Chapter Fourteen
Wyland would have been happy to laze in bed for a few more hours, but Tia had other plans. “Come on,” she said, dragging him into the garage. “If we hurry, we might make it to the animal barns before they close for the night.”
Tia wanted to go to the Minnesota State Fair, and she wanted to drive. “Come on, live dangerously. My car’s already scratched.”
He’d considered her untreated car windows, and the angle of the setting sun. Live dangerously, indeed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d traveled in the daylight with nothing to protect him but VampScreen and his wits. With Val’s comments about his gonads still ringing in his ears, he folded himself into her passenger seat.
She was a good driver, confident behind the wheel, but once at the Fair, she’d stopped in front of a parking space that was too small for the car. He pointed down the row, to an opening that could easily accommodate a small RV. “There’s a good spot.” One that wouldn’t scrape the car’s paint even more, or put his hips in a bloody vice when he tried to get out.
“This one’s closer to the entrance.”
“By a hundred feet.” Given the miles they’d cover on foot tonight, the additional distance seemed negligible.
After a fair amount of back and forth, and some colorful curses, she finally wedged the car into the space. If more than a foot separated his door from the Suburban parked next to them, he’d eat his shoe.
Tia eyed the sky. “We’ll have to hurry if we want to visit the animal barns.”
“I can smell them from here.” The ripe scents of manure, hay, and animals wafted through the air.
“You’re a doctor, I’m sure you’ve smelled worse.” Tia grabbed her purse from the back seat. “Come on.”
He slowly opened the car door, pivoted on the seat, and planted his feet on the pavement. Sucking in his stomach, he stood, then squirmed through the stingy space without unmanning himself. When he took his first step, he slipped, barely catching himself on the door jamb.
Melted ice cream.
“Are you okay?” Tia circled around to his side of the car and peered down at the melted mess. She bit back a giggle. “Oops.”
“Is that…bacon? In the ice cream?”
“Probably.” She leaned down. “Yep.”
“That is absolutely disgusting.”
She shrugged. “It’s the State Fair. If it’s not on a stick, there’s probably bacon involved.”
Side-stepping to the front of the car, he used the patch of grass to scrape the gooey mess off his shoe.
“Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
The sun was setting, and the sky was a hazy grayish-orange. As they paid at the gate, streetlights came on, illuminating paved streets carrying throngs of foot traffic. The bright lights of the Midway glowed in the distance, and across the fairgrounds, a band played at the Grandstand.
Tia sidled close, so their hips bumped together when they walked. Her arm suddenly curved around his waist, her hand sneaking into his back pocket. “Come on, you’re supposed to reciprocate.” Amusement danced in her eyes. “This is how lovers walk at the fair.”
“Far be it from me not to conform to appropriate social norms.” He slipped his hand into her pocket. Resilient flesh shifted beneath the soft denim as she walked. “I see the appeal.”
“Right?” She gave his butt a squeeze. “One of the best things about coming to the fair is people-watching.” A silent laugh shook her body. “I imagine we’re amusing more than a few people right now.”
He raised an inquiring brow.
“Look at us. You look like Gatsby minus his croquet mallet, and I look—”
“Delicious.” Her denim shorts exposed a scandalous amount of skin, the frayed hems riding high on her thighs. The heavy purse she’d slung across her body pulled the neckline of her gauzy white shirt askew, exposing a bright purple bra strap. Her beat-up brown cowboy boots looked like they might have been worn to muck out a stall or two.
When a cow mooed from inside a nearby barn, she glanced at the sky again and sighed. “We probably only have time to visit one animal barn. How about the Petting Zoo?”
“Lead the way.”
Several minutes later, they entered a red and white barn filled with excited children, all up past their bedtimes. He watched as Tia patiently waited her turn to pet a baby lamb. Newborn chicks, all beaks and yellow fluff, huddled under a heat lamp. Next to where he stood, all the rabbits were asleep in wire crates. “Smart animals—ow!” Wheeling around, he glared at the SUV-sized stroller that had just clipped his heel. “Damn it.”
The child in the stroller reached into the bucket of cookies sitting on his lap. Given how many crumbs rimmed the little human’s mouth, it was far from his first. “Mommy, that man said a swear word.”
