“Hawkyn.” Drue, who had been so friendly and accommodating last night, turned his accusing gaze on her. “Man, you need to get her out of here. Now.”
Confusion tamped down her immediate panic. “Why? What’s going on?”
Hawkyn leaped up from the table, took her hand, and practically dragged her up the stairs. “We have to pack. We have to get you out of here.”
“Hawkyn!” She jerked him to a halt at the threshold of the room they’d stayed in last night. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why we need to leave.”
“Because Primori aren’t allowed here,” he said, troubled shadows flitting in his eyes. “And you’re Primori.”
“What?”
He stormed inside the room, his motions jerky and stiff as he packed her duffel. “This is crazy.” Outside the window, a storm was brewing, and it felt as if one was brewing inside, too. “Between last night and this morning, something happened to make you Primori.”
Recalling this morning’s fit of illness, she looked down at her nails.
“I...think I might know what it was,” she said, nausea welling up again, but this time she was sure it was coming from nerves.
He rounded on her, his body taut, his expression etched with concern. “Tell me.”
Holding her belly with one hand to quell the butterflies, she held up the other, showing him her silver nails, a telltale sign among her people.
“I don’t understand.” He scowled at her hand. “Do you think painting your nails did it?”
“I didn’t paint them. And there’s no easy way to say this,” she said in a voice that quaked like the tree outside the window being buffeted by the wind, “but...”
“But what?”
She hesitated. Shifted her weight. And then blurted words she hadn’t thought she’d say for a long, long time.
“I’m pregnant.”
* * * *
I’m pregnant.
Pregnant. Holy shit.
Hawkyn stumbled backward, banging the backs of his legs into the bed he and Aurora had made love in last night. But there was no way he could have impregnated her. Memitim weren’t fertile. There had to be another explanation.
She was watching him with glassy eyes, and he realized she was just as stunned as he was. She’d gone through so much recently, and then to add this to the mix... Damn.
“You said you haven’t had sex in a long time.” At her nod, he continued, somehow managing to sound calm instead of freaked out. “Is it possible that your species has an extended gestation period? I’ve heard that some female demons hold sperm inside their bodies for years before it fertilizes an egg. And others—”
“No,” she said sharply. “That’s not what’s going on. Wytches are, for the most part, just like humans.” She looked down at her hands. “Except for the silver nails.”
“You’re sure.” He swallowed, buying time to process this. It didn’t help. “You’re positive that I’m the father.”
She glared. “I’m sure. This is your doing, Hawkyn.”
His legs gave out, and he sank down on the mattress. He had truly never thought about having kids. Not when it could be hundreds, or even thousands, of years before he Ascended, became fertile, and took a mate. This wasn’t just unexpected; it was unprecedented.
And he was in a shitload of trouble.
This would end in his expulsion from the Memitim order. He’d be stripped of his powers and left to live in the human realm for eternity.
The human realm. With Aurora. And his child.
Maybe...maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
“Look,” she said as she finished packing her duffel. “I’ve learned enough about Memitim from you, Suzanne, Lilliana, and the people here to know that this is probably really, really bad for you. No one has to know that you’re the father—”
He didn’t even know he’d made the decision to flash himself to her until he found himself in front of her, his hands on her slender shoulders, his face in hers.
“That,” he growled, “is not an option. I grew up without a father, and that will never happen to any child of mine. We’ll get through this, Aurora. Things might be a little rough until we get it all figured out, but we’ll do it.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes, and dammit, he couldn’t handle it if she cried. Gently, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, tentatively at first, letting her decide if this was what she wanted. Did she want his kiss? Did she want him?
His pulse raced as he waited for more than her passive kiss. He wanted the passion she’d brought to bed last night. The passion she had for life and all that came with it.
Nothing. She stood stiffly, her spine as straight as a sword, her pulse fluttering in the vein in her temple.
Please, Aurora.
He increased the pressure on her mouth, using his tongue to stroke the seam of her lips, and finally, blessedly, she responded. With a moan, she sagged against him, wrapping her arms around him and opening up to his kiss.
This was what he’d wanted his entire life, even if he hadn’t known it. He’d lived for duty, never for himself, and for the first time, he understood his sister Suzanne’s desire for a life and interests outside of the confines of Sheoul-gra.
The problem was that it wasn’t possible. Not for Memitim. Idess was proof of that. She’d lost her angel status and was all but human now.
Idess is happy.
Yes, she was. But Hawkyn knew himself well enough to know that, while he could survive being expelled from the Memitim order, especially if he had Aurora and a family, he would always have regrets. He’d always wonder if he should have done things differently. Because he wanted it all. He wanted Aurora and the life she carried inside her. But he also wanted to serve on the Memitim Council.
He couldn’t have both, and he knew it.
Reluctantly, he pulled back and gazed into Aurora’s drowsy eyes. “We have to get you someplace where you’re allowed as Primori.”
“How about my home? Can we at least stop by there so I can check mail and pack a few more things? We left in such a rush last time.” She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. “If you think it’ll be safe for a little while.”
He started to object, but her new status had just changed things. She would never be safer than she was right now.
“You’re Primori, so you have your own guardian angel.” But who? He was going to need to find out. He hated to admit it, but some of his siblings were far more reliable than others, and he wanted Aurora to have only the best.
“No,” she said, putting her palm on his chest. “I have two.”
Yes, she did. For as long as he was still an angel, anyway. He had a feeling his time had become very, very short.