In vampire tradition, this ceremony was critical, and not something that could wait, considering that the medical team felt as though the infants were stable enough.

Still, everything was kept dark, and no one spoke so as not to agitate the young.

After all in the household, including servants, Trez, iAm and iAm’s mate, as well as all the Chosen and the directrix, and also Blaylock’s parents, had assembled together, Wrath and the Queen entered with George between them, and L.W. in Wrath’s arms.

Ordinarily, there would be long speeches in the Old Language, but in deference to the infants, Wrath kept it short.

“We gather here, this night, to welcome into the community the blooded son and the blooded daughter of the Black Dagger Brother Qhuinn, son of Lohstrong, and the Chosen Layla, begotten of the Primale and the Chosen Helhena, and the adopted son and the adopted daughter of Blaylock, blooded son of Rocke and of Lyric. May these young be of health and strength and long life, a testimony to the love of their fathers and their mother. Now, as King, I confer unto this female”—Wrath put out his hand and Beth guided him over to where the tiny female lay—“the name of Lyric, in honor of her grandmahmen on her father Blaylock’s side.”

As Blay’s mahmen sniffled and Qhuinn and Blay put their arms around her, Wrath laid his hand on the other incubator.

From all around, a burst of energy bubbled through the crowd, and Rhage shook his head, amazed that he got to be a witness to this.

With his royal dagger hand on the little male’s bassinette, Wrath pronounced, “In recognition of this young sire’s status as a member of the Black Dagger Brotherhood, it has been petitioned unto me that I confer, as King, a Brotherhood name upon this male. I have considered the request and deem it appropriate. I hereby choose the venerable name Rhampage.”

A growl of approval rose up from the Brothers, and Rhage was right there with the others—because he knew that he was welcoming that male into their midst.

This was done right, he thought. This was the old way. The proper way. The way that preserved the traditions.

Rhampage.

It was a very good, very old name.

With his son in his arms and his shellan at his side, Wrath then placed the sacred red and black ribbons of the First Family on the skirting of both incubators.

And then, one by one, everybody did the same, each family unit heading up together, Phury and Cormia and Z, Bella and Nalla going after Wrath and Beth, followed by everyone from V, Jane, Payne and Manny, to Rehv and Ehlena, and John Matthew and Xhex.

When it was their turn, Rhage smiled down at his females and they approached the incubators. It was hard not to be emotional as three hands reached forward with his bloodline’s blue, black, and silver lengths, first on Lyric’s skirting and then on Rhampage’s. And afterward, all three of them went and hugged the family members.

So much love.

All around.

The Chosen went next, and then Trez and iAm and iAm’s Queen put a ruby from the Territory on each of the young’s bassinettes as a way of participating. After that, the doggen went, their ribbons thinner, but no less important.

As Rhage hung back and watched, he had one arm along Mary’s shoulders, and one arm on Bitty’s.

It was amazing how much things had changed when he thought back to that first night when he’d tried to get Mary to say luscious or whisper or strawberry.

She had countered him back then with nothing, said over and over again.

Funny, that she’d chosen that particular word. Because, in fact, she had over these last years given him absolutely, positively . . . everything.

SEVENTY-FOUR

It was a great party.

As Mary finally had to take a load off at the foot of the mansion’s grand staircase, she was breathing hard, her left heel had a blister on it, and she knew she was going to be stiff later. But the dancing—the dancing.

V’s version of house music, which was strictly rap and hip-hop, was inspiring all kind of aerobics, and she was proud to note that her hubs was Channing all over his Tatum out here, shaking what his mama gave him with the best of them. Bits was right with him, learning the moves, laughing, eating and drinking soda.

Funny how sometimes the best time could be had just sitting back and watching your kid have a good time.

Through the crowd, Rhage motioned for her to come over, and when she fanned herself and shook her head, he gyrated across with Bitty. “Mary!”

“I just need a minute’s rest!” she shouted back. Because that was the only chance of being heard.

“Bitty, can you get your mahm—” Rhage caught himself. “Can you get your, ah, Mary, to join us?”

The small bite of pain in the middle of her chest was no big deal, especially when Mary thought about how much the little girl’s real mahmen would have loved to be a part of all this. And then she didn’t think anything more about it as Bitty dived in, grabbed her hand, and pulled her up.

So there was even more dancing.

And more food, and more drink, and more laughter, and more cheering . . . until two in the afternoon, and then three . . .

By four o’clock, even Lassiter had decided it was a wrap, and people started to scatter up and around to various beds.

Naturally, that meant that she and Rhage and Bitty ended up in the kitchen.

“So, Bits, this is my pride and joy,” he said as he led the little girl over to a hallway just outside the pantry. “This is my ice cream freezer.”

Leaving them to it, Mary made quick work getting out three bowls, three spoons, and three napkins, and she just had to sit back and smile at the setup after she’d put them out on the oak table. Humming to herself, she waited to see what came in from the cold, so to speak, and felt grateful that with Fritz’s anal-retentive sense of organization, all the food for the ribbon ceremony had been cleaned up hours ago—

“Okay, wow,” she said with a smile. “That is a load.”

Four gallons, no, wait, five.

“We have chosen wisely,” Rhage said with great gravity. “I present to you this afternoon . . .”

Bit took over from there in the same pseudo-deep voice. “Rocky road, coffee, mint chocolate-chip, raspberry chip, and your favorite, chocolate chocolate-chip.”

As the two of them bowed at the waist to her, Mary clapped. “Very well chosen, very, very well chosen.”

“And now,” Rhage Darth Vadered, “I shall commence the dispensing.”

Bitty parked it next to Mary, and the pair of them watched the show, Rhage doing all kinds of tricks, throwing scoops of oh-God-please-catch-that in the air and, in fact, catching them in the bowls. When everybody had what they wanted, they dug in.

Or rather, Rhage and Mary dug in.

As she noticed that Bitty wasn’t eating, Mary frowned. “You okay? You have too much of the cakes that were put out?”

It was a while before the girl spoke. “What do humans call their mahmen? What is their name for a mahmen?”

Mary flicked her eyes over to Rhage’s as he froze. Then she cleared her throat. “Ah . . . we call them Mother. Or Mom.”

“Mother.” Bitty stared into her ice cream. “Mom.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

After a moment, the little girl looked right into Mary’s eyes. “May I please call you Mom?”

Abruptly, Mary found herself not able to breathe, her throat tightening up to an unbearable extent. Leaning in, she cradled that face between her palms and looked over the features that she suddenly knew, without a doubt, that she would watch grow and change into maturity.

“Yes,” she whispered roughly. “I would like that. I would like you to call me that.”

Bitty smiled. “Okay, Mom.”