The mom, cell phone at her ear, absently nodded. “Yes, hon. See the bunnies?” She returned to her conversation without bothering to apologize for nearly severing his Achilles tendon.
His lips flattened. Common courtesy wasn’t so common after all.
“Swearing is bad,” the boy solemnly advised him. “You’re bad.”
“So is eating so many cookies.” The kid’s blood sugar level had to be off the charts.
The kid’s face crumpled. “Mommy!”
“Get away from my son!” the woman snapped, punching at a button on her phone. She shot him a dirty look as she wrestled with the gigantic stroller and hurried away.
Damned if the little devil didn’t turn around and stick his cookie-coated tongue out at him.
Tia was suddenly at his side. “Come here. You have to feel how soft this is.” Taking his hand, she drew him over to the lamb’s pen. Crouching down, she held out her hand and allowed the days-old lamb to sniff her before stroking it gently under its chin. “Feel this,” she marveled.
He touched where she indicated, stroking the soft wool as she murmured to the animal. When the lamb bleated and trotted away, he pulled Tia to her feet. She was wearing the ring he’d returned to her earlier that evening. “Is this ring a family heirloom?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “It’s the Gem of Amara from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Thirty five bucks at Amazon.com.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but what’s the Gem of Amara?”
“According to the show’s mythology, it’s the Holy Grail of all vampiredom,” she informed him. “It conveys complete invulnerability to whomever wears it. Stake wounds close, burns miraculously heal, you’re immune to crosses and fire, yadda yadda yadda. The vamp who wears it can come and go in full daylight without regard for the sun.”
He traced his finger over the gold strands encasing the green stone. The show’s writers had been right about the sun susceptibility, but stake wounds? Crosses? “What complete and utter hokum.”
“I know it’s not real, but I like the idea of it. It’s a talisman. Wearing it reminds me to live ferociously.” She looked up at him. “Of course, on the show, its mere existence tempted far too many vampires into corruption. Angel destroyed it.” Tia suddenly twisted. “Hey, stop that.” The lamb was nibbling at the frayed threads dangling from Tia’s jean shorts.
“Tastes good, doesn’t she?” he said to the lamb, carefully pulling the fabric from its mouth. Pulling Tia safely out of range, he kissed the ring, her hand, then the veins of her inner wrist. As he worked his way up her forearm, he added a hint of teeth.
Dissolving into giggles, she yanked her arm away. “Let’s go to the Midway.”
With the animal barns closing, most fairgoers seemed to have the same idea. As they approached the Midway, the streetlights seemed to dim, like the house lights going down at the theatre just before the curtain rose. Blinking lights, clanging bells, whirling rides, joyous screams…talk about sensory overload. Everywhere he looked, lovers—yes—walked with their hands in each other’s back pockets.
Tia suddenly veered toward a bright yellow structure. “Let’s buy tickets.”
“For what?”
“For whatever.”
As they joined the short line, Tia cocked her head toward the Grandstand. “Fitz and Noelle are tearing it up tonight.”
“You know the band?”
She nodded, smiling. “They played First Avenue earlier this year. Awesome show.”
He’d never set foot in the venue Prince had made famous. He had no clue who Fitz and Noelle were, what band they were in, or how famous they might be.
The difference in their ages yawned wide as the English Channel.
When they reached the front of the line, Tia bought a fluttering strip of tickets, refusing his offer to pay. “See what I mean about hiding in plain sight?”
“Hmm?”
She jerked her head toward the Funhouse. “Those kids over there.”
Sure enough, a pack of vampire youth lurked near the corner of the building, half of them with their fangs exposed.
It was a flagrant violation of law—their law.
He started toward them, but Tia held him back. “Wyland, look around. No one is paying them the least bit of attention—no more than they’re paying anyone else, at any rate.”
He looked around, at people from all walks of life, eating, drinking, and enjoying themselves. She was right. The humans were oblivious.
“Come on,” she said, tugging at his arm.
“Where?”
“Let’s go into the Funhouse.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “We can neck in there.”
One of the youths had noticed him. The teen’s eyes widened. He nudged his friends, gesturing wildly. By the time he and Tia reached the entrance, they’d all straightened from their laconic slouches. Those with shot fangs hid them, as they damn well should.
