was placating. At this rate, he was never going to get any sleep. “But she’s beautiful in a very quiet way, and Cain isn’t into subtlety. If you’re worried about Martha, you can take my word for it—she’s the last woman Cain would go after.”
“I doubt it. A pregnant Source is even less appealing.”
Ah, the night was saved, he thought with relief. “No,” he said, with complete honesty. “I can’timagine any man being able to keep his hands off you, and you’re even more beautiful pregnant. He knows if he comes near you he’d die a slow, horrible death, and he’s too smart to try. But he would in the blink of an eye if he had the chance.”
He heard her release her breath, felt her tense body soften. “Humph,” she said, but he’d reached her. “I think you’re prejudiced.”
“I’m the Alpha. I’m too old and wise to be subjective.”
She laughed, the last of the tension leaving their bed, and he felt her move marginally closer again. He crossed the rest of the distance, pulling her against him, burying his face in her shoulder.
“Indulge me,” she said finally. “Keep an eye out for Martha.”
“I’ll be watching Cain like a hawk anyway. If he goes near Martha, I’ll know it, and I can put a stop to it. I promise.”
She covered his hand with hers, moving it over her belly, and he could feel the fetus move beneath their combined touch. Cain was forgotten as another irrational prayer fought its way past his defenses.
Please let everything be all right. Let Martha be right this time. Let all things be well.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
I DIDN’T THINK I ’D BE ABLE TO SLEEP. Despite my scars, I liked to sleep naked, the door and windows of my small room open to the soft night air. I loved listening to the sound of the surf in the distance, the gentle breezes through the trees, the scent of flowers and growing things mixed with the salt tang of the ocean.
He was in the room next door. Or he would be—I knew after I made my way surreptitiously down our shared hallway that he wasn’t there at the moment. And as long as he was so close, there was no way I was going to leave the door open to our shared garden. I didn’t even want to crack my window, but I would suffocate with it shut. Not literally—the rooms in Sheol, despite Cain’s suggestion that he could adjust the thermostat, were all a perfectly controlled temperature, a necessity in a society that couldn’ttolerate flame. But I needed at least a trace of fresh air, psychologically if not physically.
For the first time I locked both doors, then gave myself a figurative shake. What was wrong with me? He was hardly going to loom up and try to break in to get to my thoroughly unremarkable self.
Still, there was no way I was stripping. Instead of taking clothes off, I put more on—an oversize shirt over the dress, then a sweater over that before I climbed into bed. Five minutes later I climbed out, took off the smothering sweater, and climbed back in. Another ten minutes and I stripped off my clothes and replaced them with the loose pants and shirt I usually wore during the daytime. I climbed back into bed, suitably armored, and lay still, listening for him. Waiting for him.
Until I fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
I knew it was a dream before it started, and even smothered in deep sleep I tried to shake it off. I never knew whether the things I saw and felt were actual dreams or visions of a possible future, and the weight of those visions was too much. I tried to sink deeper into slumber, to shut off my thoughts, but the voice floated on the gentle breeze, slipped into my room, under my skin, inside me, a soft, insistent voice.
Come to me .
I didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t Thomas—his voice had been higher pitched, softer. There was an insistentroughness to the silent voice that called to me, and I kicked out, shoving my covers away from me, onto the floor.
I could feel his hands on me, sliding up my arms, cupping my face,
“I doubt it. A pregnant Source is even less appealing.”
Ah, the night was saved, he thought with relief. “No,” he said, with complete honesty. “I can’timagine any man being able to keep his hands off you, and you’re even more beautiful pregnant. He knows if he comes near you he’d die a slow, horrible death, and he’s too smart to try. But he would in the blink of an eye if he had the chance.”
He heard her release her breath, felt her tense body soften. “Humph,” she said, but he’d reached her. “I think you’re prejudiced.”
“I’m the Alpha. I’m too old and wise to be subjective.”
She laughed, the last of the tension leaving their bed, and he felt her move marginally closer again. He crossed the rest of the distance, pulling her against him, burying his face in her shoulder.
“Indulge me,” she said finally. “Keep an eye out for Martha.”
“I’ll be watching Cain like a hawk anyway. If he goes near Martha, I’ll know it, and I can put a stop to it. I promise.”
She covered his hand with hers, moving it over her belly, and he could feel the fetus move beneath their combined touch. Cain was forgotten as another irrational prayer fought its way past his defenses.
Please let everything be all right. Let Martha be right this time. Let all things be well.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
I DIDN’T THINK I ’D BE ABLE TO SLEEP. Despite my scars, I liked to sleep naked, the door and windows of my small room open to the soft night air. I loved listening to the sound of the surf in the distance, the gentle breezes through the trees, the scent of flowers and growing things mixed with the salt tang of the ocean.
He was in the room next door. Or he would be—I knew after I made my way surreptitiously down our shared hallway that he wasn’t there at the moment. And as long as he was so close, there was no way I was going to leave the door open to our shared garden. I didn’t even want to crack my window, but I would suffocate with it shut. Not literally—the rooms in Sheol, despite Cain’s suggestion that he could adjust the thermostat, were all a perfectly controlled temperature, a necessity in a society that couldn’ttolerate flame. But I needed at least a trace of fresh air, psychologically if not physically.
For the first time I locked both doors, then gave myself a figurative shake. What was wrong with me? He was hardly going to loom up and try to break in to get to my thoroughly unremarkable self.
Still, there was no way I was stripping. Instead of taking clothes off, I put more on—an oversize shirt over the dress, then a sweater over that before I climbed into bed. Five minutes later I climbed out, took off the smothering sweater, and climbed back in. Another ten minutes and I stripped off my clothes and replaced them with the loose pants and shirt I usually wore during the daytime. I climbed back into bed, suitably armored, and lay still, listening for him. Waiting for him.
Until I fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
I knew it was a dream before it started, and even smothered in deep sleep I tried to shake it off. I never knew whether the things I saw and felt were actual dreams or visions of a possible future, and the weight of those visions was too much. I tried to sink deeper into slumber, to shut off my thoughts, but the voice floated on the gentle breeze, slipped into my room, under my skin, inside me, a soft, insistent voice.
Come to me .
I didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t Thomas—his voice had been higher pitched, softer. There was an insistentroughness to the silent voice that called to me, and I kicked out, shoving my covers away from me, onto the floor.
I could feel his hands on me, sliding up my arms, cupping my face,
Similar Books