“Gentlemen,” he said.
“Sir. Miss.” They dipped their heads respectfully—all except the teenager who stood most deeply in the shadows. He was too busy staring at Tia’s legs.
Understandable. They were spectacular.
“Dude,” someone hissed, elbowing the boy.
The movement jostled the young man’s gaze up to their faces. “Sir. Miss,” he blurted out, bobbing his head in greeting.
The hero worship in the boy’s eyes made him feel like a groupie-nailing rock star.
He couldn’t help it; he winked at the boy. “Have fun, guys. You’re good for my reputation,” he murmured as Tia handed tickets to the woman at the Funhouse entrance.
She rolled her eyes. “Says no one to me, ever.” As they climbed the stairs and walked inside, the lights dimmed to nearly nothing. “I thought I’d have to get tough with you about the Funhouse,” she admitted. “Somewhere, deep in that straight-laced psyche of yours, a tiny sense of adventure lurks.”
Straight-laced? He might have spent the last century celibate, but that hadn’t always been the case. He’d seen things, done things, that would rob her of speech—and god knew his fantasies about her were absolutely debauched. Suddenly, his cock was hard as a pike, and his pulse pounded in a rhythm as old as time. “So, it’s adventure you want?”
“Of course. Who doesn’t?”
He whipped her around a corner, deep into the shadows, and pinned her against the plywood wall with his hips.
“What are you doing? Wyland, there are people—kids—all over the place.”
He didn’t need a blood bond to sense her arousal, to know she’d locked her knees to keep them from wobbling out from under her. Didn’t need more light to know her pupils were ink black pools, or that her fangs had shot down. Her hitching breath, her shifting hips, enticed him. Incited him.
Jerking her arms over her head, he cuffed her wrists against the wall with his hands. He stared into her eyes, grinding the hard ridge of his erection into her soft belly. Her needy groan combined with the pre-recorded moans and shrieks. Suddenly, incendiary images filled his head: Tia, pressing him against the wall. Fumbling with his fly…cool air wafting over his penis…her fingers wrapping around him, stroking hard and fast.
This time, the groan was his. The little witch was in his head.
She flexed her wrists against his fingers, glanced down at his groin, and raised a brow. “Care to release me?”
Did she have some siren in her lineage? The sultry invitation in her voice could lure a man to the rocks. She was pinned against a wall, but far from helpless. Her hands were shackled by his grip, held immobile, but he could almost feel them yank at his zipper.
Was she getting stronger, or was he simply more attuned to her needs and desires now that he’d sipped from her vein? Hell, if he ever allowed her to drink deeply from him—if they had a reciprocal blood bond—they’d never leave his bedroom.
His phone suddenly vibrated—one ring, then two, in a very familiar pattern. He backed away from Tia, releasing her arms. “I have to take this.” Plucking his phone from his front pocket, he punched the Talk button. “Lukas, hello. What—”
“You have to come. Quick.” Lukas sounded panicky. Frazzled.
“What’s wrong?”
“Scarlett’s water broke.”
“When?”
“Earlier this afternoon,” Lukas admitted. “She wouldn’t let me call you.”
But he was calling now. Scarlett had probably been in labor for hours.
In the background, he heard Scarlett call out to Lukas. The thread of panic in her voice cut like a saber. “We need you,” Lukas said shakily.
“I’m on my way.” He took Tia’s hand and started leading her toward the entrance. “Scarlett’s in labor,” he murmured to her.
“Who are you talking to?” Lukas asked.
“Tia.” As they pressed back against the wall to allow an incoming group to pass, a demonic wail split the air.
“Where the hell are you?”
The group passed, and they started walking again. “We’re at the State Fair.” He had to get Lukas focused, and fast. “We’ve prepared for this, right? Do you have your task list?”
“It’s in my pocket.” He heard a crinkle as Lukas removed the well-worn piece of paper from his back pocket. He’d carried it there for months, fondling it like a string of worry beads.
“What’s item number one?”
“Make Scarlett comfortable,” Lukas read. “Comfortable? Fuck, how am I supposed to do that? She feels like someone’s stabbing her in the stomach.” Lukas let out a gasp as Scarlett groaned again. “How do women do this?”
Bloody hell. Lukas, the strongest and most sensitive incubus on the planet, was sharing not only Scarlett’s emotions, but her labor pains. Nothing about how Lukas’s body responded to sensory stimuli should surprise him anymore, but…
“She wants to sit on the couch.”
“Good, good. Sit down with her.” The last thing he needed was for Lukas to keel over before help could arrive.
“Heads up,” Tia murmured. They’d reached the Funhouse entrance.
“Hey!” The worker who’d taken their tickets didn’t look happy. “You can’t come out this way.”
Tia jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Medical emergency. He’s a doctor.” Without waiting for a response, she bullied her way down the stairs to a chorus of complaints. Once they reached the bottom, she navigated a route through the throngs of people filling the Midway, calling out apologies as she cut through the crowd.
“She’s sitting on the couch now,” Lukas told him.
“That’s good. If she wants to walk, let her—it will help the labor advance.” Though from the sound of things, her labor might already be more advanced than he’d like. A hush descended as they left the cacophony of the Midway. The crowd had thinned out considerably, so they put on a burst of speed. “What’s the next item on the list?” he asked Lukas.
“Call Jack. Start the phone tree.” A pause. “Jack’s downstairs, in his office.”
“Good.” As Scarlett’s pregnancy had progressed, Jack had quietly picked up whatever he could of Lukas’s workload, piling it on top of his own. “Call him now, then focus on Scarlett. Get some rest if you can. Pretty soon you’ll have more people at your place than you know what to do with.” For some unfathomable reason, Scarlett had put almost a dozen names on her call list. “Claudette and Elliott will be there soon.”
“Claudette.” Lukas repeated her name like a lifeline. Scarlett’s mother would preside at the birth, singing her granddaughter into the world in the ancient way of the sirens.
When they reached the parking lot, he saw that the Suburban was gone. Thank the universe for small favors; they’d need plenty of them this night. “Lukas, hang up and call Jack now.”
“Okay.” Silence hummed on the line. “Wyland…thank you.”
“There’s no need for thanks, my friend,” he said softly. “It’s my honor. Now—” he put some briskness back in his voice “—call Jack, then focus on Scarlett.” They’d reached the car. Yanking open the passenger side door, he got in, then slammed it closed. “We’ll be there soon. ‘Bye.” He hung up the phone with a punch of his thumb.
As soon as he buckled his seat belt, Tia put the car into motion. She backed out of the parking place, then carefully exited the lot, weaving around all the pedestrians who’d decided that now was the best time to leave the fair.
“Don’t these people have homes?” he muttered.
As Tia joined the long line of cars waiting to turn north onto Snelling, he took mental inventory of the bag he’d transferred from his car’s trunk to Tia’s, and of the treatment room on Sebastiani Security’s first floor. Between the two, he could perform minor surgery if he head to, but it wouldn’t hurt to put an ambulance on stand-by, just in case something happened that was beyond his capabilities. He called Memorial and made the necessary arrangements. By the time he hung up, Tia was on Highway 36 westbound. “I think Lukas is in labor, right alongside Scarlett.”
“What? Labor pains, the whole bit?”
He nodded.
“Ha! A female fantasy has finally come to pass. Seriously, you have no idea how many generations of women have been waiting for this moment. Not that we can tell anyone about it.”
“Well, let’s just hope his experience is limited to experiencing the pain.” If Lukas’s body tried to carry out labor to its logical conclusion, he could sustain serious internal injuries.
Yes, he had two patients tonight.
“All humor aside, that level of physical enmeshment isn’t normal, is it? Not that I know anything about childbirth.” Tia hit her blinker and passed a slow-moving semi. “My entire adult reproductive focus has been avoiding pregnancy.”
Her words gave him a jolt. As her lover, he appreciated her diligence. Trusted it, given they’d made love at least twice without using a condom.
Without discussing the matter.
He could imagine Val’s reaction— “If that isn’t trust, what is?” —and he’d have a valid point. But…what would he do—what would they do—if, despite her birth control patch, Tia got pregnant? Did she want to have children?
Did he? It was a question he’d never considered.
“Wyland?” Tia waved a hand in front of his face. “Lukas’s reaction isn’t typical, is it?”
“No, it isn’t.” All sirens interpreted and amplified emotion with their voices, and all incubi and succubi absorbed emotional energy for sustenance, emitting pheromones in response, but… “Scarlett’s voice is legendary, and Lukas’s abilities are unmatched. Typical is completely off the table.” And if typical was off the table, the list of potential complications was endless.
How would absorbing Lukas’s pain-laced pheromones impact everyone else in the room? Shit, one more risk he hadn’t considered. The people on Scarlett’s list might really come to regret their invitation to Coco Fontaine’s birthday party.
“Hey.” Tia put her hand on his thigh. “You’ve got this.”
He covered her hand with his own, taking comfort in its weight, its warmth. “With any luck, they won’t need me at all.”
“You’re their friend. They need you there regardless. And when this night is over, I’ll bring you your first glass of champagne.” She tugged her hand from under his, putting both hands on the wheel again. The Washington Avenue exit was just ahead. “Get sloppy drunk if you want to, because I’m your designated driver.”
“I’ll keep your offer in mind.” He’d never been sloppy drunk in his life, but there was a first time for everything. The events of the night to come might very well drive him to drink.
And by sunrise, Lukas and Scarlett’s lives would have changed forever, their every future action and decision influenced by the needs and desires of a howling scrap of new life.
Something he’d never imagined wanting for himself.
Before tonight.
When they reached Sebastiani Security, Tia followed Wyland through the lobby to the stairwell door, lifting a brow when he slapped his hand against the biometric pad instead of waiting for someone to buzz them up. There was a soft click, and the tiny light on the panel switched from red to green. “Come on.” He opened the door and started up the stairs. “I can sense pheromones from here.”
She nodded. “Pain. Pleasure. Purpose.” Lukas was absorbing every nuance of Scarlett’s physical and emotional experience and telegraphing it to the air—to everyone else—via the pheromones that pumped from his body as instinctively as he breathed.
Her ovaries twinged, like they did when she ovulated.
“It might be better if you went home.”
“Why?”
“Lukas’s pheromones will be challenging enough for bystanders to deal with, but add his family’s reactions into the mix…”
Understanding came in an instant. Absorbing emotional energy and producing pheromones in response was an instinctive, autonomic behavior for all incubi and succubi. Members of the Sebastiani family would produce pheromones, too. The resulting feedback loop could be overwhelming.
It was one thing to surf the pheromone haze dancing at Underbelly. Experiencing labor, even second-hand, was another matter entirely.
“This is going to be an unpredictable experience for everyone concerned,” Wyland said. “You should probably go home.”
“And leave you to handle it alone? I don’t think so. And that glare won’t work. Save your energy for climbing the stairs.” He sighed but didn’t argue, confirming she’d made the right decision. “Let’s get going.”
By the time they reached the top floor, the air seemed thicker somehow, as if it had physical weight. Thankfully, she had some ibuprofen in her purse—
“Aaaahhereitcomesagain. Damn it damn it damn it damn it…”
Scarlett’s groan speared her right between the eyes. The twinge low in her abdomen turned into an uncomfortable ache.
“Sounds like things are progressing.” Wyland rang the doorbell, then opened his bag. He withdrew two plastic-wrapped packets, handed her one, and pocketed the other for himself.
Silicone earplugs. “Bless you.”
The door opened. “Hello, Wyland.” Scarlett’s mother, Siren First Claudette Fontaine, seemed calmer than the situation merited. “Ms. Quinn.” She cast a questioning glance at Wyland, but covered it quickly. “Please, come in. Don’t let the cat out.”
They entered the loft. Standing just inside the door, Lukas’s father looked harried. Lukas’s father, the president of the Underworld Council.
And here she was, looking like an extra from Coyote Ugly. She probably had shit on her boots from walking around at the fair. Wyland, with his khakis, loafers, and rolled-up shirtsleeves, looked elegantly casual, like he’d been sipping champagne in the Hamptons instead of necking in a sticky-floored funhouse.
Hell.
“Claudette. Elliott.” Wyland kissed Claudette on both cheeks, then did the same with Elliott. “Please allow me to introduce Tia Quinn.” A slight pause. “She and I were at the State Fair when Lukas called.”
“Oh, what fun! I haven’t been to the fair in years.” Claudette extended both hands in welcome, kissing her cheeks. “I’m delighted to meet you.”
She looked like she actually might be. “Please, call me Tia.”
“And we’re Claudette and Elliott.”
Yeah, right.
“Tia.” President Sebastiani leaned down to kiss her cheeks. “In Like Quinn, right? I’ve read some of your work.”
“No shit?” She slapped her hand over her mouth.
He laughed. “No worries, I’ve heard the word before.” He glanced over to the couch, where Lukas supported Scarlett, half-reclined in his arms. “Less than a minute ago, as a matter of fact.” Indicating the living area with a sweep of his arm, he said, “Welcome to the madhouse. Make yourself at home.”
Rafe and Bailey sat curled together on the sectional couch opposite Lukas and Scarlett, and Sasha and Antonia were squabbling in the kitchen. Jack paced by the windows, Calamity hot on his heels. It wasn’t a madhouse; it was a family. In the short time it had taken her and Wyland to drive here from the fair, the entire Sebastiani family had gathered.
Wyland approached Lukas and Scarlett. “Happy Labor Day,” he said, leaning down to kiss Scarlett on both cheeks.
“Seriously? You’re making Labor Day jokes?” Despite her surly tone, Scarlett clutched his hands tightly. “Hi, Tia.” If Scarlett was surprised to see her, it didn’t show. “Where are my fucking drugs?”
Her siren’s voice turned the words into weapons, but Wyland appeared unscathed. “I see things are progressing well.”
“‘Progressing well’? Shove that sarcasm up your aristocratic ass—ow ow ow ow!” She doubled over, clutching her stomach. “Fuck me, that hurts.”
Did Wyland have some high-test muscle relaxants in his bag? Because damn.
“Breathe through the contraction,” Claudette counseled. “Breathe.”
Gaze locked with her mother, Scarlett started whooshing like a steam engine. Behind her, Lukas gritted his teeth, but silently supported her bulky weight.
After the contraction was over, Wyland and Claudette exchanged a glance. “I think you’ll be more comfortable in bed, honey,” Claudette said, taking Scarlett’s hands and helping her to her feet. “I think it’s show time.”
Wyland, Claudette, Scarlett, and Lukas disappeared behind the large, rolling partition that separated the bedroom from the rest of the living space. Though the sprawling loft was cleverly separated into purpose areas by rugs, furniture groupings, shelving units, and movable wall partitions, only the bathroom had solid walls. Sheets rustled as Claudette helped Scarlett into bed. Male voices murmured.
She couldn’t imagine having so little privacy on a day-to-day basis, much less while in labor.
Suddenly, a ferocious wail came from behind the partition. The windows rattled in their frames.
“Do you have earplugs?” Jack asked. He was already wearing his own.
“I’m set.” Opening the package Wyland had given her, she quickly fit the little silicone blobs in her ears. “Are those windows going to be okay?”
“Bullet-proof glass,” Jack said matter-of-factly. “They might crack, but they won’t break.”
“That’s reassuring.” Not.
Jack looked over to the kitchen, where Sasha and Antonia still squabbled. “They’re supposed to be mixing drinks. The last time I went in, Sasha about snapped my head off.”
On the other side of the exposed brick half-wall, Sasha swigged from a bottle of Jack Daniel’s while Antonia, holding a nearly-empty wine cooler, pointed at her accusingly. “They must be…uncomfortable.” If she felt pounded by a vicious wave of PMS, she could only imagine how the two succubi must feel.
“I get that,” Jack said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Liquor helps takes the edge off for the incubi and succubi, but—” he raised his voice slightly “—they’re so busy fighting with each other that they’ve forgotten about everyone else.”
“We have not,” Sasha called back, dropping ice cubes into the lowball glass she’d just filled with the Tennessee whiskey. “Don’t get your panties in a wad.”
Before he could reply, Sasha turned from the kitchen counter carrying a beverage-laden tray, weaving slightly. “Oops!” She quickly regained her balance, then made a circuit of the room, handing the lowball glass to her father, then delivering beer bottles to Rafe and Bailey. When Sasha sauntered toward them, Jack took a deep breath and straightened to his full height, as if steeling himself—and understandably so. With all the estrogen-laced pheromones floating about the place, Sasha was sexuality personified.
“Here’s your Coke,” Sasha murmured to him.
“Thank you.” Rather than waiting for Sasha to hand him the red and gray can, Jack took it from the tray himself. “The other beer’s for Tia?” At Sasha’s nod, he handed her the bottle of Angry Orchard Ale.
“And the Jack is mine.” Setting the tray down on a nearby end table, Sasha picked up the bottle. Eyeing him, she took a slow, deliberate sip.
The wave of sexual energy nearly knocked her sideways.
“Sasha!” Elliott snapped from across the room. “That’s enough.”
Over on the couch, Bailey pulled a small pillbox out of her purse. Opening it, she extracted two white tablets. After tossing one in her mouth, she offered the other to Jack. He quickly took the pill, chasing it with a gulp of soda.
Wyland popped his head around the bedroom partition. “Does anyone need muscle relaxants?”
She almost dropped to the floor so she could kiss his feet. “Me me me,” she chanted, waving her hand. “Me.”
“Just a moment.” He disappeared for a couple of seconds, then walked into the living room carrying his big, black satchel. She followed him to the kitchen, where he set the bag on the counter, found a water glass, filled it from the tap, and drained it.
“How are things going in there?” she asked.
“Better than I expected. Scarlett’s doing well.”
“And Lukas?”
“He’s in pain, but not in active labor.”
“That’s a relief.” Up close, she could see the toll Scarlett’s labor was taking on Wyland. His temples were damp with sweat, and his ponytail was slightly askew. There were stress lines bracketing the sides of his mouth, and his cheekbones were too prominent. She wheeled to the refrigerator, took out a bag of blood, and set it on the counter.
He skimmed her up and down. “How are things going out here?”
“The Sebastianis are getting drunk.” She rubbed her fist low on her abdomen. “I prefer the muscle relaxants.”
Opening the bag with a practiced flick, he rooted around and withdrew a sheet of blister-packed tablets. “How much have you had to drink?”
She held her nearly full beer bottle up to the light. “First bottle. Just a sip or two.”
“Any chronic health conditions? Prescription medications?”
“Nothing but birth control,” she answered cheerfully. “I’m healthy as a horse.”
“Apparently so.” He eyed her again, then removed two tablets from the blister pack. “Take one now, and the other if you need it.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, then picked up the bag of blood and the satchel. “Go easy on the beer,” he advised. “And have some blood yourself.”
“Will do.”
The hours passed with a steady rotation of booze, beer, sodas, and snacks. Calamity jumped on the table and helped himself to some of the spinach dip, but no one scolded him. Chico came upstairs to check in, but left very quickly. Time became fluid as Scarlett labored, cursing like a sailor. Singing, yelling, grunting… words and phrases dissolved into a swirl of tones and sound. At times, the room seemed to pulse around them. She didn’t see Wyland again, but she could hear him—hear his calm voice, his confident instructions.
Suddenly, her uterus wrenched.
“Here she comes, honey,” Claudette said from the other side of the partition. “Here she comes. Push! Oh, look at all that red hair...” When she added her powerful voice to her daughter’s, the floor seemed to undulate.
The windows cracked.
With a final, dissonant shriek, little Coco Annika Fontaine was sung into the world. After a pause, her angry, newborn squalls joined her mother and grandmother in a trio as old as time.
And then, blessed silence. As she removed her earplugs, she blinked back tears.
“The kid’s already got us wrapped around her little finger,” Sasha muttered, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “I’ll get the champagne.”
Jack followed to help.
Suddenly she yearned for her camera—the good one, down in her car. She’d take some candid shots, develop the pictures herself, and make a scrapbook as a baby gift. Walking over to the window, she nudged the curtain aside. Through the fractured glass, dawn pinkened the sky, but she had more than enough time to run down to the parking lot, retrieve her camera, and get back to the safety of the building before the sun broke over the horizon.
She dropped the curtain and found Bailey, once again curled up with Rafe on the couch. “I’m going down to the car to get my camera. I’ll be right back.” At Bailey’s nod, Tia slipped away from the celebration, closing the door as champagne corks popped.